This River Awakens (20 page)

Jennifer nodded, turned and walked over to the elevator. She pressed the
UP
button. Everyone knew. The bastards. She felt the nurse’s eyes on her back, felt them like needles pinning a bug to cardboard. She wanted to whirl and scream:
Stop staring at me!
But the elevator doors opened. A doctor and an orderly walked out, and she walked in and pressed the button to the second floor. She faced a side wall until the doors shut.

*   *   *

The voice went on for ever, filling the house with a dull, toneless drone. In her room, Jennifer sat on her bed, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. Her father spoke once or twice, breaking into the drone of Dr Roulston’s endless accusation, and his voice came through in a broken whine – she knew he was crying, too, and she hated him for it. The coward.

The criminal, nailed to his crime, no sympathy for the bleeding, no mercy for his phoney martyrdom, and no, especially no, sanctity granted his secret. She pictured Roulston’s face. How dare he! But there was no point in thinking about that – Roulston was downstairs, pushing his way into their world like a white knight full of raging purity.

And then the doctor’s voice was gone. The front door closed shut and she heard the footsteps of her father crossing the living room, entering the kitchen. Anger boiled up inside her. The bastard. He was at the fridge, he was getting out another beer. He’d seen the good doctor out and then he’d gone for another drink.

Jennifer stood, reached for the doorknob with a shaking hand, walked out into the hallway and then down the stairs, through the shadows of the hallway, and into the kitchen. And there he was, sitting at the table, both hands encircling a bottle in front of him. Jennifer stopped at the kitchen’s threshold, staring at him. He wasn’t moving, he was just sitting there, his eyes fixed on the bottle.

‘You fucking bastard,’ she hissed.

He didn’t look up. ‘Get out,’ he croaked.

‘What did he say?’

‘Get out.’

‘What’s he going to do?’

Looking up at her face, her father grinned crazily. ‘Didn’t I tell you to get out?’

I’m staring into the eyes of a madman, Jennifer told herself. He could kill me. Easily. Right now. She stepped back, shook her head once, then whirled and ran from the room.

The next morning she’d found him passed out at the table, the bottle – two-thirds empty – standing beside his head. Outside the dogs barked and whined. They were starving, and though she spent a few minutes looking, she could find no food for them.

Eventually, the unconscious man collapsed in his chair at the table drove Jennifer out of the house. She didn’t want to be there when he woke up. In her room, she selected her tightest white t-shirt and her favourite red miniskirt.
Today, I’ll visit Mother.

And as for the bastard – she hoped he was dead.

*   *   *

The elevator door opened, and she stepped into the hallway. On the floor were three painted lines: red, green and yellow. The yellow line went down the hallway to her right. She followed it, a strange numbness tingling in her hands.

Room 210, 211, 212 … 216. The door was shut. Jennifer opened it and stepped inside. The window at the far end of the room was open, and a fresh breeze lifted the curtains. There were two beds, the nearer one unoccupied, its sheets and blanket neatly folded and stacked on its smooth, white surface. In the other bed lay a woman with her head turned away. A tube full of clear liquid ran into one of her arms.

Am I in the wrong room? Jennifer wondered. But no, the woman’s hair was the right colour – an almost-black brown with streaks of grey in it – even though there didn’t seem to be enough of it. The head looked too small, with her hair flattened that way. Jennifer took a step forward. Yes, it was her mother – there were the bandages covering the lower half of her face, and also an odd-looking metal-and-plastic frame with straps that went around the head. Jennifer recalled Dr Roulston’s words:
She has a broken jaw …

‘Mother?’

The head turned, and their eyes met.

Jennifer tried to smile, failed. She walked quickly forward, came to the side of the bed. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Hi,’ she managed.

Her mother’s eyes clung to hers, and tears had appeared in them as well. The woman reached up her free hand and Jennifer grasped it.

Jennifer sat down on the bed and they sat in silence for some time. It finally came to Jennifer that her mother couldn’t talk. ‘You okay?’ With difficulty her mother nodded. Looking away, Jennifer tried to think of something to say. ‘I’ll bring you some of your stuff next time.’ It suddenly struck her that there would be a next time. She met her mother’s gaze again, was silent for a moment, then said, ‘The doctor came by. Roulston. He – he talked with Father.’ Mother’s eyes had widened, filling with fear, and then with hope. Jennifer understood. She shook her head. ‘No, it didn’t help.’

III

The black field simmered, the black field boiled. Fisk watched in horror. It was coming alive. Its surface, once smooth and impenetrable, was now rolling, chopping, broken with writhing ribbons that lifted faces, blunt, pink and blind, skyward. The worm-heads jerked, flopped, they opened black maws and screamed soundlessly.

Mink guts, a sea of mink guts. His hands gripping the arms of the chair, Fisk stared, unable to move. They weren’t going to wait any longer. They were coming for him and they were coming now.

‘Down!’ His roar made his whole body jerk. Wood cracked. ‘Get down!’ Wood splintered. The rocking chair slewed sideways beneath him. Snarling, he pulled on the arms, gained his feet. The chair collapsed, and he tottered, his hands balled into fists, glaring out at the black nightmare beyond the porch.

A gust of wind brought to him the stench from the freshly piled mound of intestines beside the maypole – not rot, not yet, but the smell of faeces, stomach acids, fluids and blood. Fisk’s head snapped around, fixed on the pale pink and yellow pile.

‘My barrow,’ he breathed, then giggled. His eyes narrowed. He wiped his mouth with one forearm. He knew that the field was still boiling with life even though he did not look at it. Horror was giving way to cunning. ‘They want to bury me. They want vengeance – those dead mink, all those dead mink.’ He giggled again, then turned to face the field. Worm-heads swung around and stretched towards him. Fisk grinned. ‘You think you got me, don’t you. You think the time’s come.’ Slowly, he shook his head, then hissed, ‘You’re wrong!’

Fisk stepped over the ruin of the rocking chair and flung open the screen door. The shadows inside seemed to swirl. He plunged into them, then stopped. It took a long time for his eyes to adjust, and even then everything seemed smudged. But he couldn’t wait any longer. Pushing forward, he raised both hands in front of him and entered the living room.
It’s the middle of the day, but look at the darkness breathe.
He sat down on the edge of the worn sofa, took the telephone from the table beside him and began leafing through the attached notepad.

After a moment he found the number he wanted. He dialled shakily, listened to the click and then the first ring. ‘Come on,’ he breathed. The second ring. The field was a cauldron, ready to explode, ready to engulf him. Third ring. Ready to swallow him whole. He could almost feel that vertiginous plummet. Fourth ring. Down through the blackness, clawing at the stomach walls, choking on the acid filling his mouth.
Down, down, down. For ever.
Fifth ring.

‘Hello?’

Fisk’s breath caught. ‘Sten? Sten Louper?’

‘Yes,’ the voice croaked.

‘It’s Hodgson Fisk calling. You still in the hunt for dog food?’

There was a pause, then, ‘Yes. Yes I am. You’ve got some?’

Fisk scowled. The bastard was drunk. ‘As much as you need. Bring a shovel and some garbage bags.’

‘A – a shovel? But I thought—’

‘Do you want it or not?’ Fisk snapped.

‘Uh, yeah. Okay. I’ll come by th’saft.’

Fisk’s scowl deepened. ‘Don’t wait too long. It’s out under the sun right now.’ He paused, listened to the ragged breathing on the line, then said, ‘Wouldn’t want your dogs to get sick, would you, now?’

‘No,’ Sten mumbled.

‘See you soon, then.’

‘Yeah.’

Fisk hung up, returned the telephone to the table, then leaned back on the sofa and sighed. ‘Can’t bury me when it’s not there,’ he whispered. ‘And I’ll hold you off till then. I will.’ He took a deep breath, wiped his mouth, then closed his eyes. It was just a matter of holding out, of waiting and staying alive until then.
That’s all.

IV

I killed the engine and walked the lawn mower down the driveway and into the garage. The chores were done.

The machine in the driveway seemed to be decomposing all on its own: every time I looked it was smaller, as if, now that its soul had been exposed, it was crumbling under the sun. Father had removed most of the larger parts and had carried them into the garage, where each part was placed in its own bucket of gasoline, like organs in jars. A pool of black oil had spread out from the machine – a tar pit collecting plant stuff, insects – I grinned at the thought – woolly rhinoceroses, mastodons …

The pool’s placid surface showed nothing – it might be miles deep – there was just no way to tell. Somewhere under that surface might hide the history of mankind, of the whole world. And, somewhere down in the thick, congealing blackness, there might lie giants, suspended for all time.

But when I picked up a stone and dropped it into the pool it was, of course, less than half an inch deep. And the machine was not the body of some god, exposed and bleeding out Creation like an afterthought. It had no soul, only parts, and none of those parts worked. And it was not as massive and imposing as it had once been. Still, since I as yet had no idea of what its function might be, there was an air of mystery around it; a secret with all the clues laid out, yet still a secret.

I left the garage and walked to the front porch. The door opened and Father stepped out, dressed as usual in his blue coveralls. Placing his hands on his hips, he glared at the machine, then sighed.

‘Think you’ll get it to work?’ I asked.

He didn’t seem to hear me.

I studied him. He was a tall man, thin but with wide shoulders and thick arms. In my mind I compared him with the giant, then frowned. No, he wasn’t big enough for the giant – I could find no echoes between them.

‘Got something to say, buster?’

I blinked, realised that he had noticed me studying him. I felt my face flush, shook my head.

His stern expression softened, and he winked. ‘Mom says lunch is ready. Don’t forget to wash your hands.’

‘Great,’ I said as I ran up the steps and past him. ‘I’m starving!’

Everyone else had already assembled at the dining-room table. The twins were silent, and the only greeting I received from Debbie was a brief glower. Mother came in from the kitchen with a tray of salmon salad sandwiches.

‘Again?’ I complained.

‘It was tuna last time, idiot,’ Debbie snapped.

‘Tuna, salmon, there’s no difference but food colouring,’ I pronounced, grabbing one from the tray once it was on the table.

‘What a jerk,’ Debbie said, shaking her head.

I eyed her. ‘Shouldn’t you be studying or something? Hell, you’re fat enough—’

‘Owen!’ Mother admonished. ‘Don’t ever say that word again, and don’t call your sister fat. She isn’t. Now, apologise to her this instant.’

‘Okay,’ I replied around a mouthful of sandwich, ‘I’m sorry you’re not fat. Still, I heard you were doing lousy in class, so I was just trying to be helpful.’

Mother remained standing over me. ‘Where did you hear that?’ she demanded.

‘The walls have ears,’ I answered nonchalantly. Then, grinning at Debbie, I said, ‘I heard you were gonna flunk.’

‘I am not!’ Debbie retorted, her face reddening. For a second I thought that she was going to throw her sandwich at me, but then Mother spoke.

‘Stop it, Owen, or you’ll spend the rest of the day in your room. And you won’t be sitting down, either.’

You won’t be sitting down, either – that was code for a spanking. I quickly subsided, studying the bites I had taken out of my sandwich and trimming the edges with nibbles here and there until Mother returned to the kitchen. Once she was gone I looked up, waited until I caught Debbie’s eye, then gave her a silent sneer.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘God, you’re mean, Owen,’ she said quietly.

My sneer vanished. Memories of baiting Carl came back to me.
Am I? Am I mean?
The thought shocked me, then I smiled inwardly.
Yeah, mean. A mean bastard, that’s me. People will go around and say: yeah, that guy’s mean, all right. One mean bastard.

It’s easy to be mean, I told myself, when you’ve got secrets, when you know things nobody else knows, when you’ve seen a dead giant. I met Debbie’s gaze. ‘Mean? I’m not mean.’ I paused, smiled. ‘Just honest.’

Debbie paled. In a low, threatening voice, she said, ‘I’m not going to flunk. My grades won’t be so good. That’s true. But I’m not stupid. And I won’t fail. Now, that’s honesty, Owen. Sound strange to you?’

I considered her answer carefully, then replied, ‘Coming from you it does.’ Reaching out, I gathered in another sandwich, took a bite.

‘What’s happened to you, Owen?’ Debbie asked quietly, a frown on her face. ‘We used to be such good friends…’

‘It’s not me,’ I retorted. ‘It’s you! All those stupid phone calls, and that idiot David – it’s always David did this and David did that – I’m sick of it!’

With a shocked expression, Debbie sat back in her chair, stared at me while I struggled to regain my breath. My outburst had taken me by surprise as much as it had her. The silence between us lengthened. The twins had not yet spoken a single word, and they now sat with open mouths, their heads turning from one of us to the other. From the kitchen came the clank of dishes in the sink, and I knew that Mother hadn’t heard.