Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope

by Anne Plichota

  “Yes, we’re still here. Hello Oksa.”

  Oksa turned round: the two men were there, near the enormous double-bass case at the back of the room.

  “We’ll come and eat with you and your parents, if we’re invited,” announced Leomido after kissing her hello. “But now you must let your grandmother rest.”

  Oksa stood up reluctantly, kissed Dragomira again and left the apartment.

  But halfway down the staircase, she changed her mind and ran back up the few steps to the landing. She tapped on the door again. Leomido opened it.

  “But I’ve got some questions for you,” she said briskly. “We haven’t had a chance to speak since last Sunday!”

  “Later, Oksa, later,” replied her great-uncle, sounding preoccupied and looking so vague that she wasn’t sure that he was actually seeing her.

  Oksa went back downstairs to her room, muttering angrily to herself.

  “They tell me tons of really important stuff and when I want to know more, they’ve all gone AWOL. I’ve got loads of questions. But they shut the door in my face and leave me to my own devices. I’M SICK OF IT!” she protested rebelliously, kicking her school bag violently across the floor.

  She sensed someone behind her and turned round: her father was leaning against the door frame, looking at her anxiously.

  “Dad?”

  Pavel Pollock’s only answer was to rub his face wearily with his hand and turn on his heel.

  “DAD!”

  Oksa followed him. But when she saw him in the living room, slumped in an armchair, his head in his hands and his body huddled over, she turned round and ran back to her room. There she exploded. Glowering with rage and without moving from her bed, she swept everything off her desk, then attacked her posters on the walls, shredding them into long strips of paper by the sheer force of her gaze. When everything was broken, ripped to pieces or torn apart, she turned her fury on the pieces of debris and willed them into the air, where they drifted limply. Then she broke down, her heart aching with sadness and resentment.

  When she reopened her eyes, her father was sitting on the floor next to her, his back against the wall.

  “A rather bold new style of décor, if I may say so,” he said with a thin smile, looking at the mess floating around him.

  “Oh Dad!”

  Oksa threw herself into his arms and buried her face against his shoulder.

  “Dad, I don’t know what to think any more… I’m so confused.”

  “This is all very sudden, sweetheart. I hate the fact that you had to learn about our history like this, without being prepared. Frankly, I wish it hadn’t happened this way. I would have preferred to wait; but the harm is done now,” he added as if talking to himself.

  “It’s not just that, Dad,” said Oksa, looking at him intently.

  But, fixing Oksa with his sad, blue eyes, he ignored what she’d just said and kept talking:

  “Just be patient for a while. We’re all pretty confused ourselves, and we’re not sure how to proceed. We don’t even all agree! We just need to take time to think things over so we don’t make any mistakes,” he said sensibly, putting his arm round Oksa’s shoulders.

  “I don’t understand: what do you have to agree about?”

  “I can’t tell you anything more when we’re not seeing things clearly ourselves.”

  “Okay, fine, don’t complain when you’ve totally traumatized your only daughter!” she retorted, laying it on thick to lighten the atmosphere. “Because I’m warning you: later on, when I’m a complete neurotic head case, I’ll tell the leading psychiatric specialists who are examining me that it all stems from my adolescence. I’ll explain how I had a terrible psychological shock and that I was badly neglected by my family, so there!”

  Her father hesitated for a second, then gave a loud snort of laughter which was so contagious that Oksa burst out laughing too, glancing at him sidelong as he tousled her hair affectionately.

  “So if I understand correctly, I’m to keep all my questions to myself until you deign to bestow your precious attention on me,” resumed Oksa more provocatively. “After all, I’m only a teenager who has to do as she’s told by the grown-ups, who are so wise and so reasonable…”

  Her father looked at her again, not even trying to hide his embarrassment and helplessness. A sudden surge of pity made Oksa decide to leave it be for the time being.

  “I’m not promising anything, but I will try,” she said, twisting the bottom of her T-shirt around her finger. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you—Leomido and Abakum are joining us for dinner.”

  “That’s excellent news!” exclaimed her father, happy that they had reached a truce. “Come on, let’s prepare a feast worthy of the name. And, er, it might be a good idea to tidy up your room a little before your mother sees it, don’t you think?”

  So they both got down on all fours to pick up everything that Oksa had thrown or smashed during her last, furious Magnetus. Pavel Pollock noticed the large burn mark on the wall but preferred not to mention it, merely sticking a poster back over it as best he could. After all, there was no point adding fuel to the flames.

  20

  (UN)CONTROLLED SLIP-UPS

  MARIE POLLOCK DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW ALL THE details of the matter in hand to sense that something had happened. The only difference between her and everyone else in the house was that she didn’t know what. It had all started at the beginning of the week when Dragomira’s friends had arrived. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Pavel and Oksa had come back downstairs well after midnight on Monday. She’d almost stepped in and read the Riot Act to her husband for keeping their daughter up so late on a school night, but she hadn’t had the heart to do it when she saw Pavel’s expression the next morning. He’d looked so worried. She’d tried to find out what had gone on as tactfully as she could, but Pavel, who could retreat into an impenetrable silence when he wanted, wouldn’t breathe a word. That evening, the atmosphere over dinner was strange—highly charged and subdued at the same time. Leomido and Abakum had joined the little family. Although they were usually excellent company, they seemed preoccupied. Perhaps Dragomira’s condition was affecting them more than she had realized, Marie thought. Anyway the fact that Leomido was still there was clear proof: over the past ten years, he’d never stayed longer than two days. And he’d been here almost a week this time…

  “Isn’t Dragomira coming down?” asked Marie.

  “No, my dear Marie, she still feels a little weak,” replied Leomido looking kindly at her.

  “I hope you aren’t hiding anything serious from me,” added Marie with a slight smile.

  “No, don’t worry, darling,” replied Pavel in his turn. “Everything’s fine, she’s just a bit dizzy at the moment. It will pass.”

  “They’ve certainly got some nerve!” Oksa thought unhappily. She fidgeted on her chair, glaring at her father. Abakum and Pavel sat up very straight, looking stern and frowning.

  “But what’s up with you all this evening?” asked Marie in concern.

  “We’re tired, dear Marie, very tired,” replied Leomido, trying and failing to soften his tone.

  Oksa, on the other hand, wasn’t at all tired. She was seething with anger, agitation and impatience, which made her a bundle of nerves. The short discussion with her father had done her good, but had come nowhere near satisfying her. She was finding it hard to hide her frustration at all these unanswered questions. What had happened to Malorane? Why didn’t she leave at the same time as the others? What was all that about the Phoenix? Had someone already attempted to go back to Edefia? Did they know where it was? And how many of them had fled? Who had killed the journalist? Why did they refuse to answer her questions? Why were they lying to her mother? WHY? There was nothing but whys and not one because. Her father was watching her out of the corner of his eye and the feeling of being watched made Oksa furious. She looked at her mother, who was putting the finishing touches to the salad. She had her back to them and
was leaning forward slightly over the work surface, her shoulders moving up and down to the rhythm of her arms as she stirred the vinaigrette. “All the same, they could have told her. It’s really shitty keeping her in the dark like this,” thought Oksa.

  Suddenly the urge was too strong: IT WAS TIME TO ACT. Although she didn’t realize it, deep down she was longing to provoke her father and make him pay for his distant behaviour towards her during this strange week. Blinded by frustration, she stared straight in front of her unthinkingly. Every single piece of cutlery ended up standing on end in the middle of the table and then began turning in a circle. Although Oksa hadn’t laid a finger on them, of course; she just tapped on the table as if beating time for this strange dance. The three men hastily put the knives and forks back beside the plates, just before Marie came back to her seat. But Oksa was far from finished. She decided to try something new. The Magnetus was good fun, but now she was going to get serious. Her mother gave her the idea for her next target; she’d just got up again to light the perfumed candles on the occasional table by the entrance to the kitchen. She lit the first candle with the lighter. Oksa took care of the second as though it were the most natural thing in the world: without moving from her chair, she simply opened the palm of her hand to send a tiny ball of fire straight towards the wick of the candle. Her mother stood there astonished in front of the candlestick, the lighter in her hand and her forehead wrinkled.

  “What were you saying about tiredness, Leomido? I think it must be catching…”

  Oksa, on the contrary, was overflowing with energy. The three candles were now lit. About ten flames escaped from them and, like demented fireflies, began to flit about randomly above the guests’ heads. But anarchy wasn’t to her taste so she decided to remedy it: the fireflies gathered in a group just below the ceiling and, on Oksa’s order, went into a nosedive towards Pavel’s and Marie’s heads before making an emergency stop a few inches from their hair. Opposite them, Abakum and Leomido couldn’t help exchanging alarmed looks while trying to hide their growing panic.

  Leomido kicked Oksa in the shins and Abakum took her hand to try and reason with her. To no avail, because Oksa smiled back at them with a mixture of satisfaction and mockery—her expression saying “I’m-a-teenager-and-I’ll-do-what-I-want-when-I-want”—while continuing to orchestrate the dancing sparks in the air with her fingertips. Her attention inevitably drawn by the lights—and by the fact that Abakum and Leomido kept glancing at the top of her head—Marie looked up. Everyone held their breath, preparing for the worst. She looked down and didn’t move an inch, her eyes on her plate. Then she blinked as if to erase what she’d just seen, passed her hand over her eyes and continued eating. Abakum made the most of this unexpected lull to create a distraction and start chatting about a topical subject which was of absolutely no interest to Oksa, who was busy working out what she could do next. She felt totally hyper, game for anything. Glancing around, she found what she was looking for: the tap. That was something new! What came after fire? Water. There was nothing like staying with the elements; how cool was that and how innovative! She stared at the sink tap twirling her index finger in discreet circles. After a few seconds, a trickle of water came out of the tap, and quickly grew heavier, gushing out in large spurts which splashed Leomido and Pavel, who were nearest the sink. Marie cried out and Pavel jumped up to turn it off, which proved relatively difficult because the water was really pouring out by now. Soaked from head to foot, his hair and shirt dripping, he glared at his daughter.

  “Oksa, stop it right now! THAT’S ENOUGH!” he roared, beside himself with anger.

  Marie looked at him in astonishment.

  “Really Pavel, she didn’t do anything! It was just a leak…”

  Oksa gave a satisfied grin: it was panic stations all round, particularly in the case of her father. A direct hit! “After all these years, you’d think he would have told her,” she thought angrily. Taking no notice of her father’s warning, she decided to go out with a bang. The bread basket became her final flourish. Sitting in the middle of the table, it amazed everyone by rising eighteen inches into the air and emptying its contents onto Pavel’s plate.

  “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

  21

  PAYING THE PRICE

  MARIE HAD JUMPED BACK FROM THE TABLE, overturning her chair.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” she yelled. “This isn’t funny. Do you see me laughing?”

  Leomido smiled at her distantly, despite the growing feeling that this was just the start of their problems.

  “Marie, would you come with me, please?” said Pavel despondently, his face deathly pale.

  He took her firmly by the arm and drew her into the living room. Leomido and Abakum looked at Oksa gravely, their silence rebuking her more effectively than any tongue-lashing could have done.

  “I’m… sorry…” she murmured, biting the inside of her lip and feeling a little ashamed.

  “So are we, Oksa, so are we,” said Abakum, stressing the dual meaning of these words, which Oksa wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  Looking dejected, Abakum got up from the table heavily and walked out of the kitchen, followed immediately by Leomido, leaving the girl alone with her responsibilities.

  When Oksa went back up to her room, her parents were still talking it over in the living room, and the snatches of conversation which reached her ears did little to reassure her: the discussion was developing into a heated argument. Oksa sat down in front of her computer and started writing an email:

  Gus, I’ve really screwed up. I think my mother knows now. Dad’s talking to her and it’s not going well at all—they’re arguing. I did some things in front of her, I’m such a moron. I’ll try to find out more. I’ll keep you posted. See you tomorrow. From: Oksa-the-Prize-Idiot.

  Although she should perhaps have learnt her lesson from her last attempt at spying outside Dragomira’s door, she sat down on the floor in the corridor facing the living-room door. It was closed, but Oksa could hear perfectly what was being said inside because their voices were so loud.

  “Our daughter is heir to the power of Edefia, she has the Mark…”

  “Sure! And I’m Tinker Bell!” replied Marie with a hysterical cackle.

  “Marie, why would I lie to you? I’m not capable of it. Oksa has powers, she already knows how to use some of them, but she has incredible potential! Our daughter is phenomenally strong, stronger than anyone I know.”

  “Stop it! You’re driving me crazy with your insane stories, your Edifia, and everything.”

  “Edefia.”

  “And even if I did believe you, how come you’re only telling me this now? How long have we been married? I’ll tell you since you seem to be finding it hard to remember: EIGHTEEN YEARS!”

  “Come with me,” her husband said with a deep sigh. “I want to show you something. We’re going up to see Dragomira, you’ll understand better.”

  The door opened, but they were so wrapped up in their conversation that neither of them noticed Oksa sitting huddled miserably in a corner in the corridor, which only upset her more. Dragomira, who was waiting for them on the second-floor landing, ushered them inside. Oksa followed them upstairs and sat down on the top step. A few minutes later, Marie gave a bloodcurdling scream. “Oh dear! Mum must have seen the Lunatrix,” thought Oksa. The conversation continued inside the apartment, sounding just as venomous as before.

  “You’ve seen too many films, the lot of you! You need to stop this right now and come back down to earth.”

  Oksa couldn’t help murmuring sadly, “But we are on Earth, Mum.”

  The first thing Oksa noticed when she opened her eyes was that she was in her own bed. Virtually as soon as she woke up, all kinds of questions sprang to mind. Had she fallen asleep on Dragomira’s landing? Who’d carried her back to her room? How had things turned out between her parents? Had Pavel managed to explain everything to her mum? When she went down to the kitchen for bre
akfast, there was a much more important question she had to ask:

  “Where’s Mum?” she asked, her voice faltering.

  Everyone was there: her father, Dragomira—who’d finally left her apartment—Leomido and Abakum. Which made Marie’s absence even more noticeable.

  “Your Mum has gone to visit her sister,” replied Pavel, his face haggard with tiredness and worry.

  All four looked at her with a mixture of pity and severity.

  “Is she angry with me?” she asked abruptly.

  “No, it’s not you she’s angry with,” said her father, looking away and sliding a piece of paper folded in four towards her.

  Oksa unfolded it and read:

  Oksa, my darling daughter, I’m going to stay with your Aunt Geneviève for a few days. I need some peace and quiet to think things over. I’ll be back soon. Never forget that I love you. Mum.

  “Oksa, what you did was serious,” continued Dragomira straight away. “It was a cruel thing to do to your mum and to all of us.”

  “I know, Baba, I’m sorry!” cried Oksa, with tears in her eyes. “I’m such a moron, I’m sorry!”

  “We know you’re sorry,” replied Leomido, sounding irritated. “But the harm has been done. Your mum has had a nasty shock. All this has hit her very hard.”

  “It hit me very hard too,” retorted Oksa. “If you’d told us sooner, it might have been easier to deal with.”

  Although the four of them flinched at this scathing remark, they didn’t answer back: there was more than a grain of truth in what Oksa had said.

  “What was going through your mind? Why did you act like that?” asked Abakum, looking at Oksa with kindness, in marked contrast to the three other adults, who were still very tight-lipped.