From Nemesis Island

by Christine Mustchin

  The duty doctor came within the hour and examined her. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked questioningly at her.

  ‘What religion are you?’

  ‘Anglican I suppose. Why?’

  He didn’t answer and she was too weak to insist.

  ‘Where were you last night?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  She was too exhausted to say more.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘I can’t be sure but you need to go to hospital.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Do you have someone who can come and be with you? It’ll take a while to get things sorted out.’

  She called David.

  ‘David. It’s Trish. I’m sorry to bother you at work but would you be free to come over? I’m not very well and I’ve got to go to hospital.’

  She listened patiently and then turned to the doctor.

  ‘I don’t think he can come. He’s a GP and he’s still doing a surgery.’

  ‘Let me speak to him,’ said the doctor.

  He took the mobile and went out of the room. When he returned he gave it back to Trish.

  ‘It’s okay. He’ll be here soon. Now I’m going to give you an injection to help with the pain and arrange for your admission.’

  By the time David arrived he was on his way out. She heard the two doctors exchanging words outside her door. David came in and sat on the bed.

  ‘Trish. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Pretty rough. What’s going on?’

  ‘Didn’t the doctor say anything?’

  ‘Not really. He said he wasn’t sure and I’d have to go to hospital.’

  ‘Could I take a look?’

  She nodded, too sleepy now from the effects of the drug and beyond worrying about her dignity. He gently examined her. Afterwards he sat on the bed and took her hand.

  ‘What is it, David?’

  ‘Oh Trish. What’s been going on? You’ve been circumcised.’

  25

  ‘I spoke to Juditta today. She knows what to do.’

  Kia went pale on hearing Joseph’s words.

  ‘So soon,’ she whispered.

  ‘I can no longer stand up, Kia, and the pain makes it difficult for me to talk or breathe.’

  ‘But there are drugs. You can get a doctor to come.’ She tried to stifle her panic.

  ‘No, Kia. We talked all about that. It’s not going to be my way.’ He let out a moan.

  ‘Oh please. I can’t bear to see you suffer.’

  ‘Then you must do as we agreed. It’s time to go.’

  ‘Please, Joseph, just one more day.’

  He shook his head. She walked across to the window and stood while her tears poured silently and unchecked. The evening sky was beautiful as the sunset faded quickly to darkness. She let the image rest in her mind, a focal point of calm and tranquillity. Its effects worked through her body and she became still and quiet. She returned to Joseph’s side.

  ‘If you’ve decided then I shall be with you as I promised.’ She smiled tentatively. He responded with his own weak smile and they kissed fleetingly.

  ‘I should like some champagne,’ he said.

  There was always some on ice and Kia obliged. She sat on the edge of the bed and they raised their glasses.

  ‘To the future, Kia, your future.’ She felt unable to reply but drank instead to numb the sadness.

  Slowly the bottle emptied and the night sky penetrated the room. Only a bedside light broke the darkness.

  ‘It’s time,’ he said, putting down his empty glass.

  She came and lay beside him, embracing him and touching him. He responded as much as his weakness would allow. They then lay silently together until he spoke again.

  ‘Now,’ he said simply with a smile, and she got up and went and fetched the phials. He watched her as she filled the syringe. She handed it to him and gripped his arm, making prominent the vein that he needed. She watched as the needle broke the skin and he pushed the insulin into his body. She kissed him and they looked at nothing else except each other until his eyes closed and unconsciousness overcame him. She sat stroking his hair and watching as his breaths faded. No sound stirred the silence except their breathing. When she knew that it was only she who breathed, she allowed her sobs gently to dissolve the peace. She took a long and final look at the man who was chief no more and, gathering up the instruments of his death, she left the room by the passageway.

  Juditta came to collect her at midnight.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It should be clear now. He’s arranged for the men to be busy with the girls till one am.’

  ‘Yes. He told me everything had been arranged.’

  ‘This way then.’

  ‘The night was clear but damp and Kia shivered as she walked. Juditta walked rapidly but Kia was weighed down by her rucksack and moved more slowly. A short car journey and again they were on foot.

  ‘Not far now,’ Juditta whispered.

  They descended between crevices in the rocks using a powerful torch to pick out the path. A speedboat was moored to a small jetty in the tiny cove.

  ‘Joseph’s secret. Apart from the main harbour, this is the only other way a boat can leave the island,’ said Juditta. ‘It’s not difficult to pilot.’

  She gave brief instructions and handed over a key.

  ‘You must steer straight ahead until you are well clear of the shoreline. If you turn towards the mainland too soon you won’t make it. Now go.’

  But Kia didn’t move. Instead she put down her rucksack and pulled out an envelope.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Juditta urged.

  ‘Before I go, Juditta, Joseph asked me to give you this.’ Juditta opened the envelope and quickly read the hand written note. She stared at Kia.

  ‘He wants me to go with you.’

  Kia nodded.

  ‘I can’t do that. He’s ill. If you’re not here then someone must care for him.’

  ‘Juditta,’ said Kia gently, ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘No, Juditta. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you but he chose to die in his own way rather than let death inflict its own suffering on him.’

  ‘You mean he took his own life.’

  Kia nodded.

  ‘Just a few hours ago. I was there.’

  Juditta ran at Kia pummelling her hands on her chest.

  ‘You were there?’ She spat out the words.

  ‘He wanted me to be there. He didn’t want to distress you. It was very peaceful when it happened.’

  The pummelling stopped and Juditta began to sob.

  ‘How did he die?’

  ‘He injected himself with insulin. No one will suspect a thing. Please come with me. It’s what he wanted.’

  Suddenly she stopped crying.

  ‘I can’t. He’s my brother. He’s …. He was all I had in the world. I have to stay and be there at his funeral. I can’t leave that to Jalbis and the men. Now go. At least I’ll never have to see you again.’

  Kia walked to the boat. It didn’t take long to work out the controls. She gave a final look towards the figure on the shore and then headed off to the open sea and freedom.

  PART THREE

  1

  The hotel was no more welcoming than the last time but, as it was the only one, he had no choice. Richard put down his bags. He had even been given the same room. He flung himself onto the bed and stretched out. It had not been a pleasant journey. There had been a delay in departure, a crowded and cramped aircraft and the inevitable slow moving queue at passport control, through the dark, dingy hall. There had been little to eat on the plane and the final insult was the hire car. He had not been lucky this time. The car was far from the latest model, battered and old and a disgrace really. It was powerful enough though. Not dissimilar to the one that Trish had used. Ah Trish. He thought of her with regret. He could hav
e shown more understanding at their last encounter. It was quite something for her to ask for help, even if it was to save her own skin. Perhaps he should have taken the photo to post. He hadn’t been searched during his trip. Too late now. He wished he had contacted her; he could have made good his outburst. He would have had time. He had delayed his return by a few days to go to Doug’s leaving party. He was sorry Dougie had gone back home to Australia. He was a good mate. Oh, there was always email, but it was not the same if you couldn’t meet up. No more boys’ nights out then. He thought of the last one. Perhaps it was just as well. Anyway, he had other things to focus on right now. He had already formulated a plan.

  The next morning he was at the harbour, phrasebook in hand, engaging in a frustrating game of charades with the returning fishermen. At length his gesticulations and occasional badly pronounced word produced a result, aided by a wad of cash. He took possession of a small and ancient wooden boat and cranked up the outboard motor. At a speed that would certainly win no prizes, he headed out of the harbour to the open sea and the island. The sea was calm that day with no hint of inclement changes to the weather. His progress was slow and he soon allowed himself to be lulled by the pace. He set a course to one side of the island and relaxed.

  A gentle breeze and soft sun touched his senses and he momentarily forgot that he was not there as a foreign tourist, simply enjoying the opportunity of a vacation. Away from the port he could see the cliffs sloping dramatically into the sea, the rocky inclines broken up by inlets and bays of varying sizes. To land in one such bay was his aim, though not without risk, as he had no idea how close to the surface the rocks would lie. As he approached the shoreline the boat suddenly seemed to be making no progress. The little motor whirred pointlessly at the stern of the boat. Richard cut the engine and looked around. There appeared to be nothing to impede his passage. He tried again but this time knew he was stuck fast. He was at least one hundred metres from the shore. He put the boat into reverse and it moved without a hitch. He tried once more to go forward and, once more, stuck. He plunged his hand into the water. Just below the surface he felt a wire that seemed to extend horizontally and beneath the wire he could feel netting. It was not improbable that this contraption encircled the whole island. He had no time to pursue the thought, though, for, just then, he heard the sound of gunfire and looked up to see two men on the cliff top, pointing a rifle into the air. He watched as they fired a second shot into the air and then lowered their guns in the direction of his boat. He knew they were out of range but the point had been made. Richard retreated from Stage One of his plan.

  Over a bottle of wine that evening, he consoled himself and reviewed the situation. He disliked being thwarted at a first attempt. He suspected it was more than a desire for privacy that prompted the armed patrol and strange obstacle in the water. He had an idea to call on skills acquired during several holidays in Sharm el-Sheik. He could scuba dive under the netting and arrive at the island that way. When he played the images over in his mind they seemed to belong to film or fantasy rather than the world he knew. Even if he managed to land on the island, what then? He could hardly prowl around the place in a wet suit. It all sounded more James Bond than Richard Wallace. Better move to Stage Two and talk to the priest.

  2

  Images of hell fire and purgatorial travail penetrated his dreams. Outside, violent rain whipped around the eves of the house, battering against the roof. Strong winds gusted and screamed around the building until sleep was no longer possible. Father Piontius got up to watch the storm, pleased to gain a respite from his subconscious, and prayed for those at sea. In the world beyond the comfort of his home there was a turmoil beyond his control; in his soul a tumult of equal magnitude. What measure of control he had over that remained to be seen. Meanwhile his duties for the day could not be ignored and, at first daylight, he faced the struggle against the forces of the wind and rain. Inside the church the sound of the storm echoed to him as a reproach as he prepared the altar. No one came to get the comfort of the sacrament that day, another reproach. Dispirited he sought a different comfort in his customary strong coffee at the bar. He sat sodden and solitary, looking across the harbour. He did not hear the greeting and responded only when Richard laid a kindly hand on his shoulder.

  ‘My, you’re soaking wet. You should go home and change.’

  ‘Richard. How delightful to see you.’ The response was genuine.

  ‘Good to see you too.’

  ‘So you came back.’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘I should not be surprised, I suppose. You are a journalist and they are not discouraged easily.’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  The priest looked puzzled.

  ‘You’re right,’ added Richard, by way of explanation.

  ‘I must confess to being glad of the company. A storm like this saps the spirit.’ It was one confession Father Piontius did not mind making.

  ‘Well, at least we’re not out there in a boat,’ said Richard, gazing in his turn across the harbour to the stretch of sea he had crossed only the previous day. ‘I was yesterday.’

  ‘Did you go fishing?’

  ‘No, actually I hired a boat from one of the fishermen and went to the island or, at least, tried to.’

  Richard was prepared for the priest to go pale or faint as he always seemed to when the island was mentioned. He looked around the bar to see what facilities for help there were, but the priest remained upright and untroubled this time.

  ‘So you were not successful in your attempt then?’

  ‘No, but I got quite close.’

  Richard looked around. People were beginning to come into the bar to shelter from the storm on their way to work.

  ‘Look, I’d like to tell you more about the trip but not here.’

  ‘You are very welcome in my home, my son. As you say, I should go and change my clothes. I should be happy to offer you supper this evening. We can continue our conversation then.’

  It was not just Father Piontius’ need for companionship that prompted the invitation. Father Piontius was ready to talk.

  3

  The etiquette of dining with a man of the cloth was foreign to Richard. He took a bottle of wine anyway and wondered if he should have taken two. He would easily need one for himself. Questioning a priest was a first for him and would need lubricated thoughts. The first surprise was to find the priest in mufti. He was wearing old corduroy trousers and a shirt and sweater. The second was to be immediately offered a glass of what proved to be a very fine red wine.

  ‘My parishioners can sometimes be very generous,’ the priest explained, when Richard complimented him on his choice.

  ‘I am also fortunate tonight in being able to offer you some of the local fish. Another gift. My own contribution is a humble soup and some cheese.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.’

  ‘Not at all. It is a pleasure to have company. Forgive me if I profit from the opportunity. My cooking skills are limited but adequate for the meal tonight.’

  ‘Don’t you have a housekeeper?’

  ‘I am afraid not, though I sometimes do have help around the house.’

  ‘Did I meet one of your helpers when I was here last?’ Richard hoped it was not too bold a beginning.

  ‘Oh Gea. She was here for a while but she is gone now.’

  ‘I’m sure I saw her at the port with two men. It looked to me as if she were being taken to the island.’

  ‘Oh yes. The island. Let’s eat first and talk of that later.’

  By the time they came again to talk of the place, they had finished the wine that Father Piontius had provided and were well into Richard’s bottle. The priest had taken the trouble to light a little wood-burning stove though the evening as yet offered no more than a slight chill to the air. The room was bound by its warmth and, despite the discomfort of the chairs, the post-prandial atmosphere was pleasant and conducive to the disclosure of confiden
ces.

  ‘So you tried to get to the island.’

  ‘As I said, unsuccessfully. When I neared the shore the boat stuck in a strange contraption of wire and netting and then some men with guns fired shots at me from the cliffs. It all felt rather unreal, like a film.’

  ‘I was on the island that day.’

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘It is not the first time, though it has been a long while, oh many years, since I was last there.’

  ‘So you know what really goes on there?’

  ‘Yes. And I am guilty in my silence about it, but I intend to make reparations now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It is time for me to make my confession.’

  ‘But I’m no priest.’

  ‘No indeed, and I shall need to find one and get absolution for all the evil I have condoned and aided.’

  Richard looked surprised.

  ‘But you’re a man of God.’

  ‘Yes, a man with the frailties that afflict all men. If you will listen to my story, it may answer your questions about the island.’

  ‘Would you mind if I recorded it?’

  ‘Not at all. I will try to be succinct.’

  Richard reached into his jacket pocket for his digital recorder. He held it out for the priest to look at. Then he settled back and took another drink before setting it to audio record.

  ‘The tale of the island begins many years ago. The enterprise that it harbours commenced shortly after I arrived here as an impoverished parish priest. Naively I believed that it offered a good education to girls in need, who would then be found a respectable job. I was invited to the island to corroborate this idea, just as you were, and it was there that the devil tempted me with pleasures of the flesh. Instead of doing my duty and denouncing what I had discovered, I allowed myself to be seduced, as had been planned, to ensure my silence. A better man would not have succumbed. The gratification of my lust, however, surpassed anything I had experienced before. I was able to continue to satisfy my appetite with regular, ostensibly pastoral, visits to the island. In return I assisted in procuring girls to be sent there. I became party to what I think you would call trafficking. I persuaded myself that they would have the chance of a life of luxury, though I knew that they were considered expendable and that their lives could be short. After a period of education and, shall we say, physical training, the girls were then sold as slaves to men willing to pay well to have their sexual appetites satisfied and their egos flattered by intelligent, well-educated and sexually compliant women. I regret to say this practice continues to this day. It is controlled by a man known as the chief. You will have met him.’