Yuki chan in Brontë Country

by Mick Jackson

  Leave it, she says. I’ll get it later.

  Inside, the care home is oppressively humid. Smells of furniture polish and warm food. The room Denny clambered into was some sort of utilities room. The next door along has a laminated card fixed to it, with ‘Marjorie’ written in felt tip pen, but no accompanying surname. The card on the next door says simply, ‘Gwen’.

  Fuck, says Denny. What’s her first name? And stares at Yuki, as if she might know.

  They stand there in the carpeted corridor for a while, until Denny eventually just shrugs, knocks on the nearest door and, when a voice calls out, turns the handle and ushers Yuki in before her.

  It’s a small room with not much more in it than a bed and an old woman sitting beside it in an armchair. She has no book or magazine in her lap – she’s just sitting there. The room’s even warmer than the corridor. Denny says Hi and tells the woman that they’re looking for Mrs Talbot, and the resident tries the name out for size – Talbot? she says. Talbot? – without success. Have you not got a Christian name?

  Denny shakes her head. She used to run a B & B in town, she says. A sort of psychic.

  Oh, well that’ll be Eanie, says the old woman, and tells Denny that her room is on the floor below.

  Denny thanks her and opens the door, just as a carer heads into one of the other rooms. Denny and Yuki wait, then slip quietly out. Creep down the stairs and along the corridor, checking every door on both sides before finally finding one with ‘Eanie’ on it. Denny knocks and, as she can hear someone coming up the stairs, opens the door and both of them go scuttling in without waiting for a reply.

  The room’s the same size as the last one, but the bed is against the other wall. The woman tucked up in it is a few years older than Gwen and watches a TV that’s blaring away in the corner.

  Well, at last, she says, and reaches for the remote control.

  It’s a little while before Yuki and Denny work out that Mrs Talbot thinks they’re here to feed her, or tend to her in some other way. When Denny explains that they’ve actually come up from town to pay her a visit Mrs Talbot’s confused, as she doesn’t recognise either one of them.

  To try and put her at ease, Denny says, My grandma’s Jean Edmondson.

  Mrs Talbot nods and says, I know Jean. Is she still with us?

  Denny says that she is. Then introduces Yukiko. It’s really her who wants to see you, she says.

  Mrs Talbot turns and has a good, long look at Yuki.

  We think you met her mum, says Denny. About ten years ago.

  The old lady nods and keeps on looking. I’ve met a lot of folk, she says.

  Denny suggests to Yuki that she show Mrs Talbot some of her photographs. The old lady asks them to sit down, so Yuki takes an upright chair at the bedside and Denny perches on the edge of the bed.

  Rather self-consciously, Yukiko opens up her rucksack and fishes around for her precious envelope. But for some reason she can’t seem to find it. And in those few moments she convinces herself she’s left the envelope back at the B & B or even dropped it out on the moors. She keeps on looking, but now imagines the photographs cartwheeling across the snow, off into the darkness. She begins to panic; has trouble catching her breath. So that by the time she finally finds the envelope and brings it out she’s practically in tears.

  Mrs Talbot slowly reaches out and places her hand on top of Yuki’s.

  You’re all upset, love, she says. Is that why you’ve come to see me? Because you’re all upset?

  She slips her fingers under Yuki’s and lifts her hand, as if gauging its weight, and keeps on looking right at her.

  Well, getting all upset will get you nowhere, she says. And she gives Yuki’s hand a little squeeze in her own small hand. So why not show me your photographs?

  Mrs Talbot releases her hand and Yuki draws out the photos and slowly leafs through them – settles on the one of her mother standing by the front steps of the Grosvenor and hands it over. Mrs Talbot takes it from her and brings it up to her face.

  Yes, she says, and nods, still peering at the photograph. Yes, that’s right.

  And this is almost too much for poor Yukiko – the simple acknowledgement that her mother really has been here and spent some time in the company of this old woman. Her ghostliness falls away and she now walks along the cobbled streets with solid purpose – resurrected, for her two or three days in Haworth, about which Yuki, Kumiko and their father know so little. And Yukiko finds herself longing to be there with her, her own arm tucked through the sleeve of that lost cream coat.

  Mrs Talbot sits and waits, watching Yukiko. And, little by little, Yukiko returns to the room. Denny can see that Yuki is not about to do much talking, so she leans over towards Mrs Talbot and says, She thinks her mum stayed in a room on the first floor, at the far end of the landing.

  I couldn’t say, says Mrs Talbot. But I do remember her. And me sitting with her, maybe two or three times.

  Denny says, Do you remember what you talked about?

  The old woman looks back down at the photograph. It’s a while back, she says. Then turns to Yukiko. This is your mother, you say?

  Yuki nods.

  And now she’s gone? says Mrs Talbot.

  Yuki nods again.

  Mrs Talbot asks to see the other photographs, so Yukiko hands them over and the old woman works slowly through them – Yuki’s mother outside the parsonage … the desk by the open window … the still, black reservoir – without uttering a word. But when she sees the twisted tree out on the moors she scowls and brings it up even closer. Well, yes, she says. I do remember her.

  She turns to Yukiko. She wanted to know about my visit from that Japanese man.

  Mrs Talbot sits and stares at Yukiko, waiting for her to help her out.

  The man who came up with Mr Hope, she says. Who took the photographs. When I was a girl.

  Yukiko’s quite lost. Yet, even as she sits on that upright chair, quite adamant in her ignorance, the image of the man with the neatly trimmed moustache and the upright collar begins to take shape in her imagination.

  She almost laughs, incredulous, even as she suggests it. Fukurai? she says, and has to repeat the name twice before Mrs Talbot recognises it.

  That’s right, she says. Mr Fukurai.

  Like Mr Fields at the institute, Eanie Talbot pronounces the name with an emphasis on the first vowel, but it’s close enough for Yukiko to know that they’re referring to the same man. She tries her best to digest this information but keeps thinking, How could this old woman possibly have anything to do with Tomokichi Fukurai?

  From her meeting with Mr Fields, Yukiko is aware that William Hope invited Fukurai to the UK, to some convention, then up to his home in Crewe. But what Mr Fields hadn’t mentioned was how the two men, along with their assistants, had driven up to Haworth to meet a young girl who’d recently been reported as having exceptional gifts.

  When I was five or six, says Eanie Talbot, I saw an old man on the stairs at my neighbour’s. A tall, old fellow, with a walking stick. And the woman whose house it was swore blind no man with a stick had climbed those stairs since her father had lived with her fifteen years before.

  The following year she noticed how she had a tendency to get a little dizzy at particular locations and once or twice heard voices – not speaking to her directly, but just merrily chattering away. Then, one day, while she sat on a bench outside the Old Bull, waiting for her mother in the shop across the road, she heard a woman’s voice, quite sharp and clear.

  A young woman, she says, but age-old. And no idea, really, what she was saying. Just that she was talking to me from a long, long time ago.

  She must’ve mentioned this to her mother. How could she not have? And her mother in turn must have mentioned it to Mrs Marshall, who happened to know a member of the Crewe Circle. Then, quite soon, Mr Hope, Mr Fukurai and their two assistants were heading up to Haworth in their motor car.

  The first thing young Eanie Talbot knew of her visitors was
when her mother dressed her in her best clothes one Saturday morning. Some very important men, she was told, had come to town to see her. They were interested in the voices she’d been hearing. They were interested in her.

  Hope and Fukurai must have arrived the previous evening because they were on the Talbots’ doorstep soon after breakfast: Mr Hope and his assistant – a rather stern lady with a large bosom – and Mr Fukurai, who had a Japanese assistant of his own. Mrs Talbot can clearly remember everyone squeezing into the parlour, all six of them. Mr Hope said they’d heard about the wonderful things she’d seen and heard around the village and that, with her consent, they thought they might take some photographs while she was listening out for voices and such like.

  She remembers William Hope being quite friendly. He may even have made a joke or two. Then Eanie and her mother were led down to the Bull, where the men had rented the upstairs room, which was already half-full with their equipment. Seeing it all laid out made Eanie nervous, not least because it seemed she might be about to undergo some sort of medical procedure. Mr Fukurai must have noticed, because he told her, through his assistant, that all the equipment was simply for taking photographs and promised that what they proposed to do wouldn’t hurt or be remotely unpleasant. Then they sat her on a wooden stool.

  It’s a long while ago, says Mrs Talbot. But I remember how all the curtains were closed. And them all standing in a circle around me – and holding hands, including my mother. Mr Hope saying a prayer of some sort. Then he and his lady assistant singing a hymn.

  They pulled the covers from the big old camera and dimmed the gas lamps. Then everyone slowly slipped away into the shadows and Eanie was all on her own. One of the men asked her to think about the voices she’d been hearing lately and see if she could do her best to try and hear them again.

  Denny looks over at Yuki and asks if she understands what Mrs Talbot is saying. I think so, she says. And for a while the three of them sit there, imagining little Eanie sitting on a stool, in a darkened room.

  Well, I was so anxious, Eanie says. I remember someone saying I’d have to sit still or that I’d spoil the photograph, then Mr Hope’s assistant coming over and showing me a picture in a book – of three young women all sitting together. And her asking if I knew who they were. Well, I didn’t. And Mr Hope saying, All the same. Have a good look and, if you can, try and think about them while we take the photographs.

  So Eanie held onto the book, the grown-ups went to their stations and silence descended. Mr Hope stood beside the camera, and placed a hand on the shoulder of his assistant – to keep himself steady maybe, or possibly to earth himself against whatever unseen forces were about to be unleashed. He closed his eyes … reached out his other hand and removed the cap from the camera … held it aloft for ten or fifteen seconds … replaced it. Then opened his eyes again.

  In all, Eanie thinks, they must have taken half a dozen photographs, each time slipping a heavy glass plate into the back of the camera. Then they put the covers back over all the apparatus, and Mr Fukurai told her, via his assistant, that they were now going to take another few photographs, without any camera being involved.

  Young Eanie had so vague a notion of what taking a photograph might normally entail that this didn’t strike her as particularly strange. Again, they said, all she had to do was sit and listen out for anything that might spring up around her – voices, etc. Then Mr Fukurai opened a small crate and pulled out a flat square package, wrapped in brown paper. He brought it over and, again through his assistant, explained that this glass plate had been specially prepared to pick up whatever was in the atmosphere, including any powerful thoughts that Eanie might have. He was simply going to hold it up by her head to see if it caught anything of interest. As before, she was assured that there was not the slightest risk of her coming to any harm.

  Mr Hope’s assistant again had Eanie look at the picture of the three young women. Then she was asked to close her eyes and do her utmost to listen out for whatever else might be in the room. She sat quietly and sensed that the Japanese man had come and stood quite close to her. She was aware of something being brought up next to her head. The way it obstructed any sound from that direction. It may even have brushed against her hair.

  Once or twice she dared to peek and saw someone tiptoe in, take away one package and hand Mr Fukurai another. And at some point, for the first time that day, she thought she had the sense of something stirring. Not the men, their assistants or her mother. Not below them in the pub or out in the street. But something which somehow managed to have one foot in this world and the other in a quite, quite different place.

  She kept her eyes tight shut and kept on listening, until someone told her she could stop. Then, as she sat there blinking on her little stool, she watched Mr Hope and Mr Fukurai slip behind a curtain in the corner, into what must have been some sort of improvised darkroom.

  When she next saw Mr Hope and Mr Fukurai they seemed quite pleased. She was shown the photographs they’d just developed. One in particular was, she was told, very good indeed: on an otherwise plain dark background was the vaguest outline of what looked to Eanie like a circle, but tilted a little, so that it was almost oval.

  Eanie was asked what it put her in mind of, and with a little encouragement she identified it as a ring. Then she was again presented with the picture of the sisters and asked if she’d been thinking of them when the ring came to her. Eanie thought perhaps she had.

  She was asked if she’d been drawn to any sister in particular? So she had a good look and picked the one whose face she liked the best, which seemed a popular choice. Then her mother helped her on with her coat and everyone headed out.

  She’s quite sure it was her first visit to the parsonage. She now assumes Mr Hope must have arranged a private tour, since the place was practically empty. He and Mr Fukurai led Eanie from room to room and she was asked to listen out for anything unusual. But she found the place not the least bit welcoming and was looking forward to getting back out into the daylight as soon as possible.

  They seemed to call in at every sitting room, scullery and pantry before finally arriving at an especially dark little room. In the middle was a table with a tiny notebook on it. Eanie was led over to it and Mr Hope explained how it belonged to one of the girls who used to live there. She was encouraged to touch it – to place the palm of her hand right down on it – while Mr Fukurai, the two assistants, her mother and one or two people from the parsonage all looked on. Years later, she says, she finally understood their intention – that they saw her as a sort of spiritual bloodhound. They wanted to give her a good, strong sense of what they were after. Then, having drawn a bit of a blank in the parsonage, they took her out onto the moors.

  Well, they walked and they kept on walking – seemed to Eanie to walk right through the afternoon. She would, she thinks, have been too big to be carried, but still small enough to be tired out by such an undertaking. Mr Hope had a map which he kept consulting. Every now and then they’d stop – by the rock … the little bridge … then up at Top Withens – and they’d ask Eanie to close her eyes. And Mr Hope’s big-bosomed assistant would read aloud from a book that she’d brought along – the old words delivered with such gravity that Eanie assumed they were from the Bible or some other religious text.

  Despite all this, any long-lost voices refused to manifest themselves. Eanie and her entourage seemed to have been criss-crossing the moors for hours and she’d grown weary. In fact, she’s not sure she was meant to have stopped at all, when she began to feel quite peculiar. She stepped off the path and rested her hands on her knees. Thought for a moment that she might be sick. It would have been all the miles she’d walked. Or all the adult attention, which she still contends isn’t necessarily good for a child that age. She remembers Mr Hope and Mr Fukurai coming closer and watching. Her vision seemed to come and go. There was a moment of great, great upset. Then it slowly subsided and people began to move back in towards her. Asking if
she’d seen or heard anything. In fact, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she didn’t feel at all well, and didn’t like it. Then Mr Hope and Mr Fukurai went off on their own to talk among themselves.

  She remembers complaining to her mother about being so tired, and her mother promising to ask the gentlemen when they thought they might be able to go back home. Then Mr Hope came over and asked if Eanie could tell them anything in particular about what she’d seen or heard just now. And, perhaps because she really had been thinking about it, and perhaps because she remembered how pleased they’d been when she mentioned it earlier, she said she thought she might have been thinking about the ring.

  This news generated a new round of excitement. There were more huddled whispers, much tramping about whilst staring at the ground. At some point Mr Hope announced that they should find a way of marking this spot, so that they could return to it later. Someone suggested stacking stones into a small cairn. But it was Eanie’s mother who strode over to what was at the time just a sapling, with only a couple of branches sprouting from it, and began twisting them into a knot.

  Eanie recalls seeing her mother take hold of the branches and fold them together. Remembers thinking that the bush couldn’t possibly want to be tangled up in such a way. Then she felt strange again. Very strange. And it was like a curtain coming down. A great and heavy curtain, and she was gone.

  When she finally opened her eyes she was on her back among the heather, bewildered and crying, with Mr Hope and Mr Fukurai quite excited and her mother all upset. It was a good few minutes before she felt any better and was slowly brought back up onto her feet. Then, with her mother propping her up on one side and Mr Hope’s assistant on the other, they began to make their way back to town.

  Of course, her fainting did nothing but bestow extra significance on the location, but Mrs Talbot’s presiding memories are of discord, confusion and wanting only to be safely back in her own home.