Antidote to a Curse

by James Cristina

  The cut of the shirt I wore produced a tapered silhouette. I looked at my black jeans and black shirt in the mirror, and thought of a couplet by Wordsworth: ‘The garb he wears is black as death, the word “Invisible” flames forth upon his chest.’ I followed and was soon engulfed in darkness. I heard his footfall, the door and the complementary click. I turned the corner, but he had vanished.

  A fine line of orange light defined the lower rim of the nearest doorway. An attractive guy to my right, in jeans and a grey shirt, was leaning against the brick wall smoking a joint. He let out a slow, deliberate puff that smelt mildly sweet. As I walked past, the orange light dimmed.

  I was about to walk on when the guy offered me a drag. I inhaled, the glow illuminating our faces. The light in the cubicle before us rose and plunged. I contemplated his features as the tip flared red; he appeared to be in his mid-twenties, calm. I walked into a room and switched on the light. He stepped forward and held his joint towards me, but this time I declined. He took another puff before letting it fall from his fingertips. He snuffed the light out with the tip of his white runner. I left the door open and contemplated the smoker for a few seconds before deciding to turn my switch off, not to dim it, but to simply flick it black.

  Back/

  Back home Nancy was in her gazebo, aiming her small blue rubber Taxco binoculars at the rafters. She was wearing a lime tracksuit that clashed boldly with her rose plush slippers, although the effect was muted by the frosted glass. The new concrete path had been laid with a fine splash of glitter. Nancy got up, flicked the light bulb off, ah! – then whirled the gold disc of her kerosene lamp. The light of the kerosene splintered the darkness and the glass gazebo itself became a lamp.

  I was lucky to find a room to let in a house like this. For the first couple of weeks I kept mostly to myself and kept myself mostly to my room, but Nancy was so accommodating that the division between room and house soon evaporated.

  I tapped the frosted glass and the door opened. Her black cat, Ludovico, was purring at the foot of the white headless bear rug. I walked in as quietly as possible. Nancy arranged the lace blanket around her lap and beckoned me to close the door. She gestured towards the mat, but I stood marvelling at Henry’s handiwork. The gazebo was tiled with black slate which matched the lead lattice grid of the surrounding panels. A finch flew among the intersecting beams. I detected the edge of a copper dish.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Igor,’ she said mischievously, pointing to the bird.

  I studied its fractured trajectory. ‘Crimson.’

  ‘Find them up north. Broome,’ she explained, making eye contact through her reading glasses.

  For some convoluted reason the flight path to Broome seemed further and more disjointed than the route to Bosnia Herzegovina. ‘Broome?’

  ‘Must belong to one of the neighbours,’ she mused.

  ‘How did it end up here?’

  ‘Henry caught it.’

  ‘Caught it?’ The intonation of my voice rose knowingly.

  ‘I think I’ll keep it for a while,’ she admitted with a giggle.

  ‘Do you need the binoculars?’ I asked.

  She tilted in her rocking chair but didn’t say a word.

  The furnishings seemed more like Nancy’s touch. A lamp table that was covered in lace and beside it a bronze statue of Atlas weighed by a large azurite stone. On her lap I noticed an open book. She was reading the one she had borrowed, Sir Thomas More’s Utopia. Ludovico purred resoundingly in his sleep.

  Nancy and Henry had taken it upon themselves to unpack the rest of my books. She placed them in the study, downstairs: four shelves of a wall-length bookcase, dedicated to my collection. They had saved me the trouble and expense of buying my own bookcase. I rearranged the books so that they were grouped according to genre rather than size.

  ‘How’s your stay in Melbourne treating you, Silvio?’

  I failed to answer. The branches stirred through the clear glass of the door behind her. She pulled the binoculars away. Her brow arched into a V and for a second she reminded me of Zlatko.

  ‘I need a good night’s sleep,’ I said, kneeling on the rug between her and Ludovico.

  ‘Here, have this.’ She poured the remainder of the wine into her long-stemmed glass and passed it to me.

  ‘Wolf Blass!’ I took a swallow. ‘How’s Utopia going?’ ‘Intriguing.’

  I could feel the mellowing effects of the day as I rested on my elbow. ‘And the birdwatching?’

  ‘An old passion,’ she offered. She raised an imaginary glass. ‘You’ll sleep like a cat.’

  I sank into the rug, but Ludovico rose to all fours turning his green eyes towards me, rubbing his coat, to-and-fro, against the back of my hand. Viewing the world side on through the lamp-light splinter that illuminated our glass sphere, I sank deeper.

  Nancy retrieved her wineglass, keen to return to her book.

  The earth reverberated with a pounding that seemed centred in Ludovico’s head. Branches snapped behind him, the undergrowth was trampled on. Before he could wring himself away, Ludovico felt the whip of leaves against his face as he fell.

  He heard the vital sinew in his elbow snap, again. He was badly winded. A vein burst and blood poured under the skin of his white polished temple. His ‘dead-bird body bag’ struck the ground beside him. Just before he was pushed, he had been holding the strap across his right palm, considering the weight of his catch, while the wallet, brimming with ‘bits’, swayed like a pair of scales. This was the second time in one day that he had come crashing to the ground.

  A woman in a sleeveless burgundy T-shirt trimmed with cat-gut stitch was dusting the dirt off her clothes with heavy slaps, looking around with a fearful gaze. She was as thin as a boy. She looked like she wanted to keep running but wasn’t sure where to go; the mouth of each entrance was dark, leafy, not a sure escape.

  Ludovico felt a sense of recognition but was unable to place her face. He stared at her. She held his gaze through her long, dishevelled fringe, ‘So bright,’ she allowed, before scanning the carnage splayed at his feet. Ludovico noted the prominent cheekbones and slightly cleft chin, the low cut of her sleeveless top and the drop of her silver chain just above her neckline. The light glimmered along a few of the links. There was something familiar yet unique about her eyes. They were upturned eyes, Asiatic, and stood out from her taut appearance. She looked young, though she could have been in her mid-thirties.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, looking over her shoulder at the passage she had emerged from.

  Ludovico groaned. ‘Yes.’ He yanked a twig in frustration and released a shuddering howl.

  The woman covered her ears. ‘Oh God.’ She rocked her head, braced to a metronomic beat, the bird bones in her hands fully visible. The forest ricocheted with birdcalls, shrieks and a foraging of species, multifarious: invisible.

  The sharp pain in Ludovico’s elbow subsided. Something lurked in the fringe around them. He cast a speculative glance over the woman’s shoulder. Catching her off guard – she ducked and wheeled, no-one, nothing.

  The woman slowly dropped her hands from her ears. She looked at the man she had collided with. The man patted his beige trousers a second time. He seemed harmless, bare, he carried nothing. His calico shirt, the same colour as his trousers, was half unbuttoned and hung loosely on his shoulders. When she gave up her stare she turned around and checked the same space again.

  Ludovico didn’t know what would emerge from that ghostly crevice, but it was obvious that she did. They both listened, they cocked their ears closer, almost in unison, but they couldn’t hear a thing. Whatever had given chase seemed to vanish. She stood up. No-one, nothing, then further, deeper, the far rush of the River Una, a sound so constant it lapsed into silence. They stood a couple of kilometres south-west of Bosanska Krupa. It was springtime and the parched landscape had been transformed into a lush wood.

  ‘What is it?’ Ludovico asked. The wo
man, still panting, approached wordlessly.

  ‘I’ve made a mess of you. Please let me …’

  He raised his hands, spread out at chest level, as if to indicate the hopelessness of the situation. What could she do? The woman acquiesced and held her distance, but stiffened instantly at the sight of his raised claw. She looked carefully at his hands, his feet, back to his face, carefully scrutinising his whiskers, the cleft in his chin, his soft wrinkled brow and his wide green eyes with their vertical, candle-flame pupils. She held his stare for a second or two, noting the faint yellow specks that gathered like iron filings within his iris. ‘You’re a cat!’ she blurted, eyeing the sharp cut of his nose, his hollowed cheekbones, the otherwise manly features of his face, with astonishment.

  ‘No, no.’ Ludovico dropped his hands. ‘A man.’ She examined the curved and pointed incisors. He stood tall as a man and proportioned as one, but different.

  ‘Yes, but …’ and her words faltered. She didn’t want to appear rude. She looked at his hands again. The claws of his forefingers tapered sharply. He noted her gaze and their eyes met again. She wanted to put him at ease so she stepped forward in spite of herself. ‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ Ludovico looked at his bloodied palms and his ripped trousers. The torn-up knees were bloodied and crumpled and hung below his actual knees. He couldn’t stand it. The silence, the stillness and what lay undefined behind it all. He brought the palms of his hands together in a reverberating clap that echoed through the layers of flora.

  ‘Please don’t,’ the woman pleaded, bringing the tips of her fingers over the back of his hand. ‘I don’t want …’

  ‘Who?’

  She pointed to the fern.

  Ludovico cast another penetrating glance over her shoulder.

  ‘Five minutes …’ and keeping Ludovico well within sight, she took a deep breath before letting her hand fall against her long pleated skirt. ‘I’ve upset him.’

  ‘A trap box?’

  ‘A bat net.’

  Looking over her shoulder he asked, ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘I lost my footing.’ They made eye contact. ‘Oh yes, perhaps,’ she admitted, changing her tone, ‘There’s a decoy.’

  Ludovico missed the point.

  ‘I tried to release it.’

  ‘Ah!’ Ludovico was intrigued by the accentuation. ‘Traps,’ he mused, imagining cages of trapped birds. He cast a momentary glance at the birds that had spilt from his sack and gave a conciliatory nod before looking at her directly. ‘Was he alone?’

  ‘Alone?’ she echoed faintly. She decided to tell, even if only directed by the adrenaline that their collision had nearly foiled. She revealed the corner of a tired smile. ‘It’s a club.’

  Ludovico could see that her escape was no small miracle. She was tall and appeared fragile, yet those eyes had the entire region mapped. Ludovico sensed it. This was reconnaissance, aligning the enemy’s shifting coordinates in the hope of outmanoeuvring their trap. The young woman continued to reveal her story through near-perfect teeth, apart from one jammed canine that was curiously flat and almost square.

  ‘We’ll raid them.’ For some reason Ludovico thought of contacting Nancy Triganza. He imagined her asleep after a late night of sketches and another random attempt to complete her files. Her work was great, but limited thanks to her inability to see things through. Her mobile was probably switched off anyway, her day’s work lost in the kernel of a dream.

  It was up to him and … He ventured to ask her name. ‘Are you a member of …?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank God.’ He hadn’t been to a conservation meeting since they’d spent the last of their funds on a publicised coup against their movement’s leader.

  He held out his hand. ‘Ludovico.’

  ‘Jasna.’ As he leaned towards her, he detected the perspiration that beaded across her brow. Now that her breathing had slowed, now that she was still, she looked towards the discarded sack, the abundant overflow. She stood thin as a reed pipe, piping clues. ‘The aviary? Nancy?’

  Ludovico revealed a barely detectible nod.

  ‘An ornithologist?’ She held him steady in her gaze, not quite sure what to make of him.

  ‘No, a collector,’ he declared with a slightly defensive air.

  She released a smile. Though it could have been nervousness, Ludovico couldn’t help but sense that she trusted him. ‘You know about the zoning?’

  He nodded, then asked. ‘How many nets have they set up?’ He knew that the only way to keep the conversation unreeling was to keep on track and let her meander freely like the neighbouring river.

  ‘I saw two, but there’s more.’

  Ludovico imagined a series of bat nets set up with symmetrical precision over the lip of the hill, almost like a Dali painting, and for some reason not a parrot but a finch, a crimson one, imploding on impact.

  ‘Take me to him.’

  Standing resolute, she quirked a brow in disbelief.

  ‘Lead the way.’ Ludovico released a button just below his chest and inserted his hand; the pain in his elbow, alleviated.

  ‘You look like Napoleon,’ she offered.

  Ludovico turned, surrendering his profile. ‘A broken wing,’ he offered.

  She looked at the man who was half cat and reddened slightly. ‘I broke it?’

  ‘It was already broken.’

  ‘How?’ Jasna asked, allowing a slight pinch of condescension.

  ‘Running through the woods.’

  ‘A hunter?’ she asked.

  He hesitated, a second or two. ‘No, just running.’

  ‘I can take you to the aviary, they could bandage you up.’

  Ludovico imagined an attendant, some ancillary staff perhaps. He flipped his wrist dismissively.

  ‘Her home?’ she encouraged. He could see that she had scrutinised this area. ‘Are you and Nancy friends?’ Jasna had a slightly incredulous look on her face. He could see that she looked a little confused; somewhat burdened by the unexpected meeting.

  ‘I collect blown bits,’ he explained, pointing to the sack. ‘How do you know Nancy?’

  ‘Through the aviary,’ she said plainly, though noting the look on Ludovico’s face, added, ‘exceptional.’

  ‘We’ll visit her later.’

  They pushed through the undergrowth, their raised arms shielding their faces. The problem couldn’t be dealt with until they had considered the surroundings. Before he got involved with any hunters he wanted to map out the dangers, determine the traps – consider whether intervention at this stage was feasible. Before they were involved he had to make the right decision.

  The forest was cool, lush, undergrowth and overhanging branches brushing and snapping against their voluntary passage. Now it seemed like there was only one place to go. They moved, magnetised by their curiosity, their fears. How much easier it would be to ignore the situation or work at the aviary and deal with the carnage there.

  Change was perilous work.

  Their progress was curtailed by a clutter of black leaves. The dry mulch cracked like potato chips. They pushed through, unable to avoid the forest’s percussive effects despite the recent rains. Ludovico’s determination had hooked itself and would find a way. It was just as he was about to turn around to check Jasna’s progress that the walls of the forest gave way and he tumbled into himself. ‘Christ!’

  His footing collapsed and without warning he was strung up in a ball, suspended among the forest branches while eyeing the darkness through one square grid. The net had pinned his palm over his right eye and each time he wriggled, the rope burnt its crucifix into the back of his hand. The scream he intended was nothing more than a muffled call. He wriggled in the net’s embrace. The oak creaked, one old branch begrudging its support. He listened for movement, human movement, but Jasna had disappeared. The tree groaned, acknowledging the burden that in one arc seemed a bold tangent, and he swung, trapped.

&n
bsp; The gazebo was closed, still. Before me, a wineglass, empty. I ran to the house, aware of the overcast sky, the warm breeze. I looked at my watch. Even though it was early, I drove to Separation Street. I parked my car in the supermarket car park and got my result from Adahy.

  The raw nerves of a high-pressure system hung in the humidity around me. I traced the squalid eye of a fortune teller’s presence, an umbilicus of barely discernible cloud. Russell Street was jammed with traffic. In the rear-view mirror, I spotted cars banked up well behind me. I looked ahead and to my left was an empty car spot.

  I stepped out of the car and looked for any signs of parking officers.

  I couldn’t tame a restless need to keep moving. I felt like a dot on a spiral radar determined to escape some pre-inscribed outcome. The first test had come through: so far, I was still negative.

  ‘You seem excited.’ Zlatko lit a cigarette and inhaled the life out of the flame. His minute antenna glinted in the artificial light. I couldn’t remember if the guy in the forest was really him. Did he have a hearing aid? I really couldn’t remember. So much of the dream seemed to evaporate upon waking. The woman in the forest, who had knocked the man to the ground, cared about birds. I could start there. I could begin piecing the story from this, but I didn’t want to sound like I was interrogating him. We were still getting to know each other.

  ‘Did you collect birds?’ He eyed me stonily as he drew on his cigarette. ‘In Pećigrad?’ I added.

  He reflected, breaking eye contact, ‘Rare birds, yes, but I don’t remember …’

  ‘The woman I live with has an aviary. Amateur,’ I stressed, bringing my hand between us. ‘I would like you to see it.’ He sat silently, eyeing my palm briefly, before looking back at me. ‘It’s an interest,’ I said artlessly.

  Darko brought the order to us. The coffee was freshly brewed and prickled my nostrils.

  ‘Where do you live?’ he asked.

  ‘Fifteen minutes,’ I waved vaguely to the shopfront. ‘It’s a modern house.’