Her Fearful Symmetry (20 page)

The following morning Valentina opened the French windows to the balcony and inspected the cup and saucer. She was pleased to see that something had been at them: the tuna was gone and the milk was only about half as full as it had been the night before. She removed the dishes before Julia came in. That night she filled them and put them on the balcony, turned out the lights and sat on the floor of the dining room, waiting.

She could hear Julia moving around the flat. At first she was just moving: undressing for bed, washing her face, brushing her teeth. Then she began moving through the apartment in search of Valentina. “Mouse?” Julia’s footsteps went down the hall and into the front of the flat. “Mouse?” Valentina sat silent, as though they were playing hide-and-seek. Julia was walking along the hall, she was outside the dining room.
Warmer, warmer.
“Mouse? Where are you?” She opened the door and saw Valentina sitting in the pool of moonlight beside the French windows.
Hot.
“What are you doing?”

“
Ssh.
I’m waiting for the kitten,” Valentina whispered.

“
Ohh.
Can I wait too?” Valentina wondered how it was possible for Julia’s whispering to be louder than her normal speaking voice.

“Okay,” Valentina replied, “but you have to be totally silent.” The twins sat side by side on the floor. Neither of them had a watch. Time passed.

Julia stretched out on the floor and fell asleep. It was cold in the room, and colder on the floor. Julia was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved Wilco T-shirt she had stolen from Luke Brenner, a boy she’d had a crush on in high school. Valentina thought about getting some pillows and blankets for Julia, who looked uncomfortable. Valen-tina was fully dressed, but her hands and feet and nose were cold. She considered making herself a cup of tea. She got up and left the room.

When Valentina came back with the tea, the pillows and the blankets, Julia was awake. She put her finger to her lips as Valentina came in. There was a rustling noise, as though something was swimming through dry leaves. Valentina sank to the floor, cushioned in pillows. She set the tea down silently.

Julia looked over at her twin, whose eyes shone in the half-shadow. Valentina hadn’t washed her hair that day, and it hung lank and darkish. Valentina breathed deeply, focused on the cup and saucer. Julia smiled and looked at the cup and saucer too. She loved it when Valentina wanted something badly.

The noises came closer, then stopped. The twins were still. Everything paused, and then the white kitten launched itself from the wall onto the balcony.

It was small and thin. The twins could see its ribs. The kitten had immense, bat-like ears. Its fur was matted and short. But somehow it was not pathetic; it came off as determined. There was nothing especially preternatural about it. It was businesslike, and immediately ran to the saucer to gulp down the tuna fish. The twins could see its sides working as it fed. Valentina thought of the jellyfish she had once seen washed up on a Florida beach. The kitten was so thin she felt as though she could see all its internal organs. It was a female kitten. Valentina was entranced.

The kitten finished eating and sat cleaning herself. She looked at them briefly (or in their direction; Valentina wasn’t sure the kitten could see them, since the moon had moved and they now sat in shadow). Then she hopped off the balcony and rustled away.

Julia held out her palm, and Valentina high-fived her. “That was really cool, Mouse. Are you going to keep feeding her?”

Valentina smiled. “I’m going to adopt her. Before you know it she’ll be wearing a collar and sitting on my lap.”

“But don’t you think she’s a little…feral? What if she’s not litter-box trained?”

Valentina shot Julia a look. “She’s a kitten. She’ll learn.”

The scene was repeated on subsequent nights. Valentina went to Sainsbury’s and bought tins of cat food and a litter box. Each night she sat and waited for the Little Kitten of Death to arrive. Usually she sat well back from the French windows and simply watched. After five nights she left the windows slightly open, and tried to entice the kitten inside, but this only frightened it, and Valentina had to start again. The kitten was truly wild, and would not be coaxed.

“I thought she’d be sitting on your lap by now,” Julia teased.

“You try,” retorted Valentina.

Julia gave it some thought, and that night she showed up in the dining room with a spool of thread from Elspeth’s sewing box. She waited for the kitten to finish her meal, then rolled the spool out onto the balcony. The kitten eyed it suspiciously. Julia tugged a bit on the thread. The kitten put out a tentative paw. Soon the kitten was chasing the spool across the balcony, madly pouncing and hopping, waiting for the next tug on the thread. But as soon as Julia pulled the spool into the room, the kitten looked up, saw Julia and darted off the balcony into the ivy.

“Nice try,” Valentina said. She was secretly pleased that the kitten had not come in for Julia either, though by now Valentina wanted the kitten so badly that it almost wouldn’t have mattered.

In the end, it was neither Valentina nor Julia who lured the Little Kitten of Death indoors. One Tuesday night in late February, Valentina prepared the kitten’s food and was negotiating the dining-room door with the tray in her hands when she heard something skittering, ivy rustling. The French windows were ajar, and cold air flowed into the room. Out on the balcony the kitten frisked and pounced. The spool of thread jerked and rolled, controlled by an imperceptible hand: now just outside the white kitten’s grasp, now flicking across the balcony, checked by the kitten’s spread paw. Valentina stood still. The spool of thread spun into the space between one of the doors and the sill. It rocked there, enticingly. The kitten hesitated. It gathered itself, and pounced. Its momentum sent it scooting forward into the room. The door shut behind it.

Valentina and the kitten stared at each other, equally shocked. They recovered at the same moment. Valentina put the tray on the floor. The kitten began to run back and forth, scrambling on the parquet floor for an escape. Valentina shut the dining-room door and put her back against it.

“Who’s there?” she said. She meant it to sound normal, but her voice came out squeaky. “Who is it?” The spool of thread sat immobile on the floor. Everything in the room was still, except the kitten, who flattened herself under the skirts of the ottoman and hid. Valentina stood listening, or rather,
feeling
the room with her body, trying to discern whether there was anything there. But she was shaking, and she couldn’t feel anything besides the cold air and the kitten’s fright. Then something pushed on the other side of the door she was leaning against. Valentina went weak.

“Mouse?” It was only Julia. Valentina let out her breath and opened the door a crack. “Come in quick,” she said. Julia did, slipping through six inches of open door and pushing it closed. “Did you catch her?” Julia asked, her face alight.

“No,” said Valentina. “The ghost caught her.” She expected Julia to be scornful, but Julia looked at Valentina and saw that she was shaking. Julia flipped the light switch and the dining room filled with the weak light of the chandelier.

“C’mere,” said Julia. She pulled out one of the spindly chairs that clustered around the dining-room table and Valentina sat down on it. Julia glanced around the room. “So if the ghost caught her, where is she?”

“She’s under that ottoman.”

Julia got down on her hands and knees in front of the ottoman and carefully lifted the fringe. She saw a small animal with glowing green eyes that bared its teeth and hissed at her. “She’s all yours,” said Julia.

Valentina smiled. “Here, put the tuna close to the ottoman, maybe she’ll come out to eat.”

Julia did this. “Hey,” she said, “how did the ghost do it?” She had decided to put aside her disbelief in the ghost for the moment. Julia liked the idea of a ghost that made itself useful.

“The ghost did it just the same way you did, only the kitten couldn’t see the ghost, so she just pounced right into the room and then the ghost shut the door.”

“So maybe that means the ghost watches us?” Julia was getting creeped out in spite of herself. “Because otherwise how would the ghost even know you
wanted
the kitten? Did you leave the spool of thread here, or was it in the sewing box?”

“No, it was here.”

“Hmm.” Julia was pacing back and forth with her hands clasped behind her back. Valentina thought of a Sherlock Holmes movie they had seen over and over on Channel Nine when they were kids. Holmes was always pacing. Valentina half-expected Julia to say,
It’s elementary, my dear Watson,
but Julia only sat down on the floor and stared at the ottoman, frowning. “Do you think the ghost is still here?”

Valentina looked around. There weren’t very many places a ghost could be in here; the dining room was somewhat bare. “I guess,” she said. “But the ghost is mostly a
feeling,
at least before tonight. It’s not like I’ve ever
seen
it. And I don’t
feel
it right now.”

Elspeth stood on top of the dining-room table. She was wearing a blue chiffon cocktail dress and spiked heels with fishnet stockings. Elspeth delighted in the fact that she could walk on the smooth wood of the table without marring it. She was also tremendously pleased that she had caught the kitten, and that Valentina had seen her do it.
That’s it, then. I’ve done it! They’ve got to believe in me now.

The Little Kitten of Death sat under the ottoman, enraged. She knew that there was tuna quite close by, but she did not want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her eat it. After a while, Julia grew bored with watching the ottoman and went to bed. Valentina put a litter box in the dining room, hoping that the kitten wouldn’t pee all over everything. She turned out the lights and also went to bed. Elspeth sat on the table, waiting.

“Sk-sk-sk,” she said, knowing the kitten couldn’t hear her. After half an hour of complete silence, the kitten crept out and looked around, circling the room, hunting for a way out. Elspeth hopped off the table and sat on the ottoman. She waited for the kitten to calm down, stroked it as it gulped down the tuna. It didn’t notice.

J
ESSICA STOOD in front of the Eastern Cemetery’s gates on a brisk Sunday in early March, watching the visitors assembled before the main gate on the Western side. They were an unpromising lot: an American couple wearing intimidating trainers and impressive cameras; a quiet, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and binoculars; three young Japanese men in baggy denim trousers and baseball caps; a woman with a rather aerodynamic-looking pram; and a stout man with an enormous backpack, who paced back and forth with bouncy energy.

A black van sped along Swains Lane. The gilt, circus-poster-style lettering on its side said only: TEMERITY.

Indeed,
thought Jessica. She checked her watch. It was quarter to three. She glanced behind her at Kate, a round, pleasant, American volunteer who was chatting with some grave owners about the renovations to the Eastern Cemetery’s wall. When Jessica returned her gaze to the group at the gate she saw that they had been joined by two girls dressed from head to toe in white. The girls stood by themselves, holding hands. They wore white hooded sweatshirts with fur trim, white miniskirts, leggings and boots. Their white knitted caps were almost the same colour as their hair. The girls had their backs to Jessica, but she knew without seeing their faces that they must be twins.
How darling they are.
She wondered if they realised how muddy the cemetery paths were, and whether they were younger than sixteen.

Julia and Valentina stood in front of the gates, shifting from foot to foot and shivering. Julia wondered where everyone was; all was quiet inside the gates. She could see a wide courtyard beyond the gatehouse and a colonnade which extended in a half-circle around it. She heard someone using a walkie-talkie, but there were no people in sight. Across the road was the other half of the cemetery, where Karl Marx was buried. It looked more open, more like a regular American cemetery. The guidebook said that the Western Cemetery was more interesting, but could only be visited on the tour. Anyway, it was the Western side that the twins’ windows overlooked.

Jessica crossed Swains Lane, strode through the little crowd and unlocked the massive gates. She was dressed entirely in shades of violet and mauve, and wore a hat that Valentina instantly coveted, a large-brimmed felt affair with a sweeping black feather tucked in the band. Valentina and Julia’s first impression was of royalty, a duchess, perhaps, who had come to the cemetery for the afternoon to cut a ribbon or visit a loved one and had stayed on to help out. This notion was not immediately dispelled when she spoke. “Do come in now, my dears. Has everyone read the notices? Right, please leave
all
luggage
in
the office. I’m
terribly
sorry, but no children under the age of eight are allowed in the Western Cemetery. Photographs may be taken for Personal Use Only.
This
way, please, kindly
perch
yourselves in front of the War Memorial on the far side of the courtyard there, we’ll be
right
with you.” The twins obediently sat on a bench and waited.

Robert walked out of the office with the ticket box, distracted by a crossword clue James had just read to him. He joined Jessica and they crossed the courtyard together. He saw the twins and his stomach clenched. The sensation reminded him of stage fright; then he realised it was guilt.

“Don’t charge them,” he said to Jessica.

“Why ever not?”

“They’re grave owners.”

“Surely n-oh,” she said, looking more carefully. “I see.” They continued walking. “Will you be all right, then? Shall I ask Kate to give the tour?”