First Person

by Eddie McGarrity

  “I believe what my old man tells me.” He sounded so sure, like his faith in the legend of the giants was pure; untainted by doubt or questions. He spat something from between his lips and looked out across the buildings of our village. Our voices were quiet but they filled this large area.

  Without being able to help myself, I found I was pressing him. “But it was his Dad that told him that, all the way back to the engineers we found here, tending this place.”

  “So why should we doubt it?” He turned to me, and his scowl was gone. “You know the history. Our people fled the virus and the fighting. When they got here, the engineers were few in number and needed help. Why would they lie?”

  “But why would we spend our lives tending to them?”

  “Not to them,” Lewis said, conviction in his young voice. “To the facility. The engineers were not giants’ slaves. And nor shall we be.”

  I recognised the words. “That’s right out the school books.”

  Lewis leaned over and placed his wrists on his knees. “Grown-ups criticise you for not learning while kids give you stick for paying attention.”

  My own legs were stretched out and I wiggled my feet in response to his exasperation in me. Realising I had been patronising, I changed the subject. “Me and Dad tend the vents.”

  “Because of the heat inside?”

  “Yes, do you know about it?”

  Lewis jumped up and told me to follow him. Scrambling to my feet, I skipped after him as he went up to the door. It was massive and don’t think I had been that close before. He stood really close to it, and rested an ear on the metal. He ran his hands over the surface, like he was smoothing a blanket. “What do you feel?” Lewis asked, quietly.

  I stepped up and followed his lead. The door was cold against my head. I found myself giggling with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. He gently shushed me. “You have to listen,” Lewis said. “Try it for once.”

  I tutted but closed my eyes. Hearing his hand slide along the surface of the door like the rustle of grass in the breeze, I placed my own palms on. Though it looked smooth from a distance, I could feel the indentations of the metal, its imperfections and points where the weather had bitten at it. Little crumbles of rust pattered through my fingers and I thought of Lewis sweeping them up tomorrow.

  Lewis was whispering now, his gentle voice repeating a fairy story Mum told me and Mima. “We live in a time of legend. Deep inside, far underground, lie the giants. They wait for the day they will wake up and show us the way. We tend the facility, in the tradition of the engineers. The giants watch over us, keeping us safe, and free of the virus.”

  His voice made me feel sleepy as I drifted into the door, feeling like it could swallow me and I would fall asleep amongst the giants to awake in a place far away, unrecognisable as home. My mind went deep underground, imagining their slumber. Lewis said, “The giants live in an ice palace, surrounded by treasure, guarded by us. The cooling system needs to let out steam, so you open the vents, and close them again to prevent contamination getting in. And far beneath us, you can hear a clock ticking down the time until they awake.”

  I listened. My head seemed no longer on the door, but beyond it, exploring the passages and I could see a machine, like the clock in the engineers’ lab with its swinging pendulum. Yet the one I pictured was massive and filled with wheels of varying sizes. When the hours struck, clockwork people moved inside its mechanism striking bells with tiny spades. And then I could hear it, really hear it, not some imagined sound from my dream timepiece. It was ticking. I opened my eyes and I could see Lewis looking right at me. He knew I could hear it. “It’s the giants,” he said. “Their breath powers it. No springs, no pulleys, just their breath. You can only hear it from the door.”

  “I hear things at the vents, but I thought it was just the steam.”

  I smiled and he grinned back at me. I was thrilled to be sharing this moment with him. Then there was a low thud which seemed to startle him. Lewis jumped back. My shoulder shuddered in fright like someone gripped them as I too hopped away from the door. Clanks and thumps from beyond the door picked out a rhythm in time to the sounds we heard inside. I was terrified. Then we were lit up. Framing the door were a series of rectangular holes I had seen many times, but it was like someone had lit a fire inside each one. They began to glow. A purple bruise at first, the light soon changed to a sort of orange.

  I felt Lewis’ hand on my arm as he pulled me back but we did not run. The thumps got louder and suddenly steam blew out from the bottom left and right of the doors. The smell was familiar from my time on the vents, a sort of warm water smell, tinged with something tangy and stale. The steam subsided and everything went quiet. I caught sight of Lewis. He looked at me, the scowl back on his face. I suddenly wondered if he remembered the last words of the fairy tale: The time of legend will be over when the giants awake and the doors begin to open.

  “What’s happening?” I whispered in the darkness.

  “I have no idea.”

  A massive bang, from beyond the door, and a hideous scraping sound screeched out as the doors began to open.

  eSoul

  HER SOUL IS in my ebook. When she died, I felt her presence leave the room and the book felt heavier in my hand. Having been reading to her, at her request for her last hours, it leaned into my hands as the weight increased. The room, though, was emptier. It was quieter too, her shallow breathing at an end. Her eyes once looked at me with love and joy. Afterwards, the focus left them, but not before her eyes searched the ceiling like she was thinking of something. She took one last breath and her brow furrowed momentarily. I’d seen this expression before, when she was making a decision about something. Within her head, a thought would pull at her forehead. Her eyes would scan, the resolution was made, she would relax, and she would nod to herself.

  She did this when she died. As her eyelids relaxed and, as she made her final breath, she seemed to nod and her body sunk into our bed. People say the dead are at rest but, of course, they mean the body, because the mind goes on, taken on its journey by the soul. I felt it press onto my fingers as her soul entered my ebook. Not yet ready to face the book, and not yet ready to say goodbye to my wife, I placed the device carefully on her bedside cabinet. I let my fingers run across its leather case as I lifted my other hand to her head.

  I smoothed out her hair. Already, the heat was beginning to leave her head. We had been prepared for this. My wife encouraged me to listen to the doctor explain how it would happen, so that I would be ready. She sat quietly in the room while the doctor whispered to me the process of death. Like Helen thought it would, I was equipped to face it. Everything occurred as I had been told it would. There would be no pain for Helen, that she would not suffer, that she would just disappear. But she did not go. She’s in my ebook.

  Her hair smoothed, I lifted my head and tried to take a mental step back. She looked comfortable. Had she been alive, she might have found sleep in such a pose. I pushed the duvet up to her shoulders to keep the warmth within her for as long as I could. She never did like the cold. I lay down next to her for some time until I felt it inappropriate to wait any longer to call the hospital. When the ambulance finally came to take her away, I was left alone with the book. I took it with me when I went to find our daughter.

  Sally lives with her husband, and his son, across town and it took me almost thirty minutes to drive there. As I pulled the handbrake, I could see a head bob up at the window. Perhaps it was Sally herself, I cannot be sure, but whoever it was must have known it was me, for our daughter appeared quietly at the door. Her face crumpled as I walked up the path, the book in my coat pocket, and she lifted her arms as I approached. I held Sally as she sobbed. I saw Kevin take young Jason through to the back room. He gave a sad smile and nodded understanding at me. The boy kept quiet, his manners impeccable, as he padded silently away.

  Somehow, I moved Sally inside and we sat in her front room while Kevin brought us tea. S
ally must have thought I was being brave for her, because she kept stroking my arm and telling me how sorry she was. I held her hand and told her I was sorry for her loss and the two of us cried sad tears. I would miss the physical presence of my wife, of course, but I would have her with me. I felt the book pull at my coat pocket. Kevin took the garment from me to hang up and I felt a pang of loss as the book went with it, but how could I tell him? I did not then tell Sally that her mother’s soul had left her body and was now in my ebook.

  Wiping away the last of her tears, Sally found some resolve and told us both that her mother had told her to be ready for that this, that somehow I would not be able to cope, and that she was to help me with the arrangements. I did not argue, not being a very practical man. Sally said she would take care of the funeral. I argued that I would take care of the cost. Despite arguing and saying we would discuss it later; I know Sally will not argue with me over the money. How can a young woman with a young family be expected to pay for a funeral? Besides, Helen had left strict instructions about what she wanted.

  Eventually, I was allowed to leave and I went home to my own house. Accompanied by Sally, who slept in the spare room for the first few nights, she insisted on changing the bedclothes as apparently it would be odd not to. I would rather have slipped between the sheets one last time with Helen’s scent, not the perfume which Sally thought I meant, by spraying a few drops on the second pillow, but her actual smell. Familiar with it my whole adult life, I would have enjoyed breathing her in one last time.

  After bidding my daughter good night, I lay in the bed with the lamp on. I opened the cover of my ebook and flipped the switch. I plugged my headphones in and tapped the commands on the screen to enable speech to text. Helen’s voice filled my head as she spoke the words. If you were listening, and had I allowed Sally by my not using the headphones, you would hear only the metallic robot sounds of these devices. But below the surface I could hear Helen. Her soul sang out the words on the page.

  At the funeral, we stood round the grave side. It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining warmly upon us. There was a curious tension in the air as the coffin was lowered into the ground. We’re not used to this type of funeral anymore, and you could feel people position themselves to see better. No longer able to pull off such physical feats, Kevin, our daughter’s husband, kindly took my place. Finally, Helen was at rest as the vicar concluded his part. I threw the first pieces of earth onto the coffin and at that, I broke down. Sally helped me away. My ebook flapped in my jacket pocket.

  At the hotel, where we held the wake, I took a chair by the window to receive visitors like an ancient king. I loosened my tie as Helen’s sister sat next to me. Mary leaned on me slightly, as is her routine, to indicate her physical presence. It was reassuring and I patted her on the arm. She has perhaps taken it harder than anyone now that her beloved sister is gone. At that point, she was trying to be strong for me, or so she said. Leaning on me was to let me know she was there. Further, as our relatives came up to pay their respects, she fielded some of their thoughts while I stayed quiet. Every now and then I would reach inside my coat pocket and touch the ebook. Sally watched me carefully.

  Back home, I settled myself in front of the fire. I didn’t need it lit, though the warmth of the day had receded. Kevin made tea while Sally and I sat in the front room. Jason kicked a ball in the garden. Before Sally had entered the room, I had placed the ebook on my side table, ready for a listen later when I was alone. Sally’s eyes had fallen on it the moment she came in. She looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

  Over tea, we discussed the service and how Helen would have approved. My daughter was exhausted and when Jason came in, he flopped down on the sofa next to his father, he too being tired after a long day for a small boy. I told them they should go home and rest. Kevin agreed, ruffling his son’s hair. Jason complained in the way that tired boys do by moaning at his father, who tried to shush him. I found it rather amusing to have a small domestic incident in my lounge. Eventually, Kevin was allowed to take Jason home, and Sally insisted on staying another night despite my protestations.

  As the evening progressed, Sally and I shared reminisces about her mother. We spoke of long ago holidays by the sea, Helen’s bridge club, and the time my wife decorated a cake for one of Sally’s birthdays. My daughter told me she had had a happy childhood and thanked me for it. I was stunned. One doesn’t think of childhood as being one thing or another. Isn’t it all just jam and long summer holidays? But to hear my daughter’s gratitude for something she ought to have taken for granted, though Helen and I did try to make a happy home, to feel the way she did was a marvellous gift to give me that night.

  I became rather overcome as did Sally. We sat for a while, listening to the clock on the mantle tick away. Finally, Sally asked me what her mother would say about us crying like old fools. She blew her nose and managed to calm herself. I managed to compose myself and I reached for my book. I leaned over to Sally and asked her if she would like to hear what her mother would say about us. Sally was taken aback and asked me what I meant. I told her about the ebook, a present from Helen, and how at the moment of her death, her spirit had entered the device. Sally went very still. She asked me if I was sure about this. I told her I was.

  I opened the cover and flicked on the device. It came to life and I chose the text to speech option. Out came Helen’s voice. Oh, you could hear the metallic, some say robotic, voice that the device uses but beneath it, above, through it and around it you could hear Helen’s voice. The sounds rang out around the room. Words and words and words buzzed around me, spoken by Helen, my beloved wife. I would never be alone with Helen here to speak to me. Her voice soothed me the way it did all these years. There was comedy too, a small joke here, and a pun there. And tragedy. All of life is contained in a book and all of Helen was contained in this book. It brought me joy. I looked over to Sally to see her reaction. Her eyes were filled with tears.

  Cavalryman

  “YOU’RE NOT THE first person to admire it, you know.”

  Miss Holland smiled at me each morning while I dusted the mirror she kept at head height in her lounge. I always smiled back and said, “It’s a very lovely item. What’s the story behind it?” She always crinkled her nose up and pointed at the air as if to say I would never catch her out. With this mirror, Miss Holland liked to hint at its secret and tantalise with hints. As her home help, I was the only one she saw with any regularity and I was happy to play along. In truth, I wasn’t all that interested. It was just a mirror, shoulder width across, some black spots at the edges and framed in paint flaked metal spirals, the sort of things you can see in houses all the time.

  I arrived at her house one morning to find Miss Holland in such a state. She was waiting for me at the door and waved at me as I parked the car. It took me a while to find a spot because there was a blue car in the space in front of her house. By the time I opened the gate and was walking up the path, she was quite panicked. When particularly stressed, her Scottish accent came through quite thickly. “Come in, dear. Quickly. Hurry and find out what he’s doing.”

  Trying to take my coat off, I said, “What on earth has happened?”

  Miss Holland tugged at my coat, as if to help me, but I just got tangled. She kept telling me that I needed to find out what he’s doing, whoever he was. Her hands touched my arm and they were very cold. I said, “You’re freezing. How long have you been at the door?”

  “Since he got here, dear,” she said. I had to take my coat back off her as she was getting all bundled up inside it. She was not at all steady on her slippers and her head sat an awkward angle because of spine problems. The last thing she needed was a winter coat dragging her to the floor.

  We were standing in the hall, with weak morning light at my back. As I closed the front door to preserve what was left of the heat, I stopped. Floorboards creaked from up the stairs. A shadow moved across the top landing. A man’s voice called o
ut, “Good morning. I’m Simon. From Walker Antiques.”

  “He’s here for my furniture, dear. Don’t let him take my mirror.”

  Heavy footsteps on the stairs thudded to meet us as is this Simon came down. He was quite young but had that fuddy duddy thing some young people have. He wore an old suit and nervous smile. I was hesitant about what to do. When I had heard his footsteps I had been nervous but he was just some guy. I said, “What are you doing here?”

  Simon looked from Miss Holland to me. “I was asked by Mr Holland to appraise some of Miss Holland’s things.”

  “Mr Holland?” I asked him. “You mean Jack?”

  He nodded quickly. “Miss Holland let me in. I don’t mean to cause distress.”

  It took me some time but I was able to piece together the story. Jack Holland was Miss Holland’s nephew. I had met him a few times. He seemed nice enough but he always sort of looked around the house like he was sizing it up. This Simon, from Walker’s Antiques on the High Street, had been contacted by Jack and arranged the appointment through him. Anticipating his client would have spoken to the aunt, Simon had parked out front and been let in by Miss Holland. This is something I hear about all the time in my job, old people letting strangers into their homes. I was a bit cross with this Simon. He hadn’t bothered with Miss Holland’s distress until her home help had arrived. So, when he apologised and said he had all he needed anyway, I let him make his excuses and leave.

  When I finally got Miss Holland into her chair in the living room, I made us both a cup of tea. She liked me to sit with her after some moments of drama. I didn’t have the time really. I’m supposed to be doing some domestic work, not socialising with the customers. She sat back in her chair next to the gas fire and breathed like she’d run a marathon. Sunshine filtered through net curtains and I could feel its warmth but I put the fire on anyway.