This River Awakens

by Steven Erikson

  ‘And clearly wrong. He’s very angry, of course—’

  ‘Not thinking straight, you mean.’

  ‘He’s with Constable Holmes right now, and the doctor.’

  ‘Holmes?’ Susan asked, a smile cracking through her fierce expression.

  ‘This is Constable Watson,’ Owen said.

  The cop sighed. ‘I get it all the time. Not from thirteen-year-old boys, though. No, my name is Rawlins.’

  Susan turned to Owen. ‘Who did it, then?’

  ‘We’re not sure. Maybe Lynk, maybe Gary.’

  ‘More likely this Gary boy,’ she said. ‘There was a fight early in the first term—’

  Rawlins nodded. ‘So I hear. We’ll be talking with both boys. We’ll see how that goes.’

  The door to Thompson’s office opened and the three men entered. The principal was scowling, but the set of his shoulders made it clear he was beaten. Roulston introduced himself to Owen’s mother – and Jennifer saw her raise her eyebrows when he told her he was acting on Jennifer’s behalf.

  ‘Well,’ Thompson said. ‘You two can go to your class now. If you’ll excuse me a moment.’ He went to the secretary’s office.

  Susan eyed both Jennifer and Owen. ‘I’m taking you both to lunch,’ she said. ‘I’ll be by at noon, in the car, out front.’

  ‘We’re not supposed to leave the school,’ Owen said.

  ‘They can try and stop us. You need an hour out of this place. And Jennifer, I’d like you and your mother over for supper tonight.’

  Jennifer grinned. ‘Usual time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Roulston was looking at Susan with renewed interest. Jennifer watched him rearranging things in his mind, watched the effect on his face. Hope, excitement. Another ally. Yes, Doctor, we have friends. Real friends, now.

  ‘May I speak with you?’ he asked Susan.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Uh, privately. Just a minute or two.’

  ‘All right.’ She gave Jennifer and Owen quick, firm hugs, then followed Roulston out.

  The PA announced that Lynk and Gary were to report to the office.

  Jennifer took Owen’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

  Owen held back and looked at Rawlins. ‘Can’t I watch? I have a right to face my accusers—’

  Rawlins coughed into his hand, then said, ‘Wrong right, son. Now, no loitering.’

  Owen let his mother pull him from the room.

  Mrs Reynolds studied them. Jennifer smiled. ‘All’s well,’ she said.

  ‘I gathered.’ She looked at Owen. ‘Like the Charge of the Light Brigade in here. They didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Well,’ Owen said, frowning. ‘The six hundred got massacred.’

  Jennifer tightened her grip on his arm. ‘That’s because your mother wasn’t there. Come on.’ Out in the hall, she shook her head. ‘She was only being nice, you know. You’re so…’

  ‘Pedantic?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  They passed Gary and Lynk on the way. While Gary looked scared, Lynk just grinned at them and mouthed fuck you as he walked by.

  * * *

  The substitute teacher provided a welcome, if slightly confused, change from Miss Rhide, and the morning passed without incident. It was clear to Jennifer that neither Lynk nor Gary had confessed to anything, leaving the whole thing at a standstill.

  The cold-weather warning meant no recesses, forcing everyone to stay inside, their time spent on arts and crafts, and the walls seemed to close in. The air grew more stifling, and the teachers’ fuses got short. By noon, the smell of chaos was in the air.

  Jennifer realised that the spray-painting had weakened the school’s authority, and somehow the students sensed it. No longer quite as docile as before, they started crossing lines. Detentions were being levelled on all sides. The substitute teacher looked completely bewildered.

  Jennifer and Owen weren’t intercepted when they left the school at lunch-time. Susan was waiting for them, as promised.

  ‘We’re off to Riverview,’ she told them once they’d climbed into the car. ‘There’s a restaurant there—’

  ‘I know it,’ Jennifer said, lighting a cigarette. ‘It’s the only one.’

  ‘What a morning,’ Owen muttered.

  ‘Idiots,’ Susan said, pulling the car around.

  Jennifer wondered what had passed between Roulston and Owen’s mother. A few months ago, she would have been furious, she would have felt betrayed and threatened. But now, it seemed like a relief. Others would say what she couldn’t say – no matter how much she might want to. Confessions didn’t seem to be part of her nature. There’d been little peace in her life. Just war, the battle endless. No time for introspection, no time even to relax.

  Susan had changed that, and though Jennifer could barely admit it to herself, Roulston had changed things, too. He was stubborn – a match for her in that. He refused to go away, and now she had almost come to accept his presence, his involvement in their lives. Even stranger, she’d come to recognise that the doctor felt – truly felt – that he had something at stake, that it mattered to him. So far beyond the call of duty that Jennifer still had trouble trusting it. A sudden thought came to her as they approached the community of Riverview. Maybe the good doctor’s got his own history, his own rattling skeletons. That would make everything make sense, wouldn’t it?

  There were still secrets, and one in particular that she and Owen kept even from Susan. Today, Jennifer smiled to herself. Owen’s found a place. A perfect place. Perfect in so many ways. Today, Susan, this afternoon, your son’s going to get laid.

  * * *

  Beneath the stage in the gym was a crawlspace. One half was blocked by horizontal rows of folded chairs that sat on tracks which allowed for each row to be pulled out or pushed in. The other half was crowded but not filled with the vinyl-covered foam mats used during Phys-Ed. Fifteen wood panels sealed the crawl-space from the rest of the gym.

  It was 3.30. The school was quiet. Jennifer waited in the darkness for Owen. He’d been given a regime of remedial work by Rhide and it added a half-hour to every day, whether Rhide was around or not. He’d expected to finish early.

  A shaft of light appeared from down by the panels. Owen crawled in and pulled the slab of varnished wood back into place. Hunched low, he hurried to her side. ‘Christ!’ he hissed, fairly jumping with excitement.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I went to the office,’ he said breathlessly. ‘To drop off the assignment. Mrs Reynolds wasn’t there.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I heard Thompson in his office. He was on the phone. Talking to Joanne.’ He paused, waited.

  ‘Joanne? You mean Rhide?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay, so?’

  Owen crouched down, looking around in the gloom. ‘Barry wanted to know if he could come over. He said, “Margaret took the kids to their grandma’s”…’

  ‘They’re having an affair?’ Jennifer almost squealed with laughter. ‘Ooh, Barry’s landed another one, and it’s Rhide! Holy fuck. It’s her!’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘She’s not the first. When I was in Grade Four. Didn’t hear much. Too young to really get it. But a teacher had to leave. A kindergarten teacher. Real pretty.’

  ‘Wow.’ Owen sat down on a mat. ‘What an asshole.’

  Jennifer giggled. ‘This is great. Fucking great. We’ve got the bitch.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It’s called blackmail, Owen. She’ll have no choice. She’ll back off, leave us alone—’

  ‘No,’ Owen said, his voice hard. ‘No way.’

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘Has she played fair? No. She deserves it. I’m fucking going to use it, Owen.’

  ‘Don’t. Please, Jennifer.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right. She’s not succeeding, anyway. She hasn’t changed us—’

  ‘Yes she has!
She’s changed you!’

  ‘Stop shouting,’ he hissed.

  She took a deep breath. ‘She’s changed you, a lot. I can see it, and so can your mom. Rhide’s made you … I don’t know, it’s hard to explain … she’s made you smaller. Inside. Smaller inside. Like she’s beating you down.’

  He was silent.

  ‘I remember,’ Jennifer continued after a moment, ‘when I saw you for the first time. I was coming down, from acid. I saw this thread, a glowing thread over you. Your thread. It was so bright, so pure. It took my breath away—’

  ‘What thread?’

  ‘A thread. I don’t know. That’s what I saw. A glowing thread. Anyway, since I’m not dropping acid any more, I’ve never seen it again. On you, or on anyone else—’

  ‘Other people had these threads?’

  ‘Yeah. A few. You each had a different colour. Anyway, what I’m saying is, I don’t know but I think if I saw your thread again, it wouldn’t be, uh, as bright, not as pure, either. It wouldn’t be as strong – I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense, eh? But she’s changed you. And I want it to stop. I don’t want to lose you—’

  ‘You won’t.’

  Jennifer threw up her hands. ‘Fuck,’ she sighed.

  ‘You mad?’

  ‘Frustrated. And scared, I guess.’

  Owen moved closer and put his arms around her. She sagged against him, closing her eyes.

  ‘Walter Gribbs,’ he said, ‘the watchman at the Yacht Club—’

  ‘The one who died.’

  She felt him nod. ‘Walter. Well, he said the same thing, I think. About me. He told me to hold on to myself. I’d been telling him about school—’

  ‘About Rhide.’

  ‘I guess.’ He was silent again for a few breaths. ‘I wish,’ he said quietly, ‘you could have met him. He liked you, liked hearing about you. I wish, well…’

  ‘Me too,’ Jennifer said. ‘He was right, Owen. What he said about you having to hold on.’ She stopped when she saw Owen wipe a sleeve across his face. ‘You okay? Owen?’

  He nodded. ‘Sorry. I guess I miss him.’

  ‘Are you crying?’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  Jennifer held him against her. He shook, but no sound came from him, none at all. After a minute he wiped his face again and moved back slightly. Damn, I’m no good with crying.

  ‘Rhide has to back off,’ she said. ‘I can make her do that, now. If I spilled things, she’d have to leave. She’d have to quit.’

  ‘Why her? What about Thompson?’

  She laughed harshly. ‘Forget it. That’s not how it works. Trust me, Barry’s staying.’

  ‘Because he’s the principal?’

  ‘No, Owen. Because he’s a man.’

  ‘What difference does that make?’

  She laughed again. ‘Oh, let’s shut up and fuck. I’m tired of talking.’

  ‘Promise me something first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you won’t use it right away. Hold off. Make it a last recourse.’

  ‘A last recourse. I love the way you talk.’ She hesitated, thinking, then sighed. ‘All right. But I get to decide when it’s time.’

  ‘Okay. Look, I know about it now. That something’s happening to me. That makes a difference.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Uh. Well, it should, shouldn’t it?’

  She wasn’t convinced. Knowing doesn’t help, not one fucking bit. It’s like the flu. You know you’re getting it, but you can’t stop it from coming. You trust in knowing way too much, Owen. She said nothing, pushing it out of her mind as she removed her sweater and her shirt.

  Owen did the same. It was hot and dusty, and the sound of their breathing was loud.

  ‘We start slow,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Like the usual stuff, I mean.’ She pulled off her panties. ‘Come over here.’

  She’d been more nervous than she’d care to admit, and all the things that they always did with each other felt different, because they were all now leading to something else. And they both knew it.

  Jennifer had expected … something other than what happened, but her imagination proved no match for the feelings that flooded her when he uncertainly, tenderly slipped inside. All so easy, so natural. Why did we wait so long? I’m glad we did. She thought she’d be the one feeling vulnerable, but it didn’t feel like that at all. He’s helpless, pressed here against me, moving inside me – not fast and eager, but exploring, deliberately exploring. It’s happening – I’m finally swallowing him up, and I’ll make him safe, here, inside me. Safe, that’s what it’s all about. I … I didn’t know.

  V

  Midnight hours. Sten lay curled up on the sofa, shivering under the blankets. One after another after another, endless midnight hours. Get out of my head. There’s not enough room. Not for both of us, and I can’t leave. I’ve got nowhere to go. Get out get out get out wherever you are!

  Water dripped steadily from the guttering above the living-room window. A warm spell. So sudden, a shock to the system, to the ordered brilliance of the human body. I’m sick. Something broke, I feel it rattling inside me. You can’t fix it. No one can. Rattle rattle rattle. I’m cold. I can’t catch up. I’m permafrost. Mammoth steaks, that’s me, surrounded by starving Russians.

  The dogs rubbed against the kennel’s walls. Rustle rustle, rattle rattle. Inside and out, we’ve all come loose. Escape is impossible. Life is what it is. Only Max has got away. I never beat any of you, but you hate me anyway. Why? You all stink of fear. So do I. What’s the difference? We’re all animals of the earth, chained to our natures, trapped inside our own fates. You were the first to walk with us, the first to share heat and food. We’re in step with each other. We’ve always been. I don’t understand.

  Water dripped. There was no wind, none at all. The world’s fierce breath was held in check, and Sten’s heart hammered with terror. Outside … rustle rustle, the chain-link fence recording perfectly the restless beasts and their restless lives.

  Another beer? It’s a warm spell. An early spring, maybe. The ice on the river has thinned, stripped of snow and showing its bruises. It’s been a week. Or two. Makes no difference, but the snow’s vanishing, shrinking down to blood-coloured pools. God, I’m thinking clearly. It’s all clear now. I’ve drunk a dozen beers today – all in my head, nowhere else. I don’t know, is anyone out there?

  All so clear. The things I’ve done. My games, played to the edge of death. My winter, frozen in place for so long now. Thawing, and there I am, lying in a puddle, revealed at last.

  Water dripped, sloshed muddily.

  Rattle rattle. Here I am, sick and lucid, lucidly sick, the jester done his dancing, finally at rest. I’ve drunk a dozen beers. I’m blasted. I can’t even get up. Why get up? I’ll only fall down. She’s cleaned up the bed. It’s hers now, smelling of bleach and bath oil. She says nothing. I talk endlessly, here in my head. Drunk. The fantasy is real, in here. She’s done the same. She talks inside, too. What’s she saying?

  Sleep. They can both sleep. Dreaming of freedom. It’s not what I wanted, not what I ever wanted. I was a kid, once. I knew how to laugh, once. I didn’t dream of this. I never guessed my fate. The boy never guessed his. He used to laugh at me and shake his head. I couldn’t even walk straight, vodka in my Thermos, that stinking switchman with the cataracts I took my ‘coffee breaks’ with, both of us getting soused and laughing at the great joke we were playing. Fooling the bosses, kids behind the school with a bottle in a paper bag. The boy used to laugh.

  Water dripped, the only sound from outside. The only sound. Sten went still, held his breath. Nothing. He sighed, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.

  There’s no such thing as freedom. Just a blood-smeared joke. The couplings pushing into place, with a boy in between. Through his pelvis, crushing bone, his guts, front and back, driven together, seeking to join and caring nothing about his screaming an
d the gushing fluids. Just trying to come together, the way they were meant to.

  Water dripping, and silence.

  He climbed to his feet, holding the blanket around him. He walked into the hall, the floor cold through his socks. He came to the back door, opened it and stepped through on to the porch.

  The kennel door was open. The dogs were gone.

  VI

  Fisk woke slowly, a kind of climbing struggle as his mind battled with a sense of urgency and the exhaustion that clung on, that told him it wasn’t yet morning, that there were hours left to this night.

  He groaned, rolled on to his back, and opened his eyes. The room was still, cast in greys and blacks. The luminescent numbers on the clock read 3 a.m. He tried to think of what had woken him.

  The thaw had come. By morning, he knew, the field of mud would be clear, black and depthless and waiting for him once again. Another spring, another season for his torture. It would be his last – he’d let the field embrace him, drag him down into darkness.

  The thaw. The river’s ice would show its fissures, undermined by the too-warm water coming from the city, rotting and fraying beneath the sun. It had been a season without end, swinging around again and again, and all he could do was wait. This is the last one.

  He rose from bed and went to the bathroom.

  The little ones would be awake in the cellar, still tuned to the outer world’s cycles. Rat would be chewing at the cage door. Moon and Gold would be pacing, that bobbing motion that carried them back and forth, up and around. They’d have heard his footsteps now, and his piss splashing into the toilet. They’d be nervous, twitching with fear. Rat was going wild, so frantic, so thoroughly insane.

  His face in the mirror looked ancient, yellowed and cracked like a picture in a photo album from the last century. A face that didn’t belong to the modern age, a face that was winter itself.

  But the season has turned.

  Fisk wasn’t looking forward to the hours ahead, while he waited for dawn. He still felt a trembling urgency, and wondered at its source. Heart attack? No. No pain. Nightmare? Can’t remember one.

  He left the bathroom and went to the kitchen, still in only his underwear. The rows of cages outside waited in the darkness, blockish and black between the aisles of snow patches, mud and puddles.