The Click of a Pebble

by Barbara Spencer

  ‘I know.’ The excitement in Yöst’s voice faded. ‘Do you think we’ll see them again this year?’

  The elderly man hesitated, ‘Even if the cobs don’t return, Yöst, you shouldn’t read anything into it.’ Picking up the averted eyes, he fumbled in his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, passed it over. ‘How stupid of me. Of course, you will read something into it, that’s quite normal. Still, you must remember, they’re not aware of what has happened. Besides which, it’s not unusual for them to skip a year.’

  Yöst rummaged up a painful half smile.

  ‘Oh dear, I’m not much good at this, am I? I forget you’re almost old enough to be one of them.’

  ‘Not for a long while yet. Rue was sixteen.’ Yöst repeated the words as if they were a mantra. ‘It doesn’t really matter to me but what about Zande and TaTa? I was brought up in the village, and will always remember what it’s like to be carinatae. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake and the last thing I remember before I go to sleep. But Zande and TaTa? If the cobs don’t come back, soon they will only have memories of a human life. I know what you said,’ he rushed on, ‘when we came here, but it’s wrong if they forget where they’ve come from.’

  ‘Albert?’ Mme Meijer stood up. ‘Will you take the children for a walk while I talk to Yöst?’

  Noticing Zande on the riverbank, Clara tossed her Bible on the ground and raced after him, Ernestina shouting to come back at once.

  Yöst watched the three children chase one another, using M. Meijer as a shield to hide behind. ‘Zande seems fine, Tante Marie,’ he commented, watching him skip over the short grass.

  ‘He will be, but he isn’t yet.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘About his mother coming back. He doesn’t think of her as dead. Perhaps in another room because when he dreams, she is alive.’

  ‘It’s how I see my friends,’ Yöst burst out, his voice cracking.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Yöst, sometimes I wish I had a magic wand and could put things back the way they were. Sadly, I can’t.’ Reaching out, she patted his hand, folding it within her own. ‘I said to Zande that his mother was living in God’s house now and cannot return to earth, but he can still meet up with her in his dreams.’

  ‘Your god, not Zeus?’

  She hesitated, adding decisively, ‘I have never been able to bring myself to believe in your god, Yöst.’

  Yöst fell silent, conscious of his own growing uncertainty. No one living had ever seen Zeus. Yet, if Zeus didn’t exist, how could they? He followed his train of thought into speech, ‘How do you account for me and Zande, if we’re not his children?’ Despite his agitation, he remembered to keep his voice low, conscious of the two girls seated nearby. ‘How did we land up here – on Earth? You believe in a god that created mankind in his image, but not our god who did the same. And what about a god, that kills?’ he added, his voice heavy with emotion. ‘At school, the priest was always quoting from the Bible. Yet if he finds us, he will kill us.’

  ‘Shush, child!’ Mme Meijer wrapped her arms about him. ‘It’s not God who is evil; it’s men that use his name to do evil.’ Her voice changed becoming stern, her mouth tight-lipped. ‘Everywhere you go, there are men who are bombastic and bullying. Nevertheless, if you look hard enough, you will discover far more good people than bad.’

  Yöst didn’t reply for a second or two, reluctant to reintroduce his former argument out of respect. ‘Uncle Albert says they may not return this year.’

  ‘Who, the carinatae? I said the same to Zande,’ she replied, her voice reclaiming its brisk tones. ‘I added that his father loves him very much and will return to see him as soon as he is able.’

  Yöst caught the sarcastic tone. ‘Don’t you believe that to be true?’

  ‘What? That his father will return as soon as he is able?’ Yöst nodded. ‘No! And neither should you.’

  Yöst was silent for a moment, remembering the fair headed man who strode about their village, chatting with his particular friends, never noticing the young boys who gazed at him as if he were a god.

  Rue had admitted even fledglings never addressed the Black directly. ‘I have to wait for him to notice me and speak first.’ He caught the echo of Tast’s voice, light and teasing. ‘What if he never does?’ Rue had laughed. ‘I peck off all my feathers and come back to live with you lot,’ and he had grabbed Tast in an arm lock, wrestling him to the ground.

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Mme Meijer rubbed her hands together as if banishing a problem. ‘Have you recovered?’

  He blinked and the images faded. ‘Clara likes having Zande here,’ he avoided the question.

  ‘Yöst?’ Her voice gentled. ‘I thought you and I were friends. Don’t friends share their problems?’

  Sniffing back his tears, he squared his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry but when I heard the cart on the driveway, I sort of hoped we might be going back with you.’

  ‘Oh, my dear boy! Ramon asked the same question when we met up.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That we hadn’t heard from your people. He’s happy enough to let you remain with them, says you earn your keep well enough.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘You must be doing something right.’

  ‘I do try,’ he pleaded.

  ‘I’m sure you do. I also know you love Zande and TaTa, and if danger threatened you would do everything in your power to keep them safe.’

  Sniffing, Yöst mopped his face with his sleeve, aware if anyone could reduce him to tears it was Tante Marie, adroitly picking the very subject he already felt guilty about. ‘Sadly, love cannot be merely a fair-weather friend,’ she continued. ‘If you love, it has to be every day of every year; even stuck indoors with nothing to do or see, and the hours never-ending. On days like that, Albert drives me mad.’ She rolled her eyes, a gesture Yöst had never seen her make before. ‘Follows me round the house, talking about things I’ve heard every day for thirty years.’

  Yöst grinned, his shoulders shaking with mirth at the image of the two elderly people chasing round and round the house.

  ‘That’s better, Yöst. You should smile more often, it suits you.’ She paused. ‘What was I saying?’

  ‘About your marriage.’

  ‘Oh, yes! Being stuck indoors when the weather’s bad. That’s when I remind myself that when I married Albert, it was for the nice bits as well as the not-so-nice. Life is far more interesting if you can chat to Rico and listen to Maestro play, or laugh at something Adelita says, and it’s horrid when you are stuck indoors because it’s raining. Yet those are the days Zande and TaTa really need your love.’ She placed her arms on his shoulders, and looked closely into his face, before pulling him into a warm embrace. ‘And those are the days you must show it, however unfair or tedious you may consider it. And you do it with a smile and a kiss, until the day comes when you discover you are no longer pretending … and that they mean more to you than life itself. That’s when you know what love really is.’

  21

  ‘Rico, when people die, do you believe they are born again?’ Yawning, Yöst plonked himself down at the dinner table. His arms ached from pruning raspberries, and his hands scratched from tying the new shoots onto canes.

  Sleepy from being outside all day, Pascual had fed the two youngest early, leaving Yöst to put Tatania to bed, reading both her and Delors a story first.

  ‘Cripes, where did that come from?’

  ‘Something Pascual said about TaTa.’

  ‘You’re always talking to Ma. If she was younger and prettier, I’d be jealous.’

  ‘She reminds me of my mother,’ Yöst responded neutrally.

  ‘Okay then, so what about TaTa?’

  ‘Sometimes I get the feeling she’s older and wiser than the rest of us, and has seen it all before. You should go to bed,’ he said, watching Rico’s attempts to swallow down the yawns that were threatening to overtake him, his face contorted with the effort.

  ‘I
t’s your fault, you started it.’ Rico said through gritted teeth. ‘Anyhow, I hate going to bed.’

  ‘And you hate getting up.’

  Rico grinned. ‘When I’m grown up, my life will be different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll sleep more.’ Grimacing, he again yawned widely. ‘Why can’t the sun be the same as me and stay in bed in the morning?’ he groaned.

  Overhearing, Pascual leant over and patted him on the arm. ‘Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Rico, but you won’t be staying in bed in the morning either. You’ll have to be up extra early to clean the carts. If you ask Yöst nicely, I’m sure he’ll help and Pepe will too.’ She called out. ‘Ramon?’

  Her husband glanced up. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the girls’ first Communion tomorrow, had you forgotten?’

  Ana, about to pour her father a glass of wine, hesitated. ‘Not for me,’ he growled, placing the flat of his hand over his glass. ‘Serve Pepe.’

  Ana called down the table, ‘Ma, does Pepe have to go to church?’

  Pascual pretended a frown. ‘For goodness sake, Ana, pour them both another glass of wine, otherwise your father will be glaring at me all night. And yes, Pepe does have to go. We all do. For the past few weeks, Adelita and Katarina have been chained to the sewing machine, trying to finish their dresses and veils in time. We owe it to them to attend. You too, Yöst, it’ll be good for the children to experience something different.’

  Ramon scowled, his fist raised ready to thump the table. ‘They’re part of the family, now, Ramon,’ she insisted. ‘Of course, they’re coming. Besides, the church needs the numbers. It’ll only be the villagers; no one from outside will bother. I doubt even if Monsieur Benoit will be there, unless he’s angling for a dinner invitation. Adelita?’

  Adelita broke off her conversation with Maestro. ‘If you want me to promise a fine day, I will.’

  That had been an easy guess; the sun had shone all day long, dissolving into an orange cloud that hinted at fine weather, and it was already warm when the two carts left the farm. Both had been scrubbed out, and now boasted cushions across their wooden bench-seats. As always Barone led, as befitted his youth and strength, with Ramon driving, while Duchesse, who obviously knew the road well, trotted confidently in the other cart’s wake.

  It was a rare family occasion, four of the girls taking their first Communion, and Yöst was surprised when Clara demanded to ride with them.

  ‘I told Ma, I’m not sitting on Ana’s knee,’ she grumbled. Her voice never quiet, increased in volume. ‘If I have to walk down the aisle, I refuse to do it in a crumpled dress.’

  Placing Tatania on his knee, Yöst made room for her next to Zande, ignoring Rico’s glares, calling his sister selfish.

  A slight incline took them downhill; the road cutting away from the river, its edges ribboned with chestnut trees and the air hazy with pollen dust.

  Yöst had never driven to the village although, a few nights previously, he and Rico had walked there along the path by the river. After the noise and bustle of the beehive house, Yöst had enjoyed the peace and quiet, despite his concern that Rico might ask questions about his life before coming to the farm. He hadn’t, Rico also content to be silent, and it was the burgeoning spring that drew Yöst’s attention, both trees and shrubs almost boastful in their display of new spring leaves. Having arrived at the farm in autumn and survived the tedium of winter, it seemed impossible to imagine that a few of weeks before, the ground on which they were walking had been covered in water. Climbing the hill behind the church, they had gazed down on a forest of red tiles, the winding streets cutting between the buildings reduced to narrow strips of darkness in the twilight.

  ‘This is where you come with Adelita?’

  ‘To make her confession,’ Rico’s had replied, his eyes dancing with mischief.

  ‘No one can have that many sins,’ Yöst remembered protesting, except it was always difficult to remember anything clearly with Rico’s teasing tones resounding in his ear.

  ‘She doesn’t. I told you, she can’t stand the country. Here, at least, they have a bakery and a cafe. But I promise, we always pay a visit to the church and presbytery.’

  Although the distance was almost twice as far by road, it was less than thirty minutes before the church spire came into sight, perched high-up on the crown of the hill overlooking the town.

  Pointing her finger at it, Tatania called out, ‘Bad!’

  So used to her peremptory exclamations, which she used instead of sentences, Yöst failed to react. He’d not been thinking about anything much, their walk along the river perhaps, wishing for nothing to change … ever … his guard down, allayed by the rhythmic plodding of the horse. Perhaps Tante Marie’s advice? She obviously hoped, he would always take care of Zande and Tatania – and that could never happen. Once he changed and acquired his wings, the two children would stay behind with the women, while he flew to the furthest corners of the globe with the rest of the migrating birds

  ‘Bad!’ Tatania repeated, more loudly.

  Overhearing, Rico swung round. ‘What does she mean?’

  ‘What? I wasn’t listening,’ Yöst called out. ‘What is it, TaTa?’

  ‘Bad!’ She pointed at the church.

  Ahead, the track had fallen away, its surface broken and pitted with cracks, and Pepe had climbed off the cart to lessen its weight. Looping his fingers through the animal’s bit collar, he began to lead Duchesse across the bumpy camber, Clara uttering a scream each time the cart lurched over a loose stone. It wasn’t a loud scream, and one made more in irritation than anything else; nevertheless, it echoed through Yöst’s skull. He blinked, finding his sight blocked by darkness, the sun vanished, the air sticky and thick with shadows.

  ‘Bad!’

  With a blinding flash of clarity, Yöst read the word etched into the skyline. Not bad. Bat!

  ‘Stop the cart,’ he yelled, feeling sunlight strike his hands ice cold. Leaping over the side of the slowly moving vehicle, ‘TaTa’s sick.’ He reached up and lifted her down.

  ‘She seems fine to me,’ Rico called out.

  Immediately Tatania wretched, vomiting her breakfast onto the roadside.

  Yöst swallowed hard, every instinct yelling at him to run … and run fast. ‘You go on. I’ll take her back to the house. Zande?’

  Still trapped by his vision, he found himself standing a long way off. He watched his arm extend outwards in slow motion reaching for Zande, and he heard a voice, not his own, that of a stranger, pronounce each word as if there were all the time in the world, when all he wanted to do was run … and never stop. There was no time for explanations or for polite conversation. Ahead, the church spire still marked the blue sky with its warning finger. They had to be gone, to put distance between them and the church.

  ‘Leave Zande with us,’ Rico called, ‘why don’t you.’

  Yöst blinked, the images vanished.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Yes, Zande. Please stay,’ Clara called sweetly, adding with an encouraging smile, ‘I want you to watch me make my Communion, more than anybody else in the whole world. I look so beautiful in a veil; you’ve just got to come.’ She reached for Zande’s hand. It slipped her grasp, the boy already moving to the side of the cart, jumping down into Yöst’s outstretched arms.

  ‘Zande,’ she wailed, ‘it’s my most special day; you can’t miss it.’

  ‘You can tell me about it later,’ he called out, peaceably. ‘Now I have to go with my sister.’

  He took Tatania’s hand, standing quietly by the side of the track.

  Once again, Yöst found his sight blurring, the air darkening around him. Where it was brightest stood, not two children but four, each pair with their hands identically linked. Yet, they weren’t identical, the slightly smaller pair dressed in the clothes they had worn that day in the kitchen of the cliff house.

  ‘We have to go; Pepe says we’ll be late,’ Rico shou
ted over his shoulder as, muttering incoherently, Pepe urged Duchesse into movement again. ‘Will you be all right?’

  He dragged himself back to full consciousness. ‘Yes, fine! We’ll walk back along the river, it’s not far.’

  Grasping the children’s hands in his, Yöst didn’t wait for the cart to disappear, Clara continuing to call back to Zande that he was mean and she hated him. With his vision still impeded by zigzags of colour, he cut away from the road and hurried towards the river, immediately slowing to a careful walk, discovering the bright sun as much an obstacle as the stony ground.

  He didn’t question his visions nor doubt them; the only thing that surprised him was Tatania. The actual word ‘danger’ was one she may well not have heard before, yet she had recognised its presence and described it in the best way she could, her sickness an artifice. Running to keep up with his fast pace, her hands linked with both his and Zande’s, there was no trace now of the white and frightened face that had so alarmed him. Nevertheless, her silence was not her usual contented one, her countenance solemn, making her altogether much older than her dainty frame suggested.

  As the river came into sight, sensing how vulnerable they were in the open, he raced for the trees, swinging Tatania over patches of wild nettles and pools of water, the sun hadn’t yet got around to drying up. Immediately, he felt calmer, his sight improving as the shade trees stretched out their long arms in welcome, unable to shrug off of what might have happened if they’d been seen. Men of the same persuasion as the priest would consider an efficient memory an integral part of their religious calling.

  Fortunately, it was not many minutes, before the distinctive silhouette of the beehive house came into view beyond the trees. No thought now of the tedium of living there, the house a place of sanctuary. Nevertheless, he didn’t slow. Despite the chorus of bird song, which logic decreed would cease if anyone was following them, he neither trusted logic nor his ears. They had failed him before, that night in autumn when he had proved incapable of stopping death.