46
The Call of Kerry

It was a full six years before we met again. Six years before I heard the details of that awful night.

By that time I’d bought a tiny cottage in Kerry, not too far from Dingle Bay.

I’d always fancied the seaside, and now that I’m blind it’s the sounds I love – the way the waves wash the pebbles, the birdsong in the hedges, the whisper of the wind dancing with the trees. Beautiful mysterious sounds, like paintings in my head.

For the first time in my life, when people see my white stick, they do not stare at my funny old eyes – or if they do, I do not know it. Soon after I left America my eyesight failed completely, but I was surprised at how little it troubled me – I have always been more interested in the internal world, the life of the mind, than what I could see in this imperfect world. Do you know what the Buddhists say? The mind is everything – what you think you become. Think loving thoughts and your world will be filled with love.

And my world is filled with love. I never had children of my own, but Pip, and Hannah, who sits beside me now, stroking my hand, were always like my own children.

It is 1969, and the two of them are full of excitement, having returned from a music festival called Woodstock. Now that Hannah is gaining a reputation as a singer, they spend a lot of time at concerts and festivals. Of course she has always had the flower-child look, and these days bare feet and braided hair are all the rage. Hannah tells me that Pip has grown his hair. What adventures he’s had, that boy of mine. But that’s another story for another day.

Ah, those festivals would be too noisy for me, but I love a little music in the evenings, and I especially enjoy Hannah’s first album, dreamcatcher, which I listen to on one of these new-fangled devices called a cassette recorder. I think my favourite track is ‘i am spirit i am sky’.

She always had a strong spirit, that woman, and last night she asked me to help her recall those final events at Dead River Farm. I’m a little nervous of the old regression these days, but she assured me that it would help her let go of all that had happened.

We went into my quiet office, and this time it was her turn to lie on the couch, and Pip’s to sit at her feet and whisper words of reassurance. The old thing with the eyes would have been helpful, but it’s the voice that does it . . . the Voice of the Wind, if you catch my meaning.

I said, ‘I’m counting back now, Hannah . . . eight, seven, six . . . Your breathing slows . . . Your eyes fall deep into their sockets . . . five, four, three, two . . . You are deeply, deeply relaxed . . .’

‘It’s so hot tonight.’

‘Where are you, Hannah? Tell me what you see.’

‘I’m in my bed above the tool store. There’s a strange light keeps flashing . . . No, no, it’s the storm brewin’ outside and lightning crackling in the sky.’

‘Go deeper now . . . You can remember everything. Tell me, how old are you, Hannah?’

‘I’m thirteen or fourteen years old – and I’m so afraid!’

‘You know how to wake if you need to . . .’

‘I’m kneeling on my bed. Here’s my dreamcatcher blowin’ at the window an’ I stare through its web at the yard below. There’s a whole lot of noise out there, and suddenly I see a Jeep drivin’ fast through the gates. I hear doors slammin’. The dog is barking in the doghouse . . . and now it’s yelping – maybe he’s kicked it.’

‘Who is it? Who has returned so late?’

‘Erwin. It’s Erwin. Oh God! He’s comin’ into the tool store below. I hear him crashin’ about downstairs. He’s drunk – I can tell because he’s stumblin’ and cussin’. Now . . . Oh my Lord! He’s treading up my stairs . . .’

‘You remember everything, but you are quite, quite safe . . .’

‘I always knew he would come – that’s why I never go to my bed without heavin’ the chest of drawers against the door.’

‘Take it steady, Hannah . . .’

‘I’m out of my bed, shivering in my nightgown, and outside the thunder is crashin’. Now I’m piling chairs and the laundry basket against the door – I need to stop him getting in. I’m trying to drag the bed, but he’s so strong, the door is already opening . . . Oh Lord! I see one huge hand reachin’ at me, and he’s saying, “Ah’m cummin’ for ya, gal. Ah always tol’ ya ah would.”

‘I’m whimperin’ like the dog in the yard an’ I’m callin’, “Pip, Pip, I need you now!”

‘Then I’m climbin’ back into bed ’cos there’s nowhere else to go. I’m pullin’ the blankets way up to my eyes. Suddenly there’s an almighty CRASH! – and Erwin is here! Right here in my room! Nearly seven feet tall. No matter how many times I see that man, I am shocked and terrified. I’m tryin’ to disappear into the bed and he’s lookin’ down at me, bent beneath the ceiling, like . . . like a shrunken head on a stick.’

‘Keep breathing, Hannah. Remember, you can wake if you want to . . .’

‘And now he’s bendin’ down, and my heart is beatin’ so fast it may bust my rib cage. The smell of whiskey makes me wanna puke. His long fingers are tuggin’ at my blankets, he’s pushin’ that tombstone face right up to mine, and he whispers, “Ah ’magine yer ’bout the purtiest li’l woman ah ever seen.”

‘Now he’s untyin’ his laces and pullin’ down his dungaree straps – then he trips and hits the bed so hard it knocks the breath out of me. My mouth is dry – I can’t find a sound, but my eyes – my eyes are . . . screaming!’

‘But you remembered the words, Hannah? The words I taught you?’

‘I’m trying to find the words, because I know they can save me. But I been silent for so long . . . I been mute for years now, and my jaw is frozen and my tongue don’t work.

‘Erwin’s naked and slimy with sweat. There’s a big ugly tattoo on his back: a blood-drop on a white cross.

‘He’s kneelin’ on my bed, which almost gives way, and he’s pressin’ his mouth against mine and pushin’ his tongue inside – I can taste the chicken and onions he had for his supper.

‘I feel his stubble scrapin’ my skin. I’m tryin’ to twist my head away. Then he says, “Ah ain’t gonna hurcha, gal. Wal, not too much anyways.”

‘And I know I’m gonna die . . . Right here. Right now.’

‘But now you remember the words?’

‘Yes, yes, now I remember those words. I am shaping my lips and forcing out the first words Erwin has ever heard me speak. I’m saying, “Erwin . . . Erwin . . .”

‘He’s pushing himself upright and he’s staring at me in disbelief. “Ah thought y’ cain’t tawk, Hannah. Yer know y’ cain’t tawk!”

‘Now I’m saying it loud an’ clear: “Erwin, it’s time to climb.”’

‘You did it, Hannah. Those were the trigger words I taught you.’

‘It’s happening exactly as you promised. Erwin’s strength is just evaporating. His long, long body and his private parts grow slack. He stands up. I’m looking down at his feet, long as canoes on the boards.

‘I’m saying it again: “It’s time to climb.” It feels so strange ’cos I still ain’t used to talkin’. Something is happening to Erwin: it comes over him like a drug – reminds me of when my daddy put the needle in. There’s a weird pumpkin smile spreading across his jaw. Now Erwin’s turning and lopin’ towards the door like a slow-motion movie. He’s bending down to go under, and just then there’s another flash of lightnin’ and it sparks up that big tattoo across his back.

‘Now he’s goin’ down the stairs, real slow. I see the pile of clothes he left on my floor. I hear him crashing an’ tossin’ stuff around like he’s searching for something in the tool store. I kneel on the bed and peek out through the dreamcatcher, and I see him headin’ across the yard, long and naked. He’s holding a big pair of bolt-cutters in one hand.

‘Now someone comes rushin’ in my door and I turn round and it’s Pip! Dear, dear Pip! He says, “Hannah – oh my Lord, Hannah! What has he done to you?”

‘I say, “I’m feeling kinda shaky, Pip. Won’t you come an’ kiss me?”’

‘That’s grand, Hannah. You’ve done well. I’m going to wake you now. I’m going to bring you slowly back . . . and when you awake, you will remember everything, but you will feel calm and strong. I’m counting from one to ten . . .

‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’