Dark Sister (25 page)

FORTY

Maggie
did not get better easily. The family GP made his
visit, concluded she was
out of danger, and left Alex with a prescription for
Largactyl
tablets to be used if her behaviour became disturbed. She remained bed bound
for several days, and even though there seemed little—at least outwardly—that
ailed her, she showed no sign of wanting to come downstairs. Mostly she sat
with a pillow propping up her head, her long, red hair combed in waves against
the white slip on either side of her, and stared at the wall.

Alex fussed, cupped her hands, talked to
her softly,
asked
her what he could get for her. She
answered, faintly, briefly, always offering up a weak smile, but she never
wanted anything. She ate little. "It's all right," she said.
"It's all right."

Alex took days off work, washed, cooked,
kept the children in order, saw they were well turned out. Supervision of the
dig had to be placed in the hands of a subordinate; care of Maggie was Alex's
immediate priority. Anita and Bill
Suzman
visited and
brought a ridiculously lavish basket of flowers and fruit. Kate from the
bed-sit came with a gift of an outrageous pair of dangling earrings to cheer
her. Ash dropped by and spent an hour holding her hand. But she had very little
to say to any of them.

Worst of all was the lack of recognition
she showed her children. There was no warmth, no affection, no interest,
nothing. Alex tried to make them spend time in their mother's company, but it
was pointless, even counterproductive. He stopped trying and simply made sure
they kissed her good-night each evening before going to bed, but even that was a
mechanical act. Once she looked at Amy and recoiled slightly, but otherwise
they were like strangers. Alex despaired.

The GP arranged a visit to a psychologist.
He gave Alex some banner words like "traumatic neurasthenia" to
think about and prescribed a course of antidepressants which came in
pink-and-white capsules.

One evening when Alex was talking to her,
she turned to him and said, "Why do you call me Maggie? My name is
Bella." Alex was so astonished he simply stared at her, saying nothing.
Her voice was changed, it was softer, wheedling.
Bella.
Bella.
He suddenly remembered it was the name of the
diarist. "Where's your diary?" he asked.

"Hidden."

He kissed her gently and closed the door
behind him. He knew the diary wasn't hidden at all. It was among the things
he'd recovered from her bed-sit. He found it immediately, and sat down to read
it before the open fire.

The pages were filled with entries
he hadn't seen before. He thought they must be Maggie's work, though they were
written in the same copperplate hand as the original entries. He leafed
through, toward the end of the diary.

Now they are whispering about me. A. said it would come to this. All
of them even those I have helped. There's P. B. and R. S. and all I've to reckon
with. This is how I am to be repaid. Oh, why did I not heed my dark sister?

It meant nothing
to Alex. He turned over a page.

P. B. has lost her infant and puts it about that she
must be overlooked and I'm the one.
If this is gratitude.
And all I did was to help this one and this other one. A. laughs in my face at
that and tells me they will come for me.
And yesterday a
pantry window broken by lads hurling stones, and that no accident.
A.
says I must shift if I am to get a purchase on them, though that above all
things makes me afraid down to my bowels that I lose my wits. What shall I
therefore do?

I know I must hide
this journal. Hide it, for it has all I know. For if they were to come and take
this, then it would give them all they want, and there would be an end to it. I
know a place where none will look, and I'll have a board made to keep it. Let
them come and take
me,
they won't have this, for as
long as this survives, I do too.

And then again:

Gerard come and he
makes my board for me for the hearth, for he is a kind soul and I done this and
that for him and all the children of his and he says he fears for me. He warns
me they are after doing something, he has heard all the talk and they turn on
any as try to speak up for me- And he tells me it were better if I should go
but where can I? At my age, and with what little I have, there is no place for
me to go.

I have only this
house and what little else besides.

Gerard tried to
comfort me, but there's no comfort. I should have hearkened to A. who predicted
all this, and never been a help to no one if this is how I am to be repaid.
Where does all this hating one another come from?

And in the night I
hear a scuffling and I come down to find a blaze in my hall. They have soaked a
rag and pushed it through the letter flap and it catch at the curtains at the
door and who knows what if I hadn't put it out.
And what
next?

Will they torch everything they don't
understand? And is it because I know this and that one among them? That I know all
their affairs and their transgressions and wrongdoings when they come here and
tell me? Help me get with child by
him,
help me lose
that child with that one. Is it because I know them all?
When
all I ever did was to be a soft bird among them with a brave heart, a blackbird,
to help them along here and there.
A. spat and call me a
fool,
and she tell me there is only one way out. Tonight
I'll go with A. and I'll shift, whatever the consequences.

There
was one final entry in the journal. The fine copperplate writing was distended.
There was a lack of the usual continuity. It suggested a note of hysteria in
the diarist.

/
have taste the flame

I have taste the flame and it burn my
breath
It
scorch away my words I have none No words I
have taste the flame

This was
Bella's final entry in the journal. Only blank pages followed. There was no
more information about her fate. Alex closed the diary and put it aside. He
looked at the dull red fire shifting in the grate below the chimney where
they'd first found the diary. It seemed to him a long time ago.

One day Maggie got out of her
bed and came downstairs. Without saying a word she flung herself into
housework, cleaning floors, washing clothes, wiping paintwork.

"You don't have to do that,"
said Alex.

"I know, Alex. But
I've got to do something to snap out of it. If I lie in bed any longer, I'll
lose my mind."

He
nodded. At least it was a glimpse of the old Maggie; but she looked so frail
and ill he just wanted her to rest.

"You've got work to
do at the castle. Go back to your job, if you still have one. You've got a
family to support."

She made a show of eating again, though it was only a
show; and Alex allowed himself to be persuaded to return to work. Maggie was
still distant from her children, particularly Amy. Alex would catch her staring
hard at them while they played or were preoccupied in some activity. He would
distract her and she would come to with a start. But the children detected an
unexpressed hostility in her, and kept their own distance.

"Nimble
be
Jack quick be
Jack," she murmured one time.

"Sorry?" said Alex.

"What?"

"Did you say something?"

"I don't think so."

Maggie gazed into the fire. The children were in bed
and Alex was beside her on the sofa.

Alex had been meaning to bring up an old question.
There was something lying around the house which still bothered him.
"All those old herbs and things, Maggie.
Maybe we
should throw them out."

Maggie jerked her head toward him. Her lip twisted and
her face contorted into a sneer. She barked at him like a dog. "SHE HASN'T
GOT IT IN HER TO SUSPECT!" It was something he'd once said to Anita, but
how could Maggie know? And then, barking still, "GOOD, WASN'T IT, ALEX?
WASN'T IT? WASN'T IT?" Her eyes trickled with fire and her face had distorted.
The voice was
nothing like her own
.

Alex looked at her in astonishment. Then her hand went
to her mouth, and she was Maggie again.

"Maggie?"

She was trembling. "Alex, I'm sorry, I don't know
where these things come from. I swear it."

But it wasn't like the first time, when Maggie had
thought she was Bella, and had spoken in that gentle, wheedling voice. This was
coarse and violent.

"Maggie, it's happened before."

"I remember. It takes me over. Then I remember.
Hold me, Alex."

"You're not going to bark at me again?"

"Just hold me."

But it happened at other times. In
a rare moment Maggie was chatting playfully to Sam when suddenly she barked at
him, "SAM! MAMMY WHORE DADDY WHORE WHO'S FUCKING WHO?" The boy was
terror struck. Amy, seeing it, took his hand and Maggie instantly snapped out
of it. She wept to see him so afraid of her. She gathered him up in her arms.
"I'm sorry, Sam! Mummy's sorry! Mummy's not well! Do you understand? Not
well!" But Sam didn't understand, and her anguish and her tears only
frightened and confused him further. Amy, watching it all, was also frightened
and confused.

That night as they lay in bed,
Maggie told Alex about the episode. He held her and tried to comfort her, but she
was afraid she would one day lose control and do something harmful to the
children. She felt a hovering presence; she described it as being like a lift
rising inside her, its doors threatening to open on reaching the top to reveal
the unspeakable. It was always there, always waiting. He couldn't understand,
and there was nothing he could do but hold her and try to reassure her. He
kissed her tears away.

But in truth Alex was hanging on to her by his
fingernails. He was terrified. He was burdened by pieces of a jigsaw he was too
afraid to push together. Indeed, he felt his survival, the survival of all of
them, depended on keeping the things apart in his own mind. The Maggie dig, the
experiments of which he knew, the diary, her shocking outbursts; they stood
like a hooded figure on the horizon beckoning him toward some dreadful
conclusion. But it was as if the hooded figure couldn't really exist unless it
established clear eye contact, unless it
knew
that he
knew.
It
skirted at the periphery of his vision, making signs, bidding for attention,
wanting him to
look up.

But he would not look up. He would resist. This was
not the Maggie he knew, but he hoped if only he could pretend for long enough
that things were creeping back to normal, then the hooded figure on the horizon
might fade into the shadows. All he had to do was avoid looking up.

He hadn't dared to touch Maggie since her illness, but
one night he brushed her lips with his and let his tongue probe inside her
mouth. She stiffened, and then bit hard into his tongue. Alex jumped back,
spitting blood. The bite had sunk deep. Maggie's face was contorted and ugly.
"HOW DO YOU LIKE FEEL OF BRANK THE BRANK THE BRANK?"

Just as suddenly she realized what she'd done, and was
sobbing hysterically and reaching out for him. But Alex was out of his depth
and drowning.

Later, lying awake in the dark, Maggie said, "I
want De Sang. He can help me."

"What?
That fraud?
What
can he do for us?"

"I've told you. He can help me."

"We'll get proper psychiatric help."

"No. I want De Sang."

"He won't help us, Maggie." Alex despaired
at the idea. "I didn't even pay his bill."

Maggie made an appointment to call on De Sang the
following afternoon. She took Sam. He ran into De
Sang's
consulting rooms and flung himself at the man, embracing the trunk of his legs.
"Well, well, well! And how are you, young man?" De Sang stooped down
beside Sam and spoke quietly to him, as though confiding the biggest secret in
the world. "I want to have a talk with your mummy. Do you think you can keep
Captain Hook tied up in that hallway for a while?"

Sam shuffled out of the room.

"My receptionist will keep an eye on him,"
De Sang said, offering her a chair.

"I've just paid her," said Maggie. De Sang
glanced away.

"So," he said after she'd outlined her
story. "There's Maggie, and there's Bella, and there's ..."

"There's A."

"And you don't know her name?"

"No. But I think Bella does."

"And why do you think I can get Bella to tell
us?"

Maggie pointed to the hypnotherapy diploma peeping from
behind children's paintings on the wall. "I want you to conduct a
regression. Isn't that the word?"

De Sang shook his head. "That isn't an everyday
use of hypnotherapy."

"No. But then you're not an everyday kind of
psychologist."

He smiled at her. Then he moved over to his couch,
kicked off his shoes and lay down, as if he were the patient. "Let's you
and me have a talk, Maggie." He settled his head against the pillow.
"Just
us
witches."

FORTY-ONE

De Sang
agreed to try something. He argued that the sessions
should be conducted at
Maggie's home. Her psychological difficulties had been generated in the
home,
he pointed out, and should be resolved there.

Alex made a point of being out.

De Sang arrived, and asked Maggie to make
herself
comfortable in the living room. He took off his
jacket. "I want you to be very relaxed. The fact that I know you trust me
is going to make this a lot easier," he said. She nodded.

"Maggie, have you been
thinking about that word I gave you? I'm going to speak that word now. I'm
going to say the word, and you'll remember it just how I showed you the other
day.
All right?"
Again Maggie nodded. "And
the word is, the word is, Maggie, what I told you ... Wait. Before I tell you
the word again, Maggie, I want you to get comfortable. Come
on,
let's shift these cushions around, that's better. Now take a deep breath,
because I'm going to say the word, deep breath, good, that's good, and another,
and the word
is .
.."

De Sang had lowered his voice. He
was almost murmuring. There was a cadence to his speech, a compelling rhythm,
and even though he was saying very little, it was like a spool unwinding.
"Maggie, I'm ready now to say the word, it's just a question of saying the
word. Maggie would say the word herself but you can't, Maggie. You can try, but
it's too difficult, isn't that right. Maggie? You buried the word so deep you
can't bring yourself to say it now, can you? Isn't that right?" Maggie
nodded drowsily. De Sang gently took one of her hands in his. "But it
won't matter because I'm going to say the word for you. That's why I'm here, to
say the word. I'm going to whisper the word to you, Maggie, and the word is
delphi
."
Whereupon De Sang jerked Maggie's hand violently toward him in a
short, snapping motion.
Maggie's head lolled to the side, her eyes
closed.

De Sang nodded in satisfaction.

"Such feelings of relaxation;
you'd like to keep your eyes closed and remain relaxed, exactly as you are, why
not, trusting me implicitly, knowing you're safe, quite safe, and I'm going to
count to three and repeat our secret word and you are going to go deeper, all
the while remaining aware of the sound of my voice, knowing you're completely
safe, one, two
.. ."

This time there was no sudden
movement, but the sound of Maggie's deep breathing amplified, until it became
almost like the purring of a cat. De Sang repeated this process, and then again
a third time. Noiselessly, he got up and prowled softly around the room. Maggie
sat with her head back, a slight rasping issuing from her throat in time with
the rise and fall of her breathing.

At last De Sang stopped, leaned
over her and said, quietly, "You can come to any time you want. Any time
you want."

Maggie stirred. She lifted her head,
rotated her neck as if to ease stiff muscles, and then opened her eyes. She
looked directly at De Sang.
As easy as that,
De Sang thought.
She
wants it.
"Hello, Bella."

Maggie held his gaze. "I don't
know you."

"Yes, you do, Bella. You know
me. I'm De Sang. I want you to trust me."

She looked suspicious. "Have
you come to take me away?"

"No, Bella. I'm here to help
you."

She started to weep. "They
took me away. They put me in that place. I didn't do anything. They took me
away."

"Don't cry. Bella, please
don't cry." De Sang took her hand again and sat on the arm of the chair.
"I promise you I'll help you."

"They hurt me."

"What did they do, Bella? What
did they do?"

"They came for me. They said I
was wicked. They put me in an asylum. I only tried to help them. But they
didn't find my secrets. I hid them. They're coming for you! Hide them, said A.
Hide! Hide! Hide! I hid them." She became subdued and weepy again.
"They hurt me."

"You lived here didn't you,
Bella? This was your house?" She nodded, yes.

Go straight for the split,
thought
De Sang. "Do you know whose house this is now?"

She looked around her wildly.
"This is my house."

"Yes, Bella.
But can you tell me who lives here now?"

"I live here!"

"You did live here, Bella. But
that was in the past. Someone else lives here now. Do you know her name?"

She flung herself forward in the
chair, eyes wild, barking at him like a dog. "DON'T HURT DARK
SISTER!"

De Sang stepped back a pace.
Too fast.
Fool.

"It's all right, Bella, it's
all right. Relax, just relax. I want to help you. I promise they'll never take
you back to that place. I promise you." She relaxed back into her chair.
"Your secrets, Bella.
You hid them. You were right to
hide them."

"Yes, hide."

"You hid them up the chimney,
didn't you?"

She stiffened. "Yes."

"They're safe. We found them.
No one can hurt you now.
Bella?
Are you the dark
sister?"

She
  looked
 
confused  again.  The
  mention
  of
these  words seemed to disorient her.
"Dark sister?
No ..." She started to tremble.

"It's all right. I'm helping
you. Like A. helps you. A. helps you, doesn't she, Bella?"

"No!"

"Is she your dark sister?
This A.?
Is A. your dark sister?"

"No..." She was
trembling, shaking her head weakly from side to side.

"Bella.
Who is A.? Tell us who she is."

She leapt up again, hissing in De
Sang's
face, "DON'T! DON'T HURT DARK SISTER! DON'T
DARK SISTER! DON'T DARK SISTER! DON'T! HURT! DARK!
SISTER!"

She was shaking uncontrollably,
thrashing her arms and screaming at De Sang. Blood appeared at the corner of
her mouth.

She's having a fit!
"Bella,"
De Sang shouted above her screams, "I'm going to touch your head and you
are going to go to sleep!"

He touched her brow and instantly
she fell back onto the cushions. De Sang examined her. She'd bitten her tongue.
She'd also wet herself:
petit mal.

He brought her out of her hypnotic
state.

Maggie was distressed and
embarrassed on realizing what had happened. She was concerned that nothing
should be said to Alex about her minor fit. He would have chased De Sang out of
the house.

"Do you remember
anything?"

"Turquoise light," said
Maggie. "That's all."

"I met Bella."

"And
A.?"

"Briefly, I think. But that's
something much more volatile."

"What did I tell you?"

"Nothing you couldn't have told
me from reading the diary. But that's not the point. Bella's only a screen.
To stop me, or you, from getting to A."

"I'm not deliberately
screening her."

"Not consciously. Maggie, I'm
afraid I pushed it too far too soon. Let me see your tongue."

He examined the self-inflicted
bite.

"It's the mark of the
brank
," said Maggie.

"What?"

"Never mind.
Sometimes I say things and I don't know what they mean. Promise me you'll try
again, whatever happens."

De Sang did try again.

He adopted the same routine, relaxing
Maggie, evoking his keyword, applying the powers of suggestion, surfacing the
persona they referred to as Bella. Only Bella was proving less communicative.

"Aren't you speaking to me
today, Bella?" She shook her head, no. "Don't you trust me anymore,
Bella? Has someone told you not to talk to me?"

She looked away.

"Is it her? Has she told you
not to talk to me? That's it, isn't it?
Your dark sister.
She's told you to have nothing to do with me, hasn't she?"

"No." She pushed out her
bottom lip in a pout, looking like a child, except that her face was wreathed
in lines of pain and suffering.

"Why would that be? Why would
your dark sister not want you to have anything to do with me? She's not afraid
of me, is she?"

."She's not afraid of
YOU."

"Can I speak to her?"

"She'll tell you to get to
hell."

"I'd like to talk to her. Has
she said anything to you about me?" No answer. She was refusing even to
look at him. "Is she a healer, too?
A healer like you,
Bella?"

"She
was."

"I want you to give her a message,
Bella. Next time she speaks to you. Tell her my name is De Sang. Tell her I'm
also a healer."

"She'll spit in your
eye."

"Tell her. Tell her I can help
her."

Suddenly she turned and looked at
him for the first time that day. Her face was transformed. It was no longer the
pouting baby. It was the sneering face again, animated, more energized than the
deadpan of Bella, a cold sparkle in the eyes. It was a new personality. She
threw her head back and said, "HA!"

De Sang stared at her for a long
time. "Thank you for coming," he said at last.