Twenty-Two
All the next day after that dream, the encounter with his dead wife planting the cedar, Victor Brodman lay in bed with about as much vitality as a garden slug. One of the black unctuous kind that slithers across the patio. When stomach cramps didn’t keep him awake he slipped into fevered sleep.
‘You’re down with the same bug as me, Victor. Bloody awful, isn’t it?’ his sister proclaimed cheerfully. ‘I’m feeling much better now, though.’
‘My mouth tastes as if a slug died in it; one of those fat, slimy . . .’ He groaned.
‘Same as me. The muscle spasms were worst, though. Felt as if I was splitting in two. Now, you’ve got a jug of water. Can I get you something to eat?’
‘Ugh . . . that’s just cruel. Nothing like a big sister to be chief torturer.’
‘It’s no worse than what you did when I went down with food poisoning when I was fourteen . . . you’d have been . . . what? Eleven, twelve? You came into my room as I lay there with a bucket by the bed. You were pleased as punch with yourself when you announced the best way to treat food poisoning was by eating frogspawn. You showed me a jar of the stuff that you’d collected from a pond. You said that to feel better I’d have to swallow it all in one go.’
‘I was eleven, Mary. It was a joke.’
‘Failing that, the next best thing was all the fat and gunk scraped out of a frying pan after Dad had one of those revolting fry-ups of his.’
‘Sis, if you leave me alone I’ll give you a million dollars, a million euros, whatever it takes for you to stop making me feel . . .’ He gulped.
Mary smiled. ‘I’ve been waiting years to get my own back. As they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.’
‘Medusa, witch, monster . . .’ He blinked. A housefly buzzed around the room.
Mary entered the room with a jug of water.
‘Do you feel like anything to eat yet?’
‘Uh . . . I dreamt you were here just now asking the same thing. Then you started talking about Dad’s cooked breakfasts.’
‘Ah, the cholesterol express.’
‘It wasn’t so much a dream.’ He swallowed. ‘A nightmare, a horrendous, torturing nightmare.’
‘It was no such thing.’
‘You actually said those things? About frogspawn and bacon fat?’
She grinned. ‘I thought it might cheer you up. But I said all those things over an hour ago. You keep falling asleep at the drop of a hat.’
‘Never become a doctor, sis. Your bedside manner’s a killer.’
‘Speaking of nurses, there’s one to see you now.’
Victor perked up. ‘Laura?’
‘Lou.’ Mary touched his forehead. ‘We could fry eggs on your face.’
‘Thanks for the lovely image.’
‘You must be feeling better. Until this afternoon all you did was grunt.’
His sister left the room. The fly remained. That buzz began to drive him insane. With an effort he turned over in bed. Jay stood in the shadows.
‘Jay? You shouldn’t be here. You might catch . . .’ Victor swallowed queasily. ‘Makes you feel rotten.’
Jay gazed at him. ‘You thought what your sister told you about the frogspawn was a dream.’
‘That’s right, I did.’
‘When you met Ghorlan last night you thought that was a dream, too.’
‘Of course it was a dream.’ He lay as limp as a wet towel. ‘Yes, I love my wife. I also know she’s dead.’
‘You pricked your hand on a thorn.’
‘It was a realistic dream. I’ll give you that.’
Jay advanced on him, gripped his hand, then lifted it. ‘What do you see?’
Victor’s heart lurched. For there in the centre of his palm was a small, black scab. After burning with fever now he shivered as if plunged into ice-cold water.
‘What’s that in your hand?’ Lou bustled in. She fixed him with her dark eyes like she’d found a young boy up to mischief.
‘Uh, nothing.’
‘You find nothing mighty interesting.’ Without hesitation she gripped his hand so she could study the palm. ‘Did you get a splinter in that, Victor, from breaking someone’s heart?’
‘A thorn. I pricked myself last night . . .’ He frowned as what she said fully registered. ‘Breaking someone’s heart?’
‘You heard right, Victor.’
‘My sister was messing with my mind – and stomach – earlier. Don’t you start or our cider drinking days will be over.’
She ripped open a foil sachet then shook white powder from it into a glass of water. ‘Drink this.’
‘Trying to poison me?’
‘It replaces natural salts in the body, restores electrolyte balances and the like.’
‘I don’t think I can really—’
‘Drink!’
‘Ouch, not so loud, Lou. I really do feel like death.’
‘If you’re feeling like death that’s an improvement.’ She bustled round, straightening his bedding, then yanked the curtains open, which admitted eyeball-searing light.
Victor protested. ‘Why don’t people leave me to wallow in peace?’ Scrunching his eyes against the light, he peered round the room. ‘Is Jay still here?’
‘Jay? No, he’s down in the yard with Wilkes.’
‘With the mayor?’
‘No, Wilkes the goat. Victor, will you start thinking straight?’
He took a swallow of the cloudy water. ‘Hell’s bells, that tastes awful.’
‘While you were sleeping today the health authority dropped a thousand of those packets by helicopter. They won’t cure, but they restore chemical balance to the body.’
‘Is the island still under quarantine?’
‘That we are. We’re prisoners here until the emergency committee lift the order. So far there’s a seventy per cent infection rate. The elderly are hit the hardest, young folk like you, Victor Brodman, start to pick up within twelve hours of feeling the first symptoms.’
‘Do they know what it is yet?’
‘Probably a mutated version of gastric flu. Already there’s stupid speculation in the newspapers that like some epidemics of influenza are supposed to arrive from outer space, so this bug flew in by meteor.’ She sniffed. ‘In truth, the cause of this outbreak is more about hygiene systems rather than solar systems.’
‘So it’s not that serious?’
‘Serious enough to claim two lives already.’
‘Really?’ This shocked him enough to sit up. ‘Who?’
‘Two elderly men. Mr Moore. And Mr Henry.’
‘Good grief. I’ve known them for years. So the disease is worse than they thought?’
‘The disease wasn’t directly responsible. Mr Henry decided to dig a deep hole on the beach. The sides collapsed and he suffocated. Mr Moore fell in the bathroom and struck his head hard enough to cause a haemorrhage. There are also rumours that at least two women have gone missing. I’m sorry to bring such bad news.’ She sat on the end of his bed. ‘But I’m also here for another reason. An important reason.’
‘Lou, is it Laura? Is she all right?’
‘So Laura has been on your mind?’
Lou was usually such a warm, bubbly character that this chill manner roused him from his lingering drowsiness. ‘What’s wrong, Lou?’
She plaited her fingers together on her knees. ‘Today, Victor, I’m going to test our friendship to breaking point. We’ve known each other for many years. We respect each other . . . shush, Victor. Let me say my piece.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You are a fine man, Victor Brodman. Loyal, caring, compassionate. You’re also a turtle of a man. By that I mean that whenever you find yourself on the brink of a potentially romantic relationship you retreat into that damn shell.’
‘Lou, I’m not like that.’
‘Oh, yes, you are. I’ve watched you with female visitors to the island. They flirt, you might flirt back, then when it seems as if the lady is ready to take it further, back into your cold, hard shell you go. You retreat. You say you need to count ducks, or lizards, or whatever, then vanish into the woods. You might have been Mr Right in the woman’s eyes, but within minutes you are Mr Gone, never to be seen again until the woman’s left the island. No, shush, Victor. Let me finish because what I’ve seen over the last few days has made me so angry.’
‘Angry?’
‘Yes, angry at you. Dunderhead.’
‘Lou, what’s got into you? I—’
‘Victor, let me finish. Listen, Laura is a lovely person. I’ve never seen anyone devoted like she is to the children in her care. Every day she fights battles to save them from being locked in secure units or kept on tranquillizers that would knock down a horse. Just before she came to Siluria her friend, Maureen, died in a traffic accident. Laura has been under so much pressure! Her spirit was breaking to little bits. Then something marvellous happened . . .’
‘Oh?’
‘She met you, you foolish man. For the first time in months I saw her like the time we first met. Her entire face changed. Eyes sparkling. She was happy, happy, happy! I don’t know what happened between you. That’s none of my business—’
‘You’re right, it is none of your—’
‘But being Laura’s friend and being concerned for her well-being is my business. It’s my business to want the best for you, too.’ She sighed. This wasn’t easy for her. ‘I saw two lovely people meet. They clearly like each other. That old magic happened. I saw it in Laura’s eyes and yours. Then you go back into your shell, Victor – your cold hard shell. A shell that doesn’t protect you, no sir. That shell keeps you isolated from womankind.’
‘Lou, I’m tired.’
‘Sleep when you’re old like me, Victor. Now’s the time to fight for happiness. Defeat your demons.’
‘I don’t have any demons.’
‘You do! They are turning you into a hermit. Kill the demons now; otherwise you’re going to turn into a lonely, miserable hermit.’ She balled her fist. ‘Someone must tell you one important fact. Victor, it is time you buried your wife.’
He flinched. ‘Lou, stop right there. You’ve no damn right to say that.’
‘OK, so hate me. But it’s got to be said. I know Ghorlan disappeared in the river. You never could bury her body. But it’s time to bury her in here.’ She extended her hand to touch his head. Furious, he pushed it away. ‘Bury your dead wife, Victor, so you can rejoin the world. You deserve a life. Ghorlan wouldn’t want you to live as if part of you died with her.’
‘How can you say what Ghorlan would or wouldn’t want? Leave me alone!’
‘You keep Ghorlan alive. She’s dead, Victor. Bury her.’
Sweating, he twisted the sheet in his hands. ‘Get out . . . get out!’
That evening Victor headed into the forest. Lethargy made walking hard work. He still alternated between sweats and a shivering coldness; the fever hadn’t quit yet. Every so often he needed to pause until a surge of queasiness passed. However, he was determined to get out of the apartment because he churned inside.
This time it wasn’t the virus, it was thinking about the last twenty-four hours. Constantly, he replayed what Laura had said to him. Then there were Lou’s home truths that had been so very bitter to hear. Add to that the dream of last night when he met Ghorlan in the clearing – if it was a dream. Now, the symptoms of the physical illness seemed almost trivial in comparison. He wanted to yell his fury at the sky. In the last few days it seemed as if some monster had been peeling him alive. His heart had been bared. His nerves exposed. Now his soul that had been sheltering deep inside of himself was being roughly dragged out into the cold light of day.
Instinct guided his feet. Soon he found himself in the clearing. In its centre, the tree that Ghorlan had planted on their first wedding anniversary. Now the Cedar of Lebanon had grown to some twenty feet or so. Its deep green leaves formed distinct horizontal layers. The trunk soared upward, straight as a rod. Beneath the deepening blue sky he moved forward to press his palm against the tree’s bark. As he did so he felt the sting of the wound that the thorn had inflicted last night. At that instant he noticed two figures at the edge of the clearing. Jay and Archer stood side by side. Neither wore the carefree grin of a young child out on an adventure. Archer’s old-beyond-his-years face appeared to be good company for Jay’s eerie elfin face, with those large, almond-shaped eyes. Both watched Victor with gravely serious expressions. Then Jay took a dozen steps toward Victor. Victor glanced round, half expecting to see Ghorlan in the shadows.
Victor was determined to keep a grip on reality. ‘How’s Laura today?’ he asked. ‘Have you seen her?’
Jay didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘You hate me. I tried to make you happy last night, but it went wrong.’
‘It always goes wrong, doesn’t it?’
Jay gave a solemn nod.
‘You try so hard to do nice things for people but it ends up hurting them. Why’s that, Jay?’
‘I don’t want to. But that’s what I’m supposed to do. I frighten people. I make bad things happen to them. Then they die.’
‘Can you say why that is?’
Jay shrugged. ‘I do everything not to hurt people. I fight what’s inside of me. In the end it always wins. I can’t stop harming them.’
Victor glanced across at Archer. The eight-year-old had been watching the adult and the boy talking by the tree. Now he gazed up into the clear blue sky. Five miles above his head two jetliners flew parallel to one another, though they must have been miles apart. Jay looked up as well. The two jets drew white lines through that perfect blue.
‘It’s getting stronger inside of me.’ Jay watched the contrails. ‘I know all the hurt comes from inside my head. I killed Maureen. I made Max want to drown himself.’ Perspiration oozed from his brow. ‘It’s my job to make everyone die.’
Five miles above the island the two jetliners began to turn.
‘There are people on those planes.’ Victor’s mouth turned dry. ‘Men, women, children. Innocent people. They’ve never hurt anyone.’
The once straight vapour trails now curved. The tiny silvery glints showed that the two planes were changing course. Victor’s heart thudded. A sense of the inevitable filled him. A cold, oozing dread. Down here it all seemed in slow motion. Of course, up there in the sky two aircraft, filled with passengers, had a closing speed of a thousand miles an hour.
Archer gasped, ‘Those jets are flying right at each other.’ With that he fled into the forest.
Victor crouched so as to be eye-level with Jay. ‘Don’t do this. Please don’t. Think of all those hundreds of people.’
‘I have to . . . I don’t want to. But they’ve got to die.’
A fist-sized stone lay by Victor’s feet. He saw himself seizing it, then smashing the hard rock down on to Jay’s skull. Fragile bones would splinter, the brain would bleed. Then all this would be over. For ever and ever, amen.
Above them the planes closed at a relentless rate. Two missiles on a head-on collision course. In little more than twenty seconds from now the contrails would merge in carnage. The boy gazed up at the aircraft. No expression revealed what he was thinking. Those uncannily large eyes did not blink.
Victor searched his fever-ridden mind, knowing he’d have to stop Jay now. If he couldn’t find the right words he’d have to wield the rock. Victor scrunched his shoulders as he forced himself to think. Eureka! He shouted: ‘Jay. I’m going to marry Laura. Great news, eh?’
Jay’s eyes swung from the planes to stare at Victor. For the first time there was shock there. Then the boy raced away into the bushes. Victor could hardly bear to bring himself to look up into the sky. For a moment, he stared upward, his eyes watered, his heart hammered as emotion overloaded every nerve. Five miles above the peaceful island of Siluria the two jet trails were parting. He watched as the pilots guided their aircraft away from danger. Two minutes later, with a safe distance between them once more, the pair of airliners vanished over the horizon.
He thought, by God it worked. But next time I might not be so lucky.