Walking Among Birds

by Matthew Hickson

  Then one night I was watching a documentary about the famous seventeenth century musical instrument maker Stradivarius. They estimated that he made 2000 instruments and only about 650 were accounted for. Well, I had a couple of old violins in my shop, so I decided to go down and have a check to see if there might be a label on them. Alas, none of them had the label, but I had a wicked thought, born out of desperation. I knew enough about what the label would look like to write one to imitate a Stradivarius. I had studied calligraphy in my youth, so how hard could it be? I confided in a close friend of mine, Mr. Manea, who was an antique appraiser. We agreed to be in it together, splitting the money equally.

  The next day, an old gentleman came in and was looking around when I casually mentioned one of the violins in the shop was very old. He looked it over and noticed the label, asking where and when I had gotten the violin. I claimed to have not known, but pointed out that it had all the hallmarks of being an actual Strad. He asked what the monetary worth of it might be, and I answered that it would be in the region of a couple of million.

  Well, he took it to Manea’s workshop and got it appraised for much more than it was worth, and returned later in the day to buy it. This faded old instrument that was worth no more than any other counterfeit was sold for two million. My quaint shop was now on the map and news reporters came flocking. I was interviewed for the paper and I guess it gave me a big head. Business boomed as more and more of these ‘extremely valuable’ items flowed out of the shop, nobody ever suspecting our counterfeiting. Clocks, furniture, books, music…we sold everything at an inflated price with fake labels. We were cunning in our business, extorting but taking care not to arise suspicion. It was meant to end after the first sale, which would have been enough to save my store. But I had the taste of money and of success, so I kept the scam going. That’s the problem with lying – once you start, it becomes harder and harder to stop.

  Business was so strong that I had to hire an assistant. I put a poster up and an enthusiastic fourteen-year-old boy with bright red hair came enquiring. This was perfect I thought—a young boy would never suspect anything and would be perfect for the job. He did the job very well, keeping the shop clean and tidy, organising the items, and never suspecting that anything out of the ordinary might be going on directly under his nose. He was the perfect assistant—polite, attentive, proactive. Little did I know that when he grew up he would become a very close friend of mine. Young Felix added some much-needed youthful energy to my shop.

  This went on for about six months, until one fateful night that would change my life. It was a dark and cold night. An icy wind whipped through the alleyway and the snow pelted down, almost a blizzard. We were just closing up, young Felix was sweeping the showroom floor while I balanced the books for the day. Suddenly the door swung open, pushed by the snow and the wind, and an old woman hobbled in on her walking stick, carrying a large and heavy book in the other hand. She was wearing a thick fur cashmere and was rugged up from headscarf to black buckled shoes with layer upon layer.

  I was already around seventy at the time, but she likely would have been over a hundred. Felix ran to close the door behind her and offered to carry the book to the counter for her, but she said she was okay carrying the burden herself. She continued hobbling to the counter where she laid down the book.

  “Tomorrow will be a fortnight since my husband died and I need to sell this to continue to put food on my table. How much do you think it might be worth?” she asked in her croaky old voice.

  I offered my condolences and then quickly leafed through the stocky book. It was a very old bible, possibly late seventeenth century.

  It would be worth a few hundred dollars probably, but then a thought popped into my head. I had heard, only in passing, of a special bible. A mythical bible, in which the printing press had jammed at the point of writing Isaiah 14:12 and had written the word ‘devil’ backwards. The story goes that the devil himself had caused the jam, and that the press in question had to be sanctified until it would work again. I thought, on the off chance, I may as well check, so flicked to Isaiah 14:12, pretending to just be casually picking a random page to look at.

  And this is what I read: ‘How you have fallen from heaven, O liveD, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations!’

  That’s right. It should have read ‘O Devil,’ and yet here I was staring at the reverse. I kept my cool.

  “Oh, I would say it’s worth about a hundred dollars,” I earnestly told the frail woman. “It’s a nice edition, but nothing special—there are a lot of these older bibles around.”

  “Oh, are you sure? I thought it might be worth a little bit more. Please, I need the money.”

  “Okay, for you, I’ll go to one hundred and ten dollars, but I just can’t go any higher. I’m sorry.”

  She stood up and suddenly sneered. “You snake, I know what this is. I know you flipped to Isaiah 14:12. I know the true value of this bible. All of this,” she motioned around the shop “all of this is fake. I’ve been watching and I know they’re all counterfeits. I’m going straight to the authorities.”

  She tried to grab the bible off the table, but I too went to grab it. We both had our hands on it, and she started screeching, ordering me to let it go. Felix stood their broom in hand, dumbfounded over two elderly women playing tug-of-war over a book. I ordered him to come and help me grab it off her but he was frozen in place.

  And then a truly horrible thought entered my mind, the worst I had ever had. She was pulling the book with all her weight. So I let go. She went tumbling backwards, hitting her head on the cold hard ground, cracking her fragile skull open in a fresh pool of blood, dead upon impact. Felix was horrified so I sent him home while I cleaned up, then went to his house later to sit him down and explain everything that had happened, making him promise to never tell a single soul. He agreed, but…”

  Here, the confession abruptly stops. From what I can tell, Adam burst into the room at this exact moment and told Ms. Bowen and the twins that something big was happening in the dining hall. The twins rushed to the dining hall to find that dinner had finished but that there were still around thirty students there sitting in dribs and drabs, having been stopped in their post-dinner conversations by Thomas who was now standing up at the front of the dining hall addressing the remaining students.

  “And this…” flicking his finger across his tablet to show a photo “…is Cole sitting with this girl late at night on the bench out the front of college.”

  It seemed that Tom had begun an impromptu presentation of his evidence of Cole cheating on Charmaine. Cole and Charmaine were sitting together, remaining surprisingly calm, while Lorenz sat at table number eight with his mouth agape in pure shock and horror of what was happening.

  “As you can see,” Tom’s voice began to falter as he realised that this was no longer a scene conjured up in his imagination, that this was real. “Cole is seeing this dark-haired girl in secret. And who knows how many other girls…and…and boys…and other things…he is seeing at the moment to satisfy himself. Charmaine, you don’t need to put up with this. You’re too good for him. I would treat you so much better. I can give you the world if you’ll let me. We could be…” He trailed off as he realised that Cole had stood up and was walking calmly towards him.

  “Thank you, Thomas, for that presentation. But even through your disturbing tendency to stalk me, you seemed to have missed one crucial fact. Do you know what that is, Steerforth?”

  Tom slowly shook his head, a sense of dread came over him.

  “The fact that I have a sister, Ebony. Who coincidentally is identical to all those pictures you showed us. But it’s okay, you were just looking out for Charmaine, so I forgive you.”

  He was now next to Tom, and he put his arm round and patted Tom on the back, pretending to be civil and calm, cradling Tom around the shoulder.

  “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,
hey old sport? We wouldn’t want another misunderstanding.” With that, he punched Tom square in the gut, forcing him to wince and shrink to the ground while holding his stomach in pain.

  “Leave him alone!” Peter yelled from the other side of the dining hall. He raced up to where Cole was standing and all of a sudden the hall went into that frenzied pubescent bloodlust call of “Fight! Fight! Fight!.” But Peter was smarter than that and knew he couldn’t take on Cole, so he brushed past him and went straight to Tom who was now lying on the floor, both hands on his gut as if putting pressure on a gunshot wound.

  “Lorenz!” Cole shouted. “Bring me his bag. Let’s see what other stalking the little creep’s been doing.”

  Lorenz obeyed, grabbing Tom’s bag from under the table and running up to the front where Cole was standing. He emptied the contents onto the floor in a symbolic action of dominance. Everything fell out, mostly school books and papers and stationery. But then, after all this had tumbled to the ground, a single photo floated down. Lorenz picked it up, staring at it once again in shock, the colour draining from his face.

  “Where…how…?”

  “What is it?” Cole asked.

  Lorenz continued to stand there as if he had seen a ghost.

  “What is it?” Cole repeated, snatching it off him and having a look for himself.

  Cole started shaking with rage. It was, of course, the picture Jack had stuffed in a bag under the table in his panic a few days ago, unaware that it was Tom’s bag. The scuffle that broke out as a result of this picture was loud and unruly. Cole went straight for the already doubled-over Tom with a look of manic anger in his eyes. Peter tried to hold him off but it was no use. Cole was just too big. Jack and Lorenz also joined in on either side of the chaos, the result being a mess of punches, kicks, and grappling until the two sides separated on the intervention of Mr. Latan.

  “Everybody, go to your rooms immediately. This behaviour is not acceptable. We will get to the root of this problem one person at a time.”

  “Can I go with Tom, Sir?” Peter asked.

  “May. And no, you may not. I said everybody to their own rooms, you are no exception, Mr. Lapin.”

  But Fr. Culpa was standing behind him, and gave a little nod of acceptance. “Thank you,” Peter mouthed to the Priest.

  Peter went with Tom, and Jack dallied on his way to an inevitably long and awkward time with Cole. Jack had a momentous decision to make—to confess to the origins of the photo and risk himself, or to leave it be and escape consequence?

  Jack eventually got to his room, finding Cole sitting on his bed with fists clenched, not even greeting him as he entered. Jack sat on his bed, opposite Cole, and remained speechless for a while. You could feel the suffocating tension in the air between them.

  “So…” Jack began, “that was interesting?”

  “Shut up,” Cole snapped.

  “Well, okay. I’d just like to say that I had nothing to do with this though. You can’t blame me, mate.”

  Still silence.

  “I don’t approve of what Tom did, but he’s young and stupid. Don’t be too angry at him.”

  Finally Cole spoke, his head falling down to his cupped hands, on the verge of tears.

  “Don’t be too angry? How can I not be angry? First he accuses me of cheating on Charmaine, then I find a naked picture of her in his bag? I try to be a good person, and I try not to bully him, but then he does stupid things like this. What am I supposed to do, look the other way and pretend that he’s not perving on my girlfriend and stealing from me? Some people make themselves impossible to like. Tom just stumbles around in ignorance and stupidity until people have no choice but to bully him.”

  Jack sat their perplexed. Who was this person that sat on the bed across from him? It dawned on Jack that he knew almost nothing about Cole and had never bothered to ask. Perhaps he was human after all? “I don’t know, talk to him about it maybe? Try to forgive him?” was all he could muster.

  “We’re beyond talking about it. He needs to learn that he can’t do things like that. He has to pay.”

  Meanwhile, Peter had a tough time comforting Tom who was inconsolable. He had not fared well in his battle against the much larger and formidable Cole. Nothing seemed broken but he was a bit battered and bruised, his nose had stopped bleeding but his shirt was stained with drops of blood.

  “Do you think Charmaine thought I was brave?” Tom finally squeaked.

  “Maybe, Tom, or maybe she just thought you were stupid. But maybe bravery and stupidity are the same thing a lot of the time. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hey?” Peter said, helping him to stand up. His legs were weak and he needed the support of Peter even to hold him up, but with the older boy’s help, he managed to get changed into clean clothes and clean his bloodied-up face.

  Mr. Latan decided to leave the resolving of issues until the morning as it was getting late. Things did seem, however, to be heading in the right direction. Perhaps the events that had led to the heated scuffle would now be resolved. As Jack’s eyes became heavy, he recited in his head what he was going to say to Cole the next day to confess and apologise deeply. He hoped that Cole would understand and that all could turn over a new leaf.

  The lights went out at their usual time and, to the birds flying high above the colleges, nothing would have seemed out of the ordinary. In fact, it probably seemed calmer and quieter than usual. The night rolled on, and as the moon rose higher in the cloudless sky, a figure trudged through the glistening blades of grass towards the front doors of the college—a silent stranger wandering through the emptiness of night. Nobody woke up to hear him. They all lied in undisturbed sleep tucked up in their comfortable beds with their soft blankets, all except for Thomas Steerforth who was already lying at the bottom of the college pool, motionless and lifeless, his left foot chained and locked to a dumbbell, his lungs full of water. A place where his downtrodden heart could pine for Charmaine no longer.

  CHAPTER X

  “To die, to sleep—

  To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,

  For in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”

  —William Shakespeare, Hamlet

  Tom’s body was found early the next morning when a group of boys went down to the pool for their morning fitness. Upon diving in to start his laps, the first boy quickly resurfaced frantically babbling and pointing to the spot where he had seen Tom’s naked body chained to the dumbbell. It was understandably quite a shock to him.

  Needless to say, the pool was closed for the rest of the day and the police were called. The school was put into complete lockdown which meant that the boys had to stay in their rooms, no classes were held that day, and meals were taken in complete silence in the dining hall as the grave discomfort loomed over the entire school. Mr. Latan ran around like a headless chicken, trying to assure staff and students alike that everything was alright. The students had their doubts, and the wiser among them started to think that Mr. Latan’s head may be on the chopping block if any negligence was found.

  Peter and Jack were, of course, upset beyond words upon hearing the news. Peter sat in his room sobbing for most of the day, while Jeremy Fisher did all that he could to comfort him. Jack also sat sobbing in his room, but received no such comfort from Cole who sat playing on his phone for most of the day, ignoring Jack’s muffled cries. Teachers came by periodically to check up on the students and to comfort those who were distressed.

  Ding! Cole’s game had advanced a level.

  “Don’t you even care?” squinted Jack. “Don’t you even care that someone you know has died suddenly and tragically?”

  “Of course I care, but there’s no point crying over it is there? That won’t do anything.”

  Jack couldn’t bring himself to continue the conversation, considering that he deeply suspected in his mind that Cole had either murdered Tom or had at least been instrumental in his death. They didn’t talk for the rest of the day, there was no p
oint. If Cole didn’t understand the gravitas of the situation then there was nothing Jack could do to help him.

  Tom’s body had been taken for investigation and all the relevant bureaucracy had been covered. The investigation and autopsy would most likely take a couple of weeks, after which action could be taken depending on what was discovered. Tom’s foster parents had been informed and his foster mum came down to the school to travel with the body to the morgue. His dad was busy working that day. Tom’s room was to be left alone until a time when it could be investigated thoroughly for clues as to why he might have drowned himself.

  After dinner, Jack snuck out and joined Peter in his room. Finally being away from Cole felt like the greatest relief Jack had ever experienced in his life, and it was the first time he had been able to speak to Peter alone since hearing of the incident. He wrapped his arms around Peter in a hug and they softly sobbed together. After minutes passed this way, they sat together on his bed.

  “I…I just can’t believe it,” Peter stammered. “How could this happen?”

  “I know,” Jack said as he wiped the tears from his own eyes. “It’s just horrible”.

  They sat silently for a few good minutes until Peter started talking again.

  “What do you think happened?” He asked. “Has Cole said anything?”

  “No, Cole doesn’t seem to care too much about it all. He’s been playing games on his phone all day. I’m not sure what part Cole played in it—he was there when I fell asleep and then I didn’t wake up until this morning, and he was still there.”

  “…and Lorenz?” asked Peter.

  “Again, I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to him all day. Couldn’t bring myself to start a discussion with him at lunch or dinner. He seemed really out of it. Didn’t seem to acknowledge anyone around him. Other than that, I don’t know how he’s been taking it. I assume he’ll be…” but Jack trailed off when he noticed that Peter wasn’t really listening anymore. He had stood up while Jack was talking and was now intently watching out the window with a bewildered look on his face.