We All Ran into the Sunlight (25 page)

Daniel knew, when he left an hour or two later, that Kate was sound asleep on the bed and she would not have heard the door shutting behind him. He was hungry now and he needed food; he needed a clean change of clothes and somewhere quiet to be by himself for a while.

It was hot in the square. Daniel stood and stared down into the water and tried to focus on that for a while
instead
of the pain at the back of his head and the dry, tight feeling in his eyes

He took a deep breath and held his head up as he crossed the square to the Mayor’s office. Surely it wasn’t going to be difficult to get the key to his own house? He opened the front door. The hall smelt of old wood and cleaning fluid. The floor had been mopped. Daniel sat down
beneath
a ceiling fan that wasn’t working and he waited his turn to be seen. His eyes scanned the curling selection of brochures on the local area. Resident, or tourist, he knew that he had just as much right to be here as anyone else. The myth of him prejudiced their judgment and that filled him with dread. He knew that the people who lived in these villages were warm-looking, and appeared vibrant, but that – like old-fashioned teddy bears – their stuffing was a tight, close-knit weave of tradition, convention and a skewed, unexamined morality. Daniel Borja was a
complicated
tale of unstable mental health – uncertain origins and subversive behaviour. His dark face and mysterious disappearance were exotic enough to have him pop into all their minds when they needed a scapegoat. The fact that he may or may not have been gay, and may or not have murdered his best friend, who was also his half-brother, didn’t even come into it. He was Daniel Borja. And the folk of these villages didn’t let go of myth any sooner than they let go of the parking space they’d been
allocated
or the food they’d been eating for the past hundred years. Holding onto what they knew was a way of life. In order to survive, the scapegoat had no choice but to cut himself out of the weave, and run.

The door opened and a woman came out with
red-rimmed
eyes. Daniel stood up and held the door open for her before going in himself to stand at the secretary’s desk.

‘I am Daniel Borja,’ he said to the secretary, who paused over what she was writing and nodded her head a little before carrying on. She whispered his name to herself as she wrote.

‘I’m here to get the key,’ he went on.

And still the woman ignored him, and turned her piece of paper over, scanning what boxes on the other side
needed
to be filled. She flipped open a stamp box and pressed the stamp into its pad of black ink. It made a sticky noise as it pressed down on the paper. She looked up briefly at Daniel as she lifted the stamped form and then averted her eyes again to blow on the ink.

She called through to the Mayor, who had been
standing
inside the door to his office photocopying something.

‘The key for the chateau,’ she said. ‘It’s him.’

Daniel went in and sat down opposite the Mayor, who was wearing a thin grey cheesecloth shirt. He was given a form to fill in. He wrote carefully, and the Mayor watched him, sitting behind his desk with one finger pressed to his nose.

‘We were sorry to hear that Madame Borja died,’ said the Mayor. Then he coughed to clear his throat and tilted his head to one side as if preparing himself for something that would require a little extra effort or sympathy.

‘I was born here,’ Daniel said, handing the form over the desk. ‘While I’m here it would be good to collect my birth certificate.’

The Mayor nodded. He wrote with his left hand curled backwards around the pen.

‘I remember when you were born.’

Daniel stiffened.

‘Your father came into the office after you were born to make a declaration of birth. I remember we were all so pleased for your parents. They had wanted a child for so long. You were a miracle, we all said. And particularly with your mother being so much older by then. I
remember
that they struggled to choose the name. Madame
Borja
had a list of many many names, she said.’ The Mayor paused, and smiled. ‘And we were waiting for Monsieur Borja to return the birth certificate so that your name could be entered onto it.’

‘And did he?’

‘Yes, he did. We have it here. Of course. They went for Daniel.’

‘Yes.’

‘Which is an odd choice really. Such a Jewish name. Hebrew. I think, if I’m right,’ he added, pausing to look carefully into Daniel’s eyes.

‘Yes,’ said Daniel and the two men looked at each other to see who would take the conversation on.

‘You must find the area quite different?’

‘Not at all. It’s exactly the same.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Nothing’s changed.’

‘And yet, politically,’ said the Mayor, leaning back in his chair and teasing a button on his shirt between
forefinger
and thumb, ‘it could not be more different.’

‘The far right’s a big fucking problem everywhere. Not just here.’

The Mayor shrugged. ‘People are worried.
Understandably
so. About unemployment.’

‘The world is changing,’

‘And so,’ said the Mayor, ‘is France. But many people don’t like it.’

Daniel shrugged. ‘It’s life. Many people don’t like many things. There’s not a lot we can do to change things. Either we get used to it, and adapt. Or…’

‘Or…?’

‘Or we don’t.’

‘And then?’

‘Well, then, we die.’

And the Mayor laughed then – they both laughed – hard and fast and into each other’s faces, as if they were trying to simultaneously catch and repel the air from each other’s mouths.

After a while they backed off and they sat in the quiet, hearing the noise of the fan. It seemed that the Mayor was waiting for Daniel to speak, to reveal something about himself. After a while, he shrugged and got out of his chair. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘And the question now, of course, Monsieur Borja, is what you intend to do with the chateau.’

‘I’m going to sell it. And get out of here.’

‘To the English woman?’ asked the Mayor, turning from his filing cabinet with a twinkle in his eye.

‘If she’ll buy it.’

‘Will she?’

Daniel shrugged and stood up. ‘Who knows?’ he said, impatiently and he could feel the tension around his chin and around his mouth. ‘Who knows?’

‘And then you will leave the village, already, after such a short time?’

The Mayor was speaking quietly. From his filing
cabinet
he took out a white envelope with some keys inside. ‘There are two sets here. One of which I can give to you but first I will have to double-check with the agent,’ he said, pulling out a sheet of paper from the envelope on which, Daniel presumed, the estate agent’s number was written.

‘No,’ said Daniel, firmly, and the Mayor flinched. ‘I don’t think you need to double-check with anyone. The house is mine and the key to the house is mine.’

The Mayor shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. But there are rules that…’

Daniel had begun to shake a little. He reached across the table and took the envelope from the Mayor’s hand. The way in which he did it was forceful. He took a key from the envelope and then dropped the envelope onto the desk.

The Mayor smiled then and his whole being seemed to give up the smile, which Daniel understood to be a sign of relief, on his part, that the conversation was coming to an end, and the door would soon be closed. Somewhere, between the snatch and the smile, the myth that was
Daniel
had done its work on the Mayor, and this time, had worked in his favour.

The Mayor wiped the sweat from under his chin with the back of his hand.

‘Good luck,’ he whispered, and Daniel thanked him and turned to go. ‘But wait,’ said the Mayor smiling. ‘
Before
you go, please tell me one thing. Who are you voting for?’

Daniel paused and smiled. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘People like me don’t hold on to anything or anyone. It’s not that there isn’t any point. It’s just that there isn’t anything strong enough to believe in.’

‘Strong?’

‘Hard enough.’

‘Hard?’

‘Solid. Real. Tangible.’

‘In politics?’

‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘Everything’s in flux and nobody speaks the truth – nothing lasts.’

‘Which is so easy to say,’ said the Mayor, with a slight lisp.

But Daniel had turned and walked out of the office then. He said goodbye to the woman who was blushing slightly behind the desk. In fact, it had been hard, he realised as he stepped out into the heat on the square, to get his key, despite the fact that the Mayor had been neither friendly nor surprised to see him, nor rude. Daniel the person was nothing to them at all. But Daniel the myth was already there, sitting down and waiting, in every room.

Across the square he stopped at the bar for a cold beer, and he told Cederic’s friend behind the bar that it wouldn’t be long before he could settle his tab. It was just a
question
of finding a way to get to a cash machine, and then he would be able to do it. The girl was picking her hand. She said he could go to the village shop.

‘You can use your card there and get some money back.’

Daniel said that was good to know, and he drank the beer back, thanked her for this information and walked quickly in the direction of the shop.

He got there just before it closed for the afternoon and he bought himself some bread and cheese, and a big bright tomato as well as two cans of beer. The woman in the shop came from the north. She had no idea at all who he was. She took his card and she nodded her head and said that, yes, of course, he could have some cash back. There were flies in the shop. She scratched a bite under her arm and looked out of the window while waiting for the payment to go through. Then she pulled the card receipt out and shook her head, saying ‘
Non
,’ because his card had been declined.

Daniel put the food back and returned the cans of beer to the fridge without saying a word.

‘You got no other card?’ she asked loudly.

Daniel said thank you, but no.

‘No cash?’

But Daniel had already left the shop by then and was striding angrily back across the square.

He didn’t knock at Sylvie’s house, but simply turned the door handle with the intention of leaning his head in to call for her.

It was murky in the front room with the curtains drawn against the sun and the air in there was bad with the smell of old shoes and old dog and old stale cigarette smoke. Daniel went in and found Sylvie lying down on the sofa watching TV. Her hair was wet, again, tucked up under her head, and her white towel was thin and old.

Daniel sat down on the floor beside the sofa and bent his forehead to the side of her waist and nudged it so that she had no choice but to place her hand on his head and play with a curl of his hair while she carried on watching TV.

‘What happened?’ he asked, quietly, and he felt the
energy
draining out of him and into the floor.

Sylvie carried on playing with Daniel’s hair. He felt his body relax, limb by limb. Then she began to run her
fingers
up and down the back of his neck. Daniel leant back on the sofa and she kissed his head. They went up into Sylvie’s bedroom. She lay back on the bed and took away the towel. She was soft, and white, and innocent. It was slow and gentle. Daniel buried his nose in Sylvie’s hair. It was the deepest human comfort he had ever known. 

Kate wasn’t at her house when Daniel returned at dusk. He walked very slowly towards the chateau to find her
sitting
, once again, on the steps. For a long time he stood in the gateway watching her.

He took in a breath of air and looked around him slowly. The world was bright and suddenly full of colour. Daniel’s heart was still.

Kate stood up quickly and backed up against the wall. She was still wearing a white shirt, but she had put shorts on. Her hair was dried so that it shone, immaculate, around the tanned nut of her little face.

Daniel put a hand up to wave. In the village, the dogs were barking.

‘Well, you’re too late,’ she shouted. She waved him backwards. ‘I don’t know what on earth got into you.’

He walked towards her with his arms outstretched. His heart had begun to thump now but outwardly he was calm and contained. The stakes of his life had been altered this afternoon; the balance tipped in his brain, and now the ground on which he walked had loosened its hold on him. The walls to which he now looked were faded somehow, lesser in height, and stature and impact.

‘Come on what?’

‘It’s me!’ he said quietly, and he laughed, feeling the foolishness in what he had said. She didn’t know him at all. He looked at the elegant bones in her face, her teeth.

‘So, what do we do?’

‘We do nothing. My husband is coming here. He called me. He’s coming for the weekend. He’ll be here on Saturday. That’s two days away. He wants to see me. To talk.’

‘Ok.’

‘Ok, what? What it’s got to do with you?’

Daniel looked up to the windows on the second floor of the chateau. ‘It’s my house. Does he know that you want to buy this house?’

‘I don’t want to buy it. I told you. I’ve changed my mind.’

‘But the note you left. You said something had changed.’

‘It had. But then we forgot all about it, didn’t we? And so now I’ve changed my mind again. I’d be a bloody fool. I’m sad because my mum died. I’m sad because my marriage didn’t work out. Buying a place like this won’t change that. I won’t feel better.’

Daniel sighed and turned. He could barely hear what she was saying, let alone find the energy to listen. It had been a strange, sad day.

‘What do we do then?’ she called from the top of the steps.

‘With all this longing?’ Daniel whispered to himself and he kicked the dead white grass at his feet. The cicada hissed.

Daniel carried on kicking the grass and, because it was painful to be here, because the sadness was all around and through and underneath him suddenly, and there was this bright lovely woman on the steps, and his friend Sylvie was sitting at home curled on her bed in a towel. He walked away and lay himself down beneath the trees and turned his body over so that his face lay pressed against the ground. He heard Kate wandering off and he gave himself up then. Sleep came and overtook him and life carried on without him for a while.

When Daniel woke up, Kate had gone. The courtyard was quiet. The village was quiet. The air was warm, and he felt neither hungry nor thirsty nor anything at all. He lay there and soon he drifted off back to sleep. Just before midnight, he woke again and heard the creak of the gate being opened. There was enough moon to see the spray of her long wild hair and the skirt with bells that tinkled around her ankles as she walked.

Sylvie walked to the middle of the courtyard and she stood for a long time with her hands very straight at her sides. Daniel folded his hands on his chest, lying there like a dead man, praying that she wouldn’t see him. What had happened between them this afternoon had happened and there was no going back from that. But the last thing he could bear to do now was talk to her. It was time for him to take his leave, to do the right thing, and go. But his heart, as he lay beneath the trees, was knocking against his ribcage with a new kind of fear that was deep and
profound
, and about that, and the future, there was nothing at all that he could do.

Sylvie stood in the courtyard for almost half an hour. It was as if she was sniffing the air, knowing he was there, waiting for him to make the first move. After a while, she took something small and wooden, like a large pencil, out of her pocket. She looked about a bit. He saw the scars and the awful swelling and the ghostly whiteness of her face. She smoked a joint, for old time’s sake. And then she left.

Daniel didn’t go back to sleep. For several hours, he lay there with his head spinning in a thousand directions
before
getting up, rubbing his hands over his face and
running
across the courtyard, clearing the low wall in a single leap. The morning sky was red.

There up ahead was his father’s vineyard and the red rose bush planted to protect the vineyard from disease. There was a rose bush in every vineyard because if
something
got into the soil it would kill the rose before it killed the vine and then the disease would be known about and something could be done. When they were children, they had talked about this. And they had gone for a walk to see the rose that died to protect Arnaud’s vineyard and there beneath the rose bush was where they had found the small white bones.

What happened then was a game they made up, called ‘guessing where the bones came from’.

In Daniel’s mind, there was a child here before him and this child, born to Arnaud and Lucie when they were young, had died, and that’s why Lucie was sad and lay down all the time. ‘It’s haunted,’ he’d told his friends. ‘Those bones are the child’s bones. They buried it here when it died.’

‘Little pile of bones,’ he used to sing, skipping up and down.

‘The chateau is haunted,’ he’d insisted, at seven, eight years old. It was his favourite word. ‘There was a child here. It’s still here. It talks to me. There’s a child in there. Just like me. The same age as me. They brought it here with them. From Paris. She has blotted it out of her mind. But there are clues. Everywhere. A room with a crib in it. Clues. I know. And they came out here, in the middle of the night, buried it by the rose. It died one night in a storm and no one knew. I’ve seen the actual bones!’

And years later, at the party, on the night that Frederic died, the bones had come up again. No one knew what Daniel and Frederic were doing out in the garden room, a little drunk by then, a little stoned. They were arguing over the bones. Arguing over whose story it was in the first place. Years had passed. Suddenly it seemed
imperative
to remember things. Frederic was leaving. They were raking over the old times. A way of pretending the body wasn’t feeling the tingling. A way of doing away for a
moment
with the desire. Imperative that they remembered everything. Now. Before they parted. Clutching hold of each other. The others were out in the courtyard, eating, everyone quietly pressing food into their mouths; it was hot that night, so deadly hot and no one knew. Who could know? What could they do? And the little bones, whose story was it? Their lives had been so entwined.

Then yesterday, lying on her bed, Sylvie had said she’d gone to find the bones one day. She’d taken them back to the house and got them analysed. ‘They’re goat bones,’ she said.

Now Daniel flattened his body, pulled himself forward, and felt around on the ground. The small wooden cross that Frederic made was still there, it had fallen on its side. He felt it, ran his finger on the old, soft wood. The tears sprang forward and he pulled himself back, horrified; he stood, used the front of his shirt to wipe the tears away. The mound of earth was still there. The bones would be there beneath it. If there were no bones then there was no reason for the sadness that lived in his childhood home. If there were no bones there was no haunting – Lucie, Arnaud, him. If there was no reason for anything… He messed the earth around with his hands and cut his
fingers
and grabbed handfuls of dry, dusty soil, but his hands would not clasp the bones.

Up on the heath, he cut under low-hanging foliage, pulling back branches of eucalyptus and fern. There were dead leaves, white stones underfoot. The ground was hard and dry. Daniel was hungry and dehydrated but his head was clear. In the trees around the heath, he fell and scraped his leg on a tree. The leaves were black and spun around his head. He laughed because this was all there was, it seemed, left to do. He had done it to Sylvie because that was what she wanted. Not just that afternoon because she was standing in her old bedroom in a small white towel, but because it was what she had always wanted. There was nothing else. Just her on her single bed, sitting herself gingerly down. All she needed was for him to put it in and hold it there. Over and over. That was all she wanted. Then she pulled away, leaving him sore, holding himself. In her little bedroom, which was the same bedroom she had as a child, she had lit a cigarette and asked him to leave. Now he lay on the ground and the leaves spun in dazzling colours and a hawk circled far above the trees and he laughed as if she had knocked the wind and the sense from him.

For lying down with Sylvie was the music of his life. He had felt the smooth white softness of skin around her hips. He had held onto her small dancer’s body and cried. They had rocked each other, backwards and forwards, and nothing would have stopped them for all the dark and light in the world.