by Ali Shaw
The paper birds turned his rage into a ceremonial fury.
He lifted from the trunk his grandfather’s violin and his father’s weighty Bible. He righted the table and placed both objects on it, the instrument on top of the book. He regarded them for a moment, then raised the cleaver over his head with both hands and slammed it down with all of his might. It carved cleanly through the violin, sending frayed strings thrumming to both sides. It split the Bible in half like an apple and wedged into the wood of the table.
He crashed back on to his rump and sat there panting. After some time had passed he began to realize the wreck he had made of the homestead. Filled with sudden doubt and superstition, he reached out and touched the nearer half of the violin. To his surprise he saw that there was a folded piece of card taped inside it. His grandfather must have secreted it there by sticking it into the bole of the instrument. Daniel removed it and unfolded it cautiously.
A photograph of his mother and father.
His mother, Maryam. It was the first time he had seen her since he was seven years old.
He gasped at the sight of her. ‘Look at you!’ he said, pawing at her. He had always considered his looks to be yet one more product of the Fossiter lineage, but he marvelled to see that he also looked like her. She had his severe brow and dark eyes, and hair as black as his, although hers was long enough to reach down to her elbows. And there was something in her eyes he could not quite place, a cold kind of knowledge. She looked as if she were withholding some immense secret. ‘Look at you,’ he whispered, tracing her outline with his finger.
Her gauzy dress was tailored from a translucent cloth, and at the moment the photograph had been taken a wind had puffed and the dress had billowed and flapped out along with her long black locks and she looked half woman and half mist. For a while he didn’t blink, in case this image of her would prove as fleeting as the ones in his dreams and vanish under other memories. Eventually his eyes were swimming and he had to refresh them, but to his delight the photo remained when they reopened. He slid on to the floorboards and lay on his back, gripping the photograph tight. He felt cut off from the man he had been yesterday, even from the man he had been one hour ago. Cut off and stranded, lost in a chill dark. He began to shiver. It was a hot day and the sunlight flaring in through the homestead’s windows lit him directly. Even so he felt icy cold.
Then he realized that he could see his breath hanging in the air.
He got up and retreated on all fours, but his next exhalation, and the next too, hung where he had breathed it. A trilogy of sparkling clouds, as if the warm air of the homestead were freezing. Terrified, he dared not breathe further. He clasped his hands over his mouth until he turned red-faced and his veins began to throb in his neck and forehead. Still the clouds of breath hung there glittering, until reluctantly he gasped and his heart fluttered with relief because his next breath was invisible again.
The three clouds dispersed gradually in the air. He puffed out several times, just to be sure. Nothing. He pinched his cheeks, wiped his palms across his shirt to remove the cold sweat that had formed on them, then pressed a hand to his chest and felt for his heartbeat. To his relief it did not boom with thunder, but with the powerful pump of ventricles.
He did not know what to make of what had just happened, so he turned again to the photograph of his parents. He collected the cleaver with which he had destroyed his house, and carefully scored a line between the couple. His father he left amid the destruction of the homestead. His mother he regarded for a long minute, then slipped into his shirt pocket, to walk out with her into what promised to become a fine summer evening.
He stood for a long while in the yard, leaning on the fence, staring upwards at the azure heavens and feeling as groundless as the clouds that passed above.
When he looked down he was surprised to see a man approaching from the west. He moved with such zip that it took Daniel a moment to realize it was Finn. Even when he reached the homestead, Daniel did not know what to say.
Eventually Finn said, ‘You look different.’
Daniel looked down at his hands, dried in places with blood from his earlier butchery, and stuck here and there with bits of debris from the chaos he had made of the hall. He cleared his throat. ‘I feel different.’
‘We need to talk. Can I ... I mean, are you going to invite me in?’
Daniel nodded sideways at the front door. ‘Lead the way.’
Finn took a few steps inside, then stopped to gape at the damage. ‘Daniel ... what have you done?’
Daniel rubbed his beard. ‘I don’t know why I did it, but I think ... it was the right thing to do.’
Finn approached the ruined portraits. The top half of one sitter’s face remained in the frame, but a sweep of the cleaver had slit the canvas beneath the nose and the bottom half of the painting had flapped away. ‘This was your grandfather!’
‘Yes.’ He stood beside Finn to look into the oil of the old man’s eyes.
‘You ... you have nothing but respect for your grandfather.’
Daniel reached up and tore out the top half of the canvas, which he discarded on the floor.
Finn was astonished. ‘Daniel, what’s happened?’
‘The past,’ he said, sweeping an arm through the air to indicate the entire contents of the room, ‘became the past. And you,’ he raised a commanding finger, which to his dismay Finn flinched from, ‘are owed a thousand apologies.’
‘What for?’
‘I let my fear get the better of me.’
‘Daniel, this is all ... really unexpected. And ... and ...’ He smiled nervously. ‘If it will make you feel better, then apology accepted.’
If only, thought Daniel, the two of us could start anew from here. He relished, for a moment, the way the destruction had made the two of them unguarded, then he turned away from Finn and with a sigh took the letter from Betty off the table. ‘Here. It was meant for you. Back on the day she left us. I hoarded it because ... I loved your mother deeply. I know I had the wrong ways of showing it, I ... I do not acknowledge your acceptance of my apology. Not until you have read this letter, when I suspect you shall be glad of the chance to retract it.’
Finn received the two sheets as if they were halves of a treasure map.
When he had finished reading he folded the letter but continued to stare at its ageing paper. Daniel steadied his ankles and locked his knees, as if bracing to be crashed into by a great wave. At least, he thought, I deserve this. He wrung his fingers, and waited.
Finn threw his arms around him and embraced him. He squeezed his shoulders tightly, while Daniel could do nothing but gawp.
‘All my life,’ said Finn, stepping away, ‘you have seemed so invincible. When I was a child you were terrifying. I thought I might wake one night with your hands around my throat.’
Daniel looked down and screwed up his eyes. ‘Is there anything I can do to make amends?’
‘I think you have done it. And if there’s anything I should know it’s this: people can change, just like the clouds. I forgive you.’
‘I do not deserve it.’
‘If you didn’t deserve it, I wouldn’t need to forgive you.’
‘I will be better to you, Finn, I swear. For the rest of my days.’
Finn looked away. ‘I thought coming here would be difficult, but not because of this. It was because I’ve got something to tell you and now I don’t know how, but... I’m leaving, Daniel. I’m leaving Thunderstown.’
Daniel stared at him blankly, expecting a punchline. When none came he swallowed and asked, ‘Is that the truth?’
‘Yes. Elsa and I, we’re going away. Together. It feels like we’re meant to.’
Daniel righted a chair he had thrown over in his earlier fury, and slumped into it with his hands between his knees. ‘I had hoped for the chance to make amends to you.’
‘Yes. I can see.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Somewhere. Anywhere. No
t having a destination is sort of the whole point.’
For a moment he pictured Finn wracked with lightning in some busy street of the bustling world, and he opened his mouth to forewarn him, but then stopped himself to let the fear go. To his delight he was able to do so. Unanchored, it drifted away from him.
‘You must do as you see fit,’ he said, ‘although still there are practicalities. There are things you will need.’
Finn shrugged. ‘We’ll muddle through.’
‘I had hoped to make up for lost time.’
Finn puffed out his cheeks. ‘I never thought we would have a conversation like this.’
Daniel got up and paced over to his trunk, untouched amid the debris. ‘As you know, I have never been a spendthrift.’ He removed from the trunk a clasped wooden box. ‘So I have saved up some money, as well as the sums that I inherited from my father and grandfather.’
He popped open the box and inside were squeezed wads of bank notes, tied together by string.
‘Take these with you, and all practicality is dealt with.’
‘Daniel, it’s too much; you might need it.’
He held up a hand. ‘On the contrary it is too little. Besides, I like the thought that my forefathers’ savings will be turned to the purposes of romance. It will be a kind of revenge for me.’
Finn sighed and accepted the box. ‘We’ll come and see you before we leave.’
‘I would be grateful for that. I will try to get the place in better shape before then. I have some mess to clear up, and a bonfire to make.’
Finn laughed, hesitated, then hugged Daniel again. Daniel could not remember ever having being clasped with such affection.
‘Finn,’ he said when they stepped apart, ‘there’s something caught on your ear.’
Finn reached up and retracted his hand with a scrap of mist looped round his fingers. More of it formed out of the side of his head, blowing in clumps as light as blossom.
‘This keeps happening,’ he said. ‘I think it means I’m happy.’
Daniel pointed to himself. ‘Because of what we just said?’
He nodded. Daniel’s mouth opened and closed, but since it seemed their earlier words had been such marvellous things, he chose not to risk muddying them with any more.
‘For now,’ said Finn, ‘I’d best be on my way. Elsa is telling Kenneth Olivier that we’re leaving, and then we’re going to meet each other in the square. We’re going to take a goodbye tour of Thunderstown.’
Daniel walked out with him and stood in the road. He waved to him as he walked off towards town, and marvelled at the faint haze of happiness that glimmered in Finn’s wake.
19
THINGS SPIRAL
Elsa took a deep breath. ‘I’m leaving Thunderstown.’
They were in Kenneth’s front yard, where she had found him sitting in a polo shirt of many clashing colours, and rereading one of his well-thumbed almanacs. At her news he slumped back with a puff. ‘Oh,’ he said, and looked lost for words.
The day had reached an in-between hour, neither afternoon nor evening. The sun was still trying to shine, but so many pinched rows of cloud were moving from west to east that the sky looked like an upside-down sea, and the sun some great sunken orb glowing underwater.
Kenneth looked up for inspiration. ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘can I ask why?’
‘I met someone.’
Kenneth was too genial to let his disappointment hold back a smile, or to prevent that smile from turning to a chuckle. ‘I might have known! A Thunderstown man?’
‘Kind of. His name is Finn. Finn Munro.’
Kenneth frowned. ‘Hmm, I can’t put a face to that name.’
‘That’s because he, er, well ...’ She wanted to tell him the truth, and reckoned he had been good enough to her to deserve it. She cleared her throat. ‘This is going to sound strange,’ she began, and then told him everything in a hurry, every detail of all that had happened: the way she’d first caught Finn dissolving into cloud; the sneaked visits to the bothy and the way he’d shown her air in his veins instead of blood; their trip into the cave and the paintings there; the reasons Dot had given for Finn’s strange body; the way, now that he was happy, he became prone to a hazy lining. When she’d finished talking she was breathless, and waited for him to announce his disbelief.
‘I have to confess, Elsa, I knew some of this already.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘When we made the cake it was obvious that it was for someone special. But also, well, little old nuns are such fiendish gossips. Dot said you might need my support, but I don’t think you need much help from anyone except this Finn. It sounds like – if I may be so bold – you have begun to know your own heart. I think perhaps that that’s what you came to Thunderstown hoping to do.’ He stood up and held wide his arms. ‘So,’ he said, ‘congratulations! I wish you all the very best.’
They hugged, then he stepped back with his hands still on her shoulders. ‘And you will take Michael’s car with you.’
‘What? No, Kenneth. I couldn’t.’
‘Yes. How else will you get out of Thunderstown? Don’t worry, it’s not a selfless gift. I hope it will remind you to send me a postcard now and then.’
She grinned. ‘Before long you’ll be wishing you hadn’t asked that. I’ll send you heaps of them. And I’ll call. I want to stay in touch. It might sound corny, but you really saved my neck when you let me stay here. I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without you.’
He bowed. ‘You’re too kind, Elsa. Will I get to meet this strange lucky cloud of yours, before the two of you depart?’
‘Oh, of course. I’d like to see his face when he tries your chilli coal pot! Not even lightning burns like that stuff! But for now I’d better go and meet him. We’re going to kiss goodbye to these old streets. I’ve become quite attached to them while I’ve been here.’
Kenneth remained on his feet to watch her walk away, and she wished somehow that she could take him with her, even though of course it was out of the question and he would never come. Before she turned down Welcan Row she looked back over her shoulder and saw him still standing there. He looked older than she had thought him, even with his shirt like a fruit salad.
She waved, then set off down the road towards Saint Erasmus, although she knew she could walk in any direction and be pulled there. She would miss these circling streets and decaying buildings when she left them, but she supposed that she and Finn were already being called elsewhere by another secret gravity.
Finn was waiting for her in the shade of the church. He looked smaller, down here in the town, and he kept shifting from foot to foot, as if the presence of so many bricks unsettled him.
‘The walls can’t bite you,’ she said as she drew close.
‘It’s not that.’
Elsa embraced Finn, pressing her forehead against the underside of his jaw while he held her for a quiet moment. While they stood there, a haze again emerged from him, beginning as a white band like a cloud tiara, then spilling out across his skin until it was a patina of mist. Above them a wind moved, and whistled under the church’s arches.
‘I went to see Daniel,’ he said, while she stroked her hand across his cheek, ‘and he was ... so nice to me.’
Elsa could barely even picture it. ‘You sure he’d not been drinking?’
‘No ... he was in a strange mood. He’d smashed up his house, for one thing. But I genuinely think that he meant it – the kindness, I mean. Do you know, I think this is the first time in my life that he’s said a kind word to me?’
‘I can believe it.’
Finn looked thoughtful. The sun was too low now to turn his haze into a silver lining, but it flushed it nevertheless with the faintest rose hue, which found out the dimples and fluctuations in the cloud. Then Finn told her about the letter from his mother and the money Daniel had offered them, and while he talked a handful of leaves blew in a circle around their feet and then skittered onwards across the square.
‘
I reckon you deserve all that,’ she said when he’d finished.
‘It certainly wasn’t what I went there expecting. It left me feeling so full of energy. I was here early, because I walked so fast from Daniel’s house. When I stepped out of his door I felt like everything was new. If he could change so drastically, anything might be possible. It’s hard to explain.’
‘You don’t need to,’ Elsa said. ‘You’re growing into yourself. You’re getting used to whatever, whoever, you are. You’re getting used to being Finn.’
She stroked her hand across his forehead and fragments of cloud broke around her fingers. It suited him, this faint second skin of vapour. She was about to kiss him again when she realized they were being watched. A stern woman in a shawl stood midway across the square, then scuttled away when she realized she’d been spotted, breaking into a trot as soon as she reached the entrance to Feave Street.
‘Shall we take our farewell tour?’ suggested Elsa.
‘Let’s,’ Finn said, and they joined hands.
When they were a little way down Feave Street, somebody behind them shouted her name. She looked over her shoulder and saw the woman who had been watching them, along with a small bunch of townsfolk whom she must have alerted. One of them called her name like a summons, and a shiver rippled through her.
‘Ignore them,’ she said, ‘and just keep walking.’
This was a narrow street of three-storey terraces, each with an overhanging roof like a frown. Elsa had never much liked this road, whose paving dipped and bumped so that she couldn’t tell what was supposed to be flat and what was supposed to be uneven. In the distance, the Devil’s Diadem and the crinkled cloud cover did nothing to help, forming a hatched backdrop of lined rock and atmosphere.