Falling (20 page)

Someone laughed in Damian’s ear and danced in a circle in front of her boyfriend. She teetered on her platform sandals, and put her arms out, leaning forward, giving a little yelp before her boyfriend caught her.

They’ve started the fireworks, she said. See!

Damian raised his eyes to see a bloom of gold that flowered above and fell slowly to earth, accompanied by popping sounds.
Pfft, pfft
, up went another, and he couldn’t help but watch. It was a globe of ruby lights, clinging to the sky. Down it came, after a moment or two. And then one, two, three, four, five, six, up went a series of rockets, each one exploding like gunshots. Red, white, blue, red, white, blue. The colours sprang into life and disappeared, shooting gloriously into the night.

Ahhh
, sang the crowd.
Ahhh
. At each feast of light, people turned up their faces excitedly.

There was a rain of silvery threads above them, a rush of brilliance. And then, in front of him, he saw Elvis’s white shirt, and it was so luminous that it might have been alight. But no, he was wrong. It was someone else’s white shirt. Above them, an explosion of rose-coloured pinwheels caught in the air, hanging like decorations, before they descended and faded away, tinting everyone pink for a few moments, so their faces were flushed with colour. The man in the white shirt was stained blue, then green, gold, crimson, and blue. The Falls were tinted at the same time, a skirt pleated with soft hues. The last of the fireworks fell in a spangled chandelier of orange and red.
Pfft. Pfft
. It was the finale.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft. Zzzzztttt
. The lights flickered down the sky and there was a flutter of cheers and clapping.

In the southeast there was a rumble and then a distant flash of sheet lightning. But Damian was so exhausted he could barely put one foot in front of the other. What did he care about fireworks?

When he got back to his uncle’s house, he went to the door at the back. He was just about to open it, but he stopped short.

Jasmine was in the kitchen, sitting close to his uncle, and through the mesh he saw her reach for him. She took him in her arms, hugging him in the full glare of the overhead light in the kitchen. Roger’s hand moved up her back to the nape of her neck, and she lifted her head as his hand caressed her. Then she shifted so she could hold his face in her hands. She was going to kiss him.

Damian backed away from the door and went down the steps.

He moved toward a lawn chair, dazedly, but there was already someone there. Even with the light spilling out of the kitchen window, it took him a moment to see that it was Elvis.

Where the hell have you been? Damian cried. Where’s the box? Just where the hell is it, Elvis?

IT WAS EVENING
by the time Jasmine got to Damian’s uncle’s house, unsure of whether to go in. Ingrid had made her a cake, and Jasmine thought she should take a piece of it home for the sake of politeness, but now that she’d arrived, her heart was thudding; the last person she wanted to see was Damian. She didn’t want to see Ingrid either. No one really expected her to get a piece of cake just for the sake of formality.

But she knocked and waited. No one came, and finally she opened the door and stood uncertainly at the threshold. Should she turn on a light, or should she just go away, now, before anyone saw her? She flicked on the kitchen light, and a purple streamer floated languidly to the floor.

Oh, Roger, you scared me, she cried. You were sitting in the dark.

Is it dark?

Well, not quite. I knocked.

I heard something. It sounded like a June bug, except it’s not June any more, is it?

That’s flattering – a bug.

Come in, he laughed. Ingrid wanted to give you a party, as you can probably see.

Yes, she phoned me, but I couldn’t get here earlier. I was taking a shift for Tarah, but I closed up before I was supposed to. There was no one around.

Well, you’ll have to forgive me – I think I did something to the cake. I didn’t know it was on the counter.

The cake was a sad-looking affair with its drunken roses, and one side had caved in completely. Roger must have put his hand in it.

I’m sorry I spoiled it.

That’s okay, she said.

The cake made her want to cry.

I just got back, but no one’s here, as far as I can tell, said Roger. Bernie took me home after the first set at the pub, because Ingrid told me to be here. But I don’t know where she’s gone. I don’t know where Damian is either. He must have gone out with Elvis.

I didn’t come to see Damian, she said briskly. I came to take a piece of cake home.

Why don’t you sit down and have a bite of it?

No, she said.

What’s wrong?

I don’t know.

How about cutting me a piece of that cake – what’s left of it.

Jasmine cut a piece of cake and put it on a china plate with sprigs of pale blue flowers, but it was only then that she realized it didn’t matter what she put it on. He couldn’t see it. She put a fork on the plate and took it to the table. He had a glass of Scotch and she could smell its smoky flavour.

The cake’s right there, with a fork, she told him.

She watched him find the fork.

I think I’ll just eat it with my hands, he said, breaking off a piece and stuffing it into his mouth.

I’m not a pretty sight, he confessed. I get crumbs all over.

She laughed.

Happy birthday, he said.

Thank you. As of today, I’m nineteen.

Nineteen, he mused. That’s a surprising age.

Surprising?

Yes, you can see everything, all the shining things that are to come.

Shining things, she said.

Don’t you believe in the shining things?

I don’t know. You always talk like this, don’t you?

Not always.

Do you think that people – well, like you – do you think people like you –

Blind people?

Yes, she said, reddening. I was going to ask you something, but it’s going to sound stupid.

Ask away.

Are you able to sense things in a way that’s, well, clearer?

Clearer than other people?

Yes.

No, he said. I’m as bewildered by the world as the next guy.

When you meet people, what’s it like? You can’t see them.

Voices just come out of the air, he said. They come out
of nowhere. Sometimes people talk as if I weren’t there, because they don’t know how to talk to me. They’re usually afraid of me, and I think, why are they so afraid? I’m a human being, doing ordinary things, making the usual blunders. Getting slightly pissed right now on this Scotch. Would you like some of this very good, single malt Scotch?

No, thanks. I should go.

Keep me company.

Well, just while you eat the cake.

It’s good cake, he said. But it doesn’t go with Scotch. A person should either eat cake or drink Scotch, but not both. He ran a finger around the rim of the plate, feeling its edges.

This is one of the dessert plates, he said. My mother used to put these out for guests. It’s Limoges.

It’s pretty, she remarked. There’s a gold border around the rim. We never had plates like that. We had unbreakable plates in our house. You could throw them on the floor and they wouldn’t break, but these are as thin as robin eggs.

Robin eggs, he mused. You know – you have a musical voice. It’s a singing voice.

Thank you.

It’s sweet and full. And your laugh, it’s sort of husky and deep. It’s not what you’d expect.

I never really think about my voice, she said, sitting down in the chair next to him.

I like it, he said. Do you look anything like your voice? I mean –

She laughed, reaching out for his hand. She guided it to her face. His fingers moved rapidly across her mouth, her cheeks, back to her nose, her eyes, first one eyelid and then the other, and up to her forehead. He found her lips again, and traced the upper lip, the lower one.

She stiffened.

Ahh, he said, dropping his hand. You’re so young. So sweet.

Damian had said she was beautiful, so beautiful. It stung her to think of it.

Oh, now, you’re crying, he said. You shouldn’t be crying.

I don’t want to – it’s just –

Did I do that? Did I make you cry?

No.

She wiped her face.

Damian doesn’t give a shit about me. She put her head between her hands.

Of course he does. No. He’s fucked up.

He blames himself for what happened to his sister. I told you that.

What
did
happen to his sister?

She took his
ATV
and went down to the beach. I don’t think she’d ridden it before. It rolled over into a stream and she was caught underneath it.

Oh, that’s awful.

Damian was asleep somewhere else on the beach. He did everything he could when he found her, but she was already gone.

That’s what happened?

Yes.

Does he think if he hadn’t been asleep –

He must go over and over it, asking himself what might have been.

That must be awful for him. She pictured Damian on
the beach. But even so, it’s no excuse. It’s no excuse for being a prick.

Was he a prick?

Yes. He was.

Can you forgive him?

Why should I have to? Why does it have to be me, forgiving him?

Because, he said slowly, if you don’t forgive him – okay, maybe not now – but if you don’t, then whatever he did could get right inside you, and that wide-open heart of yours could become small and shrivelled, like a leathery, old apple. Mine did.

No, it didn’t.

Oh, you believe I’m better than I am. But I’m not. It’s not as if I’ve ever learned the wisdom of the sages. I’ve failed Ingrid – I didn’t go to Lisa’s funeral, for instance, and I’m all the family she’s got. As for Damian, he could have used someone like me in his life. A man, laughed Roger softly. As if I could help him be a
man
.

She reached over from where she was sitting and put her arms around Roger.

You
are
a man, she said.

He held her, running his hand up her back and through her hair. She leaned back, away from him, but his hand kept moving through her hair. She could smell the Scotch on his breath.

Roger, she said very quietly.

There was a sound at the door that might have been a moth hitting the screen.

She took his face in her hands. She kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

You’re a good man, she murmured. A kind and generous man.

They heard an angry voice, Damian’s voice, yelling at Elvis in the backyard.

Elvis, said Roger, starting for the door, his cane clattering to the floor. What’s going on? He bent down to find his cane, hands fumbling this way and that before he found it.

Here, she said, tucking her arm into his. They went to the door and she opened it, awkwardly, since she was leading him.

Damian was standing in front of Elvis, feet apart, as if he were about to hit him. Where did you take it, Elvis? he yelled. Where is it?

Damian, said Roger.

No, no, no, no, cried Elvis.

Wait, Roger said, going forward down the step, so that Jasmine had to keep up with him. Damian, calm down. You’re scaring him.

Damian was shaking.

Calm down? He’s taken Lisa’s ashes and I’ve been looking for him for hours.

Elvis, said Roger quietly.

But Elvis walked around in a circle, his hands over his ears.

Elvis, said Roger. Listen to me.

Elvis took his hands from his ears but wouldn’t stop moving.

Did you take the box from Damian?

He didn’t answer. He put up one hand, his fingers clenched.

Where is it? said Roger.

He took it, said Damian. He had no right.

Lincoln’s secretary was named Kennedy and Kennedy’s secretary was named Lincoln, said Elvis rapidly. Kennedy drove a Lincoln, made by the Ford company. Hhhhh, Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846 and that was one hundred years before Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946 and Lincoln was elected president in 1860 exactly one hundred years before Kennedy was elected president in –

Elvis, yelled Damian, stepping forward and gripping Elvis’s shoulders, yanking him forward. Tell me.

Elvis made a roaring sound.

Stop it, yelled Roger. Stop –

Don’t touch him, Damian, cried Jasmine.

When Damian released him, Elvis backed away and his roaring diminished. Damian looked at Jasmine as if seeing her for the first time.

This has nothing to do with you, he said.

Yes, it does, she told him firmly. He may have taken something from you, but you can’t treat him like shit. You can’t treat anyone like shit.

You like to get in the middle of things, don’t you?

I don’t –

Look at you. Don’t you think my uncle is a little old for you? You’re –

Damian, said Roger.

Fuck
you, Damian, she said in a low voice. I didn’t want to get in the middle of things. It was your mother who invited me here.

She could feel her eyes filling with tears, but she wasn’t going to cry. Her voice was steady when she spoke. At least your uncle is kind to me. That’s a lot more than I can say for you.

She turned to Elvis. Did you take the box?

Hhnnn, said Elvis.

You did? Where is it now?

There, he mumbled.

Where?

He pointed.

Elvis, said Jasmine. Where did you leave it?

On the sidewalk over there, he said, pointing. I opened the box and the jar fell and it went all over. He spread out his hands. But I didn’t mean to make it fall.

Damian took off, sprinting, and Jasmine watched him.

Elvis, said Roger quietly. It’s not right to take something that doesn’t belong to you. You know that.

Elvis rocked from one foot to the other.

Come inside, said Roger.

But Elvis didn’t move. He stayed where he was, rocking.

Then Damian ran across the road without looking for cars and found the shattered urn on the sidewalk with some ashes in a heap and some more scattered in a line like a comet’s tail he held the box open and scooped handfuls of ashes into it along with the shards of the urn but he couldn’t pick up all the ashes even when he swept them with his hands and they left a smear on the sidewalk when he stood up and went back across the road over the front lawn to the house taking the porch steps two at a time leaving the door swinging he was still shaking as he went inside and up to his room stuffing his things into the knapsack and rolling up the crumpled drawings of Jasmine and taking the car keys from his mother’s purse in her bedroom maybe he should leave a note but what would he say and instead he went downstairs and out the front door he could hardly breathe as he opened the car door and got in clutching the box setting it on the seat beside him and tossing his knapsack and the drawings on the floor then he backed the car onto the street under the spreading branches of the chestnut tree he didn’t care if they saw him leave he drove quickly up one street and down another thinking of how they’d been in the kitchen together Jasmine with her arms around Roger and Roger running his hand through her hair but seeing her like that was the same as a cleaver chopping a slab of meat on a
board and he wondered what they were doing now he circled back to Roger’s and parked the car on the street where he could look through the pendant-shaped chestnut leaves no way of knowing what they’d been doing whether it had been a long time or a short time but then the screened door banged and Jasmine called out good night