Theo

by Ed Taylor

Cross over what.

  Adrian’s opening the door: From here to there. Billy, take five. I’m going out with Theo.

  You sure.

  Yeah.

  They move down the hall, dark wood and gold light.

  You mean being dead.

  Crossing over is just an expression. Humans have a million views of death and ways of describing it. The ancient Greeks believed when you died you crossed a river, and you were ferried across the river to the land of the dead by Charon, the boatman, and they buried you with coins so you could pay Charon to take you across.

  What happened if you didn’t have a coin.

  You were doomed to wander the shore, not able to rest yet.

  The dark hall flows and leads to the delta of ballroom and then the wide lawn ocean and Theo and Adrian are crossing the terrace, and everyone outside has found shade. Theo notices how pale Adrian looks, how white. Theo looks at a man, white as his dad, limp in a brown wooden chair with arms splayed wide like he’s been shot, head turned, mouth open. All these people, so pale. Adrian turns back to the doors and says, come on. We’ll get some wine and some oil, make it a proper homage to Paz.

  What’s wine and oil for.

  We’ll pour them on her grave, it’s an offering. To her spirit, and to the spirits she’ll be joining. Is that okay, do you think.

  I guess. She didn’t drink wine.

  All the better for her. But it’s more a gift for the spirits, to show respect, something to honor her by pleasing those she’ll be joining. Let’s check out the kitchen.

  People drinking Cokes, people with coffee, food on dirty plates, someone pouring something on a woman’s stomach and licking it off. Conversation about galleries, fuckers, projects, the jets, Tribeca, shit, copper wire is warmer sound, product. People talking at Adrian, Adrian talking back, Theo drifting through, drifting. Leslie the caterer and her assistant huddle over a pad of paper in two chairs. Food steams in silver.

  Roger enters from the dark back, with people, everyone serious. Hey: Roger’s calling at Adrian. We got another problem. Adrian slowly turns from two ladies, says, so handle it, over the other noise. Nah, Roger says, we have to talk lawyers.

  Christ.

  Adrian walks over to Theo leaning in the door opening, watching – here, pour some of this on Paz’s grave and get some oil from Leslie there – Adrian pointed at her – and I’ll catch up with you. Promise. He rubs his face with his hand.

  Kay.

  Theo takes the dusty bottle and walks fast, but he doesn’t think Paz would like wine and passes through the French doors and over the warm tiles of the terrace and onto the grass and turns the bottle over, pouring as he walks in a big curve away from the trees then back toward them, and some people look at him, and the bottle’s empty and he drops it; it’s libation for everything. Everybody.

  Theo walks toward the trees, and white feathers on the ground in a patch of gray-green grass, small feathers and bigger feathers, white and gray and brown, and it could be a pigeon or a gull maybe, or a tern. There’s nothing but feathers, so maybe it wasn’t an attack, and he picks up a couple of the long ones, and walks now toward the trees. Voices, music, and his head is light, floating over his body and he walks.

  Through the trees to Paz. He’s crossing to her land and he finds her pile, the wood, and he sticks the feathers in the dirt, and stands for a minute looking. He wants to put something shiny there, but there’s nothing, and he says, good dog.

  His pants have a pocket on the back, he remembers, and he jams his hand in it – nothing. Wait – a quarter. Theo’s not sure where it should go, so he just places it flat near the end where her head is. Now she can pay the boatman. Then he weaves out, thinking maybe he should carry coins with him all the time, just in case.

  What now. He moves out of the trees, from under the trees, onto the lawn.

  Someone’s shooting balls of fire from a cardboard tube at other running people, one of whom is arching and yelling and slapping at his back. Somebody else has the hose out, showering some other people. The man is back on the horse, and a lady in a bathing suit sits behind him, holding onto the saddle, not him, while the horse walks backward, stiffly. A chair is stuck in a third-floor window. A couple of people sleep. In the gazebo, Mingus stares out at Theo or in his direction. Mingus is holding his bow with an arrow notched on the string. People behind him flicker in the shadow there: Theo can’t tell what they’re doing. The sun’s definitely on its way down.

  Just below the roof peaks, mountains jutting up and down the line of the roof; from his open windows he sees flakes of color flutter, out and away, up and down on the air like it’s waves they ride. The Italian lady might die, maybe, and Colin’s with the police – his dad’s sad. And there’s Gus, back in his chair under the umbrella, alone, smoking his pipe.

  And there’s the Seal, coming his way, toward the ocean.

  Theo says, where are you going.

  Going for a swim.

  You can swim.

  Yes, I can.

  Theo notices the stumps of his arms have tiny nubs, like baby toes.

  I can also fly.

  You can fly.

  Yes.

  How.

  Like this: the Seal stands, spreads his stumpy arms like a penguin and closes his eyes.

  There’s another planet that I think I’ll check out. I’ll bring you back a souvenir.

  Thanks. Bye.

  Theo walks, not scared of Seal, and Theo’s closing eyes now, wondering how far he can go without seeing.

  Theo’s blind, hearing everything and feeling things up through his feet, the feelings growing up, dry grass and gritty sand, he knows the lawn’s table-flat; still wants to peek, but doesn’t. Theo walks listening to his breathing, and his heart, which he can imagine but, he realizes, he can’t hear. Last sun on his back.

  For a while, just breathing, the sound like under water, and walking in flaming dark behind his eyes. Then what happens tomorrow, he starts thinking. What about next week. Two months. Who will be here. He opens his eyes on the bright back lawn: where is this, what place. Nothing fits, and then it does. But he doesn’t know what to call it. He is not going to live here anymore.

  He steers toward Gus, brown as an American football, his big stomach peaceful and safe, him anchored now in his place, smoking his pipe. He sees Theo and yells: Cheers.

  Theo walks over and plops next to Gus. Hi, Gus.

  You look a little stormy, what’s on your mind.

  Theo’s not sure what to say, because he’s not sure what’s on his mind. I don’t know. Dad’s leaving. Colin’s gone. Is it just me and you now.

  Gus nods, reaches for a painted glass full of, Theo knew, rum. He could smell it in the air, see tiny sparkles of it.

  Just for a few hours, I reckon, till he makes bail, then that’ll go away, and Colin’ll be back. Tempest in a teapot.

  And it’ll be like it was.

  Sure.

  Theo poked at the ground with a finger, hoping it would wake up and shake, maybe roar, thinking about the way it was. Is. There’s only is. Maybe what he has to give up is the was. But he’s just a kid, how is he supposed to know this stuff.

  What’s that, Gus asks, puffing on his weird curving pipe, then looking at the pipe. Smoking is such a weird thing to do; who thought of it first.

  Nothing. I didn’t say anything, Theo says. Grownups get to make messes but they don’t have to clean them up, Theo thinks. Then, maybe he just doesn’t see the cleaning up.

  Hmm, Gus makes a noise. You say a lot even when you’re not saying anything. You’re upset about – oh, everything. Dad and mum and these weird people and Colin and Johnny Law here after Colin, and the rest of us too if we’re not careful. Something like that.

  Gus looks at Theo. You’re a thinker. You’re dad was like you when he was your age. Kept a lot inside, worried a lot.

  I need to go back to school. Somewhere else. I want to.

  School, eh. Gus, Theo sees, is trying not to
make a big deal out of it, he’s playing around with his pipe, looking inside it – an engine flares up from inside the house, someone’s on Colin’s scooter in the ballroom – and he says matter-of-factly, staring and poking into his pipe, good show, then. I’ll talk to your dad and we’ll see about getting that sorted out.

  Theo remember Paz lying under the bushes. The other dogs, bigger and different, live. Some people could live in a house like that. Some couldn’t. No more butterflies from Theo’s windows: he wonders if they are all gone.

  I feel like I’m in the wrong family.

  Gus laughed. I’ve said that for fifty years, but they won’t let me leave.

  I mean, other families aren’t like ours.

  Oh, you’d be surprised, son. Families are all basically the same family, if you look at ’em long enough. We all do the best we can, and maybe that’s the best we can do. You know, your da and mum are doing the best they can, and they love you. They’re artistic types, and that kind of queers things a little. Like living with royalty, except without the manners. Both about equally twittish.

  Theo’s frowning and squinting, at his dad in the center of one circle of people and Roger in the center of another, like two wheels moving something.

  Maybe, son, and Gus is reaching a big rough hand out to cup Theo’s head, normal isn’t normal. Just figure out what your limits are. Don’t pay attention to the rest. That’s what I do.

  Do you.

  Aye. I had to do that a long time ago. It’s worked out okay. I think it will for you too. It’s like staking a claim: here, this, even if it’s just this chair, is mine. Let the world rush past and I’ll just watch and try to keep me arms and legs out of harm’s way.

  But why should you have to. It’s like running away. Why should you have to.

  Here Gus shrugs – it’s not running away, it’s running toward something, sort of an island, maybe. And you can invite whoever you want onto your island. Might be a tight fit, but it’s yours. Gus grins: It’s your story.

  Theo isn’t sure about this, but Gus is looking at him as if he wants Theo to agree, so Theo nods yes. Okay.

  In the limo to the airport, Theo asks Adrian: The lady. Does my mother know her.

  Yeah.

  What’s her name.

  The lady.

  No.

  Her name’s Marian Pearl. Marian for Maid Marian in Robin Hood.

  Adrian pushes open the red-brown wood gate covered with ivy, which bumps on the red gravel walk, and crunches toward the door with his rolling walk. There’s glass, and a face in it – Roe, Gus’s used-to-be-wife and Adrian’s mother. Theo likes her: she is loud and funny and a lot like his dad and she’s always mad at Adrian. She’s opening the door, and Adrian’s calling out hello missus. She’s walking down the steps and putting her hands on her hips, stopped, frowning – you look like death. I shouldn’t let you in, it’s probably bad luck.

  Everybody tells me I’m immortal, Roe. No worries there, darling. I get it from you: Adrian waves his arm around, looking at the house and the garden. Looks more and more like a tour council ad. This blessed plot, this sceptered isle, this England. More waving, then Adrian gives frowning Roe a hug and kisses her cheek and she kisses him, looking put out. Adrian says: here’s our boy.

  Roe stares at Theo and her face breaks into a huge smile. Oh aren’t you a beautiful sight. How nice to see you, my love. I hope your father hasn’t done too much damage that can’t be undone.

  Hi Roe.

  Theo’s grinning, and his cheeks are hot. He’s buzzing, feeling jumpy, happy. The path is lined with yellow flowers. He puts his arms around her as she hugs him and musses his hair and gives him a powdery kiss and rubs his back.

  Come on in, love: she’s talking to Theo not Adrian, who’s just standing looking into the house, saying, hello, my darling.

  A little girl stands there, her hair is huge and crazy, curly, and it has a band or ribbon in it. She’s wearing a tiny Arsenal football jersey and a pink skirt and she’s barefoot.

  Who put those traitorous colors on her.

  I’ve become an Arsenal fan, so you’ll have to live with it.

  Adrian’s bending and grinning, squatting, and the girl is walking out, not shyly, but slowly, picking her way down steps, old stone, and walking but she doesn’t stop at Adrian: she’s coming right at Theo, looking up, squinting in the sun. Adrian and Roe are both watching.

  Theo looks down at her and smiles, holds out the book – I brought you a present. I’ll read it to you if you want. It’s called the Little Cricket.

  I can read.

  Roe smiles and looks at Theo from behind the girl, smiling and shaking her head ‘no’ so Theo sees.

  Okay. You can read it to me then.

  Okay.

  She flounces into the house between the two adults. Roe’s looking at Theo: we’ve got an appointment at your school in a little while so let’s get you smartened up and have a bite and we’ll be off.

  Adrian’s already inside, and Roe’s going up the steps, in her thick shoes. Theo’s following and up the steps when he starts to say something but doesn’t, just turns to run back down the path. Adrian always leaves doors and gates open, and cabinets. Everything, even the bathroom door.

  At the fence Theo stops, and swings it shut, the black limo in the lane gleaming between the slats, a dark animal behind bars. She would need looking after. Theo listens for the click, and rattles the latch on the gate – then he pulls, just to be sure the car’s caged and his sister’s safe out here, in the world.

  Copyright

  First published in 2014

  by Old Street Publishing Ltd

  Trebinshun House, Brecon LD3 7PX

  This ebook edition first published in 2014

  All rights reserved

  © Ed Taylor, 2014

  The right of Ed Taylor to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 978–1–908699–63–3