Move (14 page)

After walking for hours through featureless dust, I was growing frustrated. Did my experience of time match that of Earth? If so, how much harm had the hungry ghost done already? At last, I saw a dot on the horizon. It was a young boy. At first, I thought he was sick, the way he was crouched, like he might have had a bad stomach ache, but, after a while, I realised that he was leaning over to study ants as they scurried across the dirt.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ he replied, without looking up.

‘What are you doing?’ I crouched down beside him.

‘Thinking.’

‘What about?’

‘Lots of things. Like this ant. Is it the same one I saw before,
or another one? It’s hard to tell from here. Then I was thinking about the nest. I don’t know how many ants are in this nest, but I think twenty thousand. This made me wonder if they are performing difficult computations.’

I felt like laughing, but he was serious.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Each one of them has a few brain cells, let’s say a quarter of a million.’ Still the boy had not spared me a glance. ‘Together, they amount to enough brain cells to be pretty smart, nearly as smart as a human. What if they aren’t really individual insects, but each one is a part of a much bigger whole? What if there’s a pattern? These are strange ants, see, they aren’t carrying food back to the nest. What are they doing?’

Once he had said this, I turned my attention to the ants. Actually, they were fascinating. The boy was right. The way they were marching around had some kind of purpose. There was meaning here. Even when they climbed over stones or blades of grass, they came back into line, the distances between each ant varied, but it was not random. Or was it?

After several days, I realised that you could distinguish between the individual ants, some of them were different colours, some were slightly larger or smaller than the others. The boy was not crazy when he had wondered if he’d seen a particular ant earlier. This discovery would help I lot, I was sure.

There was a boy beside me. I’d forgotten that.

‘Have you worked it out?’ I asked him.

‘No. But I think it has something to do with Pi.’

I started to look again. The constant motion was intriguing,
but it was hard to keep up with them all. Just when you thought you had an insight into the pattern it disassembled again. The ants were definitely purposely, collectively, engaged in some fascinating activity.

Since I was comfortable here, not needing to eat or drink, or even move, I lost track of time. Perhaps ten years went by. I know that ten years is a very long time. But under this unchanging purple sky my earlier question was answered. There was no time here, not like I was used to. The only motion was the
endlessly
fascinating to-ing and fro-ing of the ants.

‘Ahh,’ the boy sighed. I noticed him again. ‘It’s me. It’s my thoughts.’

Was it? Did they respond to his thinking?

The ants began to move a little more urgently.

‘Would you mind if we ate you?’ The boy sent me a predatory glance, sure that he had ensnared me.

‘No. But if you are a demon, you shouldn’t. I’m not dead. I’ve come here a different way. I’ll poison you.’

An ant crawled over my finger and with its mandibles prised a tiny flake of dried blood from where it had stuck to a hair of my hand. Several more came to me and I watched with great
interest
as they crossed my knuckles, treading so lightly I could hardly feel them. That was before a new kind of ant came, one with oversized jaws. This one did not try to get up on to my hand, but instead tore a thin layer of skin loose from my fingertip, working at it for perhaps an hour, before being able to leave, carrying its trophy above its head.

‘It will take a long time.’ The boy was apologetic.

‘That’s all right.’

The pattern no longer interested me. It was as though a cloud had come between me and the sun, except that there were no clouds, no sun. Just the constant gloomy sky.

After a few days, I looked up, the boy was face down in the dirt, dead. Dead ants lay all around him, the last few struggling to move, twitching their legs and antenna.

Disappointed, I stood up. Only after I had walked for several miles did I start to remember. I was Liam. Everything was restored to me and I gasped, short of breath.

‘Jaysus!’

I’d killed another demon, but entirely by luck. I could have been crouched over that bit of dirt for eternity. I wasn’t going to be caught like that again; I would trust nothing in this world.

Not long after leaving the dead ant-demon I saw a mountain on the horizon. I almost gave a little skip of delight. It was a sign that the drab terrain was not endless. Naturally I walked toward it, a cone shaped silhouette against the purple sky. After several days, I realised it was not getting any closer.

The steady crunch of my feet on to the dirt sometimes formed the basis of a rhythm that caused my mind to recall tunes. Chart hits mostly. I was idly speculating on ‘Hand In My Pocket’, trying to remember the lyrics, when I found myself back in the school disco, listening to the same song. These were fairly tame events, no drink except that which we had smuggled
in. The moment was familiar. Deano was dancing with Jocelyn Doonan, who I had a terrible crush on. Back then I had moved, come up behind Deano, tapped on his right shoulder, and, as he had turned, had slipped in to steal his dance partner. Jocelyn had laughed aloud at my daring and Deano hadn’t dared to give me any aggro. After standing for a few moments, while everyone around him was dancing, he gave up.

This time I couldn’t move. I had to watch from the back of the room, among some of the other lads, pretending to be enjoying myself, but actually suffering from acute jealousy.

‘Just look at Joss. She’s such a slag, isn’t she?’ Rory had his foot up on a chair beside me.

‘Isn’t she?’ I echoed. I could see what he meant. Jocelyn was wearing a loud pink bra under a tank top and she obviously wanted the straps and the lacy top to be visible. ‘Actually,’ I continued, having given the matter some thought, ‘I don’t think she is. No offence mate, but I think you are just jealous. I know I am. I think she’s great.’

‘Liam fancies Joss! Liam fancies Joss!’ Rory tried to make a chant out of it, but I didn’t care. I simply shrugged.

The disco faded and, strangely, the mountain had come a great deal closer. The ground was rising and the dark cone filled the horizon ahead.

A small cloud was drifting across the land; it stopped and came directly towards me. When it was close I could see that it was a
ball of wasps. Black and yellow, they hummed as they intermingled in a tight pack. The ball suddenly expanded, to form a face of hovering wasps.

‘Food.’ The word emerged distinctly from their constant buzzing.

‘Not for you. I’m alive. If you eat me, you will be poisoned and die.’

‘Food.’ Repeated the wasp demon with an urgent buzz.

‘Go see what happened to Ant Boy before you try it.’ I warned him.

The face of wasps had been sweeping down towards me, mouth wide open, with the first few wasps landing on my shoulders, neck and head. Now it swerved aside and reformed, inside-out, so that a large rippling face looked at me once more.

‘Where am I?’ I asked it.

‘You sssssshould know.’ It hummed and swayed.

‘Hell?’

‘If you sssssay sssssso.’

‘And if I say otherwise?’

The mouth widened, it had made up its mind to attack and drew the swarm together. Instinctively I held my arm over my face. As the first wasps landed, they stung me and I jumped back, rubbing my sore arm. The demon was hurt worse though, you could see the poison streak through him as the face disintegrated, wasps falling to the ground, brown and lifeless.

‘No,’ the wasp demon whispered as it collapsed. ‘Not dead.’

What did it mean by ‘you should know?’

A girl was running across the school playground and she was crying. It was Debbie Healy and I could hear the laughter from the classroom that had driven her out.

‘Debbie, what’s the matter?’ I ran to catch her.

She looked at me, accusing and tearful. When she pulled her scarf aside I saw that her neck was covered in brown and purple blotches. Those had been made by me, the night before at Rory’s party. I flushed, ashamed. I’d been thoughtless. This was another replay of an occasion on which I’d moved to an
altogether
more comfortable universe. I couldn’t duck it this time, though; there was nowhere to go.

‘I’m really sorry Debbie, I had no idea or I’d have been careful.’

‘My mum killed me.’

‘I bet she did. Listen, do you want to bunk off for the
afternoon
? Or go back to class? I’ll come with you either way.’

She thought about this, ‘Let’s go back. I don’t want to get into any more trouble at home.’

‘All right.’ I put the scarf carefully back. ‘But let me go in first. I’ll explain the situation to Zed and Deano. If anyone starts on about the scarf, we’ll try and get them to leave you alone.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Mess about, start a joke. You know us.’

It worked too. The one time someone called out about her scarf, I rolled a marble up the front and shouted it was free to
whoever got it. With Zed and Deano fighting over that for the rest of break, nobody paid any attention to Debbie.

There was no doubt about it. I was a good way up the mountain. Progress here seemed to have nothing to do with time, or walking, and everything to do with my memories. If I looked back, the grim desert view behind me went on for miles and miles. Twice now I’d come across situations from my past and both times I’d left them to find myself higher up. Movement here had something to do with recreating my past. Then there was the strange comment from the wasp demon. ‘You should know.’ Was this entire hell somehow of my making?

Here was a quiet street of cottages with well-kept gardens.
Normally
this would be too quiet for me. Three human beings were inside this house: the monk, a girl and a boy. They were talking, concerned. I would turn that concern to fear. The thought of the coming feast nearly drove me to attack at once, but it was worth waiting, to suck every last drop of sustenance from them. I lingered at the window, sniffing. It was some time before the boy saw me.

‘Liam!’

They came forward. Just a thin pane of glass between us. I smiled.

‘That’s not Liam.’ The girl took a step backwards. ‘It’s the
ghost. Look at his eyes.’

Yes. Look at my eyes and tremble.

The man closed the curtains. Hilarious. As if that could do any good. While their anxiety grew, I sauntered out of the garden, leaving the gate open. The neighbour’s house had a garden gnome. It was heavy, with damp soil clinging to its base. I
returned
, both hands underneath the gnome, leaning it against my shoulder while I considered their thoughts.

Just as their sense of panic was fading I threw the gnome into the window as hard as I could. The leap of alarm following the crash, even from the man, was succulent. There was no need to hurry while kicking out the sharp pieces of glass that remained attached to the lower window frame. Let them listen to my
impending
arrival and their anticipation of horror grow.

‘What are we going to do?’ shouted the boy. ‘He’s getting in.’

‘Try not to be afraid. That’s what it wants. Anger too,’ the man responded.

‘Don’t you know some martial arts or something? Can’t you take him down?’ The boy was terrified.

Getting through the curtains was a little awkward, but I didn’t rush things. It must have been very disturbing for them to see the misshapen outline of my body as I made the effort to tear the curtains down from the outside.

‘Hello,’ I spoke after I had pulled the cloth down from the railings above the window. The four of us stood among the broken glass, in a room lined with books
.

Two demons came up the mountain towards me. One was massive, twice my height, tusks protruding upwards from its lower jaw. The other was thin and angular, like a stick insect walking upright.

‘Don’t try to eat me. I’m not dead. You’ll be poisoned.’

‘We know,’ boomed the giant.

‘Where are you going?’ whispered the stick demon.

‘Up.’

‘Why?’ The large one roared, showing his teeth.

‘It feels right.’

‘Stay. Come with us. You shall be king here, none can defy you.’ The stick demon waved a long arm, unrolling his fingers towards the landscape below. What had appeared previously to be nothing but dreary scrub and dirt was revealed to be far more interesting. Hundreds, no, thousands, of demons lived there, in palaces, on golden riverboats, in silk tents. There was, in fact, a kingdom, with princes, dukes, lords and armies of demons. It was mine for the taking, for who indeed could stop me?

It might seem obvious that this invitation was a lure. Of course it was a lure. Yet it was worth considering. After all, was a short life in Dublin really worth striving for compared to the epochs of existence that could be mine here? What’s more, if there really was no time in this realm, I could be king for as long as I liked, then go home whenever I chose. I hesitated and,
without
taking their eyes off me, the two demons bowed low. It would be an amazing experience, to be king of the demons.

All the same, I wanted to be back in Dublin. For a start Arsenal were in the semi-finals this Saturday. I laughed at myself, for being motivated by such a relatively trivial matter, I should have been thinking about my parents and friends, or Tara. Or should I?

It came back to me how I’d seen them betray me, or tell lies, or behave selfishly. Even Tara, who was in a league of her own, behaved selfishly at times, or rather, in some universes. Such failings were inevitable; we were human. Considering these incidents, though, reminded me that the question of what to do was a question for me alone, like it always had been. I had no obligations to anyone else, and this made me feel excited, free. I took several steps down the mountain, ready for adventure, the two demons at my side. Then I halted.

‘Lord?’ growled the giant.

‘Master?’ queried the stick demon.

‘I’m bored already.’

‘Bored?’ The giant was amazed.

The other demon flung its arms wide. ‘Ahead of you is
splendour
, treasure beyond compare. Magic, weapons. There are wars to fight, legends to create and listen to. There are skilled entertainers who will delight you, tease you, satisfy you. Come with us Lord and taste it all.’

‘No. Sorry guys, but something isn’t right. I have the feeling that fighting wars here will be like playing chess against myself; that listening to legends will be like hearing my own voice. Fill this world with a million demons and somehow it will still be empty.’

They looked at each other, concerned, but did not dare to try and stop me as I turned around to go back up the mountain. They did follow me though and from further down I saw motion, as if more were coming.

It was the boy who broke first. He could not stand the tension and his own fear.

‘I’m taking him down.’

‘Don’t,’ muttered Geoffrey, desperately trying to keep his own emotions in check.

The boy leapt at me, his jaws clenched, arms raised. It was simply a matter of drawing up all his alarm and recklessness and twisting it back upon him.

‘Fall!’ I stared at him and he collapsed onto the floor. ‘Crawl through the glass!’ I commanded. Slowly he got up on to his hands and knees and began to creep around the room, seeking the areas where there were pieces of glass.

‘Stop it!’ shrieked the girl. She ran ahead of him, trying to sweep the splinters out of the way. It was unavoidable that some remained. There was so much glass everywhere, and after several minutes of this thoroughly enjoyable game, smears of blood began to appear on the polished wood, marking the painful route of the boy. This was pleasant: the anger, pain and frustration of the boy; the distress of the girl. Plenty for me to eat. And even more satisfying was the knowledge that there was more to come.

‘Geoffrey, do something, please.’ She was crying
.

He was still closed tight, watching, waiting. Tight, but not completely shut to me. There were cracks. Inside, his calm was being undermined by concern for the children. Good, there would be a way to break him too. By the time I left this room I would have feasted on the living hearts of them all.

Deano had been pushing me all day, testing me. At last, in chemistry, he challenged me to a fight. The rest of the class were eager to see it.

‘Don’t run out after the class.’ He warned me.

‘I won’t.’ I should have been worried; he was physically far stronger than me. That time I had moved and won in
impressive
style. This time he met me by the annex; about ten boys and five girls had come to watch. The vultures.

I’d never actually had a fight before, not a serious one, I didn’t know what to do. Making my hands into fists, I swung at Deano’s head. His left hand was open and he slapped aside my efforts; his right was a fist, the first blow from which caught me on the cheek with a blow that made it flush with pain. I was
edging
back, trying to copy him now, left hand alert for his punches. It was no good. He seemed able to block mine, but I couldn’t stop his. My face was sore. The crowd had to move to keep up; I was pulling back so fast. Tears of humiliation sprang into my eyes. I was going to lose. I was a loser.

‘Get out of here!’ I shouted at the others, but they didn’t move. Deano grinned. I was angry at my so-called friends, who
were making the situation far worse, the sudden upsurge of fury gave me the nerve to run at Deano, grab his head and force it under my arm. We staggered around the playground for a while like this.

‘Draw?’ I offered, gulping back the tears.

‘OK.’

I let him go. He walked away, pleased, his friends around him. No one came with me. As much as I tried to tell myself I’d done well, that I’d got a draw, the fact was there were tears on my bruised face and I felt beaten. Which is how everyone else saw it too.

From trivial to weighty experiences, I attempted to remember all the moments in which I had moved and recreate them. Because every time I did so, I found myself higher up the mountain. It still dominated the horizon above me. There was a long way to go, but then again, there must have been hundred of times in which I’d moved. Plenty to allow me to make progress.

A throng of demons gathered around me, watching my efforts. They were all shapes and sizes: some with animal heads; some with horns; others almost human, but for their fiery eyes.

‘Stop.’

‘Come, join us.’

‘Listen to my song.’

‘Play football with me.’

‘Stop.’

I ignored them as best I could.

The girl was the next to break. Try as she might to remain calm, she simply could not stand the sight of the boy hurting himself as he crawled along the floor, sliding his torn hands and knees over shards of glass. Although the boy was subject to me, he was aware enough of his own plight that tears were running down his face. It was probably this that made her yield.

‘Geoffrey, we have to stop him. I’m going to try to knock the ghost unconscious. Perhaps Liam will come back after.’

‘No.’

‘We have to do something, Zed could die!’ With that exclamation she ran into the kitchen, to return with a big pan, which she grasped with both hands. I couldn’t help smiling, although I did not want to discourage her.

She lifted the pan high above her head and came towards me, I could feel the resolution to strike swell inside of her.

‘Hit the boy!’

As the blow came down she sobbed, dragged her aim wide of me, and gave the boy a pretty good clout that glanced off the side of his head. The noise of the metal pan smacking the boy’s skull was satisfyingly loud and even the man let out a twinge of dismay.

‘Again.’

Reluctantly but inevitably, she raised the heavy pan with both hands. From where he had sprawled the boy looked up and gave her a most pathetic glance.

‘Don’t,’ he whispered.

‘Geoffrey, help us.’

The boy managed to raise an arm to ward off the blow, but that suited me. He screamed with pain as the bone broke and that helped undermine the equanimity of the man.

‘Again,’ I ordered her and fear came from them all: where would this end? My concentration, though, was totally focused on opening up the monk.

Each time I undertook an experience that I had missed out on from having moved, I discovered myself higher up the mountain. Each time, also, there appeared more and more demons, gathered around me, afraid to touch me, but howling at me to stop. There was an enormous cacophony of threats, pleading, reasoning and simply shouts of rage. All of this had the effect of making me want to get to the top as quickly as possible. Not that I knew what was up there, I just knew that it felt right and if it distressed the demons this much, there had to be a good reason for continuing.

Mum and Dad had gone out for the night. They knew that I had
wanted to visit the fairground that had arrived the previous day and whose colourful rides were visible from my bedroom
window
, but they had made me promise not to go. As soon as they had safely left the street, I slipped out. I’d enjoyed the fair a lot, throwing darts and hoops to try and win prizes; I had the thrill of feeling my body leave the ground on the spinning wall; I had the pleasure of eating candyfloss. It had seemed as though there was plenty of time, but when I ran home, my parents were just letting themselves in the door. Moving had got me in ahead of them. This time, however, I had to face their disappointment that I’d broken my promise. Dad was big into his word being his bond, so he was really upset. He didn’t talk to me for two days.

I took the blame for Michael Clarke being in the cupboard that time. It wasn’t so bad, except that my parents suddenly saw signs of my being a bully and they didn’t like it. From then on there was a little more distrust in their manner whenever we talked about school.

A snobby family had bought a house at the end of our street. They had two girls, around my age, whom the kids on our street gradually got to know and let into our games. That all ended when the younger girl refused to climb the fence to get to the den we’d made in the old railway cutting.

‘Scaredy-cat.’ I accused her.

‘I am not. It’s just that this is my good dress. I mustn’t tear it, we are going out later.’

‘Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat! Marilyn is a scaredy-cat!’

Much to my astonishment she burst into tears and ran home.

They stopped playing with us, pointedly walking past our games with their heads in the air. Even at the age of twelve I sensed that this was an expression of disdain for people who were beneath them, so I initiated a campaign of grunting at them: all the kids of our street would snort at them whenever they passed. Sometimes we got the younger one to cry again. This was all very well until the day their mother called to our door, ready for a furious rant. It took me a continual campaign of moving to keep my parents from answering the door each time she came, to find universes where they were out, or missed the sound of the bell due to a loud noise on the TV, that kind of thing. Eventually the mother gave up and I felt pretty smug. Not this time though, this time I let her in, took the storm and apologised. To make amends, I bought the girls a present, and it felt good to be straight with them again.