The Cruellne

by James Clammer

  The most difficult thing to describe is the sense of happiness and calm that seemed to move inside her as they talked. I could feel it, it was almost like something you could pick up and roll around in the palm of your hand and then put away somewhere safe and secret, for when you needed it next. I knew that it could not be the first time she had spoken with a cruellne. When had she done it before? And would this time be the last? Occasionally I glanced over at Christophe and Natalie. They had finished the hotdogs and were lying in each other's arms, stretched out on the straw, the sun much less fierce now. Presently though they both stood up and wandered over, telling a shrill joke or two to let us know they were returning. Natalie said we could stroke the feathers on the top of the cruellne's head, it would like that, and when we did (me included this time) its pink tongue whirred with pleasure. Then Natalie took the cruellne by the hand and led it away across the yard, and mother and I watched as they disappeared into the derelict boarded-up building.

  Christophe was all smiles. He said life was good and what could we do but agree? At the two peeling doors, the doors that led out onto the street, mother handed him a large brown envelope. He raised a finger, stepped back into the shade of the mechanic's shed, examined the contents. Yes life was good, but it was not good enough that he did not need to count the money. Satisfied, he bowed to us and waved, and we let ourselves out.

  After that our life changed a lot. Mother got a new job and I went back to school. Soon I will be taking my exams. Only once afterwards did I ever ask mother about the cruellne. It was a funny question. I asked why she had not let me take part in the conversation, why it was only her that had been allowed to speak. She said it was complicated, to do with girls and boys and women and men. But if ever the time came when I got married, she would pass along the address of the mechanic's yard to my wife, to the mother of my children. But couldn't I go and see the cruellne on my own some time, I asked?

  No, Samuel, she said, you do not understand, it's impossible.

  Her answer made me angry, she was treating me like a child, like I understood nothing about sex.

  For a long time I thought of going to London all by myself, of taking the Underground to G___, of finding those peeling double doors and knocking. But now I do not think I will. There are thousands of streets in London. It is a bad place to get lost in. Easier to climb the hill that lies behind our house and watch the sun setting. I do not need to memorise the colours any more though, I am happy to watch them change and let them go.

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