Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

*

  Eve, Driving Back to Sir Clive's House - 2000

  Eve sat in the passenger seat while Franco drove them back to the big house in the countryside near Shillingham, she’d noticed that he'd been quiet and a little pensive during recent days,

  “Franco, tell me what’s wrong? You've hardly spoken a word for days. What are you brooding about?” He paused for a few seconds trying to frame a reply, then spoke quietly,

  “I'm not sure, I’ve just got that feeling, you know the one, the one that tells you things are not as they should be.” He shrugged. Eve knew him well enough to know that his hunches were usually worth taking note of,

  “In that case you had better talk to me about it...” She said, “…when a wily old fox like you gets the heebies there must be something up.”

  “Okay, I will try to explain, No, I'll ask you the same questions that I’ve been asking myself, lets see if you come up with the same answers:

  One - Who was the man you and Dick saw with Bryant’s wife?

  Two -Why did they kill Joan?

  Three - Why didn't they go to the police after you killed Leach? And again when Bryant went missing? After all, any normal person would have gone to the police straight away, wouldn’t they?”

  They were both silent for a few seconds before Eve answered,

  “It must be me they're after.” Her voice was soft, thoughtful, Franco nodded in agreement, adding,

  “That was my guess also.” He said. Eve pursed her lips in thought,

  “Do you think they'll try again?” She asked.

  “Yes I do, I’m certain of it, otherwise we would have heard from the police by now.”

  There was another few seconds thought then Eve asked,

  “So who do you think the ‘other man’ is?”

  “Von Vohberg. Who else could it be?”

  “He's dead!”

  “He had a son.” Franco pointed out with quiet intensity. Eve threw back her head and laughed,

  “Ha ha! Of course. Now I see it, Von Vohberg’s idiot son set to carry on his father's crusade.” Eve suddenly fell silent, vividly recalling Walther’s father, and the Nazis.

  Richard, a Roadside Camp - 2000

  Richard woke up when Tsuba gently shook him at the shoulder, he was surprised to find a blanket across his chest up to his neck,

  “Here my friend, have another drink - and sip it, it’s hot.” Tsuba pressed a steaming mug into Richard’s hand, he obediently sipped, the contents were warm, herbal and refreshing. He finished it in a few moments and got to his feet, he felt stiff but generally much better. He saw that Tsuba was cooking something in a large metal pot over the open fire, there was no sign of the old woman,

  “Francesca is on the bus…” Tsuba nodded his head in the direction of the bus as he again seemed to read Richard's mind, “…she’s not so bad, she has had problems.”

  “I'd better go fetch some more firewood.” Richard offered. Tsuba nodded without looking at Richard, he was sprinkling some chopped leaves into the cooking-pot.

  This time Richard's foraging was much more successful and he’d gathered up a decent stack of stout lumber, as he returned to the camp he noticed that the sun had gone behind a large mass of dark cloud and that the late afternoon was quite cold,

  “Looks like it might be a cold night.” He ventured in conversation. Tsuba just nodded again, he seemed to be concentrating on his cooking. Richard hadn't eaten for two days and fervently hoped that dinner would consist of something more substantial than a pot of simmered leaves.

  Tsuba eventually looked up and nodded approvingly at the heavier timber,

  “That's good! Now you've paid for the use of the fire and blanket, what will you trade for some food?”

  “What!” Richard was furious and threw the wood down in temper. Tsuba laughed as he continued stirring the pot,

  “You look very hungry!” He called out cheerfully enough, but Richard's fuse was so very short and he blew his top,

  “You know I haven't got anything! What the hell do you want for fucksakes? blood!?...” Spittle flew as he screamed at Tsuba’s impassive face, “…you can keep your fucking food! Shove it where the fucking sun rises! I can live quite easily without a bowl of boiled hedgerow cuttings anyway!” He started to stamp away from the camp, and then he saw the bread. Tsuba had been baking unleavened bread on a flat rock at the side of the fire, it looked hot and delicious. Across the fire Tsuba again caught his eye, speaking as gently as ever,

  “There is something you have for which we would be pleased to trade for a hot meal and a dry bed.” Richard stopped, took a deep breath and asked,

  “Like what?” Tsuba took no notice of Richards annoyance and replied jovially,

  “Your story of course! I can see that you have been through quite an ordeal. We all have a story to tell, tell us yours. I have a hunch that it will be worth more than just one meal and a place to sleep.” Tsuba grinned and beckoned Richard back towards the fire,

  “You have a quick temper.” He noted. Then they both heard the door to the bus open and saw the old lady emerge with a large colourful shawl around her shoulders, she glowered at Richard and moaned,

  “Why's 'e still 'ere?…” She asked of Tsuba as she pointed to Richard with her thumb, “…Can't yer get rid of 'im?” She sat herself down grumpily by the fire, warming her hands in front of its cheerful flames.

  *

  Sir Clive’s House in the Countryside - 2000

  Cairo sat at a small square wooden table in Mr Underhill's shack. He was making tea in his own large quiet manner, moving even more carefully to avoid aggravating his bite wounds. The shack consisted of a downstairs living room with a kitchen area at one end and a narrow wooden staircase that led up to the single bedroom, she wondered how he managed to get up such a tiny space. Almost every available shelf had a plant or flower on it as well as most of the floor space. The wooden walls of the shack blended in with all the foliage like flat tree trunks creating the atmosphere of a forest clearing on a still summer afternoon.

  Sunlight peeked through the flowers of a pretty square window and Cairo watched leafy shadows dance on the rough-grained table top.

  “Milk and sugar?” His voice was deep and sweet, like music from the bottom of a deep, wide wishing well.

  “Yes please.” Her own voice sounded small and soft in her ears. Since Richard had gone she had spent more time out of the house than in it, many of her usual haunts having been abandoned, she had even taken to sleeping in her bed instead of under it, mainly because she didn't want to talk to Button. She knew that she had changed inside but didn't know how much, the feelings that she had been receiving from people had scared her at first and so she spent most of her time alone in the garden or with Mr Underhill. They hardly spoke but they felt quietly comfortable together.

  He placed a china cup and saucer in front of her almost filled to the top with pale sweet tea, then, in the centre of the table, he placed a small terracotta pot in which a tiny white flower had just bloomed.

  “I hope you like it. It's a species that I've crossed myself, I've named it Pure Cairo.” She looked deeply into his eyes feeling his emotions without embarrassment, she felt an intense, warm passion radiating from him, a passion way beyond anger, fear or hate, she felt the passion of his love.

  *

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  Eve stared at Richard's empty bed, it was obvious that it had not been slept in, the question was why? And for how long? She had no doubt in her mind that he had escaped and that the twins must know that he had gone. Had they helped him? She felt betrayed, and then she began to get angry. A white rage overwhelmed her, she flailed out of the little room in a whirlwind of bad temper, sploshed herself down the stairs like the boiling spew from a volcano.

  Franco saw her as she steamed past the library heading for the kitchen, he could tell that something was going to happen and followed discreetly,

  Eve boiled into the kitchen grabbing
the little Irish cook by the shoulders,

  “Where are they?!...” she was rolling out dough and dropped the rolling pin, “...Where are the stupid little bitches hiding?!” The little cook, although frightened, could be quite feisty when angered, she shook herself free and shouted back at Eve,

  “Well how th’ divil should I know?…” She glared up at her, “…when all I do all day, to no t'anks from anyone, is slave is this blasted old kitchen! They could be half way up the road to Killarney for all I know! Or care!”

  Eve picked up the rolling pin and contemplated bludgeoning her with it, she resisted the temptation, slammed it down, and marched out of the kitchen calling their names,

  “Margaret! Philippa! Show yourselves! Before I lose my temper!” She found them in the entrance hall, they stood side by side in front of the door, they had their coats on and each held a large suitcase, their cheeks were tear-stained and they were obviously clearly terrified. Emm spoke up first,

  “We're ready to go-”

  “-to the Asylum.” Pip finished in a thin wail, they moved slightly closer together and held hands. Without breaking stride Eve marched up to them and placed a hand on each of their heads then knocked them together, hard. The girls squealed and both fell to the floor clutching at their heads.

  “How long has he been gone?” Eve demanded. The girls tried to reach for each other, too afraid to reply,

  “Answer me, damn you!” They were sobbing and clutching each other, Eve pulled back her foot and kicked Emm hard in the face, knocking her backwards, her face quickly awash with blood.

  The emotion emanating from the two girls was sending Eve into a frenzy, she was finding it almost impossible to hold herself back,

  “You're not going to the Asylum! That place is too good for you! I'm sending for Sir Clive…” She kicked Pip in the ribs, “… you can join him in the cellar! Help him with his experiments...” Stamped hard on Emm's head, “...and then we can feed what's left of your stupid worthless bodies to the pigs!”

  The girls were howling with terror, the entire household lived in fear of Sir Clive, fear of what he did to those young women he took down to the cellar. Eve had Emm's arm twisted behind her back almost to the point of dislocation, she had succumbed to the frenzy.

  Franco's powerful voice broke through,

  “Mistress!” he was probably the only living person who could bring Eve back, she let go of Emm's arm stood up and glared at him,

  “They have betrayed us! And they will suffer for it!” She yanked Emm’s bloody face up by her hair and started to push a finger into her eye, Franco interrupted her again,

  “What have they done?” His voice was mellow as he tried to calm her.

  “They’ve let him go!” She jabbed a finger into Emm's eye causing her to scream and thrash about.

  “We didn't! We didn't! He just vanished!” Pip wailed as she tried to pull Eve’s hand from Emm's face.

  Franco thought quickly, he was pretty sure it would be a bad idea to kill the twins,

  “Perhaps they should die, after we have questioned them?” He gently placed his hand on Eve's shoulder making her turn to face him. She paused for breath, seeing the sense in what Franco had said,

  “Very well, bring them to the library!” He had bought them some time, some time for Eve to come to her senses he hoped. She marched ahead, catching a glimpse of a sheepish Kelvin Bright before he ducked back out of sight,

  “I'll be seeing to you one day soon as well! Cocky little shit...” She said to herself, promising something uniquely painful for his ultimate demise, “...Where did I leave the thumbscrews?”

  Chapter 5: “And for all I've done...”

  Rome - AD68

  Through charm and guile the gladiatrix became a favourite at Nero’s Golden House. And she knew it would be only a matter of time before she engineered some time with him alone. His sexual deviations were legendary and she whispered to him of the strange delights she could provide,

  “ A little sacrifice is all I need…” A secret assignation was arranged. Her skill with ropes and knots brought about his death. Strangling himself in a bondage fantasy of her orchestration, “…your sacrifice!” She raged at him as his eyes bulged and bowels emptied,

  “I don’t suppose you remember me? That little plaything your daddy brought home? Well now you’ll remember me in hell! Say hello to your dear father for me.”

  Much of Rome was pleased to hear of his apparent suicide.

  *

  Richard, a lay-by near Shillingham - 2000

  “I said, can't you get rid of ‘im?” The old hag repeated petulantly, still wagging her grubby thumb towards Richard.

  “Bad enough ‘avin’ you to look after! Can't afford a free ride for every sponging no-good what walks into me camp! Ain’t you got that food ready yet?” Richard watched the grumpy old bag as she pulled out a small glass bottle from somewhere beneath her layers of soiled clothing, he guessed that it contained Gin or something similar. She took a quick swig and coughed wheezily before continuing her rant,

  “An’ ‘e ain't ‘avin’ none o’ my ‘winter warmer‘ neither! I needs it for me chest!” She took another short swig from the bottle of ‘winter warmer’ and fell into a fit of wheezing and coughing, obnoxiously blind drunk.

  Tsuba watched her sympathetically then glanced at Richard, shaking his head gently he spooned out a portion of broth into a bowl that had been warming by the fire, he passed it over to her. Richard noticed a very strong herbal aroma as the bowl passed by and guessed correctly that Tsuba deliberately added them to the broth to ease the old lady's chest complaint. She held the bowl under her nose for a few moments before eating to allow the vapours to circulate, her wheezing eased a little. Richard found himself wondering how the odd couple had come together, perhaps they had a story to tell even more bizarre than his own.

  Richard was next to receive a bowl of the steaming aromatic broth together with two pieces of the flat bread,

  “Thanks.” He said. Tsuba smiled showing a white set of teeth.

  “After eating you must entertain us with your story, and please, do not try to shorten any of it, start at the very beginning and leave nothing out!” Tsuba loaded up the fire after they’d eaten and then sat down to listen to Richard's story.

  “I really don't know where to start.” Richard shook his head, just a little embarrassed.

  “Begin with your name, or what you would like us to call you, then tell us what you were doing just before the misfortune fell upon you, the one that has left you so alone in this world that you have to wander the streets begging for food and shelter.”

  Falteringly at first, and with many backtracks, Richard told his tale. He told them how happy and simple his life was with Susan and how quickly it all changed after Eve had walked into his print shop. Tsuba was greatly interested in her and asked many questions, often making Richard go back to explain something in more detail. Towards the end of his narrative Richard noticed that darkness had fallen, the old hag appeared to be asleep and a cold drizzle had started, making the parts of his clothes that were not facing the fire quite wet. Tsuba carefully placed more wood on the fire saying,

  “A truly marvellous tale…” He said, “…and one that a great many people would find impossible to believe.” Richard shrugged as if he didn't care whether Tsuba believed him or not,

  “I'm still hungry...” He said, adding sarcastically, “...Have I earned enough entertainment points for some more of that soup?”

  “Yes indeed, a fine story like yours is worth a dry bed for the night, and some breakfast at least!” Tsuba handed over another bowlful before adding more seriously,

  “You have given me much to think about. Many years ago, when I was in Cambodia...” He frowned at the memory, “...I met a woman such as you describe, the one that goes by the name Eve she came on a wave of great evil in that country. She herself...” His voice trailed off, remembering much more than he wanted to tell, “...was not evil, som
ehow she brought out the latent evil in others, there were many deaths, many atrocities. We, I, er-” Tsuba trailed off lost in thought while Richard ate his soup. It was a few minutes later that Richard noticed that the fire was almost out, he hastily bundled on the last of the collected wood.

  “I suppose I should fetch some more wood if we're to keep this fire going.” He didn't receive an answer, The old woman still appeared to be asleep and Tsuba was gazing, trance-like, into the darkness,

  “I didn't realise my story was that exciting. Sent him into a coma.” Richard muttered to himself as he again trudged back into the woods, it took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and he had to go further to find suitable pieces of timber. The drizzle was persistent and cold, he was shivering by the time he got back to the camp and was relieved to see that the fire had not quite gone out, he dropped his load and knelt in front of the tiny fire to gain some of its warmth. Tsuba had awoken from his trance and was busy setting up some kind of screen around the fire. It was a kind of open-ended tent woven out of slender branches that when positioned around the fire would protect it from the rain and excessive winds but would also allow it enough air for it to burn properly. Richard was quietly impressed. When the ‘tent’ was in position Tsuba quickly started sorting through the timber that Richard had fetched, some of it he placed immediately onto the fire, the rest was stacked neatly inside the ‘tent' to dry out,

  “We have to keep the wood as dry as possible.” He muttered by way of explanation. Richard turned at the voice of the old hag,

  “‘ere, ‘ave this!…” She threw a dark pile to the ground. “…though you don't deserve it, scrounger!” Without further comment she spat on the ground and returned to the sanctuary of the bus. Richard ignored her and whatever it was that she'd thrown down. Tsuba spoke next, he sounded slightly embarrassed.