She was watching her husband eat his soup when she suddenly realised she was pregnant. From the kitchen, she could hear the clattering of the dishes Greta was putting on the serving trolley. There was no tension in the air and she did not sense anything terrible was about to happen. A quiet family dinner: even the flames from the candles were almost still and the darkness in the corners of the dining room was undisturbed. The rhythmic sound of the splashing waves wafted through the half-closed shutters, lazily, slowly. There was no wind.
Her husband’s spoon waded through the liquid, pushing the soup away — maybe in the rhythm of the waves outside? — and she knew that he would sense her looking at him, pause, raise his head and smile at her. She waited for him, ready.
“I’m pregnant.”
The spoon stopped and waves of soup splashed over it. He smiled slowly and for a moment she felt sorry for him. Not for the whole of him, just for that slow widening of his lips in the early summer evening.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“Three minutes. It’s a boy,” she answered very honestly and immediately regretted her outburst. Watching his smile had temporarily made her drop her guard.
He looked in her eyes and she knew he would not demand an explanation for her strange answer.
The spoon was still floating in the middle of the liquid.
“What will his name be?” He only just managed to complete the question before he was overtaken by the growth — yes, that is exactly what she thought: something is growing. Out of his ears. So fast that his face did not have time to change, let alone grimace. His smile just stopped. Before she became aware of something leaving his body, his bald patch, covered with hair combed sideways, bent towards her. That’s just how it seemed: the slight movement of a hat being raised politely. It all lasted only a moment and this comparison only came to her later, much later, when it was all over.
The next few images came so fast they just ran into each other, drowning in a sound, which was by no means loud or unpleasant. As if somebody had hit a rock with a wet cloth. The body on the chair opposite her sat upright and dead. Untouched below the nose; but above that, nothing — it simply stopped, destroyed in the explosion. The base of the skull, above which only a moment ago the brain had been suspended, sparkled obscenely in the glow of the candles which flickered belatedly, nearly went out and then steadied themselves. The torn skin stood erect, surrounding the remaining half of the skull like the small leaves on a hazelnut. Then they wilted, gradually bending outwards. Downwards.
She looked around the room and the small, animated traces were visible everywhere. They slid down the walls, down the portraits of his predecessors, travelling down to the frames and then dripping onto the floor.
“What will his name be?” she repeated quietly, smiled and tore her look away from the splattered walls and returned it to the incomplete body in black tails and bow tie. Even after his retirement he still dressed as if he was in the diplomatic service.
She looked at the spoon, which continued to be held in the previous position by the stiff muscles, neither on the bottom of the plate nor up in the air. Why had she been given this body, which had so rarely laid on top of hers and which needed a full five years to impregnate her? Because it was coming to this place? She sighed deeply. You can not ask questions when you are in service.
The sound of the flickering room started to fade. The dishes clattered in the kitchen again.
Oh, yes.
She rang for Greta.
“Holy mother of Jesus… Holy mother of Jesus… Holy…”
He forced himself to look at his left hand. Yes, it was still there, even though he had stopped feeling it one ledge lower. It was bleeding without any real pain.
“Come on… come on…”
To plead without making a sound? Only in his head? Without looking down, at them? He closed his eyes and leant his forehead on the rock. Warm, but not very — as if the summer sun had bypassed it.
“I must… I must…”
He could picture their faces. All five of them, standing far below, watching. He felt dizzy at the mere thought of the distance, in metres and age. They were all a few years older than him; and they seemed so small. Dizzyingly small.
He was motionless even though he knew that he could not afford to be. With stillness came pain, a terrible trembling of the arms, as if they were someone else’s and uncontrollable.
Whenever he opened his eyes and looked in front of him the rays of the setting sun reflected off the rock and blinded him. He did not dare look up for fear that his backwards bent neck would break off like a piece of the rock on which he was climbing and pull the rest of his body after it. He focussed his every look on some small detail: indentations, cracks with grass growing out of them, dried up by the lack of rain. Whenever he could, he would hold onto ledge with grass stalks under his fingers. He could not even feel the grass, let alone be protected by it from the sharpness of the edge. Once, it seemed like a long time ago, what sounded like a seagull had screeched right next to him. He had not dared to turn around.
The spectators said nothing and because of their silence they seemed very remote. The temptation to look back kept repeating itself. What if they had gone and left him on his own? Had they got fed up and walked down the beach? Had they left only tracks which the sea would erase in long sweeps? The sea. Water. Cool, not yet warmed up. In spite of the heat, the summer had not been around long enough.
He pressed himself against the rock, which grabbed the heartbeat from his thumping chest and amplified it into what seemed like thunder.
“Holy mother of Jesus… Holy mother of Jesus… Holy…”
If he only knew how much further it was to the top. For longer and longer periods he kept his eyes shut. Sweat was dripping from his forehead and flooding his eyes. He squeezed his eyelids together and felt the drops of sweat running around them. He could not close his mouth in time and with quick breaths he drank his own sweat. Judging by the taste of it, his own sea of sweat. The first drop was the most dangerous one, it nearly made him fall. It slid down, then just tore itself away; he thought: what’s that? — and twitched his head to shake it off. You need room for a swift movement so he leant away from the wall. His left hand lost support, fell and immediately redeemed itself: a short distance further down it caught on a ledge and gave his body some time to calm down.
Did any of the spectators scream? Or at least gasp? He imagined himself splattered on the ground: a view from above, as if his soul, now rid of his body, was continuing with the climb and was fearlessly looking around. They would just run away and not tell anybody. They would leave him to the seagulls, the tide and the fish. They would turn him into another one of their secrets, one of those they bragged about all the time and because of which they held their heads up so proudly.
The secrets he wanted to find out. To share.
The sun had already begun to set and was shining directly into his eyes. Or was it that the rock had become smooth and reflective? Maybe the light had already destroyed his eyelids? He had never seen them so bright red, with tiny dots circling around, like small fish in the shallows.
What a wide ledge! The whole of his right palm slid over it, then his wrist, right up to his elbow. Then his left arm. His torso. His chest touched the ground. He opened his eyes and had to close them immediately because of the stream of sweat. He did not dare let go of the rock and wipe his eyes. He scrambled forward, then tried to open his eyelids a few times before he succeeded. He was at the top, beyond the reach of their eyes.
The jerky trembling started in his feet and promptly spread to his hands. He lay on the ground, giving in to his body.
Then he picked himself up, brushed the dust off his shorts and T-shirt and went down the path leading to the beach.
He was expecting their examining looks and spent the whole way getting ready for them. He practised looking bored and laid-back as if deep in thought about things which had very little to do with what was going on.
“As red as a tomato!” said Luka with contempt.
“Look, look, his legs are shaking!”
“Did you shit yourself?”
His eyes desperately wanted to look down, but he managed to stop them at the last minute and instead looked each of them in the eye. It was very unpleasant, as they were all a lot taller than him and he had to look up at them. Nevertheless, they did stop shouting, only Luka was still grinning contemptuously.
“I completed my first test,” he said, nearly sinking into the ground with shame about the unsuitability of his voice: it was high, trembling and he even had to take a few deep breaths in order to steady his vocal cords enough to say the first word.
“Yeah, you did indeed,” said Luka, “but this was the easiest one. The worst is yet to come!”
They left him waiting while they retreated to the rocks. Slowly he took a few steps to the sea and let the waves lick his scratched feet. Every time they stung, he said to himself:
“I’ll manage! I’ll manage! I’ll manage!”
A pleading chant, but the pain did become more and more subdued, almost bearable in the end. There was something pleasant in it.
The five of them had their heads together, arguing excitedly. Every now and then one of them would forget himself and look towards him. Only to quickly look back again, with a feeling of guilt. He went a bit further away to show them how he was not going to listen and did not care about what they came up with, they would not break him. Only a few excited negatives, hissed a bit too loudly, reached him.
He looked at the soles of his feet. They were strangely white, discoloured. There was no blood left in them, the edges of the open cuts looked torn. He bent over and watched the skin flapping. A little fish came swiftly, seemed to rip the edge of his skin off and disappeared just as quickly.
“They’re eating me,” he thought, shaken but also surprised to find no disgust in that realisation.
The voices in the background had stopped. He turned round and saw that it was decided. They stood beyond the reach of the waves, looking at him. He deliberately let them wait a bit, splashed a bit deeper into the sea and a slightly bigger wave washed over his knees.
He stopped a good two metres in front of them. They resembled priests in a temple, like the ones he remembered from his father’s bible. There was an uncanny resemblance even though, instead of eastern robes and turbans, they were wearing the shorts and T-shirts that they would be wearing for the rest of the summer and well into the autumn. The state of some of them would soon make it clear that they were the only ones their owner possessed.
“Right, brat, a second test. Do you give up?” said Luka.
“No!”
“You’ll be sorry! We don’t accept such small brats.”
“I’ll complete all the trials!”
“We’ve yet to see that! Let’s go.”
They walked down the beach quickly and he had a feeling they were in a hurry.
Suddenly he saw clearly the horror of his second test. They would take him to one of the holes in the rocks, he would have to lie in the dark dampness and…
… and spiders, spiders would crawl all over him! He would not be allowed to scream or move. Spiders!
“What’s the matter, are you afraid? You’re lagging behind!”
He speeded up, hoping they could not read his mind. He would do even that, if he had to. They had already teased him to death just because he had dared ask to be accepted into a gang of lads who were all three or four years older than him. If he gave up now, he would not be able to leave the house ever again. He would do anything. Even spiders…
He imagined their hairy legs, the prickly feeling of them quickly and almost imperceptibly touching his skin. He had to press his teeth together and gather all his strength to swallow, it was as if he had to break up a lump of dry sand in his throat.
“Here we are,” he heard Luka say.
He looked around him with surprise. No caves, no spiders.
!?!
They stood on a long rock protruding into the sea like a small peninsula. Luka took a small knife out of his pocket, held it briefly on his palm just in front of the boy’s eyes and flung it over his shoulder.
“Bring it back,” he said. The boy could sense pleasure in Luka’s calm voice.
Even though the knife was already disappearing in the breaking waves he could still make out its reflection. But it was fading rapidly in the darkness.
“You can have one go only,” added Luka.
“Eh…”
What comfort! He could see Adriano opening his mouth to (he was certain) object, but Luka stopped him with just a look. The boy’s earlier hunch of who would turn out to be his ally was right. He looked at Adriano gratefully, sighed deeply and jumped.
It was strange that it was the sea they had chosen as the next trial. He had expected that to be right at the beginning. They had all been born on this island and were all good swimmers, unlike their grandfathers, who mostly could not swim at all.
He dived in what he thought was the direction of the disappearing knife. The light became weaker and more diffuse. On his left, he could see a rock covered with mussels. He wondered how deep the sea was around there. Probably quite deep or they would not have chosen that spot. He would swim until he found the knife, he thought. If not, he would not go back. They would be sorry. He let go of a breath, which the water immediately turned into bubbles and carried to the surface. Suddenly, he had a feeling of certainty: this time, nothing would go wrong. A large fish swam past him, looked at him, waved its tail and swam into the open sea. The boy looked after it and with a corner of his eye caught a reflection on his right.
The knife.
Impossible! A rock was reaching up from the depth of the sea, it was as sharp as a tooth. On the top, amongst the few strands of seaweed, stood the knife, waiting for him.
He carefully slowed down and approached the rock. The knife was perched very precariously, the slightest movement could dislodge it and make it fall into the deep waters, where they would both disappear for ever. He gently moved his hand closer and picked it up.
Closed his palm around it.
It had been so very easy!
He held onto the rock until he felt a pain in his lungs. Only then did he swim back up to the surface.
Seeing their faces was even more of a triumph. Adriano smiled briefly to himself and Luka bit his lip when he received the knife.
“Next one…” he said.
Again, the boy waited, wading through the sand. These negotiations were even longer, more objections reached his ears and he was beginning to regret annoying them by having been so openly pleased after the last trial.
What if he were to decline to join the gang after the last successful trial? What if he were to just walk away without looking back? He imagined their looks eating into his back and he wallowed in the sweetness of these thoughts.
“NO!”
Adriano moved away from the others.
“NO!”
“WHAT?” roared Luka.
“No! We can’t do that to him!”
Spiders. Must be spiders!
“Come back this instant or I’ll throw you out of the gang!” shouted Luka.
“I don’t care!”
“You’ll never be able to join again!”
The threat did not seem to have any effect on Adriano.
Bruno went over to Adriano’s side.
Luka calmed down noticeably.
“Don’t be silly, lads, let’s not fall out over this little brat!”
“We mustn’t do that to him,” repeated Adriano. Bruno nodded. Even the two boys loyal to Luka did not look overenthusiastic.
“At least we’d get rid of him!” groaned Luka, looking rather uncertain.
“With something even you didn’t dare do?”
Adriano sounded quite malicious.
Luka sighed deeply, jumped towards Adriano and pushed him in the chest with the open palms of his hands. Adriano stumbled but did not fall.
“What didn’t I dare? What didn’t I dare?”
“You didn’t dare,” added Bruno.
The two silent ones were also nodding, even though they did not dare say anything.
“ARE YOU COMPLETELY MAD? DIDN’T YOU SEE THE GREEN…?”
Luka ran around them all, screaming in their faces.
“DIDN’T YOU SEE? WELL, DIDN’T YOU?”
“We did,” said Adriano, “we did, and that’s precisely why none of us dared go nearer. Not even you.”
“I’ll go! I’ll do what he didn’t dare!”
They all turned round in surprise, staring at the new volunteer, who did not even know himself why the offer escaped his mouth. Was their astonishment really worth the risk?
“Don’t be silly, boy! You don’t even know what this is about.”
Adriano sounded genuinely upset.
The others nodded, apart from Luka who grinned.
“Well, now, you see! He himself wants to do it! Let him go then! Let him go!”
He opened his arms wide.
“Well? Well? You see!”
Adriano came closer.
“Now, let me tell you what you’re getting yourself into. Do you know where that diplomat’s villa is?”
The boy nodded. It was right at the other side of the island, where he did not often go.
“That wooden one, with one floor? With a summer house and cabins on the beach?”
The boy nodded.
“I know. I’ve seen it.”
Only once, in the company of his father. They had gone around the island in a boat and his father had answered all his questions very briefly. Yes, the villa was inhabited. It had been built by a diplomat, a man from the mainland — there were always problems with those — as his retirement home. No, he was already dead.
He had stared at the house until it disappeared behind the peninsula, it was such a surprise to see it there. You got used to the rocks, the little coves, the seemingly endless pine-trees, which had an even greater lulling effect than the rocking of the boat. And then suddenly, a bigger cove, a meadow behind it with a building in the middle and only then the edge of the pine-trees.
Adriano continued:
“Well, that woman from India lives there. The one whose husband died. Five years ago.”
“Seven years,” interrupted Bruno sternly.
“OK, seven then. It doesn’t really matter. Do you remember her?”
The boy shook his head.
“Yeah, I thought so,” said Adriano. “You’re too young. Since her husband died, she’s never come out. She’s living alone with a son I’ve never seen.”
“Me neither… me neither…” went round the circle.
That was no news. The whole village was speculating about the stranger and her son. They lived in complete isolation and that alone was a good enough reason for curiosity and gossip.
Adriano returned to his story:
“Well, the other evening, we were wandering around there and saw…”
“Miro saw it first,” explained Bruno.
“Bruno, you’re a real bore! What will become of you! Well, Miro saw a light shining from the cellar window. But it was no ordinary light. It was… how shall I put it…”
Suddenly they all started describing it.
“Green…”
“…a poisonous green.”
“Satanically green…”
“A terrible green!”
“…light,” continued Adriano. “And then Luka said somebody should go and see what was going on in the cellar.”
“Somebody should go and see!” said Bruno meaningfully. “Somebody!”
“Yes, and nobody went. Nobody dared. At the end, after he’d shouted at each one of us,” Adriano pointed to Luka, “he didn’t go either. He took five steps towards the house and shat himself.”
Luka jumped again and this time he caught Adriano unawares and knocked him over. He wanted to jump on top of him when the boy said:
“I’ll go and see what that light is. If it’s there again tonight?”
“It will be. We’ve gone there three evenings now and it’s always there. But don’t boast prematurely, you’ve never seen that kind of green ever before. There’s nothing like it!”
Luka slowly relaxed his hands from the fighting pose and stepped back.
“Are you scared, boy?”
“No!”
“You’re lying!”
“That’s nothing, just to go there and look.”
“You don’t have to!” interrupted Adriano whilst shaking the sand off his T-shirt.
“I’ll go!” repeated the boy calmly.
It was getting dark as they stood on the edge of the woods, hidden in the pine-trees. They had not come along the path which they could still just about make out at the end of the valley; they had walked here along the sea, which took them a lot longer. They had plenty of time before evening. There had been no conversation and they had passed a very silent afternoon.
The sun swelled and turned red above the sea, leaving its signature on the windows of the villa, behind which no movement could be seen.
The boy started hoping that there would be no green light that night. He was not anxious or scared. All the way there he had a strong feeling that nothing would come of it all. The trial he had set himself would not take place. Fate would make sure of that. Definitely.
The sun sank into the sea and in spite of the rays of light left behind, darkness started spreading amongst the trees.
“It won’t be there today,” said Adriano in a whisper (and with hope?).
They waited a bit longer.
“Let’s wait for the darkness,” said Luka, “the light always comes on with the darkness.”
The boy knew his mum and dad were already looking for him around the village, so far probably still without a belt in their hands. But if he did not come back soon… Anyway, he was too far now and there was no chance of getting back early enough to avoid a beating. Even if he got up straight away and ran along the cart-track which cut the island in two, he would need more than half an hour to reach home, which would be too long for his father’s patience. He could imagine the familiar figure opening the door forcefully and taking the “educational belt” hanging on a hook as a warning to the children. He would grab it with his right hand, fold it so that it became very short and give his palm a short slap. As a warm up. Without realising, the boy stroked his backside.
“It’s dark,” said Bruno.
“It won’t happen. Let’s go.”
Luka persisted, as expected.
“Let’s wait! Maybe it’s still too light. The moon is so bright tonight!”
The boy looked through the branches of the trees and stared at the moon. Only a sliver of it was still missing. Its silver light made them look like princes. He looked at Adriano, who was breaking a pine-tree branch by beating it against the ground. He picked up a new one, squeezed it in his palm and rapidly hit the stones. The thin wood broke without a noise.
Suddenly Adriano’s left cheek became green.
They jumped to their feet and grabbed hold of the tree trunks.
“That’s it!” breathed Bruno.
“Don’t go!”
“I’m going!”
The boy stepped forward and only now got a front-row view. The whole house was completely dark, apart from the cellar window. It did not look as if somebody was shining something to light the stairs while they walked down. The window just lit up suddenly and completely with a dense green light, which cut across the meadow and penetrated the pine-trees.
The colour was indescribable and it looked (oddly?) evil, unnaturally poisonous. Who was it who had said that?
The boy stopped and looked at it.
“Well, can you see now?” said Luka. “Do you understand now?”
“Yes, I understand. Are you coming with me?” replied the boy bravely, even though he did not feel courageous. He was tingling from the inside of his arms through his armpits and across to his heart.
“Holy Mary, be with me,” he said to himself, stepping onto the grass and starting to approach the house.
It was probably some stupid thing. Brandy making? That’ll be it! Or…? What could produce such a colour? He thought hard but could not think of anything.
He stepped into the light and when he looked towards its source he was not blinded. He could make out the window frame and occasionally, just for a split second, a shadow moving around. Or shadows?
A silly thought: he was spying on people whose names he did not know. Then he recalled he had heard the name of the Indian woman, but like the rest of the villagers he could not remember it. It was too foreign and difficult to pronounce. He had never seen the child either and did not know his name. Nobody in the village did, even though nobody found that strange or at least they never talked about it. But they talked about everything else, oh yes!
He could sense the looks of those in the woods. To go back, like Luka did? To be his equal? Never! After all the trials of the day he had already surpassed him. He was not aware of the fact that in the morning when he had started the whole thing it was only to become their equal, and now it was all about proving that he was different, superior.
A shadow, this time he definitely saw a shadow behind the glass. A raised hand? Holding something? How strangely it was lowered! So… He could not quite see, he had to go nearer.
He started to count his steps. Ten. And the shadow crossed the light again. Another ten steps and again the shadow.
Another ten steps, the shadow.
Another ten steps…
…he was by the window.
He looked through.
Adriano was the first to lose his nerve.
“What the hell is he doing?”
Nobody answered. It did not matter, the question sounded rhetorical anyway. They were each pressed against a pine-tree, looking towards the green cellar window. The boy stood in front of the window, motionless, like a foreign body in the rays of light, staring inside. None of them had a watch but they knew quite a lot of time must have passed already. The knees of those who were kneeling were beginning to hurt. Bruno leant his cheek against a sticky patch of tree sap and — a mistake! — tried to wipe it off, ending up smearing it all over his face and hand.
“Maybe one of us should go and get him?” said Luka.
“Who?”
Luka turned abruptly towards Adriano.
“You’re always taking the piss! Just watch it!”
“I’ve just about had enough of you,” said Adriano and they all felt he meant it. Even Luka himself, who started flexing his muscles whilst searching for words.
Not a sound could be heard from the villa. The crickets kept on singing, a gentle breeze started blowing from the sea, and the green blades of grass trembled in the shadow of the tree branches in rhythm with the needles above them.
“I’ll go for him,” said Adriano.
He got up slowly and his stiff knee-joint made a cracking noise.
“I’ll go,” he said again as if hoping that somebody would try to stop him.
Luka was looking down at the ground, feeling that his position was collapsing without a sound, even though he had taken so long to build it.
Slowly, hesitantly Adriano left the shelter of the woods. After a few steps Bruno joined him. They looked at each other and walked on side by side with a trifle more courage.
Bruno tripped and put his foot down noisily trying to catch his balance.
“Shhhh!” hissed Adriano and grabbed his elbow.
“Can you hear anything?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“Let’s walk half way and then crawl,” whispered Bruno.
“Yeah, that’ll be better. Let’s not look inside otherwise we might freeze like the boy.”
They nearly turned round and ran back.
“We’ve got to save him!”
“We’ve got to!”
“Shall we go?”
“Let’s go.”
They started walking again and after a few steps Adriano realised that he was still holding on to Bruno, who did not seem to mind at all. Adriano let go, even though he immediately regretted it. Feeling somebody else’s pulse under his fingers had calmed him.
They fell to their knees and then onto their stomachs and started crawling. The light was spilling out above them.
“Don’t look inside!”
“I won’t! I won’t!”
They were pushing their faces into the grass and suddenly found themselves next to the boy. Adriano reached out with his hand and grabbed him by the ankle. The reaction was instant and loud. The boy screamed:
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
The light went off instantly. They expected voices, shouting, signs of excitement and pressed themselves into the ground. But apart from the screaming above them, there was no noise. The boy suddenly stopped and then there was a complete silence.
They waited and did not dare to move.
Adriano slowly raised his head and looked up. Bruno followed. The boy was still staring ahead with his eyes wide open. He looked enormous from the ground as if his head was right up in the clouds.
Bruno mumbled to himself.
“There’s something very strange, something….”
“What?” hissed Adriano. “What?”
“I don’t know!”
“Adriano, look, look! LOOK!”
Bruno grabbed his shoulders, digging his fingers so deep it hurt. Adriano was looking around, his eyes scanning the walls, meadow and the wood, but he could not see anything which would justify Bruno’s horror.
“LOOK! LOOK!”
Bruno turned onto his side, looked up and screamed.
“WHAT? WHAT?” started shouting Adriano. “What?”
How their voices carried across the open spaces! They filled the night.
“LOOK! THERE! LOOK!”
Bruno’s finger was drawing big lines in the air finding it impossible to point in the right direction. Adriano finally managed to wriggle out of his hands.
“CAN’T YOU SEE? CAN’T YOU SEE?” Bruno carried on shrieking and his horror slowly started giving way to despair and panic at his friend’s stupidity and unresponsiveness.
Adriano looked towards the motionless boy. He strained his eyes to pierce the darkness and find the cause of Bruno’s terror. He could not see anything. Nothing even remotely suspicious. Just the whiteness of the rescued boy’s T-shirt and head.
The whiteness of his T-shirt and…
…and…
his head?
HEAD?
Adriano grabbed Bruno with all his strength and pulled him up. They stood a foot behind the boy, who did not even flinch. His hair was completely white.
“I’m scared…, I’m scared…” Bruno kept repeating.
Adriano shook him.
“Me too! ME TOO! CALM DOWN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND! CALM DOWN!”
“Yeah, yeah… I’m calm… I’m… I’m… I’m…”
“What are we going to do? What?”
Bruno tore his eyes away from the white head for the first time.
“One of us should…, one of us should turn him round…, this way…”
“Yeah…”
They were pressed against each other and they both thought how much the other one trembled.
“Adriano, I daren’t! I daren’t. Will you?”
“Why me? Why?”
O, hell, why him? But at the same time he knew very well that they could not go on like that. Would all the binds holding his body and soul together break and would his innards just spill out like fish out of a fishing net?
He would do it.
Slowly he started reaching for the boy.
A few centimetres from his shoulder he stopped.
Suddenly he could not hear Bruno’s breathing anymore.
But he had already touched the boy! Earlier, by the ankle. Had he been icy cold? He could not remember.
He grabbed him and turned him.
Bruno screamed.
Fear gripped his heart and for a moment he thought it would burst. But his fear was unfounded.
“It’s alright Bruno. It’s nothing. He’s just unconscious!”
“His eyes! Adriano, his eyes?”
“It’s nothing, Bruno, it’s nothing! His eyes have turned! That’s all. That’s all!”
Their shouting and shoving must have brought the boy round. They noticed his mouth opening and his lips moving. They watched him expectantly. As if one word from his mouth could wash away all the fear, return his hair to its normal colour and restore the night peace.
He moved his lips. In bursts and twitches.
Bruno and Adriano leant forward without realising and nearly touched his face.
“A… AAA… AA… A… A AAAA. AAA…..” he stammered for an unbearably long time and then suddenly collapsed, making his startled rescuers jump back.
She replaced the wooden lid and checked whether it was on properly. Then she knelt down, put her hand on it and whispered:
“Goodbye. They interrupted us, before you became complete.”
The contents of the wooden box still had not cooled down completely and she could feel them glowing through the lid. She stroked the wood and got a few splinters in her hand. She got up without moving her eyes away from the box.
In there. Her son.
“Goodbye. Sleep! Wait!”
As she put her foot on the bottom step she looked back once more. The morning sun fought its way through the window and its first conquest was the large tablecloth in the corner, covering the boxes, containing mainly souvenirs from her husband’s diplomatic life.
That window and the nosy village boys. Who knows what they had seen and what they would tell in the village. Would they believe them? Would they come in the night and set fire to the house? Would they try to kill her child?
She added the last bit of protection that was in her limited power: she knelt on the fourth step, bent her head, touched the wood with her forehead, sensed him and then reached deep inside between her legs with her hand, dampened her fingers and used them to write that name on the step. With letters which were immediately absorbed by the wood. Maybe it would help, but only against the weaker ones.
She looked at the wooden box — one of many — and sighed.
“I have carried out my duty, now it’s not up to me anymore,” she told herself. “I just have to make sure it’s dark in here but the rest is out of my hands.”
She closed the cellar door carefully and locked it. She checked that it was really locked. She put the key inside her clothes and the coolness of it refreshed her. It seemed so real — and most importantly — unplanned and unanticipated. Everything else had gone exactly according to plan and — was it really possible? — could she really be craving sensations which would slow her down, break her concentration and convince her that she was still alive?
She picked up the wooden planks and tools prepared in advance and boarded up the outside of the cellar windows so that the sun could not reach the resting place. Should she have done it before the ritual? Was that her mistake, had she relied too much on the remoteness and isolation of the place?
She returned to the kitchen and put on Greta’s apron, deliberately the wrong way round. She did not tie the ribbons, she sewed them together with a shoemakers thread. Then she opened the cupboard containing weights and carefully divided them among the various apron pockets.
She locked the front door and hung the key on the hook by the doorframe.
Whoever came, they would not have to break in.
The sky was completely clear and she turned her face towards the pale sun, which was pretending to be weak when in a few hours it would burn mercilessly. In a few hours, she thought, a few hours after her.
She took a deep breath and started walking towards the sea with her eyes closed. When she passed the last stones and felt the sand under her feet she looked at the horizon. The last bits of white mist were dissolving above the water. The surface of the sea was completely smooth. She did not disturb it with a heavy step, she melted into it with a slow movement and broke the stillness stretching out to where the sea touched the sky.
Suddenly she heard a voice in her head, more a feeling than a voice.
Darkness, loneliness, fear, Mama!
Without stopping, she sent him a message:
“Be quiet, lie there and wait. They will come and then you will get up.”
The sensation passed. How many more times would he have to nearly wake up in all those years of waiting? All alone? Buried? Melted?
The water covered the top of her dress, surrounded her neck, drowned her mouth, eyes, head. She did not stop walking.
She could picture herself all puffed up with decay, floating towards her home, into the warmer seas and their stronger currents and she let go.
For ever.