The Unsettled Dust (11 page)

‘“I suppose there are none of them left now?” asked Mr. Purvis. I had not told him one way or the other, but only about the island itself and the empty houses, so you can imagine how I waited for Mr. Kirkontorni’s answer.

‘“There are supposed to be a few,” said Mr. Kirkontorni; “but we don’t have anything to do with them any more. Politics again. Finland used to be a kind of Russian colony, as you know, and we didn’t like that, though most of us had nothing against the Russians personally. And since then we’ve had our civil war, when we starved, and they tried to enforce Bolshevism here and would have done if we hadn’t had assistance from the Germans. Today most people want to hear no more of the Russians than they can help. In fact, their houses are supposed to be unlucky, and no one goes near them. If anyone did, he wouldn’t be very popular either.”

‘“Who owns the houses now?” asked Mr. Purvis.

‘“I really couldn’t tell you. I should think it’s a matter for international law, by this time. No one’s ever bought them from the Russians: first because it wouldn’t be thought right; second because there’ve been no Russians to buy them. Very much not, as we all know.”

‘“It makes you think,” said Mr. Purvis.

‘“It’s another reason why our people say the houses are unlucky.”

‘“You can’t wonder at it,” said Mr. Purvis.

‘“Miehen on mela Kädessä, Jumala venettä viepi,” said Mr. Kirkontorni. That’s a Finnish proverb, meaning man holds the paddle, but God does the steering. I heard it several times on our way home, when we idled about for a few days, and visited several Finnish townships.

‘They said no more on the subject of the houses, and a little later Mr. Purvis and I were tramping round Unilinna again in the full heat of the sun, eating a lot, drinking a lot, sweating a lot, and stumbling over the language, to say nothing of the map, which Mr. Purvis would keep for himself. I have an idea it was on that day that we found the place Mr. Purvis recommended to Mr. Danziger, and that Mr. Danziger liked so much. It must have been, because by the evening Mr. Purvis was so done up that he kept me hanging around him, fetching the waiter up to his room and the chambermaid, and on the final day we took it very much easier. On that third evening, the one I’m speaking of, I couldn’t get out at all. When Mr. Purvis wasn’t wanting things from the hotel staff, with me acting as intermediary, especially with the language, then he was dictating notes to me about the places we had seen, while he soaked his feet in a footbath, that had to be just the right size not to get cold, and even then had to have more hot water added to it about every five minutes, and more funny salts too, that the hotel had advised and that I’d had to scour the town to find. Mr. Purvis kept changing his mind about the notes, and particularly about what was
suitable
for Mr. Danziger to hear about. Mr. Purvis always said that manner of presentation to the client was quite as
important
as what was presented, and often more so: and of course he was quite right. When it came to the matter of the hotel, he was a proper traveller of the old school, who knew his rights, and expected to get value for his money. Altogether I had my hands full that evening. I was not left under the impression that I was travelling only for pleasure.

‘The next day, as I’ve said, wasn’t very serious. If we’d happened to come upon Windsor Castle offered for a song, I doubt whether Mr. Danziger would have heard much about it. Mr. Purvis made a point of always knowing his own mind, and I’m sure he’d made it up by then. At one point, during the hot afternoon, he even suggested that I take him to have a look at the houses on the island, just for the jaunt and I suppose for the breeze off the lake, but I told him about the dangerous bridge and what a long walk it all was, and he settled for a short steamer-trip instead. We crossed to a tiny lakeside village, all set around with conifers and red rocks, and there, in the small, stone church, we saw a Finnish
wedding
, with the bridal couple in national dress and the dark building as full of lighted candles as a grotto. We didn’t go in, but watched from outside the west door, which they’d left open, as it was so sunny, though the sun hardly entered the church at all. I noticed that the officiating pastor, who stood behind the altar rails, was not in any way like the black figures I had seen on my island. This gave me a surprise; but of course I said nothing about it to Mr. Purvis.

‘When we got back, Mr. Purvis was all smiles, and
suggested
that I have a further look round on my own for a bit, while he took a rest. “You’re only young once,” he said, as if I’d been holding back. I arranged to call for him later, as I’d done two nights earlier.

‘Of course I went down at once to have another look at my island. Mr. Kirkontorni had said it was an unpopular thing to do, but I could hardly worry much about that, as I didn’t live in Unilinna or even Finland. I was still frightened of the island, but I had an idea that a return visit would clear various things up, and that Mr. Kirkontorni’s information would enable me to look at it with new eyes, and add some queer items to my small stock of knowledge. But, given the chance, I couldn’t have kept away from the island anyway. What I did hope was that I shouldn’t meet one of these black priests. I had realised of course that they were probably quite the usual thing in Russia, and the thought of them was not as bad as it had been, but I still did not care for them at all.

‘I had also realised that the peculiar writing on the medal I had been given must be Russian. It was only a guess, because until then I hadn’t known that Russian was written in a
different
script. I remember taking the medal out of my pocket and looking at it as I walked down the empty street to the northern waterfront. It was not very encouraging to think that
apparently
people didn’t like living even where they could see the island. It was a different thought from the one which had struck me on the island itself, as you may remember.

‘I can’t say there was anything remarkable this time about the way I crossed the bridge. I just went carefully and watched where I put my feet. I was earlier than on my previous visit, and the late afternoon mist was only beginning to rise. The island looked very beautiful, with its huge trees, and the fanciful houses sticking out here and there. From the bridge you couldn’t see how badly they needed painting. The faded paint probably made them look prettier, as it often does from a distance.

‘My idea was to start out along the southern path, where I’d seen those parties going on among the few Russians that Mr. Kirkontorni had said were still left. I wasn’t at all keen about the big houses on the ridge, and what I really wanted was to have another look at the Russians themselves, especially as I seemed to be the only person who cared about them.

‘From the moment I started along the path, I felt a great sadness all about me. It was not the kind of feeling I was used to – not at that age. Naturally I put it down to the fact that now I knew about the houses, and couldn’t see them any more as mere property going to waste. Not that property going to waste is ever a cheerful sight in itself. I told myself that it must be the sad story I’d heard about the Russians, even though Mr. Purvis and I had been left to fill in the details, which, at that time, I knew no more about than any other ordinary English boy. Whatever I told myself, I felt worse and worse with every step I took. I felt as if a great pit was opening wider and wider, that previously I’d known nothing about; and that pretty well the whole world was sinking into it, so that soon it would be as if I were alone at the North Pole or on the moon, with no one even to cry out to. You may think that’s a bit far-fetched after all these years, but it’s exactly how it was. It was the feeling of being
completely
cut off and helpless that was the worst part; and the fact that on the face of it this was nonsense, because I could always run back across the bridge, only made it worse. I felt there was some explanation, something I didn’t know about, which was the real cause of the trouble. All the same, I was determined not to run away just because I was in a blue funk.

‘In the middle of it all, I remembered my medal. I pulled it out and held it clenched in my hand. Whatever I thought it might do, it didn’t do. I went on feeling exactly the same. But I continued clutching hold of the medal, as I ploughed
forward
. And this time, the sun was shining all the while, as I’ve said.

‘I reached the wooden house painted blue where I’d talked with the Russian lad, seen the priest giving out the medals, and all the rest of it. There was no one about and everything was quite silent, but the house was not locked up, like the houses between it and the bridge. On the contrary, the door where I had seen the priest watching me from behind his huge, fluffy beard, stood wide open.

‘I can’t tell you how, but I knew at once that there was no one inside.

‘The house had an utterly unoccupied look, but that didn’t always mean much on the island, and I think it was the wide open door itself which told me there was no one there. I thought I could risk taking a look.

‘I struggled with the gate. It was even heavier and more jammed than I had supposed when I first saw it, and I couldn’t think how the Russian boy had managed it so well. But I shoved it back and pushed my way up the garden path through the long grass and weeds. Believe it or not, I walked straight in. All things considered, I think it was plucky as well as cheeky, but I still didn’t suppose that anything was
really
wrong. How could I? I knew nothing.’

At this point, a couple of locals who had drifted into the bar, and had been seated in the background intermittently muttering short, slow sentences to one another, drifted out again.

‘There was nothing inside but blood,’ said the old man. ‘Blood everywhere. Big blotches on the peeling walls, with darker centres, where the blood had started spurting. Blood splashed about the grey ceiling, as if kids had been in there with squirts that had got out of control. Blood heavy on the floorboards, dusty and rotten though they were. I could see the shapes of bodies, as they had lain there; many bodies, because it was a big room, thirty or thirty-five feet long I daresay, and perhaps twenty-five feet wide, and these shapes were right across the floor. After that, I have never doubted the marks that are said to be on the Holy Shroud at Turin: at least I have never doubted that they could have been made by a human body. The blood leaves an extraordinary definite outline. In that room, the marks suggested that several of the bodies had lain across one another. There was even blood on the windows, including the window where the little boy had waved to me. The sunshine shone through it like stained glass, and made the room redder still. It was like the Holy Grail, all glowing, and yet the room was filthy and dusty too. And the blood smelt. I can smell it now, when I think about it. At the time I all but fainted with the smell of it.

‘But I didn’t faint. I think it was partly because I still didn’t fully understand. I got out and tore off to the bridge as fast as my young legs would carry me.

‘Or rather
towards
the bridge. Because on the way I met the first person I’d seen on the island that day. He was a scruffy specimen too, dressed in little better than rags. If he hadn’t been in the very middle of the mud road, I’d have run right past him.

‘He said something to me in what I took to be Russian, and for some reason I stopped. His hair was going grey, and he had straggling grey wisps on his face and chin; not a proper beard, but just above the last word in neglect and untidiness. Of course I must have been looking very peculiar myself at that moment.

‘I made my usual answer: “English”. I imagine I was pretty well gasping.

‘“What are you holding in your hand?” he said: just like that, and quite comprehensibly.

‘I unfolded my hand and snowed him my medal lying on the palm of it. I was past caring if he snatched it.

‘“Do you know what that means?” he asked, pointing to the words.

‘I shook my head.

‘“The Feast of the Sheep of the Theotokos,” he said. “It is a privilege to possess such a medal. Only at the Feast are they given. They bear a blessing.”’

‘“But to participate, you have each time to cross yourself. Like this.” He showed me, as the boy had done. The Greeks do it differently from the Latins, as I expect some of you know. I had forgotten that part of it until he reminded me.

‘“I am a hermit,” he said, “having been long a pilgrim. I am now the only Christian soul resident on this island, where once there were so many.”

‘I could only bow my head. Raw though I was.

‘“Remember and live,” he said. “Remember and live long.”

‘Then he passed by me without a smile, and I walked quite slowly to and across the bridge, feeling much calmer.’

The old man stopped.

We had not expected an end just there, and were taken by surprise.

‘What’s the Feast of the Sheep of the whatever-it-was?’ asked Gamble, somewhat ineffectively.

‘It’s an annual celebration in the Orthodox Church,’ replied the old man, ‘but the details you’ll have to discover for yourself.’

‘And the charm has worked ever since?’ enquired the barman.

‘According to my belief, it has worked on several occasions, even though I was not raised in a faith which has no part in such things. Plainly I cannot expect it to work for all time.’

‘In a sense perhaps you can,’ said Dyson, quite quietly.

‘Anyway it worked tonight right enough,’ said the barman, still awed by the evidence of his own eyes.

Of course we were all shying away from the core of the experience, as people do. And it seemed inappropriate just to thank the narrator and compliment his tale, as mere courtesy suggested. We all seemed painfully short of any right things to say. This may help to excuse a certain discordancy in a question which Rort put at this point.

‘The suggestion is that the people died in the civil war?’

‘No,’ said the old man. ‘The civil war began only in 1918, and all the Russians had gone back to their own country long before that. It was in Russia that they died, not in Finland.’