The Click of a Pebble

by Barbara Spencer

  ‘Was he the man you were talking to?’ ‘Ramon; tall and swarthy with a broken nose?’

  ‘Yes. But won’t he be a follower of their church and its god?’ he argued. Almost automatically, he glanced across the room to where Zande was working on his drawing, carefully filling in the seagull’s wings with soft shading. He hadn’t spoken again, not after that one sentence maintaining he wasn’t scared. It wasn’t difficult to deduce the reverse was true. Zande had learned fear while hiding in the marsh. Faint cries and screams for mercy would have carried even to where he was hiding. Silence was his shield, the wall behind which he hid his emotions.

  ‘They taught us in school that priests were infallible. Won’t Ramon believe it’s his duty to hand us over to the authorities?’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘My, what a long word,’ she teased, wanting to banish Yöst’s haunted air.

  ‘I—’

  She put a finger on his lips to stop him speaking. ‘Child, your face is made for laughter. Don’t let it become too serious. Ramon’s family were once hunted,’ she elaborated, ‘even as you are being hunted now. Different men, they were not from the church, although the church stood by and allowed it to happen. Belief in God didn’t save them that day. Much like you, they fled their country and came here, hoping to find sanctuary. And you will enjoy living in the country once the winter is over.’

  ‘We have to stay … that long?’ he squeaked.

  ‘It’s not long at all,’ Mme Meijer assured him. ‘Maybe long enough to learn how to milk a cow—’

  ‘I can do that already,’ he broke in. ‘Zande’s mother owned a goat.’

  ‘And you will have children of your own age to play with.’

  ‘Will you visit?’

  ‘Not at first, it may unwittingly bring danger to you all.

  But I can write and Ramon will bring news each week.’

  Yöst peered through the front window impatient now to be on their way; the road out front empty, the encroaching dusk eroding sharp outlines into a haze of smoky blue. The news that Mme Meijer wouldn’t visit was yet another blow. Without his being aware, she had crept into his heart, filling a tiny part of the space reserved for his grandmother. So like her in many ways; her no-nonsense approach and brisk manner of speaking concealed the most tender of hearts. He would miss her dreadfully.

  ‘Yöst, it’s time.’

  Mme Meijer had fashioned two parcels tied with string; one containing the box of milk powder they had bought that morning, the other their discarded clothes, washed and neatly ironed. ‘I have given Ramon what money I had on me,’ she replied, when Yöst asked if the gypsy would charge for feeding them, saying he had no money to pay him if he did. ‘You won’t eat lavishly, although he keeps a good table. Unfortunately, with a son, four daughters and their cousins, he already has a substantial number of mouths to satisfy.’

  She opened the back door. ‘Come, Zande.’ She gave him one of the parcels to carry. ‘It is your job to look after TaTa.’ Immediately, the small boy dropped the parcel on the ground and took her hand, tugging at it impatiently. She bent down and he laid his cheek against hers, whispering in her ear. ‘If my mother doesn’t come back, will you be my mother?’

  She gave a wordless nod and picked up the package, handing it back him. He nodded confirming the bargain they’d just made, and set off down the garden path following Yöst. ‘What was all that about?’ M. Meijer, carrying Tatania, paused on the doorstep.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, Albert,’ she replied, the hand Zande had grasped clutched to her chest. ‘When that boy grows up, he will break a great many hearts.’

  ‘Not Yöst?’ He watched the two boys, hand in hand, pick their way across the rock-strewn slope towards the cliff steps. ‘No, not Yöst.’ She pulled out a hankie wiping a tear away. ‘Go on, now,’ and gave him a little push

  It should have proved easier to descend rather than climb a mountain of steps, nevertheless, Yöst felt equally as breathless, his nerves twanging at every sound. The heavy cloud had dissipated the last vestiges of a breeze and the air lay heavy, waves offshore drifting sluggishly. He dragged in a lungful of air, so tense now it was almost painful to inhale, grateful for M. Meijer’s presence. Voices that only he could hear continued to harangue him, warning the priest would somehow divine their plans and be waiting. It was instinct that kept his feet moving downwards, his lips silent, refusing to call out to Zande to run while there was still time.

  What if instinct had played him wrong? It had never done so before, except this wasn’t before, this was now. What if, this time, instinct had adopted a different course and gone over to the enemy, and the priest was waiting for them? What then? Would it be the end for him also, before he had even lived?

  Absurdly, his former life might well have belonged to someone else, his reason unable to move beyond a feeling of being hunted, and he jumped violently when a voice rose out of the gloom.

  ‘Need a hand?’ A dark shadow unravelled itself from the steps. Yöst felt his heart bump painfully against his ribs as he recognised the boy from the market.

  ‘Hoped it was you, when Pa said.’

  Yöst’s worried stare met his across the dusk-tinted space. He shook his head replying to Yöst’s unspoken question, and in the same gesture snatched off his cap, doffing it as M. Meijer came to a halt beside him. ‘I’m Rico, Pa sent me.’ He knelt down, his face on a level with Zande’s. ‘And you?’ He held his hand out, palm upwards, welcoming. ‘That’s …’ M. Meijer began.

  ‘I’m Zande. Yöst is my brother.’ The small boy released Yöst’s hand and held his own out, inviting a handshake.

  M. Meijer gazed at Yöst, surprised. ‘Brother?’ he mouthed.

  Yöst shrugged.

  Rico pumped the small hand up and down. ‘Nice to meet you, Zande. I have a sister at home. Actually, I have four sisters at home and they will be delighted to meet you also. You can play together. That will be fun.’ The last words came out in a dolorous tone and he raised his eyebrows at Yöst, his face inviting sympathy.

  ‘I have a sister already.’ Zande pointed to Tatania. ‘Her name is TaTa.’ He hesitated, adding, ‘I like girls.’

  Rico grinned, his teeth white in the darkness. ‘Then you’ll love living at our house. Come on. We’d better be moving, Pa’s waitin’. One thing you’d better learn about my pa,’ he confided, ‘he doesn’t like to be kept waitin’. Ma said all my sisters were born early, just to please him.’ He doffed his cap again, settling it back on his head. Bending slightly, he took Zande’s hand. ‘It’s not far but our horse can’t climb steps.’

  ‘Yöst, will you carry TaTa?’ M. Meijer placed the little girl in his arms, dropping a kiss on her blonde curls.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I know,’ the elderly man fussed. ‘Keep safe, that’s all I ask.’

  Running his hand down the metal balustrade to keep from tripping, Yöst followed Rico and Zande onto the pathway he had sped along earlier that day. With sunlight departing for distant shores, its houses had fallen into shadow and only their interiors bloomed with light. As they walked past gardens wrapped in a scented-parcel of autumn- flowering plants, Yöst wondered if their inhabitants had ever experienced the terror of being hunted, listening all the while to the sounds of the night, fearing the clink of a metal- tipped boot following them.

  It was a long walk, the gypsy boy leading them along narrow pathways that ducked behind the houses, edging steadily towards the top of the hill. As signs of gracious living petered out, they were replaced by more modest properties of brick and wood, the ground around them unpaved and scrubby.

  After a short distance, Rico had placed Zande on his back, giving Yöst his parcel to carry. ‘He’s only got little legs,’ he whispered. ‘Still, a month with us’ll toughen him up.’ He nudged Yöst with his elbow. ‘Stop looking so worried. Never see no one on this path.’ He grinned, ‘It ain’t posh enough.’

  A slight downwards slope took them out onto a paved road wh
ere a horse and cart were waiting, the tall figure of Ramon at the animal’s head. Up close, Yöst saw that he had once been handsome; the prideful good looks ruined by a nose that had been both badly broken and badly set. The hand he held out also showed evidence of violence, scarred and missing a finger, two others deformed and bent into a claw.

  ‘Better to lose half a hand than your life, lad, remember that,’ he said, picking-up on Yöst’s tentative handshake. Raising his voice, ‘Rico, help those children into the cart, Ma will be worried. Up!’ he nodded at Yöst. ‘It’s a good hour to home and I want my dinner.’

  It was a very long hour, their route through empty countryside slow and tortuous, an occasional light lifting away a darkness in which trees took on the shape of men. A bat brushed across his face making Yöst cry out.

  Rico, sitting up front with his father, swung round and gave him a comforting grin, his face shining with happiness, as if the presence of three strangers was the fulfilment of some longed-for dream.

  ‘You never seen one before? Bats, that is.’ He rubbed his belly. ‘I’spect it’s hungry, I know I am, and out hunting. In the country they ain’t got no fear, not like in towns. Out here animals ain’t afraid of us, and we likewise.’

  Afraid? Yes, Yöst was afraid, unable to envisage a friendly creature out hunting solely for food. Instead, it was the dark menace of the priest’s wings he saw. Shutting his eyes against the pictures, he tried to doze, wondering if their hurried exodus from the one place they’d believed to be safe would leave its mark on the two children. And prove as transitory. Would they be off again, next moment, somewhere else, somewhere so deeply hidden that not even the priest and the god he served could find them?

  Before they left, M. Meijer had taken him to one side. ‘Not so much as a word, Yöst. My wife thinks she knows. She doesn’t, not really. She doesn’t know how men change on learning about the carinatae; becoming the wild beasts they accuse us of being. Keep it to yourself, and let the children grow up believing they are no different from any other child.’

  Yöst dropped a kiss on the top of Tatania’s curls, admiring her lack of concern at the strange darkness, cuddled against him quietly sucking her fingers. On the other side Zande also remained silent, gazing about him as if he could see through the darkness to the colour of trees and meadows beneath. He sensed the boy’s control, his small frame as unbending as an iron bar, and wondered if that was another part of being a Black, discounting the happenings of the world as beneath you and of as little importance.

  Without warning, the cart pulled to a stop and Rico jumped down. Yöst started up, aware he’d been sat there for all that time and never noticed the boy’s sister wasn’t with them.

  ‘I have two carts.’ Ramon read his thoughts. ‘Clara went home several hours ago.’

  ‘Ma planned on giving us names from the Bible,’ Rico called out. Pushing open a barred gate, he held it wide for the horse and cart to pass through. ‘Luckily Pa insisted on names from the old country, otherwise I’d have ended up as Abraham or worse. Just so you know: they’re Ana, Berte, Clara and Delors. Clara’s bad enough as Clara, God help us if she’d been called Delilah which Ma decided on.’

  Grasping the horse’s bit collar, he led the cart along a wide path. Yöst inhaled a tang of fruit and guessed they were passing an apple orchard. He felt the incline, the cart heavy and dragging as the track twisted sharply around a grove of trees, their warped and craggy limbs forged into a solid wall against the night sky. Abruptly, a light cut into the dark shadow, the silhouette of a farmhouse and outbuildings framed in its glow. Sensing home at last, the horse broke into a trot, forcing Rico into a run to keep up. ‘Whoa, not so fast, old girl.’

  A light flared as a door flew open and a woman hurried out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Ramon, wherever have you been?’ she scolded. ‘I’ve been so worried. Clara said you were bringing some refugees home with you. I do wish you’d asked me first; the house hasn’t room for any more, we’re bursting at the seams. Oh!’

  She stopped at the sight of the three children orphaned among a heap of empty boxes in the back of the cart.

  ‘Quiet, woman, and help the children into the house, we will talk later. Mind, they are hungry.’

  Standing on tiptoe, she brushed his cheek in a kiss, smiling as he lifted Tatania to the ground. ‘Have you ever known a time when children aren’t hungry?’ Taking Zande’s hand, she began leading them towards the lighted doorway, bending sideways to grasp the little girl’s hand. ‘We will feed you and then bed, I think. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to the goats.’

  As Yöst made to climb out, Ramon reached over to stop him. ‘Wait! Rico, unload the cart.’

  The youth nodded, and piling boxes together, carried them across to the open entrance of a barn.

  Yöst watched, his nerves jangling. Unused to being addressed by a stranger, who happened to be a full-grown adult male, he wondered what was going to happen.

  ‘When I fled my country,’ Ramon began to speak, the sharp tones of his voice cutting a path through the milling darkness, ‘I never slept. I watched … always watching to make sure nothing worse happened. I had already lost both family and friends. I swore then if I reached safety I would stop watching and learn how to sleep again.’ He lifted his damaged hand peering down at it. ‘My hand is a reminder,’ he continued gruffly, ‘of the persecution my people are even now suffering. They do not want conflict; however, it would seem conflict wants them. Never forget, Yöst, persecution of the weak is a part of life and be on your guard against it.’

  He gave a soft whistle and two dogs emerged from the shadows.

  Yöst jumped. He had imagined the darkness to be empty, nothing in it except for the stack of empty boxes Rico had dumped on the ground. He had rarely if ever met up with dogs and now he regarded them with apprehension. Dogs had not been allowed on the island, the cobs fearing they might attack the young fledglings, before their wings were strong enough to lift them out of danger. And those he had seen scavenging the town’s gutters were pathetic creatures, their ribs hollow beneath jackets eaten away by mange. Registering the tall shapes, their colour uncertain in the moonless night sky, he noted their massive skulls and square jaw, their dark orbs sorrowful.

  ‘Now, these animals watch for me while I sleep.’

  The two dogs scenting a stranger snarled, their teeth menacing, gleaming white among the dark shadows. Yöst cringed back against the older man, aware their vast frames contained huge strength … far greater than a man’s.

  ‘Friend!’ Ramon called sternly. ‘Put out your hand.’ ‘No. I—’

  ‘Put out your hand, I said.’ Ramon grabbed his wrist, forcing his arm down.

  The lead dog stepped forward and bent its head. Yöst caught a loud snuffling then something wet and slightly rough scythed across his palm. He flinched, expecting to feel teeth at any moment.

  The dog gave a whine and nuzzled his hand. Nervously, Yöst reached out, smoothing the rough jacket. The animal backed away and lay down, its head on its paws.

  ‘Well, I never,’ Ramon whistled his surprise. ‘Never seen Léon do that before.’ Letting go of Yöst’s hand, he stared intently. ‘Go on, you can step down now and walk freely.’

  ‘What about Zande and Tatania?’ Yöst said concerned. ‘You didn’t introduce them to the dogs. How will you make them safe?’

  ‘Remember, my wife took their hands and led them into the house.’ Ramon shrugged. ‘They are part of my family now. Go inside, while I stable the horse.’

  11

  Ever after, when Yöst recalled being happy he coloured it gold, warm light flooding out as he pushed open the door to the house, the two dogs at his heels.

  With her hand stretched out in greeting, Ramon’s wife came to meet him. ‘I’m Pascual and they…’ she pointed her index finger at the two animals. They stopped and sheepishly backed away, disappearing into the darkness. ‘Live outside.’ She held out a hand. ‘Zande says your name is
Yöst and you are very brave.’

  Surprised Zande had felt comfortable enough to speak so openly to a stranger, Yöst gave a shy smile. ‘Thank you for taking us in.’

  ‘It’s not anything unusual, Yöst, we take in all waifs and strays here.’

  He didn’t reply, overwhelmed by the incongruity of his surroundings, as if Rico, in unbarring the gate for the horse and cart, had opened it onto a new realm. The room in which he was standing was massive, only the nave in the church exceeded it for size, the house where the Meijers lived minuscule by comparison. Yet very different from the church, which was cold and stark, its corners a depository for dark deeds and spiteful acts, here an explosion of light expanded the space into a glowing shell of colour, vibrating with the sound of people talking.

  Yet, not only the room’s dimensions, its shape also was unusual, there being no corners only rounded walls, curved like arms embracing. Adjacent to the main door, shallow stairs rose up towards a first-floor balcony. Supported on a half-circle of pillars, each one played host to the warm glow of an oil lamp, adding to the cheerful ambiance of the room. And above, with their edges lost in shadow, walls tapered up into a cone-shaped roof. But no windows, at least none with glass in them. Instead, there were wooden shutters, all but one closed against the night air. And whilst M. and Mme Meijer had each possessed an armchair, arranged either side of the fireplace, here, there were only settees. Long and elegant, they nestled together, their carved and polished wood frames sparkling in the lamplight; their seats bolstered with cushions that spilled onto the floor in a waterfall of bright colour. Then, placed almost centrally, a vast rectangular table with any number of people gathered around it.

  Timidly, he stared round at the noisy gathering, registering little more than blurred shapes. A sudden clattering made him jump and he spun round.

  A woman carrying a large iron pot pushed through a hanging curtain made from walnut shells, strung on lengths of twine. Nodding pleasantly, she hurried over to the table. The noise of the shells clattering together reminded Yöst of rooks in spring, the air above their hut one continuous squabble as the birds bickered over their right to a nest or a length of twig. He blinked away the image. Those sounds belonged to another life.