by David Almond
“See them?” she says.
“See what Missus Malone?”
“Ther William. Peel yor eyes. Look close. Blak poynted shayps abov the horizon. See? Qwik befor ther gon.”
I narrow my eyes & look to the sky abuv the sea & yes I see them. A clusta of dark things with wings agenst the simpl blue sky.
“And lissen too,” she says.
And I lissen hard & yes I here the far off depe down beating drone of them. A sownd thats hard to fynd at first & very nerly silent but wons you here it it drones soft & depe within lyk the sownd of runnin blud or beatin hart or breathin breth.
“Ther they go” she says as they disapear. “Did you see how they cort the sunlite how they wer a darka shayd of the sea? Did you fynd them byutiful?”
I nod.
“Yes I think so Missus Malone.”
“They ar” she says. “Ther the byutiful blak enjins of destrucshon.”
She stamps her foot & the balcony shuddas. She waves her stik across the ruwins belo.
“They said theyd fix arl this, William. They said theyd mayk Blinkbonny & all the Blinkbonnys byutiful agen. Blinkbonny became a plase of fame for a wile. Weell show the world that war wont work they said. Weell simply bild it up agen. What fools they wer! What fools we wer! They started clearin the ruwins. They started fixin what had farlen. They started bildin the new towas.”
She poynts across the waystlands with her stik.
“Look thers 1 that was half bilt & thers another. See how theyv turnd to ruwins themselvs. And see the machinry they brout in. The crayns that fel down long ago. The bulldozas that lie rustin on the dirt. They said they had to leev the playses like Blinkbonny as they are. The peple of Blinkbonny shud just get owt & fynd new playses to liv in. Get owt of the ruwind playses, they said. Yor expectin too much! Start new lives! Fend for yorselvs! Dont you no wer livin throu days of massiv thret & overwelmin crisis! Dont you no thers a bluddy war on? We cannot aford to fix & bild no mor. And they started creatin mor & mor enjins of destrucshon & carin for them & sendin them owt to do ther work. They started creatin mor Blinkbonnys just like this 1 arl arownd the world. And the noys of the world has turned to boom & bang & blast & bluddy kapow & gosts wark evrywer acros the shattad erth.”
Her voys pores into my ear. I gayz across the land below. Im stunnd by the distanses by the syzes of things by the spays by the lite by the farling of the cool air acros my fays. The balcony sways.
“Look ther” says Missus Malone.
She directs my eyes towards the sity & shows the smoke that drifts upwards from a sertan part of it.
“A littl boom a littl bang,” she says. “Somthing smashd & somthing burning. Sumwon woonded somwon killd. Who did it William?”
“I dont no Missus Malone.”
“And nor do I. And it dusnt bluddy matter who did. We shud just fly the enjins of destrucshon towards ourselvs & bom ourselvs. It wud be qwiker & easier. Wed get whats coming over & dun with all the faster. Wudnt we? Wudnt we? Say yes, Missus Malone.”
“Yes Missus Malone.”
“Do you see them?”
“See who?”
“The gosts William. Do you see them warkin evrywer acros the shattad erth.”
“I dont . . .”
“You do. You will. I hav great hopes for you William. It is my beleef that you hav speshal gifts. Thees wil alow you to wark among the dead. Now come along & let us get on.”
We go bak throu the windo & down the stairs.
“A doctor livd here wons,” she says. “A doctors a man who heals. He was blasted apart on the 5th of May. Come along. Owt we go. What a world.”
Tap tap. Clik clik.
And she tayks me home to Mam who comes runnin from the dore with her arms spred owt & angwish in her eyes.
Missus Malone lets me hurry to her arms.
“What did you think?” says Missus Malone. “That you wud never see yor boy agen?”
“O no Missus Malone,” says Mam. “O Im sorry Missus Malone.”
“Good. He is always safe with me. And the bereevd ar in need of him. It is almost time to take him to the borderlands of death.”
Its Jesus that I hav discoverd in the dust. When the redblak sky is burnin throu the kitchen windo when wer sittin at the taybl drinkin hot choclat & eatin bred & jam when Im leenin on her safe & sownd & when wer dun with tellin of how lonely & scared weve bene I show her the finga the hand the foot & fether.
She holds them up to the danglin lite.
“It carnt be,” she wispers all intens.
“Carnt be what Mam?”
“In what plays was this fownd, Billy?”
“In the stoans & dust. Missus Malone told me it was in the plays Saynt Patriks used to be.”
“She telt you that?”
“Aye Mam.”
“What els did she tell?”
“She telt me that it was wer you started. She said you wer left ther wen you wer a baby.”
“Did she now,” she wispers. “Thats true enuf I gess.”
She holds the pink foot on her parm.
“It is Jesus, Billy. A fragmint of the littl infant Jesus & this is a fragmint of his aynjel. They cum from long bak in the past. Ther was nothing els of them?”
“Dont no, Mam.”
“I used to see him evry Sunday,” she says. “When I wos a littl girl. There he wos abuv me on a shelf on the church wall smiling down. I thort he wos just lovely & that he wos lookin rite insyd me & that he wud foreva kepe me safe.”
She tuches them these preshus things.
“The aynjel was abuv him” she says “hangin from the seelin. Can you imajin such things, Billy?”
Of cors I cant but I say I can.
“Mebbe well fynd mor,” she says. “Mebbe well fynd evrythin of Jesus & mayk him hole agen. And evrythin of the aynjel and make him hole as wel.”
“Aye Mam. Mebbe. Aye.”
She puts the fragmints on the taybl & tuches them & smyls at them & crys a bit & then we hav mor bred & jam.
“Maybe Jesus has been waytin for a childe like you. And now that Billy Dean is here he shows himself in the dust agen.”
She takes me to my bed soon after. She kisses my cheke & pulls the blankets to my throte.
“Well fynd mor,” she says. “Well reassembl it arl agen. What els did she tel?”
“She telt me of the day of my birth of the boms & the destrucshon & the deaths & of her dorter.”
“Did she Billy?”
“Aye.”
Wer silent for a wile.
“Why was I arl coverd in blud Mam?”
The qweschon mayks her gasp.
“O Billy when?”
“When I was born.”
She laffs. She kisses me agen.
“Thats how arl of us begin. Every singl won of us. And the blud that was on you that day was mine.”
She holds me tite then lets me go & says good nite.
I put the finga hand foot & fether on the taybl by my bed.
Slepe cums like the redblak sky darkenin over Blinkbonny.
My brane seeths like the shattad erth with things that grow & crarl & moov on it.
My bodys like the Blinkbonny erth with aynshent relics restin in it waytin to be fownd.
Im asleep no more than an our or 2 befor Mams sittin on the bed agen.
“Thers mor,” she wispers. “Much mor. Ill start to get it dun & we can moov on.”
And I lie harfsleeping as she pores mor of my life into my ear.
So I was born in her blud on the day of doom the day that boms wer blasting off owtside. Missus Malone ran off to see her dorter die. Mam lay on the bed beneeth the blanket & the crackin seelin & the qwaykin walls & farlin dust.
She grippd me tite.
It seemd to her that the end of the world was niy.
It seems I didnt flinch just kept on suckin at my mothers tit.
Nobody came. No mor boms. Grate clowds of smoak & ash drifted beyond the windo abuv. The room kept rite on cra
ckin & qwaykin but it didn’t farl. Ther was distant screemin groanin cracklin rorein.
She left me wons & crept throu the dores & lookd throu the windos & had vishons of Hell & hurryd bak to me. She sippd warter. She nibbld biscuts that had been left by Missus Malone.
The day passd by. She thort that Missus Malone was blown apart. She thort my dad was gon. She thort that mebbe ther was no won left but us. The day passd by. The sky abuv began to darken. The baby suckd & suckd.
Mam tryd to sing All things brite and byutiful & All creechers grayt & smarl. But she cudnt stop the sownds of weeping & waylin entering my ears along with the briytness & byuty. She cudnt stop the eckos of angwishd siys & grones. She cudnt stop her dred & horra entering me along with her swete milk. What a day to bring a childe into the world.
Then darkness fel agen & she herd a key turning in the lock & Wilfred the preest came in at last. He had a bandaj on his hed anotha on his hand & brooses & laserashins on his skin.
Mam wept reechd out to him & carld out in releef at his salvayshon & pity for his woonds.
“They ar blessins as wel as woonds” he told her. “And ar no mor than the grate saynts had to bare.”
He stood in the doreway. His hands trembld as he lit a blak sigaret.
“So you surviyvd?” he said.
“Yes,” she anserd. “And look so did yor child.”
She lifted me out to him.
“A lovely littl boy has cum to us,” she said.
He lookd at me but caym no closer
“It is Hell owt ther” he said. “Has anybody seen him?”
“Seen who?” she said.
“The boy of cors. Has anywon layd eyes on him exept yorself.”
“No. Just Missus Malone who went owt into the flayms befor the final exploshon & has not cum bak.”
“Amen” he wisperd. “Death is evrywer Veronica.”
“I no that,” she anserd. “But we surviyvd, Wilfred.”
“It prowls the erth today and wil go on prowlin for a long tym after.”
“I no that, Wilfred. But look at this new life!”
He steppd a littl closer. He drew on his sigaret. He breethd smoke into the air.
“Mebbe beter if the boy had diyd,” he said. “Maybe beter if hed been tayken strayt to Hevan at the instant of his birth.”
He made sure the dore was closd behynd him & he steppd a littl closer.
“Mebbe the blastin of the boms is the blastin voys of God” he said. “Mebbe hes had enuf of us & our time on erth is over & he wants to wyp us owt.”
“But he sayvd yor boy! He brout him into the world at the exact saym tym the boms went off. Just tuch him. Just giv him 1 small tiny kiss! Just 1 small kiss & you wil love him always.”
I remember non of it of cors no mater how deep down I try to go into the darknes of my hed. I try to here the words she spoke. Just 1 small kiss! And I try as wel to feel again that 1 small kiss. For it seems my father suddenly wept & came to me. He took me in his arms. She says that strate away he began to farl in love with me & strate away his douts wer gon. Maybe I beleevd it wen she told it way bak then. But now I see the torment in him wen he took me from her. I imajin him lifting me from her. I try to imajin him loving me rite away but I think that isnt true. I imajin the smells of fyr & dust & blud & blak sigarets. I imajin the coldness in his blu blu eyes. And I no he took me from her in order to murder me. And I no he wud then hav turnd to her & dun it to her too. It wud hav been so easy to disgise such deaths on such a day of doom. And he was just abowt to do the deed. But what she said wud happen did realy happen. He took me in his arms. He put his hands on me. He put his hands arownd my tiny throte. But he cudnt go ahed with it. I was his son. He fel in love & despyt everything he wud love me always from that day. His body relaxd & his hands loosend & his hart softend as he lifted me towards his fays & gayv me that first kiss.
“Hello my son,” he wisperd and he kissd me agen.
Then he droppd to his nees at the bedside.
“Is it tru?” he said. “Can it be that the boy is sent as a sine to us? Is he the tiny spark of joy in this dredful world? Has he been sayvd for a purpose?”
“Yes” Mam wisperd. “Yes Wilfred yes.”
“We wer rite in our plan to kepe him secret for a tym. Now mor than ever we must kepe him hidden from the evil thats owtsyd. A tym of grate tribyulayshon is coming. You must do it Veronica. You must kepe this preshus baby hid away. You no that dont you.”
“Yes,” wisperd Mam.
Then he gayv me back to her. And put his hands on Mams hed then on mine & he gayv us his blessin.
He stayd with us that nite. He brout in food & drink from the kitchen. He gave her money. Next day he pickd his way throu Blinkbonny blessin & ministerin as he went.
He came bak. He told her that the world was torn apart & wud never be the same agen.
He brout mor food & gave mor money.
He told her it was a time of madness. He told her that many that wer not dead wer in fliyt from Blinkbonny. But ther ar many Blinkbonnys, he said. Perhaps ther is nower to fly to. Perhaps they ar just fleeing to be bomd in other playses. It is tym to stay still.
Next day he brout a groop of men. They tarkd in foren voyses & kept ther eyes turnd away from us. They set to work reparing the room as best they cud. They prepard it as the plays wer I wud grow. They put loks on the dore & went away.
“The world must be rebilt” said Wilfred. “We must return to our vocashons and our ordinary lives. Many wil stay & will need ther haredressers as always. Wen you ar strong you wil be able to begin yor work agen.”
“But what abowt our childe?” she said.
“He wil be safe.”
He held me closely in his arms a moment then went to the dore.
“I wil keep on coming bak. He wil not die.”
Perhaps he wishd that I would. Perhaps he wishd that it would happen qwietly. I would fayl. My life wud be snuffd owt on 1 of those meny days I was left alone in that room. But I was strong. I wud grow in stupidity & thikness & I would never becum the preshus boy he wanted but I wud grow & the fyr of life wud be in me always and wud not be put owt.
He clowsd the dor behind him. It becaym the dore I must never go throu. The dore I wud never go throu for another 13 yers.
Sissors & brushes & tweezas & pluckas. Rayzas cowms & curlas. Rollas nets shampoos & loshuns. Cremes condishoners & powdas. Thees are the things insyd her bag. Its soft red lether on the owtsyd with her tytl printed ther in gold. Veronica Dean Hairdresser. HAIRSTYLES HOUSE TO HOUSE. The insyd is all blue & looks so fine with its compartments & its pockets & its snappers zips & clips. She opens it up for me. I lower my fays to the lovely sents & shayps & colors in it. It smels so very swete. She tels me that it is truely lyk a treshur chest for her.
“It was all I eva wanted” she says. “From wen I was a littl girl growing up in Eden House. To be a hairdresser. And I trained in Anjelo Gabriellis that was the best of all the salons in Blinkbonny & I dun so wel rite from the very start. I was made for it, Billy. It was my life. Just look at that brush ther. Tuch it. Motherofperl its carld. And smel this gorjus Blu Horyzon. O I had so meny customas Billy. Hardly enuf time in the day for arl the customas I had.”
“Befor the boms & me,” I say.
“Aye, son. Befor the boms and you. But never mynd. Therll always be a few good soles to tend to in this plays.”
Then she gets a brush and brushes my hair as she has dun as far bak as I remember & I feel it runnin across my scalp and jently tuggin the hairs & drawing them into plase. And she runs her fingers throu it & lifts it & smooths it & rolls it & I hear the joy & lafter in her voys & feel her swete breth on my cheke.
“It cud do with a cut, I think” she says.
She holds the strands owt.
“But look how thik & wayvy its becoming, Billy. Mebbe we could let it grow a little now yor getting older. What do you think, son?”
I turn my hed & feel the hair moov & I imajin it tumbling down ov
er my brow & nek & fays & I say,
“Yes Mam mebbe we cud.”
She closes the bag agen. She holds it owt to me & I take it from her. She gives me other bags as wel but they are plastic & are for carryin Jesus.
And we wark owt. And so begins the job I do for her the job I love so much.
I am her son & her assistant & her bag bearer & her sissor carrier.
Yankovya Yakaboska is the 1 she takes me to that day on root to Jesus. Yankovya is very old & she lives in a tiny cottaj by bomd Blinkbonny Park.
Her eyes glitta as she opens the dore to us.
“Whos this?” she says.
“His naym is Billy” Mam says. She puts a finga to her lips. “Please ask no mor, Yankovya.”
Yankovya smyls & she givs me a cup of lemonayd & a jinja biscit. She sits on a wooden chare & Mam puts a towel on her sholders. She bows forwad across the sink & Mam pores water on her then trickls creamy shampoo into her hair & tenderly moves her fingers acros her skul & throu her hair.
“Thats lovely love,” Yankovya murmurs.
Mam rinses Yankovyas hair & drys it with a towel & puts the towel arownd her sholders agen.
“This woman has such a tenda tuch” Yankovya says to me.
“I no that,” I anser.
“Whoever you ar & werever yor from,” says Yankovya “its good to see a yung won in Blinkbonny espeshally a bonny lad lyk you. I had a boy he went away he had a boy himself who went away & that boy now is fiytin sumwer far off in the east. Lyk so meny other boys. Wat wil you do wen they cum for you to tayk you off to war?”
I look at Mam.
“Dont ask him that,” she wispers. “They wont cum for him Yankovya. Nobody wil cum for him. Nobody.”
Yankovya siys.
“Yor sertan?” she says. “So meny boys ar tayken. And ther ar so few playses to hide away.”
She siys. Mam strokes her brow. She brushes & cuts & cowms. She hums sweet tunes as she works & as Yankovyas hair falls softly to the towl arownd her sholders.
Yankovya looks into the crackd mirro that Mam holds up for her.
“Lovely as always” she says. “Thank you.”