by Máire Fisher
I stormed around my bedroom, kicked my door. ‘What’s the point?’ I yelled. I flung open my trunk, sending my small jewellery box flying. The ballerina lurched out and tried to turn as the tinkling tune filled the room. ‘What’s the bloody point?’ I dug deep into the trunk and hurled blue and beige exercise books into the air. They settled on the floor like small birds, their wings spread wide. Years and years of words written to Oz and Ollie, boys who had become bones in a cave. I sank to my knees among them and cried.
6
And that’s where Alice found me. I was surprised, so surprised that I didn’t tell her to bugger off and get out of my room. She didn’t say much at first, just stood and looked around her, then bent down and started picking up. She stacked the books into neat piles and handed them to me to put them back in the trunk. Then she gathered all the scraps that had fallen out of the jewellery box and handed those to me too. I picked up the box and a few stray notes tinkled into the air. The poor ballerina listed alarmingly to the left, her tutu crushed. Alice straightened the fine netting and gently eased her upright.
‘I think she’ll be okay,’ she said.
I laughed shakily.
‘I know. Hardly top of our list of things to make right.’
I got to my feet, closed the lid of my trunk and repositioned my small box of treasures. ‘Thanks, Alice,’ I said, and meant it. Of all the members of my family, she was the only one who wouldn’t ask why I had collected such a strange assortment of objects instead of earrings and necklaces and rings. And, like the last time she’d seen my collection of notebooks, she didn’t push me to explain.
Instead she sat on the edge of my bed and looked at me gravely.
‘Look, Bird,’ she said, ‘I don’t blame you for wanting to find out more about Dirk Stone.’
‘You don’t?’
‘No. That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Looking at problems and trying to find the answers.’
‘True,’ I said, ‘otherwise we’d still be sitting in caves, shivering, eating raw meat.’
Alice smiled. ‘Surrounded by bugs we didn’t have names for,’ she added.
‘So don’t you want to know more,’ I asked, ‘about Dirk Stone?’
‘Not really,’ Alice said.
I looked at her in disappointment.
‘It’s not that I don’t miss the boys and wish they were still alive,’ said Alice. ‘Of course I do. But they are dead, nothing can change that – that’s how I see it. What matters is that you need to find out more. It’s important to you, isn’t it, Bird?’
I nodded. ‘I want to know, but I don’t know where to start.’
‘Well then,’ said Alice, ‘find whatever answers you can, Bird.’
I was taken aback. ‘How though?’
‘Try the archives,’ Alice said. ‘At the South African Library, you can look him up. All the newspaper reports should be available there. And any other articles about him, magazines, news clips – the story was probably on Carte Blanche. Find out as much as you can, Bird. You can call ahead and ask them to access what you need and it should all be ready and waiting for you when you get there.’
I looked at my sister admiringly. Of course she’d know all about researching stuff.
‘But what about Annie,’ I said, ‘and Orville? Everyone gets so mad at me when I bring the boys up.’
‘They’ll survive, in their own way.’ She patted me on the knee, an unexpected gesture from Alice, but strangely comforting. ‘I’m a scientist, Bird,’ she said. ‘I see things differently to you, but one thing I can see is that Dirk Stone has wormed his way into your head. And for someone with as vivid an imagination as yours, it’s better that you get as many facts about him as you can. Otherwise you’ll build him into a bigger monster than he already is.’
‘I don’t want to do that,’ I said.
‘Precisely.’
‘Do Mom and Dad know you’re up here with me?’
‘No,’ said Alice. ‘Don’t worry too much about what other people think right now. Sort things out for yourself, Bird.’
‘Alice,’ I said. ‘Why are you—’
‘—talking to you about all this?’ Alice finished my sentence. ‘Maybe it’s because I don’t like seeing you squashed into silence. Mom and Dad don’t realise that you’re not a little kid any more.’
I laughed. Bitterly. ‘They all see me as the baby,’ I said.
Alice patted my knee once more, then got to her feet. ‘Find your answers, Bird, if that’s what you need to do.’ She stopped at the door as I called her name.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
My big sister smiled. ‘Any time, Bird. I’m pretty sure you can handle this on your own, but shout if you need help.’
7
My mind was a mess of questions and doubt, confusion and anger, and I couldn’t sit still. I had to get to Rafi’s house, sit on her bed and tell her about Alice’s suggestion.
‘So that’s why I’ve come around,’ I said. ‘I need someone to talk to while I’m doing this, Raf. Tell me I’m not going mad.’
I couldn’t tell her that normally I’d speak to the boys, write everything down for them, but that Dirk Stone had frozen my words. I’d find out everything about him, but I didn’t know if I could share it all with Oz and Ollie.
Or maybe they also needed to know everything about him?
‘I have to get to the library,’ I said, ‘and read all about the trial. Do you think I could use your phone? I can’t use the phone at our place.’
‘Of course you can, Bird,’ said Rafi. ‘But I don’t get it. Why don’t you want to tell your folks? It’s not like you want to do anything bad. Why should you need to keep it a secret?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said miserably. ‘Everything’s so upside down. If I even mention their names, people go ballistic on me. Except for Alice that is. They all think I’m morbid, overdramatising things. But I’m not.’ I stared at Rafi glumly. ‘You don’t think I am, do you, Raf?’
‘Morbid? No,’ said Rafi. ‘I think I’ve always felt it, Bird.’
‘Felt what?’
‘This connection you have with your bothers. It’s like they’ve been part of your life, all these years, even though they’re … not.’
She stumbled on the last word and I smiled at her. ‘It’s okay, Rafi,’ I said. ‘You can say it. Dead. My brothers are dead and I can’t let go of them.’
‘Maybe once you know what happened to them, it’ll be easier.’
I looked at Rafi gratefully. Then she darted from the room and came back seconds later, carrying the telephone directory.
‘Let’s have a look,’ she said. She ran her finger down the columns of small print. ‘Here it is, South African Library. Do you want to make the call now?’
Did I? Not really, but at least Rafi would be by my side. And she was. Gripping my hand as I stumbled through my request to the woman at the other end of the line.
I hung up and turned to Rafi.
‘Flipping hell, Bird,’ she said. ‘You’re really doing this.’
Flipping hell was right.
8
The command came shortly after supper. Thelma knocked and stuck her head around my door.
‘The Madam wants to see you, Birdie,’ she said.
‘Me?’ I looked up from my book.
‘She says hurry, don’t keep her waiting.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Can’t you tell her I’m asleep, Thelma?’
‘Bird,’ Thelma said seriously, ‘even if you are sleeping, I have to wake you up.’
‘Okay, thanks Thelma.’ I hugged her and then trudged up the stairs. I had a pretty good idea what Ma Bess wanted. It was bad enough having to deal with Orville and Annie and the girls. The last thing I wanted was to talk to her.
I hated going up those steps at the best of times, and this was the worst of times. There was no escaping the shadow of Dirk Stone.
‘Come in, come in,’ she rapped out as I knocked. I was hard
ly through the door when she spoke. ‘Right, young lady. Please explain yourself.’
I looked at her.
‘Come now, girl, don’t try the blinking-eyed innocent look on me. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.’
I sighed.
‘And don’t you sigh at me in that tone of voice either. Out with it.’
I kept silent, not so much to be cheeky as because I didn’t know what to say. If Annie and Orville thought my behaviour was impossible, what was Ma Bess going to think?
‘I take it you aren’t going to take this ridiculous matter any further?’ she asked.
Irritation kicked at the base of my stomach. Was there anything Ma Bess didn’t try to control?
She didn’t register the flicker in my eyes, couldn’t see my hands, clasped behind my back, tighten on each other. She bludgeoned on, oblivious. ‘I hear that you’ve been going on and on about your brothers. How they died, when they died, how he killed them … It’s all very tiresome, child.’ She stared at me, but for a few seconds it felt as if she wasn’t seeing me at all. More as if she was seeing through me to something that lay beyond. Then she blinked and time steadied itself.
She looked at me closely and frowned. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘nothing but a nuisance. You always have been. The newspapers just need to get a whiff of what’s going on and they’ll be back here like the carrion scavengers they are, feeding off us, just like that Sparks fellow did. Pointless really, this obsession with two silly children. After all, what is there to tell?’
The irritation turned to anger and kicked even harder.
‘How can you say that?’ I said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, child. You know the facts of the matter: your brothers broke the rules, got lost and died. That’s all there is to it.’
‘But they were my brothers,’ I said. ‘Your grandsons.’
She eyed me coldly. ‘Because I can understand that the events of the last few days might possibly have been upsetting,’ she said, ‘I will forgive your impertinence and your insolent tone of voice, child. Heaven knows, though, you’ve all had adequate time to prepare yourselves for this sort of eventuality.’ She made it sound as if a leaking pipe had burst, or the dead branch of a tree had finally been worked loose by the wind. ‘I’ll say this once, girl, and once only. I want you to drop this nonsensical behaviour. There is such a thing as carrying something too far and that’s what you seem bent on doing.’
Not as far as she was carrying this display of complete callousness. It wasn’t what Dirk Stone had done that worried her, or how I might be affected by him. She just wanted us all to toe her line. Including Ollie and Oz. Dead or alive, we had to do what she said.
‘Concentrate on your schoolwork, your holiday job. Go and visit that strange little Continental friend of yours, the one with all the brothers and sisters. But as far as this Dirk Stone is concerned, I don’t want to hear another word about him. Is that understood?’
Anger kicked harder now, making me reckless.
‘Who’s to say he’s telling the truth?’ I said.
Her eyes smouldered and she tapped the side of her chair impatiently. ‘Of course he’s telling the truth. He found your brothers on the mountain.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
Her eyes flicked away from mine. ‘This is exactly what I’m talking about,’ she said, pointing a shaky finger at me. ‘This constant need to question your elders, set yourself up against authority. Now get yourself back downstairs and forget this nonsense. I’m tired of having to talk to you. Whenever I see your face it means problems.’
Ja, well, whenever I see your face I want to be sick.
Have you looked in a mirror lately? How do you feel when you see your face?
At least I have a face, not a crusty old mask with a slit for a mouth and wrinkled holes for eyes.
Why is it that I never find the right words when I’m in her room? The moment I leave, the words come.
You know what? Screw Ma Bess. She can try to control me, but she can’t stop me leaving the house. It’s not like she’s going to miraculously emerge from her room and run down the street after me to stop me. I’m tired of being scared into silence. I can understand why Annie and Orville want me to stop obsessing about Dirk Stone, but why should she be so concerned? She never even seems sad when your names come up. Not that she ever calls you Ollie and Oz, or even Oscar and Oliver. It’s always those boys, or your brothers.
9
A week after Detective Ace’s visit, Rafi called and said it was time for my trip to the South African Library.
‘Bird, I checked with them,’ she said, her voice excited over the phone. ‘The lady said to go to the front desk and she’ll explain everything you need to know. She’s got lots of material for you. And a clip from Carte Blanche if you want to watch it.’
‘Thanks, Raf.’
‘Good luck, Birdie. Come around the moment you get back.’
‘I will,’ I promised.
I ran up to my room and grabbed my rucksack. On my way out, I stopped at the door and looked at my desk. So many words scribbled there. So much time spent wondering what had happened. And now, in the space of a day, I’d be reading about Dirk Stone, probably seeing him on TV. Killing two birds with one stone. I stopped dead in my tracks and shook my head. ‘Not funny,’ I muttered.
Of course, as I came running down the stairs, the first person I had to bump into was Annie.
‘Where are you off to Bird?’ she asked and I answered breezily, ‘Oh just over to Rafi’s for a while. I need some fresh air. I’ve been stuck inside for ages.’
‘You’re not too upset, after the other day?’
That was a tricky one. I couldn’t be too casual or she’d smell a rat; I didn’t want to talk in circles around the whole topic again either. But I had to say something.
‘It’s not really okay,’ I said. ‘You must remember something about the Freezer Killer, Mom, his trial?’
Annie’s face shut down.
‘Of course, we followed the trial,’ she said. ‘The whole of South Africa did, we couldn’t escape it. Horrific. You don’t want to know the details, Bird. Let’s just be glad that he’s locked away for life.’
Let’s just be glad that I’ve got enough money for a train ticket to Cape Town, I wanted to reply, but didn’t.
‘Bird,’ Annie was troubled, ‘it may be hard now, but in the long run—’
‘I’m sorry, Mom, but can we just leave it for now? I just need to get out of the house, clear my head.’
‘Of course, Bird.’ Annie smiled, and I felt awful deceiving her. I leaned towards her for a hug, and then I was off. I ran, my feet slapping the road, the wind tearing my eyes, weaving through the streets of Harbiton. The sweat breaking out on my body was the first thing I had really felt since we’d learned about Dirk Stone.
Annie and Orville didn’t need to know where I was going, did they? I asked the boys later that day. If you have to dodge the truth a bit to get to a bigger truth, is that a lie?
Sometimes I wish I was a Catholic, like Rafi. Then I could go to confession and let the blood of the Lamb wash away my sins. A bit messy, but very effective, Rafi swears. I could do with some cleansing, kneel in a darkened box and confess to lies, half-truths and not telling the whole story. And then I could say my penance, bow my head and say I’m truly, truly sorry, and mean it.
I stood on the platform, waiting for the train to screech to a halt and the sliding doors to open and the coast and mountains and untidy backyards of other people’s homes to flash by, framed in milky glass, until we arrived at Cape Town Station. On my way up to the library, I stopped at the flower sellers. It was ages since I’d put a memento into my ballerina box, but today I needed something bright and hopeful to take with me. I emptied my purse into the palm of my hand, but all I could scrape together, after my train fare, was a rand. ‘Is this enough for two daisies?’ I asked a woman sitting on an upturned bucket.
‘You keep
your money, my lady. For you, I think we can find this.’ She pulled two white daisies from the centre of a plastic bucket.
‘Thank you,’ I managed, blinking back tears at her kindness. I tucked the daisies carefully into my rucksack – one for Ollie, one for Oz. Then I walked in the direction of St George’s Cathedral.
I don’t know if Cape Town was busy that morning, or hot, or cold. All I could concentrate on was plodding along, putting one foot in front of the other, to the top of Wale Street, under the spreading trees in front of the cathedral, and from there just a few steps along to Queen Victoria Street and the library entrance.
I took a deep breath. Then I made my way to the front desk and asked to be shown everything possible about Dirk Stone’s trial.
‘Ah, yes, Miss Little,’ the librarian smiled. ‘We have the material ready for you. There’s a great deal of it: the newspaper reports from the time of his arrest to the trial, the human interest stories in magazines, and the Carte Blanche cover of the story. And more.’
Then she looked at me with concern. ‘Are you sure you want to read all this? He was a nasty piece of work.’
She called for someone to show me what to do and where to wait. Then the man in charge of the archives patiently showed me how to use the micro-fiche to bring the pages up and into focus. The machine was much easier to use than it looked.
‘Will you need to copy anything?’ he asked.
I thought of my empty purse and shook my head.
As it turned out, I couldn’t have read the articles more than once anyway.
10
I took out the daisies. Their petals were browning at the edges, and when I held one of them to my nose, there was no scent. I laid them in front of me, closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, opened them and then started to scroll.
Everything was there. Reporters trying to understand his motives, stories about the families of the children. Photographs. The neatly dressed killer being escorted up the courthouse stairs. The children he had abducted and their parents too. I couldn’t look too closely at those. And then, of course, there were stories about the trial of the Freezer Killer, how his career had finally ended.