Eve

by Timothy Pearsall

  “We've got this sleeping tent you can use... It should keep you dry...” He moved to the dark pile and started undoing straps before adding, “...If you can keep the fire going through the night we can all have a hot breakfast, with this rain I doubt if I could get a fire started before we set off tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Tsuba smiled and busied himself erecting the tiny sleeping tent. Richard was tired and grateful for the things that he had got, a fairly dry place to sleep, a fire and some food in his belly, “It Could be a lot worse…” He told himself, “…tomorrow I'll move on.” And although he still had only the slightest idea of where he was or what tomorrow might bring he fell asleep almost instantly.

  *

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  In the great kitchen of the old house Anjelica and Fidelma sat at a bare wooden table playing cards, as they often did when it was late and the house was quiet. Anjelica, popularly nicknamed Jelly, laid down her cards, almost knocking over her tall glass of sherry,

  “There's evil in this house.” She slurred.

  “To be sure...” Fidelma agreed in her rich Irish Brogue, “…but tis nothin’ to do with us, we’re just the ‘help’ around the place.” Jelly took a large swig of sherry and, still clutching the glass and swaying slightly from side to side, made the assertion,

  “Yes, and that’s as maybe, but we're also the one's who're going to need some ‘help’ sooner or later! Mark my words! That bitch is crazy!” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis. Fidelma understood that she was referring to Eve,

  “To be sure, I don’t disagree wid you, she’s as mad as a brush. But she's not the one we have to guard ourselves against, the real evil goes on down there!...” She pointed to the floor, “...Down in that mad hell-hole of a cellar, in that so-called laboratory!...” She dealt new cards before continuing, “...tis that poor little Cairo I feel sorry for, what kind of a life is she going to have? Living in this house full of nutcases, neglected like a poor little orphan-child.”

  At that moment the bruised and sorrowful twins filed into the room wearing their nightdresses,

  “We're…”

  “Hungry.” They said. Fidelma and Jelly exchanged knowing glances and a shake of the head before Fidelma replied,

  “Well, you’re not helpless are yer? Your arms'r not broken are they? You know where everything is. Help yourselves, just don't be leaving a mess behind you!”

  They continued to play cards in silence while the twins raided the larder,

  “I want cake.”

  “And cheese.”

  “And crisps!”

  Fidelma rolled her eyes at Anjelica, she smiled and tapped her forehead whispering,

  “They're harmless really.”

  *

  Susan, Norfolk - 2000

  Churchyard trees dripping with pink blossom overhung the garden wall at the back of the little Norfolk cottage, a gusty spring wind brought down cascades like confetti turning the newly mown lawn pink.

  Susan, out of breath, put down her skipping rope for a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful sunny morning. Tommy Paston had been in the gardens the day before, mowing the lawns and tidying up the windblown debris. Susan had hid inside, occasionally peeking through her bedroom curtains. He looked pretty much the same as she remembered, except, of course, a few years older. He had glanced up at the house from time to time but made no effort at contact.

  Susan was grateful for that. She had found the skipping rope and her old exercise bike amongst the things still stored in her former bedroom, she remembered when, as a teenager, she had been a bit of a keep-fit fanatic. Looking at her body, instead of her face for a change, she realised that she had let it go a little and decided to work-out again. Setting herself a routine that included skipping, cycling, sit-ups and press-ups she found that the physical exertion worked wonders for her moods, she felt less angry after a good work-out and more able to cope with her depression. As the lonely days passed she regained her former athletic figure and laughed one morning when her, once tight fitting, jeans slipped down off her hips, she had to find a belt to hold them up. She’d also stopped looking at her face in the mirror all the time, the exercising had been good therapy for her.

  And so it came as something of a shock to her when a few days later she looked into the bathroom mirror to see that the scabs had fallen from her face leaving only faint pink lines. By looking closely she could still read the carefully cut letters SLUT but she knew, knew deep inside with intense relief, that they would fade further and might be completely hidden by a little make-up. She saw her eyes grow sparkly before her sight was blurred by a flood of warm wet tears, tears of gratitude that the ugly word had gone. Soon, she knew, that she would be able to go out into the world again.

  Later that day, after her workout, while she was poring over yet more of her mother’s writings, she came across a name and an address, the name was Sir Clive and the address was the same as the house she and Walther had raided in Hammersmith, her excitement grew further when she saw that there was another address for Sir Clive, apparently he had a house in the country near a town called Shillingham. Her mother described Sir Clive as:

  “A charming and vigorous man on the outside, but beneath his facade he was one of the most insanely evil men I have ever known.” Susan read a little further, then without consciously thinking about it, she went to the phone and dialled a number, it was answered quite quickly,

  “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

  “Walther! Is that you?”

  “Yes, who-”

  “It's Susan! Listen, I've got an address!” She quickly checked her watch before continuing, it was almost half past two,

  “I'll be at the boat by seven! Put the coffee on!” She slammed down the phone as a triumphant and determined grin forced itself across her face,

  “Now for some payback time!” She shouted out loud as she started to gather some things together. Only a few minutes later she was running out of the house to her car.

  *

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  Eve switched off the television with a snarl as the title music to Eastenders started up,

  “I hate the way they glorify such depressing ugliness...” She threw the remote control onto a side table, “...Millions of people, and not just the fat slovenly plebs, watch that dross every day, glued to it, convinced that it’s good to be that stupid, that, that, common!…” She rose and glowered at the now blank screen, “…Those people, those caricatures,of the ugly and selfish side of humanity…” She waved a dismissive hand towards the set, “…are their role-models!...” She shook her head in disbelief, sighing, “…for the sake of the Walking Woman! They actually want to be like them...” She fought against the urge to wrestle the TV set to the ground, “…still, I suppose peasants are still peasants whatever century they’re in.”

  Franco was busy taking a lot of no notice of her ranting. He was used to it, every time she switched on the television she ended up losing her temper with either the presenters or the presented, and despised the mundane. He understood why. She had no time for passive entertainment, she'd never been able to just sit still and enjoy, even his beloved Barbieri failed to keep her attention, she needed to be a part of a live situation, clapping, cheering, dancing. He remembered the look on her face at the Pamplona Bull run. So happy and full of vigour. He sighed as she continued her pointless rant,

  “I am so sick of this petty, narrow-minded hypocritical little country! I need some fresh air, from a free country, a country without ID. cards, without video cameras in the high streets and without your life history stored away on a stupid computer!” Franco shook his head gently and smiled, softly interrupting her he said,

  “Why don't you take out one of the horses? The ride might make you feel better.”

  She turned on him quickly and for a split second he wondered what she might do, then she favoured him with her best “I've been ranti
ng again haven't I?” smiles and skipped towards the door,

  “I think I will!” She said, adding,

  “And I might trample down a few gurning peasants while I’m at it!” Franco waited until she was out of earshot,

  “I doubt you’ll find many outside, mistress, they will all be indoors, glued to their TV sets, paralyzed by the soaps.”

  *

  Richard, a Roadside Campfire - 2000

  Richard toyed with the idea of letting the fire go out and leaving the camp just before the others got up, a kind of petty revenge for their indifferent attitude towards him, fortunately good sense prevailed, it was a cold wet night and he could do with a hot breakfast.

  The morning was brighter than he had expected, the rain having blown away by dawn, he was astonished at how beautiful the forest looked in the early morning sunlight, and golden shafts penetrated the gloom as he tramped through the trees looking for yet more firewood. By the time he returned to the camp, Tsuba was up and busy at the fire,

  “I was afraid you might have gone.” Tsuba said in his phlegmatic eastern manner.

  “Nearly did, thought I'd have breakfast first.” Richard replied dropping his lumber.

  “I'm glad you stayed.” Tsuba said in a way that implied he wanted to say more.

  “How come? Getting fed up with the old cow?” It was Richard's turn to wag his thumb. Tsuba smiled at Richard's jibe and replied,

  “I want to help you.” He had the fire going well again.

  “Help me to do what exactly?”

  “To find your enemy, the woman you call Eve.”

  “And what makes you think I want your help?” Richard handed him some more wood for the fire.

  “Ah. You see, my religion does not recognise the event you would call coincidence. It is my belief that we were meant to meet here. I was sent here to help you.”

  “Bollocks.” Richard's reply was blunt. Tsuba was unmoved and continued unabashed,

  “Listen, my brusque friend, hear me out. I have been travelling for many years, all around the world. And in all that time I wasn't just wandering, I was searching. I have taken many wrong turns, and it appears that luck has finally intervened.” Richard's normally ferocious scepticism of all things mumbo-jumbo had taken a serious denting in recent days so he bit his tongue and let Tsuba continue.

  “This place…” He waved his hand encompassing the scruffy lay-by, “…Is the appointed place where I was meant to join with you...” He reached into his jacket, “…Look at this.” Tsuba took a slip of crumpled paper from an inside pocket, he unfolded it carefully and handed it to Richard, it was a photo.

  “Taken in Cambodia many years ago, that is me third from the right.” Richard looked closely at the crumpled black-and-white photo. He saw a group of soldiers cheering and waving their rifles in the air, a young man who looked like Tsuba among them. Behind and above the group was a Russian tank, stood up by the turret was an officer and to Richard's amazement, next to him, dressed in military combat gear and holding a pistol high above her head was Eve, unmistakably. Richard handed back the photo,

  “It's her.” He mumbled, amazed. Tsuba nodded,

  “I hardly dared to believe, listening to your story, I thought “It can't be her” but during the night I remembered there are no coincidences, it had to be her.”

  “And how long have you been looking for her?”

  “16-17 years.”

  “Wow! It looks like you were fighting on the same side, is that how you met?”

  “No. Not at first. We er, met, in a village, I fought with the Khmer Republic, she was, er, more of a free-agent.” Tsuba shook his head in a rueful smile,

  “I was an idealistic boy. I knew no better. I grew up in Japan, naïve in a well-off family. Ran away to fight in a war in another country. Fighting. Until-” Tsuba ran out of words. Richard sensed there was something between him and Eve, and blurted out,

  “So you and her, got it on together?” Tsuba ignored the question,

  “Please believe me, Richard, there really are no such things as coincidences. And I am going to help you find her.”

  *

  Sir Clive's House in the Countryside - 2000

  The twins sat in their pink chintz bedroom clutching their dolls and staring at the wall. They had been let off. Eve had finally and begrudgingly accepted that it was not their fault that Richard escaped. But inside their mad heads something had been changed, an entirely new set of thoughts troubled their already overcomplicated minds. They felt a sense of loss at Richard's escape but they knew without thinking that they could cope with that, life moved on. It was the growing feeling of discontent with their lot that was upsetting them. All of a sudden they had lost their trust and dependence on Eve.

  “She shouldn't have hurt you like that.” Pip said gravely. She had always been the meeker of the two, but meekness does not necessarily mean weakness.

  “I'll be all right.” Emm replied as cheerfully as she could manage, hugging her sister with one arm. The other one was strapped to her chest and she had a bandage on her nose, the bags under her eyes were blue/black.

  “She shouldn't've done it.” Pip muttered again and continued to frown at the wall.

  *

  Walther's boat, London - 2000

  Susan drove alongside the Thames towards Walther's boat, she was mildly surprised to see his garage empty with its doors open wide, his car was parked parallel to the boat on the riverside road, evidently he had been waiting for her and as she approached he waved her straight on into the garage.

  “The police are looking for you!...” He explained while he quickly closed the doors to conceal her car, “...They want to talk to you about a murder.”

  “Who's been murdered?” Susan demanded, jumping to the wrong conclusion that it might have been Richard.

  “Well, evidently, the man who attacked us at your home was killed later that very same evening. Obviously they know that it wasn't us that did it because we were both in hospital but, they still want to interview you about it and about Richard's disappearance. I think he might be their strongest suspect.” While Walther was talking he led Susan onto the boat, all the while looking around to see if anyone was watching.

  “Aren't you being just a little bit too melodramatic? And what's wrong with saying “Hello?” Susan was amused at his over protective attitude. She stood in the centre of the cabin with her hands on her hips. Walter had been peering out of the window at the empty road outside. He turned to her with a small laugh at himself before replying,

  “Yes I suppose I am being a little silly! I'm sorry, It is very good to see you. How are you? You're looking very, er, thin!” He had looked at her properly for the first time since she'd arrived and was shocked at how slim she had become.

  “Thank you. I think…” Was her deadpan reply, “…you’re looking pretty wasted yourself. Your face is still swollen.”

  There was an awkward silence which Walther suffered in embarrassment, Susan let him suffer even though she had not really felt offended. Finally she allowed him off the hook,

  “Speaking of murder, I could kill for one of your coffees.” She smiled. Walther smiled,

  “Of course, how very remiss of me.” and fled quickly to the galley. Susan was amazed at how in control she felt.

  A little while later the atmosphere had relaxed, Susan had told him of her ordeal at the cottage, her scars and her fear. He had shown a great deal of concern about her face, even blaming himself for not protecting her well enough against Smokey Dick. He looked carefully at the thin scars and pronounced confidently that they would become more and more faint as time went by, eventually her story was told.

  “And so what have you been doing?” She asked him over a second cup of coffee.

  “Well my dear, I've certainly not been idle. I engaged the services of a private investigator and like you, I've also come up with an address!” He bubbled with enthusiasm as he related his plan,

  “I had initially pl
anned to drive up there and just have a snoop around. But then I had second thoughts, it might look too obvious, I might be seen. So I came up with the idea of approaching the house on the blind side! Let me show you what I mean.” He stood up, his head touching the ceiling, pulled open one of the polished wooden drawers and retrieved a map. Moving the cups to one side he spread the map over the table in front of them,

  “See here, this is the town of Shillingham…” He pointed with the end of a gold pen, “…and here is the house…” Susan nodded waiting for him to get to the point, “…and this blue line…” He traced along it with the pen, “…runs passed the house, I estimate no more than three hundred yards away, and all the way to here!” He lifted the pen from the map and pointed it theatrically at the floor of the boat. Susan’s brow furrowed, not sure what he was alluding to. He quickly made his point,

  “That thin blue line is the river Thames! We can sneak up on them by boat.” He seemed very pleased with the idea, Susan smiled and thought about it.

  “Yes...” She said finally. “…It is a good idea. In fact it's fucking brilliant, let's do it. We can leave tomorrow.”

  *

  Richard, a Roadside Camp, Shillingham - 2000

  Richard was not at all convinced by Tsuba's coincidence theory but he had to admit to himself that he could use some help, at least for the time being. And he’d seen so much crazy shit just lately he couldn’t rule out anything. And so, slightly reluctantly, he stayed with Tsuba and the old woman. Tsuba immediately appointed himself as mentor to Richard and instigated a training routine to increase his fitness and mental awareness. Richard had not enjoyed being told that he was flabby and slack-minded but went along with the exercises as much to pass the time as for any other reason. And after the first few gruelling days while his muscles adjusted he found himself enjoying the routines, even the ones that he had initially thought daft. And then one morning he realised that he actually did feel fitter, more flexible and more alert than he had ever felt before. Tsuba was pleased, Richard had responded well to the training.