Silent

by David Mellon

  Every nook and cleft was crowded with all manner of curios and bric-a-brac. Animals and masks and sculptures. A porcelain queen on the back of a lion. Buddha, at the feet of Mary. Hindu gods everywhere, with the heads of elephants, a hundred arms, dancing on demons.

  Though the only illumination in the room was the pale light coming through the curtained windows, Coal had little trouble seeing as he wandered about. The mantel and the walls surrounding the fireplace were crowded with pictures.

  He found one of the girl, five or six years old, a formal studio portrait. She stood between a British officer and a dark-eyed Indian woman. Another, a few years on, showed the soldier with a different woman, this one fair-haired, polished, European. She was holding two matching infants in her lap. The Indian woman was gone, as was the girl.

  The chirrup of a bird. Coal looked into a cage hanging beside the fireplace. “Still alive,” he murmured.

  There were photographs of the grandmother, a couple taken in this very room. There she was at the Egyptian pyramids, another, on safari in Africa. One from India with the girl. The woman appeared to favor men’s trousers.

  Just as he was reaching for his watch, the clock on the mantel chimed twice.

  Coal turned and found his way down the hallway to the back part of the house. He stood between two adjacent doors, the one on his right a few feet farther down the hall. He leaned his head against the door to his left and stood that way, silently tapping his fingers on the doorknob as if he were making up his mind.

  “ ‘For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand,’ ” he whispered.

  Then he noticed the small door at the end of the hall.

  • • •

  Adi awoke.

  She was on top of the covers in a long nightgown, with a book open on her chest, a stub of a candle about to gutter out on a side table.

  She sat up, looking out at the moonlight on the fields behind the house. She heard nothing but the frogs outside.

  They’d come home a few days ago to find the front door wide open and a few things out of place. As far as they could tell, the only thing missing was a picture of the boys and their father that had been sitting on the mantlepiece.

  “What’s that?”

  There it was, a banging and a cry. She looked at the clock.

  “They can’t be awake.”

  Something heavy being dragged on a wooden floor and a voice that didn’t sound like the boys! She slipped out of the bed, her book of Italian folktales falling to the floor.

  She tripped over packing crates scattered about the room. Grabbing the door handle, she pulled. It wouldn’t open.

  “That can’t be. There’s no lock on this door.”

  Then she heard the boys screaming.

  She threw herself hard against the door. It was rickety, like the rest of the house. But Adi was small and slight of build—she couldn’t break through. Looking around her in the candlelight, she picked up a wooden packing crate, held it to her chest and ran hard at the door. The panel in the middle cracked. With a second try, the door splintered, and Adi crashed through to the hallway. Pulling herself to her feet, she darted up the hall to her brothers’ room. That handle wouldn’t turn either.

  More cries. She banged hard on the door with her fists.

  “Xavier! Xander!” she screamed. “Open the door!”

  No reply. Just the sound of a harsh low voice.

  She ran to the front of the house and snatched up the iron poker beside the fireplace.

  Back down the hall, she swung wildly at the boys’ door, leaving long gashes in the wood, curlicues of paint flying—but to no effect.

  She smashed at the door handle.

  “Open! Damn! You!”

  The handle shattered; the bolt and the other half of the doorknob fell to the floor inside. She pushed the door open with her shoulder.

  The bed was jammed into the corner, the covers off, the bluebird lamp in pieces across the floor. Brushing bits aside, Adi knelt to look under the bed. Nothing but a sock.

  The boys shouting. A scream. But from where?

  In the hall, at the far end, the door was open. The cellar door, as far as they knew. It had never been open. They hadn’t yet found a key.

  The door creaked as she pushed it with the tip of her poker. She could just make out stairs disappearing into a faint light below.

  “Why is there any light?” she whispered. “Are they down there?” There was a bump and a rattle from below. Down she went.

  It wasn’t easy. Each step was cluttered with the overflow of their grandmother’s figurines and knickknacks from her travels. By the bottom of the stairs there was hardly a place to put her foot. It got worse.

  It had been a mystery to Adi since they’d arrived—where Tillie’s beloved novels might be. There was a cupboard full of cookbooks in the kitchen and a stack of fairy tales in the boys’ bedroom. But she’d begun to think perhaps Tillie had simply discarded books at every stop, as she had with the trunkful that she gave Adi as a child. Now she knew.

  Atop crates and boxes and teetering on old furniture, the books rose nearly to the ceiling on both sides of a narrow corridor going off to the left. She saw some art magazines and a few travel books, but mostly they looked to be novels.

  Where the light was coming from around the corner, she heard a skittering and something falling to the floor. Raising her poker, she stepped along the corridor, turning sideways to squeeze through the stacks. A tap tap tap from inside the little room. She leaned forward and saw a lantern perched on a chair.

  Wings in her face. Something popped her on the forehead. She spun about swinging the poker, and a pile of books taller than her head came down around her.

  From the floor she saw a little bird—their tiny songbird. A thread was tied to its leg, a bobbin unspooling as it circled the room.

  “You little mongrels!” cried Adi, pulling herself up out of the mess, banging the poker on the floor. “I am going to throttle you both!”

  It took her a minute to reel the bird in, pull the thread loose, and get the little yellow thing back in its cage. In a fury she grabbed up the lantern and started up the stairs.

  It wasn’t until she was near the door that she smelled the smoke.

  Chapter 4

  Stumbling up the stairs into the hallway, Adi had to stoop to stay clear of the smoke.

  “Xander! Xavier!” she screamed. “Where are you!” She looked into the bedrooms as she flew past.

  Ahead of her in the front room, there were flames. Beside the sofa, she saw the kerosene canister from the porch, slashed open, on its side. Fire spread like a river amidst the tigers and gods, touching off everything in its path.

  Shouting for the boys, Adi ran outside through the kitchen door, dropping her poker and tossing the birdcage into the hedge. Back and forth she ran, crying and shouting. She found a bucket and emptied the trough next to the old pear tree, but to no avail. The cottage was burning and it was not going to be put out by a girl with a bucket.

  Adi stumbled and fell to the ground. Trying to get up, she fell back again, then sat like a child, her legs out before her in the high grass watching the flames consume Tillie’s house.

  Coal rapped his knuckles on the bench he was sitting on.

  Adi scrambled to her feet looking around in a panic. She ran for her weapon. Brandishing the poker before her, she faced the man sitting a dozen feet back from the blaze on a weathered church pew next to a rusty table, lighting his cigarette.

  He took a drag and stared at the girl, sodden and muddy, dirt streaked across her face.

  “Help me,” cried Adi, gesturing at the house. “Something’s happened to my—”

  Coal reached over to a box of items on the table and lifted out a coffeepot. The fire illuminated his face.

  Adi stepped back, too surprised to even raise her weapon. “I—I know you!” she cried. “The restaurant. The bottle . . .”

  He poured himself a cup of coff
ee, dug around in the box and pulled out a glass bottle of milk. He gave it a sniff and poured.

  “Where are my brothers?” she yelled at him. Raising the poker again, she shouted, “You will leave me no choice but to use this.” The trembling in her hands gave the lie to her words.

  “The boys are safe—enough,” said Coal. “If you want to hear any more about them, put that down.” He pushed the hair out of his eyes with his long fingers and took a sip from his cup. He gestured to the end of the pew.

  Adi looked at the house. Flames were coming through the roof tiles. What could she do? The nearest house was far away. She didn’t even know who lived there. She sat down on the pew, as far away from the man as she could manage. She held on to the poker.

  Coal motioned his cigarette toward the blaze. “I trust I have your attention?”

  “Monsieur!” she shouted, stamping her foot. “Where are my brothers!”

  “Coal.”

  “What?”

  “You may call me Coal. Monsieur Coal, if you wish.”

  “I don’t care what your name is!” cried Adi. “Where are my brothers?”

  Coal began digging around in the box again. Folded over the side was a dress, a needle and thread sticking out; Adi was in the process of embroidering little flowers on the collar. He pulled the thread from the needle and carelessly balled it between his fingers as he watched the house burn.

  “We don’t have any money,” Adi said. “My father is a soldier. We’ve only just—”

  “Shush. I don’t want your money.” Coal took another drag on his cigarette and flicked it at the fire. As if on cue, a great flame erupted from the back windows of the house. Perhaps the books in the cellar had ignited.

  “Why are you doing this?” Adi asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Coal, shaking off the spell cast by the flames. “I have them, so you’re going to do as I say.”

  He turned to face her on the bench.

  “I think we should play a game, you and I. Whoever wins the game”—he snapped his fingers—“gets the boys.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “So,” he said, as if it were decided. “The boys! That’s what you’ve got in the game. What am I wagering, you ask? It’s only fair.”

  He began pulling things out of his pockets. A teaspoon. A wad of twine. A pair of women’s earrings. He dropped them onto the table. “The earrings are not bad?” he said, peering down at them. “Little birds, with little diamond eyes. Though that one is missing.”

  Adi stared at him as if he were out of his mind.

  Patting the front of his suit coat he pulled out a little cardboard box closed up with a red rubber band. “Not yet for that,” he said. Leaning forward he placed the box carefully upon the table. He continued his search.

  From his side coat pocket he pulled out a small jar. In the hard shadow it was difficult to tell what was in it, some dark shape.

  “Oh, not you,” he said. “Not after all the trouble you gave me.” He held the jar right up to Adi’s face. “See?” With a scream, Adi jerked back. Some sort of dreadful insect skittered and convulsed within the glass. Coal grinned and slipped the jar back into his pocket.

  “Got to be something.” His eyes lit up. “Ah. This could do.”

  From a vest pocket he pulled out his watch and chain.

  “This is what you get. If you win.” The timepiece glinted gold in the firelight.

  “A mere watch for your brothers, you say?” He set the watch down on the table, squaring it just so. “But there’s more here than meets the eye. Give me your hand.”

  Adi shook her head, but before she could pull away, Coal reached over and grabbed her wrist. With his other hand he plucked the needle from the dress on the table and jabbed it into the tip of the girl’s index finger.

  She shrieked, but Coal held her firm. Dragging her over, he squeezed a drop of blood from her finger and smeared it across the top of the watch.

  Adi fell back on the pew, tears of rage stinging her eyes. She sucked at her finger.

  “Now,” he said, as if nothing had occurred. “Your given name is . . . Adi? Correct?”

  Adi said nothing.

  “I know more about you than your name, girl.”

  Holding the watch in his palm, he appeared to be scratching something into the surface with his fingernail. After working at it for a moment, he blew away tiny whorls of gold. Clutching the watch tight in his fist, he closed his eyes, concentrating, whispering.

  “We’ll start around sunrise. When the clock strikes six.”

  Coal opened his hand and hung the chain from his fingers, dangling the watch before the girl. He looked up at her.

  “Are you sure you want them back? These brothers of yours?” he said, with a cheerless grin. “You don’t seem to like them very much. I could drown them for you like a sack of kittens.”

  Adi glared at him.

  “What I mean,” he said, “is that there is no going back. Once you—”

  “Tell me what you want!” cried Adi, banging her fists on the bench.

  “All right then. Once you take it,” he said, swinging the watch back and forth like a hypnotist. “It’s yours. The game is on.”

  She thrust her hand at him.

  “Until you win. Or lose.” He dropped the watch into her palm.

  Adi’s stomach pitched, as if she’d gone over Joga Falls in a boat. She put her head down, her hand over her mouth. But, just as quickly the lightheadedness passed.

  Strangely, when she looked up it seemed, for an instant, as if the man might be in discomfort as well. But he snapped his fingers dismissively and pointed at the watch.

  “You’ll need to wind it. Every morning.”

  There, in the pale light, she saw Adi, engraved in elaborate letters on the top of the watch, each letter stained red from her blood. She flipped it over. The back of the watch was decorated with a little bird, a swallow. Circling it were the words: Tempus fugit.

  “Time flies,” whispered Adi.

  “So they say,” said Coal. “Open it.”

  She slid her thumbnail under the lid and lifted it.

  “But, how . . . ?” On the inside of the cover was a delicate portrait of the boys, with Xander and Xavier written beneath.

  “Keep looking.”

  Adi turned the watch to the light.

  It was splendid. Solid and balanced and beautifully made. Except that it wasn’t running. The red second hand on the little subdial within the larger circle was fixed and still.

  “Click the stem and push against the face. That’s right.” To Adi’s surprise the face swiveled around. On the opposite side, amidst lots of florid engraving, a row of little squares ran across the middle, no larger than baby’s teeth, each under a tiny domed crystal.

  “This side of the watch,” he said, “counts down the time, to the very last second. So what’ll we say? How many seconds do you need, Adi? A day’s worth? Ten days? A hundred days?”

  “What?” Adi looked up at him.

  “Surely, a clever girl like you will find them in no time. Doesn’t matter.” He leaned in and swiped at the watch face with his index finger. Numbers, clicking and whirring, appeared in each of the little squares.

  “There. All the time you need. Ah—and lest we forget. Click the stem. Four times.” He motioned with his thumb.

  Adi complied. On the fourth click, with a little tink, the portrait of the boys popped open. Behind it, there were two gold disks—like pages of a tiny round book.

  “I’ve left you riddles. As is, I believe, traditional in these circumstances.”

  He didn’t elaborate.

  Adi rubbed her fingertip against the lines of finely etched type on the discs. She would need better light to read them.

  Coal sat back on the bench, scratching at the top of his head with his nails.

  “Now that I think about it, though . . . You will be searching for twins. How hard could that be? Not as if I’m taking th
em to the moon. I think you need something a little more challenging.

  “Ah. Here we go,” he said, as if he had just thought of it. “While you’re searching, you must be”—he leaned over the bench and whispered—“silent.”

  “Silent?” Adi shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m saying, you’ll be doing it—the searching for the boys—without talking. No writing either.”

  “What?” She stared at the man as if he were speaking gibberish.

  “People talk too much, Adi. Don’t you think?”

  He leaned forward and put his thumb on the edge of the little box with the red rubber band, no larger than a pack of playing cards. He slid it slowly along the table until it sat right before the girl.

  Pulling loose the rubber band, Adi lifted the top. With a scream she lurched back.

  Cradled in a pool of crimson lay what seemed to be a little finger, like one belonging to a young boy. The light from the fire glistened off the nail.

  “I’ll hear you speak, Adi. Wherever you are. In a boat in the middle of the ocean. Standing alone in a field. I will hear. And every word you speak will bring you a gift like this. An ear, a toe, a finger. There are so many pieces to send.”

  “Oh, no no. But you can’t . . . expect someone . . . Please, monsieur.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Let them go. They’re just children.” She reached out and clutched at the man’s sleeve.

  He pulled it away from her. “Ready to give up before you start?”

  Adi shook her head, loosing tears down her cheeks.

  “Why are you doing this to us?”

  Coal looked up at the branches of the elm, his eyes grown dull and cold. “What do you care, Adi?”

  He stood up. Straightening his coat, he started walking toward the front of the house. He yelled, “It’s simple. Solve the riddles. Find the boys. Keep your mouth shut. You speak or write a word, I take them. If you want out, you have only to say the word. But you know the cost of every one.”

  Adi looked down at her hands which were clenched hard enough to leave blood where her nails dug in. Do something!

  Grabbing her poker, she charged after him, shouting, “Stop! Will you—Stop!”