Running Man

by Michael Gerard Bauer

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tom Leyton asked uneasily.

  ‘There’s always something worse.’

  The shocking familiarity of the words that the boy had uttered reverberated in Tom Leyton’s head.

  ‘Just like in that story about the beast breaking through. You told me, there’s always something worse. You were right all along.’

  ‘Joseph, you shouldn’t think that way. I know you’re worried about your father but …’

  ‘Do you think he’s alive?’

  The question caught Tom Leyton off guard, and while he floundered to find his voice Joseph turned to face him.

  ‘If he’s not in the hospital then he must be on the mountain,’ Joseph said without emotion. ‘Do you think they could still find him alive under all that … after all this time?’

  ‘Joseph, I said I would never lie to you. All I can say about your father is that I don’t know. Nobody does.’

  ‘But it would be a miracle, wouldn’t it – if he was alive?’

  Tom Leyton sat silently, hunched over like a condemned man waiting for the axe to fall.

  ‘And you said not to believe in miracles.’

  ‘I was wrong to say that to you.’

  ‘But you don’t believe in miracles, do you?’

  Tom Leyton thought hard before answering. ‘If you mean like water into wine or making the blind see? Magic? No … no, I don’t believe in those kinds of miracles … but what if … there are other kinds of miracles … ordinary, everyday, boring miracles?’ He turned away again and stared at the heavy curtains in front of him. ‘Perhaps we have the wrong idea about miracles. Perhaps they’re not spectacular at all … just slow and tedious … the way a glacier carves out a valley but you can’t see it. Like a woman wasting her life for her brother, maybe that’s a miracle … or a man who keeps running even though the race has been lost a thousand times over, maybe that’s a miracle.’

  He hesitated and looked earnestly at Joseph. ‘And maybe young boys can be miracles too … Perhaps miracles are so common we’ve forgotten how to see them. We pray for them and wish for them, and wait on them … but perhaps they are there all along. And perhaps sometimes we have to make our own miracles … and all it takes is time.’

  Joseph stood dumbly as if he hadn’t heard a word Tom Leyton had said. When he finally responded it was without emotion. ‘Mum said I should pray. I tried … you were right about that too.’

  Tom Leyton searched the cold, empty eyes that looked back at him, and could find nothing but a reflection of his own desolation.

  ‘I have to go home now. Mum might wake up.’ Joseph moved to leave, but two large hands gripped his shoulders.

  ‘Joseph! Wait, please. Don’t be poisoned by me! Whatever happens with your father, I beg you, don’t become like me. I couldn’t bear it – I’ve destroyed too much already.’ Tom Leyton wrestled with his thoughts, straining for a way to explain himself. ‘I don’t know if I believe in anything or not. I don’t know if there’s anything left for me to believe in … but I do know that for over thirty years I’ve been afraid to wonder, to dream, because of the nightmares in my head. You changed that. You’ve changed me. I feel … sometimes I feel … like a moth … just out of the cocoon … only I don’t know what I’ve changed into … or what I’m supposed to do now … or why I’ve been given wings if they’re crumpled and useless?’ Tom Leyton looked pleadingly at Joseph but he seemed numb, like a patient on an operating table whose life was ebbing away. The grip on his shoulders tightened and then released and Tom Leyton’s hands slipped down.

  Joseph made his way to the back landing with Tom Leyton following him. For a moment they stood silently looking down over the yard where the leafy branches of the mulberry tree stood out in the light of the full moon.

  ‘Everyone says it will be all right. That Dad will be OK. They think I’m just a kid who’ll believe anything – just like you were when you thought there were silkworms on the mulberry tree. It’s the same thing. They want me to believe that there’s something there when there’s not. It’s stupid. You can wish and pray all you want but you’ll never find any silkworms on a mulberry tree … and Dad’s not coming home either … not ever.’

  ‘Joseph …’ Tom Leyton reached out, but Joseph had already disappeared down the steps and begun his sad, slow walk across the yard. When he came to the mulberry tree he took hold of a thin branch and let it slip through his hand as he passed. As he did so the mulberry leaves were stripped from the limb and fell torn and twisted to the ground.

  Joseph awoke early the next morning in the strange grey stillness that hung expectantly before the sun’s rays filtered over the horizon. For a heartbeat it seemed like any other morning, but then the nightmare of the last few days returned and left Joseph struggling for air in some foreign, unfriendly world.

  As if to confirm that the world he thought he knew no longer existed, Joseph sat up and pushed open the window beside his bed. Outside was an alien landscape of muted colours and menacing shadows. Joseph rested his chin on his arm and watched the first rays of sunlight stalk over the horizon and creep between the neighbouring houses, bringing shape and tone to the dreary scene before him.

  Greys slowly deepened into greens and blues, and blurred outlines sharpened with contrast, but even as the panorama before him was being brushed with colour, it was the dark uncertain world lurking behind it all that Joseph remembered. It would always be there, he thought, just behind the thin innocent veneer of everyday life, waiting for a chance to break through.

  Just as he reached forward to close the window on a world that now held no promise, the first direct sunlight touched the uppermost leaves of the mulberry tree in Leytons’ yard. A spot of colour flickered back at him. It looked to begin with like a yellow butterfly, but there was no movement of wings. As Joseph strained harder to see, he realised that there were more tiny dabs of colour dotting the tree like the eggs of some giant moth that had visited during the night.

  Overwhelmed by curiosity, Joseph dressed quickly and made his way quietly through the house and down the back steps. He gripped the steel rail of the fence and felt the cold, wet metal in his hands. The low sun stung his eyes and made it impossible to see the mulberry tree clearly, and so he hoisted himself over the fence and landed lightly in Leytons’ yard.

  Joseph stopped a few paces from the mulberry tree. He scanned the nearby leaves and branches before lifting his eyes to where the tree arched above him. His face was blank with amazement. The cocoons were everywhere. They hung in their hundreds from every branch like golden droplets among the dark green leaves, and the longer Joseph looked the more he discovered. The power and beauty of the vision before him were mesmerising. But it just wasn’t possible. It had to be a dream.

  Joseph took a step forward and cupped one of the cocoons in his hand. The loose strands of silk surrounding the cocoon had been twirled together to form a stronger thread and this had been used to tie the cocoon in place. All the other cocoons were exactly the same. Each had been painstakingly attached to the tree with a silken knot, and every cocoon had a small circular hole in one end.

  As Joseph’s eyes swept over the mulberry tree, the enormity of the task overwhelmed him. How long would it have taken? He gazed in wonder up into the branches. It was more miraculous than any dream. He stood in silent wonder as if he were in some sacred place.

  It wasn’t until Joseph began to circle slowly around the mulberry tree that he saw the old wooden ladder behind the incinerator. It lay, where it had fallen some time during the night, and next to it, with his arms by his sides and his eyes staring skywards, was the still form of Tom Leyton.

  ‘Mr Leyton?’

  Joseph’s voice was barely a whisper. For a second, the absurd thought that Tom Leyton was only sleeping flitted across his mind before escaping like a startled bird. Joseph rushed forward and pulled the ladder aside. As he knelt down beside Tom Leyton he felt the dampness that had soaked into his clothes and saw the bruisi
ng and the blood caked on the side of his face where it must have struck against the incinerator. Tom Leyton’s chest rose and fell slowly and his glassy eyes stared blankly ahead. Joseph leant forward and peered into those eyes that had so often filled him with fear and doubt.

  ‘Mr Leyton? Mr Leyton, can you hear me? It’s me, Joseph.’

  Tom Leyton’s eyes drifted around blindly for a moment before they found Joseph’s face and held it like a lifeline. ‘Joseph …’

  The word was slurred and barely audible, but for Joseph it was as beautiful as any poem. ‘I’m here.’ Another word pushed painfully through Tom Leyton’s lips, but this time Joseph failed to understand.

  ‘Sorry, what …?’

  ‘Tablets …’

  Joseph’s stomach lurched sickeningly. As he fumbled in Tom Leyton’s pockets for the container he cursed his stupidity. All he had considered was a fall. He had forgotten Tom Leyton’s heart and the strain of toiling through the night, shifting the heavy ladder, climbing up and down, stretching to reach the furthest limbs, tying each tiresome, maddening knot … and for what? For him?

  Joseph shook out a tablet and placed it carefully into Tom Leyton’s mouth.

  ‘I’ll get some water … and Caroline,’ he said, rising to go.

  ‘No, wait … please.’

  Tom Leyton tried to lift his right arm, but only managed to reach up weakly with his fingers. Joseph knelt back down and placed his hand in Tom Leyton’s trembling grip.

  ‘I’m fine … now. Stay … with me,’ he said, exhaling the words in a broken whisper.

  Tom Leyton closed his eyes for a minute and his breathing deepened. When he opened them again he gazed with the rapture of a child up at the large veined leaves and the branches dripping with golden cocoons. The soft shadows of mulberry leaves dappled his face.

  ‘What … do you think … of my miracle?’ he said, as the ghost of a smile haunted his face.

  ‘It’s great … I …’ But Joseph’s words were inadequate, like clumsy lines scratched on a clean white page. He felt the tentative squeeze of Tom Leyton’s hand.

  ‘Will you … finish it for me?’

  Joseph looked around and saw for the first time the plastic bag at the base of the tree and the cocoons that had spilled from it.

  ‘It’s almost done.’

  ‘We can do it together … when you’re better,’ Joseph said uneasily.

  Tom Leyton strained to raise his arm. With Joseph’s help Tom Leyton’s hand reached up and cupped the side of his face. ‘Thank you … for being my miracle, Joseph. Tell Caroline I love her … and I’m sorry … for everything.’

  ‘No. You’re going to be all right,’ Joseph urged.

  A sudden tremor shot across Tom Leyton’s face. His eyes widened for a second and his lips parted. The hand that rested against Joseph’s cheek fell and gripped his shirt.

  ‘Mr Leyton! Mr Leyton, what’s wrong?’

  The brief shot of pain that had flared in Tom Leyton’s eyes quickly subsided till all that remained was the warm glow of dying embers.

  ‘Mr Leyton? What is it?’

  Tom Leyton’s words struggled out in hoarse, stilted breaths. ‘Nothing … to worry about,’ he said, meeting the anguish in the boy’s eyes with the calmness of his own, ‘just … a … pang of joy.’

  Joseph felt his whole body begin to shake and a shuddering he could not control rose in his chest and jagged in his throat. ‘No … no …’

  But Tom Leyton’s gaze had already drifted back to the branches of the mulberry tree. A fragile smile hung on his pale face and his eyes moved slightly, tracing slow and random patterns. Suddenly they became still. ‘Joseph? Are you there?’

  ‘I’m here,’ he said leaning closer.

  ‘I know … what you … can say to him … to the Running Man …’

  Tom Leyton’s mouth moved, but no words came out. Joseph placed his hand lightly on his chest and leant in closer so that their cheeks rested together and his ear touched Tom Leyton’s lips. He felt the slow stirring of a heartbeat beneath his palm. ‘Tell him …’

  Tom Leyton breathed out and the soft flow of air filled Joseph’s ear. But there were words there too, floating like clouds across a night sky until both breath and words dissolved into each other like mist and nothing remained but silence.

  Joseph slumped forward and embraced Tom Leyton’s broad shoulders, sobbing uncontrollably. He looked in desperation at Tom Leyton’s face. It remained still and expressionless, with the eyes fixed resolutely on the overhanging branches as if they would stay that way forever. ‘No … please no … please!’

  Joseph reeled back from Tom Leyton’s body and staggered to his feet. As he did so, his foot tangled in the rungs of the ladder, scraping and wrenching his ankle. A searing pain shot up Joseph’s leg as he crawled forward to the incinerator and pulled himself up. His head felt as if it had come loose and was about to float from his body, and blotchy patches of shadow were eating away at the edges of his vision. Joseph knew that he was in danger of passing out. He clung to the rough cement ledge of the incinerator and let himself sag forward.

  For a while, he saw only darkness, but then little by little he made out shapes and shades of grey until he realised that he was looking at the soot and ash that lay at the bottom of the blackened walls of the incinerator. His face felt cold and damp. He straightened up, keeping both hands on the incinerator for support. Inside his head felt like a mixture of oil and water that had been shaken furiously and was now settling back into place.

  He knew he had to find Caroline, but just as he had convinced his body to move, it seemed he heard his own name being called. There it was again. Joseph looked up towards the sound. And then he saw her, through the straggly branches of the mulberry tree.

  It was his mother. She was leaning out of his bedroom window, waving and calling his name. Joseph squinted to make her face come into focus. When it did, he saw that she was laughing and smiling widely.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It had been three days since Joseph had gazed in amazement on his mother’s happy face and realised that his father was alive. In the end it required no miracle at all, just a series of circumstances that took his father from danger. Peter Davidson had never even made it to the site of the landslide in the first place. The night before he was due to start work he was struck ill by a tropical virus and taken to a local hospital. Throughout the whole ordeal he had been in a high fever, drifting in and out of consciousness, oblivious of both the tragedy that had taken place and his family’s concerns back home. The three missing men were confirmed as dead.

  With the chaos and confusion that followed the landslide it wasn’t until the morning of Tom Leyton’s death that the authorities were finally able to ring Mrs Davidson and confirm that her husband, although still feeling the effects of his illness, was safe. After a couple of weeks of recuperation the company was sending Peter Davidson home for an extended Christmas break.

  As the reason for his mother’s smile became clear, Joseph felt a bewildering mixture of joy, relief, sorrow and loss. Later he could recall slumping to the ground and his mother’s anxious voice and the soothing coolness of her hands on his face.

  After that there were only stark images appearing in his mind like old slides, snapping into place, hovering a moment and then fading into darkness; the beautiful sadness of his mother’s face and her aching sigh of ‘Oh no,’ when she first saw Tom Leyton; Caroline opening the back door and smiling in confusion at her visitors; the absolute stillness as he sat alone in Tom Leyton’s room; and the big white ambulance creeping slowly through the gates of Leytons’ driveway.

  That night Joseph took out his art pad and spread out all the sketches he had made of Tom Leyton. As he studied each one, a flood of memories and emotions filled the room. Finally he pulled a clean sheet from the pad, sat down at his desk and began to draw.

  The next day Joseph went with his mother to call on Caroline. When they arrived they found that she had
already had a visitor.

  ‘Casserole, soup and freshly baked biscuits,’ Caroline said as she pointed to the containers on the kitchen table. ‘They’re from Mrs Mossop. Said I had to keep up my strength … so kind of her. It took me by surprise.’

  ‘She is a surprising woman,’ Joseph’s mother said warmly. ‘Is there anything that I can do, anything at all?’

  ‘No, you’ve done so much already. I think most things are organised. I’m meeting with Father Kevin this afternoon to finalise all the arrangements. But I do have a favour to ask of Joseph,’ she said, holding up the plastic bag with the remaining silkworm cocoons. ‘I could use some help with these.’

  The two women walked side by side to the fence where they spoke for a while before Caroline returned to join Joseph at the mulberry tree. She watched him as he carefully drew the silk from a cocoon, twisted it into a strong thread and attached it securely to one of the slender branches. Then she joined in and they worked silently together in the warm sun.

  After a while Caroline leant back on the incinerator and looked at the mulberry tree as Joseph continued working. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  ‘Mum said it was like a Christmas tree – a golden Christmas tree.’

  Caroline smiled as her eyes continued to wander around the branches, but Joseph knew the question that remained unanswered in her mind. The same question his mother had put to him last night.

  ‘He did it for me … because of Dad and everything … sort of like a sign … not to give up hope. He said it was his miracle.’

  Caroline’s face tightened and her eyes blinked, but she held back the tears. ‘That it is,’ she said with a defiant smile.

  Joseph watched Caroline closely before deciding to speak again. ‘He told me what really happened … in Vietnam … about the boy.’

  There was no reply from Caroline, but she stared at Joseph as if she had never really seen him before that moment.

  ‘And he said something else … before he … He said he was sorry for everything … and he loved you.’