by Dan Proops
Adam knelt in front of the visage he’d created, and said:
‘And you, my friend, are the true God.’
Thirty - Nine
Adam fell into a chair and took the splinters from his hands, one particularly deep, needing tweezers; a bead of blood wept from the wound as he pulled out the wooden needle. He looked down at his hands, bruised, black with dirt, and watched the blood curve down the side of his palm. He went to his new work and raised his leg, waited a moment, then kicked it, and the wood fell to the floor, the horns broken, the face split.
Adam opened a bottle of mineral water, drank, then left the studio. He arrived in Earl’s Court at one in the morning and everyone was sleeping. He went to his room, switched on a side light and read Sarah’s letters, starting with the first. He woke at dawn’s light, surrounded by them all. He slumbered for a while, then there was a knock at the door. Nigel was holding two cups of coffee.
‘Morning. Looks like you’ve been doing some work.’
‘Nigel, I’ve done some work at the studio, work I’m proud of.’
‘You look a bit down. Here.’
Nigel handed Adam seven tubes of toothpaste and six bottles of shampoo, and then some marmalade.
‘Wanted to pay you back. I wanted to cheer you up because I know you’re going through a tough time with Cassandra. Didn’t think toothpaste would help much, but I’m low on cash. Gambled my dole money, but thought I’d get you something.’
Adam smiled; he’d never been given so much toothpaste in his life, and said it was the perfect gift for the modern man, and he’d have the cleanest teeth in England. Then he asked Nigel if he wanted some marmalade on toast and a game of chess.
‘Sounds great—really enjoy our games together. It’s a bit more fun now I’ve read a bit more. You must have been bored beating me the whole time.’
‘I think we’re helping each other as we improve.’
‘We sure are. Wanna game now?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be down in a second.’
Adam collected the letters and put them back on the shelf. He took the chess set down to Nigel, and made some marmalade on toast. They talked about university, how they met, and spoke of other pupils who were doing well, to the disappointment of both of them; most were CEOs of companies or men successful in commerce. Nigel sighed, then said:
‘I’ll be leaving soon. I’ve taken enough from you.’
‘You don’t have to leave. It’s good to have some company, and my father would hardly make a good chess companion.’
‘I need to go at some point, Adam. I’ve been miserable here, living off your kindness and Darius’s generosity, and the burden of guilt. The guilt for hurting you—you know, the Cassandra business.’
‘It’s history now. Guilt is just a way to punish yourself.’
‘I can’t get rid of it.’
Adam was touched by Nigel’s remorse. And looking into his eyes, he didn’t want him to leave, but would accept his wishes if he intended to. They spoke for a while longer on a complex move involving a king and two bishops. Adam said he had to go: he was to visit Eva and watch her play the flute.
He arrived at an immense house in the quiet roads of Belgravia. There were high townhouses with white columns and lintels. He’d been told to come at a specific time and was punctual. A middle-aged man in a suit waistcoat, an old fashioned cravat and glasses answered the door; he was sweating. He mopped his forehead with a purple handkerchief.
‘You must be Adam. Come in.’
The man turned to a wide staircase and led him to a room with high ceilings and ornate cornicing. Musical instruments were in a corner of the room, dominated by a Steinway grand piano. Eva, dressed in yellow, was sitting on a stool near the piano, her flute in her lap, her lips ruby red, her hair combed and straight. She smiled, then winked when Adam was shown to a chair by the man in the cravat.
‘My name is Mr Schmidt. I’m Eva’s teacher. I don’t do this often, but Eva insisted. People can be such a distraction. We’re near the end of the lesson, but you’ll see some of her talent.’
‘Hi, Adam.’
‘Hey, Eva.’
Adam felt privileged to sit in on one of her tutorial sessions. He watched Mr Schmidt walk to the window, his hands behind his back, as he gazed across the London skyline.
‘Continue, Eva.’
She played for a minute or so, the sound like birdsong, beautiful to Adam’s untrained ears. A rush of admiration and affection welled in him.
‘Again,’ said Mr Schmidt, in a sharp voice.
Eva began the piece, after a brief frown, her face locked in concentration; she played for a few minutes, and then—
‘Again! Focus, Eva! Play from your heart, not your head. You sound like nails running down a blackboard.’
She sighed and the piece was played again, and Adam watched her pursed lips blowing across the mouthpiece of the flute. This time Mr Schmidt seemed happier, as he allowed her to play for five minutes. Then he sighed and walked to her.
‘This is why I don’t like company when you play. You’re distracted, I can tell. You’re playing like an amateur. If you want to compete with the talent out there you’ll have to get yourself together. You need to work harder. Anyway, we’re out of time today.’
Mr Schmidt walked over to Adam and pulled up a chair next to him. Eva put her flute in away.
‘She’s going to be a great player one day. I’ll make sure of it.’ He turned to Eva. ‘That’s if you work hard, little madam.’
‘I’ll work till my hands ache,’ she said, and this brought a smile to the gruff Mr Schmidt, who was pleased with her sentiment. Eva approached her teacher, her flute case under her arm, and kissed him on the forehead.
‘You’re a good teacher.’
‘My dear girl, I’m the best. Now, off with both of you. I have work to do. Take our little genius away.’
‘I’m grateful for the chance to watch her play.’ ‘Good, because you won’t get another one. Have a good afternoon.’
And with that he led them to a large white door and said goodbye. Eva dropped her flute case on a chair in the hallway and wrapped her arms around Adam, kissing him on the cheek, saying how much she’d missed him; and she asked him where they were going for dinner; then she said, ‘Our hotel awaits us, but let’s keep it waiting. Let’s make it suffer.’ She giggled and led him out into a street of sunshine and long shadows. They hailed a passing taxi. An hour later they were in a crowded restaurant in the heart of Soho.
Forty
Adam asked for menus, then turned to Eva.
‘You haven’t told me much about yourself,’ he said. ‘I want to know everything about you, everything.’
‘Wanna get good at the flute. My father bought me my first one when I was nine. That was a year before my parents killed themselves.’
She let this comment slip as if she were talking about the weather or the price of fruit; and this enhanced its tragic nature, as if she was comfortable with it, as if she’d accepted it. Her Brooklyn accent was strong and her words ran into each other, which gave the impression that the subject of her speech, however poignant, lacked importance. Her voice, soft as velvet, had a subtle cadence: its tone rarely rose or fell and was steady and phlegmatic.
Her father had been a famed pianist and had toured the world with his wife by his side. He’d lost the feeling in his left hand and could no longer play. He’d owned an enviable collection of nineteenth-century muskets kept in a locked glass cabinet. One morning, he opened it, retrieved a weapon, ornate with silver carving, and took his life: a pistol to the side of his head. It was all across the news and, as Eva was making her embryonic efforts to recover, her mother overdosed. Eva relayed the story showing little emotion.
‘I promised him I’d make it as a flautist. He was a very good man. I intend to keep my promise. I’m happy with my new teacher as he’s so tough. All I want out of life is to play my flute the best I can and to fuck you as much as possible.’
>
‘I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not. Is it just sex that you want from me?’
‘We’ve got to get to know each other. I’ve told you about me. There’s not a lot else. And now I want to know about you. All I know is that you sculpt and have a sister that went missing.’
‘She disappeared seven years ago. Then she started writing to me. I was happy about it.’
‘Was?’
‘Well, I still am, to a certain extent. It’s all a bit complicated. I’ve been obsessed with finding her.’
‘If she writes to you, why do you need to find her?’
‘Good point. It’s all a bit weird; we’ve been exchanging letters for months, but she won’t see me.’
‘Adam, never underestimate how weird people can be. They’re all crazy. Most people don’t know what day it is. Insane until proven sane; that’s how I see people.’
‘It must have been very hard growing up with what happened to your parents. Terrible loss when you were so young. And I know all about loss.’
‘It was difficult for a few years. I’d spend the days crying and playing my flute. When I make music and it’s good, I’m at one with everything. When I play well, the world is beautiful to me and the pain of the past is lost to the music. Same with you and art?’
Adam told her of his lapses in commitment to his work, that he’d never had much confidence in his talent and didn’t work hard enough; he needed his own Mr Schmidt but there wasn’t one, and he lacked the ambition needed for success. He didn’t want it badly enough. When she asked why, he told her his search for his sister had become his life for the last few years. He told her of the difficulty in coping with her disappearance and the years following it. As he spoke, he was thinking of her parents, her father and her depiction of how she’d found him, his head in a pool of blood; and how she’d prised the musket from his grip.
‘You were only nine and found him like that; you were courageous to face something so terrible.’
‘It was a long time ago. I had nightmares for a few years, then they left me, and I made loads of friends; and I always had my flute.’
After a dinner of pasta and white wine, she said she didn’t want to keep the hotel suite waiting any longer. Adam paid the bill and they took a taxi there. He followed her up the stairs to a room similar to the one they’d stayed in previously; there was the same television and a picture of a rustic scene, an aquarelle of a cottage with a pearl sky. She asked for coffee and he made some, then she sat next to him. She sipped from her cup and looked up at him with her wide blue eyes, clear and limpid; she smiled.
‘I want to wait a while and talk to you some more. I want to look forward to it.’
So they spoke about their childhoods, and they shared something in common: they were both bullied at school. She’d been tormented by a group of girls whose ringleader was an ugly girl with a twisted nose and brown hair. In midwinter, they tied her to a tree with a flex of rope, drenched her in water and watched her suffer. They were jealous of her beauty and her musical talent. Adam’s eyes lowered as he listened when she spoke in her soft voice. He asked if she thought about it much.
‘No point looking back—never done that; not those idiots or my parents or any of it. I’m tough. People have gone through worse. No point in complaining. Just gonna get good at my flute. They’ll know about me, and that’s good enough.’
‘Guess I got off lightly. Some kids took lunch money from me every day. So I was always hungry. My sister put a stop to it.’
‘Oh, yeah? How?’
‘She was eleven, and not very tall. But one day, she went up to the main guy and punched him in the stomach, then threatened him. They left me alone after that.’
‘Sounds like she had guts. She sounds cool.’
‘She was. We were very close. I love her very much.’
‘Wish I hadn’t been an only child—had nobody to stick up for me.’
‘How do you feel about those girls that were cruel to you?’
‘They can’t play the flute and they’re not in a pretty room with a handsome Brit who’s great in bed. They’re all in boring jobs and boring marriages.’
She took off her dress and ran a hand under Adam’s shirt, pulled at it, and two buttons rolled across the floor. He was still and patient as she undressed him. She said how lucky she was to be with such a beautiful man, then said he shouldn’t buy shirts with awkward buttons as another fell to the floor. Then she stopped, ran a finger down the side of his face, and asked if he wanted her to buy him new shirt; and he laughed. ‘Oh well, I’ll buy you one anyway. Haven’t bought you a present yet.’ She touched his eyes, then his mouth, then said: ‘Gonna make you wait for me. Gonna keep you hanging on.’ She drank her coffee, which was now cold. He saw her painted nails and elegant fingers. ‘Adam, tell me some more stuff ’bout you.’ He slipped into bed beside her, and replied: ’You know, Eva, I’m not gonna wait. I’m not in a patient mood.’ She laughed, and he turned off a side light, and the room fell dark. Morning light came in through a gap in the curtains. A handwritten note was on a side table: Had to go—flute lesson. You’re getting too good in bed! Doubt I’ll be able to concentrate today. Call me. Eva.
Adam dressed, took the note and put it in the top pocket of his jacket, then pulled on what was left of his shirt. He then left the hotel. When he arrived home in Earl’s Court, Dr Lane was there. Darius had fallen ill.
Forty - One
His father had a shadowed pallor, but he had a smile for Adam when he saw him. Dr Lane was leaning over his patient, placing his hands over his chest, pressing them down. Then he asked Darius if anything hurt, moved his hands, and then repeated the question.
‘Nothing hurts when you do that. Just been coughing my guts out, and the headaches are driving me mad.’
Dr Lane turned to Adam.
‘Keep an eye on him. No walks for the moment. Lots of liquid and call me if he gets any worse.’
Dr Lane wrote something on some paper on a clipboard, and then left. Adam was worried for his father; he didn’t look well: his eyes were hazy and distant, his voice shallow. But he seemed to be in good spirits. Adam told him about his reconciliation with Nigel, that they’d become friends and enjoyed chess games together. Darius was thrilled to hear this, as he’d always wanted them to make amends. And then he asked if there was any news of Sarah. Adam told him a letter had arrived that morning and asked if he wanted to hear it. Darius nodded, and gestured with his stick for Adam to fetch the letter, so he went to his room and returned with it.
Dear Adam,
I haven’t heard from you in a while. I hope I haven’t said something that might have upset you. My news is not great I’m afraid. Oliver has regressed; he was doing so well and the therapist was pleased with him. He seemed to have recovered some confidence and was doing well at school, but a few days ago he got into a rage with some kid in his class and punched him, hard, on the side of his face. The boy’s in hospital, and has a head injury. The doctors are worried about him. He’s not doing well. I was visited by social services, and they might take Oliver away. I don’t know where yet, but all this has upset me terribly.
I went back to teaching, but can’t work properly as I’m so worried. Maddie has been asking about it; she’s old enough now. She knows Oliver’s got problems, but I haven’t told her about the incident with the boy in class. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he’s taken away from me, Adam. I don’t know how I’d cope.
Harold has been very kind and he’s been round a lot. He can be surprisingly compassionate, considering he can be a bit of a loon. But he’s been a diamond, coming round with kind words and little presents for Maddie. She adores him. I don’t know what I’d do without Harold. I’m just hoping the boy in hospital will recover. I’m due to see him later this afternoon, but I’ve got his mother to deal with. Everything’s so difficult as I’m worried about the little boy, and what’s going to happen with Oliver. Sorry to bring you bad news, but I
’m always honest in my letters.
Hope to have better news next time.
Sarah
Adam had difficulty reading the letter out loud due to the content, and Darius was quiet and solemn throughout. Adam folded the letter and put it away. Then his father was coughing, spluttering and retching.
‘Dad, you all right?’
‘Fine. I’ll be fine. Was just a bit touched by her letter. There’s not much we can do about it.’
‘No, there isn’t, and that’s what upsets me. I want to be with her when she’s in trouble. How can I be a good brother when she refuses to see me?’
‘Your letters help her. I’ve spoken to Harold about it a few times and she treasures them. They mean a lot to her, Adam. At least she’s come back to us. We don’t have the pain of wondering what’s happened to her. I remember the first weeks when DCI Walker was here, with his doubts and questions. Remember him?’
‘Yes, he was very kind. He was a good detective. Over the last months I’ve been tempted to tell him we’ve found her, but Sarah has always insisted that I don’t tell the police anything. It just seems such a shame he doesn’t know she’s alive. I think it would mean a lot to him.’
‘We can tell him in due course, but for now we should heed Sarah’s request for secrecy. Her wishes are important, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they are. Dad, I bought you a present.’
Adam unwrapped a ceramic on an oval base. It was a small ceramic garden with little trees, a cottage and children playing, all in miniature. He handed it to his father.
‘It’s beautiful, Adam. Put it in my wardrobe for safe keeping.’
‘You don’t want to put it on your side table?’
‘No, I’m always knocking things off it. I’ll get a special shelf made for it. Actually I want to look at it for a while.’
Adam handed Darius the garden, and his father scrutinised the little figures and the tree growing in front of the cottage, and then he ran his fingers over it.