“You scared her off,” Keller said in a tone of regret.
Holding the knife, the Trusted Man looked around. There was nobody there. “Who?” he asked.
“Lissy,” Keller replied with a sad smile. “You made her run away. But she’ll be back soon. She’s never left, you know. She’s always been here. With me.”
He let his eyes drift around the pigsty. Death was here somewhere. It was waiting for the stranger to leave so that it could come back and take him to Elisabeth. All Keller wanted was to see the meadows again. And the light. All that light.
All the Trusted Man could see were the carcasses of dead pigs, a wooden pen and a lantern hanging from a dark beam. The light from the lantern made his one good eye sting. He rubbed it. It hurt. The other one had gone. Nothing but quicklime.
He lowered the flick-knife and shook his head. “You’re mad.”
Keller focused on him, and the Trusted Man realised that death would soon take him.
“I used to think that, too,” Keller said, panting. “But Lissy’s not mean. She’s never lied to me. It’s not an illusion. Lissy is real. Lissy has always been with me. She’s never abandoned me. And she never will.”
With difficulty, he slipped his hand inside his waistcoat and pulled out a little bell, which he shook three times. He could not manage a fourth. Even that tiny little bell was too heavy for him. It slipped from his fingers and fell in the muck. The silvery jingling faded away.
Nothing happened. Nobody came. It was just the two of them. The Trusted Man remembered the words of one of the old men at the inn. He had said that Voter Luis’ son was a man of faith, just like the holy man who had taught him to see the world through eyes full of mercy. But they were both just men. And men wished for illusions.
Consolation.
And it was with eyes full of mercy that the Trusted Man went close to Keller, pointing the flick-knife, and whispered, “Do you want me to bring her to you? Is that what you want?”
Keller raised his arm with difficulty and pointed to a spot behind him, behind the ash tree, on the hill.
Lissy was beautiful. Barefoot in the meadow.
Lissy was holding out the little wooden pig. The little pig was smiling.
And the light. There was all that light.
The Trusted Man did not see the light, but he heard jingling. He turned abruptly.
She was there.
Up there on the threshold. Up there on the hill.
“Lissy,” Keller called.
Lissy, the Trusted Man thought. Lissy was a sow. A large, nasty black sow.
Lissy lowered her head and charged. She came down the steps like an avalanche and hurled herself at the Trusted Man. Before he was knocked down he instinctively struck out at her, plunging the knife into the thick layer of fat around her body, but it was as if she didn’t even feel it. The impact broke the Trusted Man’s femur. The blade stayed there, sticking out of the sow’s hide. Lissy raised her snout, and the Trusted Man felt himself being lifted, practically to the ceiling.
He remained suspended in mid-air for a few seconds, then fell to the floor, face down, screaming.
Lissy came crashing into his back, skewering him and making him roll against the male pigs’ pen. He turned and raised his hand to shield himself from a second attack. Lissy tore off three of his fingers with a single bite. The Trusted Man saw his blood spurt, watched it form a perfect arc then fall to the stone floor – and disappear.
The pigsty, the dead pigs, the wooden pen, the metal bars, the window, the shit, the dying Bau’r, everything was disappearing, erased like chalk on a blackboard. The Trusted Man looked into the sow’s eyes and saw a terrible, infinite hunger in them. What he did not see in them was his reflection. Or the world’s.
Only Lissy was real.
She lowered her head to split his stomach open with her sharp fangs, but Keller’s voice stopped her.
“Sweet Lissy, little Lissy.”
Lissy turned to the Bau’r, and the Trusted Man saw him ring the little bell. He saw Lissy approach the Bau’r. He saw her lower her head and lick his face. He saw him stroke the sow’s bloodied snout and heard him repeat these words: “Sweet Lissy.”
The sow rubbed her muzzle against the old man’s face.
“Little Lissy.”
The sow started to cry.
The Trusted Man opened his mouth, then closed it again. He started laughing. It was madness. Sheer madness. What he had seen in the sow’s eyes did not matter. She was just a sow. He was a weapon. He was the only solid thing in the world.
He was the world.
He crawled towards the steps. Towards the darkness outside. He dragged himself up the first step. His broken femur radiated unbearable pain as it hit the steps, much worse than his hand. But the Trusted Man blessed the pain. The pain allowed him to feel the steps, to see his own hands as he climbed. He kept telling himself he was a weapon. He looked at the world through eyes full of mercy. He must not forget that. No.
The second step. The third. The Trusted Man pressed his torn hand against the stone. He banged his femur. He wanted to feel pain.
He looked up. Not far to go. He had only to keep dragging himself. Get to the door. And overtake Marlene.
Even though she was translucent, the Trusted Man recognised her. The raven-black hair, the beauty spot, the eyes glowing like embers. Marlene pointed the old man’s rifle at him.
The Trusted Man raised his mutilated hand. “I . . . I beg you.”
Marlene took a deep breath and lowered the barrel of the rifle.
The Trusted Man took another step forward. The step was as soft as mud, but he was not. He was real. He was solid. The sow was an illusion, the Bau’r was an illusion, the girl was an illusion. Illusions that existed because he existed. That was why the void into which the world was rushing would never engulf him. That was why the girl would do whatever he asked her.
Without him everything would vanish.
“Drop the rifle,” the Trusted Man commanded.
Marlene let it drop.
Just three more steps.
Clear. Perfect.
Two.
“Now help me,” the Trusted Man said, reaching out to her with his good hand.
Marlene looked at him. She looked right through him. Her eyes were cold.
She closed the door and locked it.
The door vanished.
The Trusted Man was now floating in a void, distraught. He was no longer a weapon. He was a man again, the most frightened of men. His perfect world was a perfect fiction. The Trusted Man was frightened of everything.
He no longer had arms or legs. Or a head. All that was left was panic. And what would happen when panic, too, vanished?
In the void, the Trusted Man heard Keller’s voice and clung to it.
“Lissy. Sweet Lissy. Little . . .”
The pain returned. So did the door and the pigsty. Just a bare outline. Opaque. But solid, real.
He begged the old man to continue, he begged death to grant him just enough life to chant a little longer. To become solid again. But instead, death approached Simon Keller and took his heart in its hand. Gently. Like Voter Luis when he lifted him up to show him the nests on the branches of the trees. Death blew, and Simon Keller’s heart stopped beating.
The Bau’r breathed his last.
The Trusted Man heard that faint link disappear, and once again he was panting in the dark. Then, with what little strength he had left, he looked for a way to cheat death.
“Lissy,” he said. “Little Lissy.”
A sound emerged from the void. A little bell ringing.
“Sweet Lissy.”
And Lissy came.