Perigord

by Marc Lindsay

  “I’ll have to check out the romance section,” Helen beamed. The last thing Jason wanted to do was talk about romance with his mother.

  “How far away is dinner?” he asked.

  “About half an hour,” Helen replied.

  “Good, I’ll go and clean up,” Jason said as he departed, leaving his mother to continue with dinner.

  Jason pushed the empty plate away with a fulfilled sigh.

  “I’m completely stuffed.”

  “Me too, that fish was divine,” Helen replied “Apparently it’s caught locally. Fiona stopped by after you left, she had some forms she wanted to leave with me.” Jason sat up in his chair.

  “Is it official?” he queried. Helen watched her son, apprehension evident on her face.

  “I know I have been tight lipped about the move and the reasons behind it all, but I have had mixed feelings inheriting this estate from my uncle and the events behind his death. It’s been hard.” Helen took a sip of wine.

  “You won’t hear me complain” Jason replied.

  Helen was quick to change the subject. “As I was saying earlier, when Fiona stopped by we had a coffee and she filled me in on what Perigord has to offer, for example, did you know that almost all fresh food is produced locally.”

  “No, I did not know that,” Jason said feigning a shocked look of surprise.

  “And that honey, dairy, and other produce have won awards in both district and state fairs,” she added.

  “You don’t say!” Jason said mockingly.

  “And that Perigord is a multiple winner of the tidiest town, and has record numbers of school literacy programs,” Helen continued.

  “She does realise that it’s a done deal and that we’re staying here,” Jason said with a smirk “I think it’s admiral that she has so much passion for this town,” Helen replied.

  “Yeah you definitely can’t fault the woman there. So it’s official then, we’re Perigordians,” Jason stated. “That’s right sweetheart, this calls for a toast,” Helen raced over to the fridge and retrieved a large bottle, undoing the cork as she walked back to the table.

  “Alright the good stuff!”

  “You wish, this is sparkling apple juice, it was part of the welcome basket that Fiona left,” Helen said, pouring two glasses.

  “Here’s to Perigord, I hope we can give something back to the community that has welcomed us in,” Helen toasted.

  “Here, here,” Jason replied.

  Chapter 6

  Jason sat on his bed reading one of the library books by lamplight. He was absorbed in a chapter detailing how Heinrich Perigord had moved to the valley to avoid the religious persecution he had found in the big cities. His congregation was made up mostly of young women, many of whom were his wives.

  “Lucky bastard,” he whispered. Once Perigord had established his presence in the valley he dedicated his life to three things. First, the building of his church which later became the Perigord library; second mining; and third, the planting of the black Sequoia trees that were now found in the valley a tree purported to possess magical healing properties. Heinrich and his congregation were said to have used the sap from the tree in their religious ceremonies, but it was unclear exactly how or why.

  The last thing in the book Jason saw was a picture detailing the church’s holy symbol. A naked man and woman intertwined and forming the trunk of a tree, the branches reaching out and down and re-joining into the root system-much like the Celtic tree of life. Everything about the image was black apart from the leaves, which were silver. The couple bore an expression of agony, as if they were being absorbed into the tree. The symbolism was both beautiful and grotesque.

  Jason noticed the next book was on the secrets of the SS and its inner circle. He frowned there must of been some mix up, as he didn’t remember that particular book being included on his loan-out. Confused, he put the book back and turned the light off. He lay awake for a short while thinking about Heinrich and wondering what drove him and his obsession with the church and trees.

  The following morning he regaled the story of Perigord to his mother, who was impressed with his interest and research, but less so with the bizarre story of the man himself.

  “What a kook,” Helen said. “Yeah I agree, but even so, it’s impressive in what he accomplished,” Jason said.

  “They say it’s a fine line between genius and insanity,” Helen commented.

  “Especially when we’re talking about having all those wives,” Jason said, smirking.

  “Charming,” Helen said, shaking her head.

  “What’s on our agenda for the day?” Jason asked changing the subject.

  “Well I’m going to need to spend some time at the surgery over the weekend getting it ready for Monday’s opening, I was kind of hoping that you could do a little unpacking for us here,” Helen said hopefully.

  “Of course, in fact leave the cooking to me tonight too,” Jason said.

  “You’re the best. I don’t expect you to finish it, I realise you have school as well on Monday, so take it easy,” Helen said.

  “No probs,” Jason said, “I’m actually looking forward to going through the house and checking out its nooks and crannies”.

  Starting in Plato’s study, the first thing he noticed was a small brass plaque, eight centimetres squared, inserted into the frame of the doorway. Engraved on the plaque was an image of a wolf’s head in profile, intertwined by the limbs of a thorn bush. He ran his fingers over the image, feeling the delicate indentations of the picture. He decided it was either the signature of the craftsman’s work or just another interesting talking piece from the original owner. Either way he realised that he had better start working.

  He entered the study. The large room was completely round, eight meters in diameter and apart from the archway, the walls were lined with built-in bookshelves constructed of dark walnut timber reaching from the floor to the ceiling-over twelve foot in height. Gaining access to the shelves via a timber ladder with fixed brass wheels attached to either end and mounted to a rail, system allowing it to roll along the front of the shelves.

  Jason stood atop the ladder with a handful of books, carefully placing them onto the shelves. Despite the vast amount of books his mother owned and the books from his late uncle there was still plenty of space available. After a couple of hours of climbing the ladder he decided to take a break. Plato had amassed an impressive array of books, everything from carpentry to origami. What really grabbed his attention was an area that contained a collection of books dedicated to the strange and the supernatural. All were leather-bound and extremely old. One of the books in particular stood out. It was larger than the others, black, soft leather with runes and symbols printed on the spine and cover.

  Removing the book from the shelf, Jason read the front cover, ‘Transmorphagation’.

  “Is that even a word?” he whispered. He carefully opened the old book, turning the pages gently. There were sketches of strange looking creatures and symbols. The pages were all beautifully hand written, but the text was in another language. After scanning one of the passages, Jason recognised a word, ‘Achtung’. He remembered the word from the old commando comics he used to read. It was German for ‘attention’.

  Flipping back to the front page of the book, there appeared to be an inscription made out to someone, followed by a simple squiggle-the number 8, but drawn on its side. Jason closed the book and walked over to the table in the centre of the room. As he put the book down something shiny fell out. As he bent over to retrieve it, he discovered it was an iron cross, two inches long and an inch and a half wide. The ends of the cross were bulbous, like that of a bolt. At the top of the cross, a wolf’s head facing out and biting down on a leather lanyard. Jason turned the cross over. There were small runes etched into the metal, much like the ones in the book. He now thought the cross looked more like a war hammer the Vikings used to use. Jason smiled as he placed the leather thong over his neck, ‘not bad’ he
admired, tucking the cross under his collar as he continued with the unpacking.

  Helen returned home late in the afternoon to find Jason preparing dinner.

  “Thank you sweetheart,” she said, falling into the seat opposite.

  “How did it go today?” Jason enquired.

  “Really good, the previous fellow had good bookkeeping skills, and I was able to familiarize myself with his system easily enough.” “That’s great, did you want a glass of wine?” Helen nodded thankfully. He plucked a glass from the overhead cabinet and opened a bottle of red from under the counter, he placed the half full glass in front of his mum.

  “Thank you”, Helen said, taking a sip, followed by a sigh. “So how was your day?” she asked.

  “Fairly uneventful I finished unpacking the family room and study. Uncle Plato had quite a collection of books.”

  “I remember when I was a little girl staying here on holidays, he would spend hours reading in the study. His tastes were eclectic and unusual. In fact I remember there were certain shelves that were off limits to me, so mysterious,” she recalled fondly.

  “Yeah I had a good look at some of them, in particular his books on the supernatural. I found this in one of them,” Jason said as he pulled the iron cross out from his collar and displayed it to his mother.

  Helen examined the cross closely.

  “That’s a hell of a bookmark,” she exclaimed. She then gave Jason an appraising eye, “It suits you, makes you look cool. Do kids still say that?” she asked honestly. Jason smirked and shook his head.

  “Thank you, and yes we still use the word cool,” he said in an exasperated voice, then gave her a condescending thumbs up, Helen smiled back, oblivious to his sarcasm.

  Chapter 7

  The institution that was Perigord High School at first glance appeared more like an ancient monastery than a modern learning facility. The main building was built from stone with high, narrow windows that looked like the eyes of a disapproving aunt peering down at something distasteful. Perched on the top corners of the roof were stone gargoyles, each one lionesque in appearance, both noble and powerful. Surrounding the building were ornate topiary trees and hedges sculpted with obsessive perfection, and leading inside were large stone steps toward the entrance.

  Walking the path leading into the school’s grounds, his back pack slung over one shoulder, Jason kept his head down as he passed groups of students. Kids mingling within their assorted cliques, laughing, talking and generally do nothing in particular. Some stopped and watched him pass. A few whispered and pointed in his direction. Ignoring the stares he made his way up and through the double doors.

  The interior was a mass of activity as both teachers and students moved about, either coming or going to classes. For a brief moment he was caught up in the swell of movement, not knowing what to do first. Two girls pushed past him as they made their way to class. This seemed to snap Jason from his reverie and looking around, he saw a sign, ‘Administration Office’. Jason followed the arrows in its direction. Making his way along the corridor, he stopped as he passed the school’s trophy display case. A black and yellow striped tape was draped across reading, ‘Do not cross line’, preventing anyone from getting too close. The cabinet had been smashed up, bits of glass and timber littered the ground and the trophies and plaques within were busted as well. The timber stand located at its centre was empty. Jason could only guess what it was supposed to hold.

  After giving his details to the office staff, he was instructed to sit and wait for an interview with the Vice Principal. Jason sat outside the office fiddling impatiently with the cord on his hoodie. After a while a female voice from within the office ordered him in. Inside the office was decorated in simple decor, framed degrees and letters of thanks adorning the walls. Behind the desk, a small potted plant sat in the far corner of the room and a placard on the desk read, ‘Ms Stonewall’.

  The Vice Principal was a pleasant surprise. 5”9 and weighing 110 pounds of lean muscle, she was a stunning vision of perfection. Honey blonde hair flowed down her slender neck, cascading over her shoulders. Ms Stonewall’s eyes were a clear blue that possessed a hint of silver in the right light. Her lips glistened, full and alluring. Jason found himself staring, entranced by her beauty. He flushed red with embarrassment. She appeared not to notice Jason’s reaction as she flicked through a large manila folder bearing his name.

  “Mr Page, please take a seat” she said curtly. Jason moved quickly across the room and took a seat opposite her desk. “It says here you’re a B average student who excelled in history and was on your school’s boxing team,” Ms Stonewall read.

  “Yes Ma’am,” Jason replied.

  “It also says you have been suspended thirteen times, all for fighting,” she continued. Jason remained calm.

  “Not a very lucky number for me,” he said, trying his best to be charming, then upon seeing her no nonsense icy stare, added lamely, “that’s a lot, isn’t it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to be an option for you here, despite your extracurricular activities at your previous school. We have a zero tolerance towards physical confrontations and bullying, do you understand?” Ms Stonewall asked.

  “Yes ma’am, I have no plans of causing any trouble here,” he replied giving her his most angelic smile, Ms Stonewall smiled back.

  “I’m glad to hear that Mr Page. You’ll find we pride ourselves on our academic achievements as well as our sporting accomplishments at Perigord High. I’m afraid that our boxing team hasn’t fared well in the past few years but maybe with your experience and help we can rectify that problem.” Ms Stonewall’s smile was like that of a predator who knew when it had its prey cornered. Jason swallowed thickly.

  “I’m always ready for a challenge,” he said, although he didn’t feel like it at that moment.

  “Good, if there’s nothing you wish to ask me, I’ll let you be on your way. See Gretchen at the front office and she’ll give you your timetable and a note explaining your tardiness for your first class. Thank you, Mr Page,” Jason stood up just as the phone rang, Ms Stonewall answered. He was about to reply but Ms Stonewall dismissed him with a wave of her hand. He walked out looking back at the beautiful Ms Stonewall and thought what a cold bitch she was. He carefully closed the door behind him.

  After getting his timetable and note from the front office he spent the next fifteen minutes attempting to navigate his way to his first class. English with Mr Rosenberg. A highly animated individual who greeted Jason warmly on arrival. Standing around 5”6 and weighing a portly 220 lb, he had receding, frizzing hair which an old friend of Jason’s would have described as a Jewfro. He wore black rimmed glasses and an even blacker goatee beard. Jason was invited to introduce himself to the class, which he reluctantly agreed to, with a forced smile. After giving a brief history about himself and his mother. He made his way to an empty seat. Just before he sat down he noticed a girl seated at the back of the classroom, watching him closely. The girl seemed larger than life, dressed in dark clothing, most notably a large oversized army trench coat. Sitting-cross legged, Jason could see the toe of a black combat boot sticking up. She wore her long, jet black hair braided and her pale complexion made her dark eyeliner even more prominent. Large grey eyes regarded him frankly, making Jason almost feel naked. The moment was brief, but intense. He sat down and faced the front.

  The class had been discussing the book, ‘The Outsiders’ by S.E Hinton. Mr Rosenberg made a lame joke that Jason might have some input, as he was currently an outsider as well. This was greeted with a large audible groan from the class, however this kind of endeared him to Jason, and having already read the book he felt comfortable with the subject matter. Without rising, Jason addressed Mr Rosenberg.

  “The Outsiders is the story about an adolescent boy, Pony boy Curtis, and the way he deals with right and wrong in a world that he thinks makes him an outsider. He deals with this by writing an essay about the events of his past two weeks,”
Jason said.

  “Very good, I’m glad someone here has read the novel. Would anyone else care to add anything to Mr Page’s synopsis?” Mr Rosenberg asked. The class was silent and Jason could feel all eyes in the room upon him. Luckily the school bell rang, ending the uncomfortable silence. As kids scrambled to depart, Mr Rosenberg struggled to be heard over the chaos.

  “Remember you only have one week left to write your report on this book. Have it on my desk by next Monday, end of play, no excuses!” The class appeared to ignore his diatribe as they exited.

  Jason packed his bag and readied to leave when a figure shouldered past him making him drop his books. He looked up to see the girl in the trench coat. She turned and regarded him, her eyes boring into his. Jason was wrong earlier. Her eyes weren’t grey, but a sparkling silver. A smile appeared on her face.

  “Sorry about that, didn’t see you there,” she said arrogantly, and before Jason could respond, she strode away. He was left standing there, his books at his feet, the image of her dazzling eyes imprinted on his brain.

  Mr Rosenberg snapped him from his trance.

  “I’m very pleased to have you in my class young man,” he said enthusiastically, shaking Jason’s hand. “I don’t expect you do the essay, due to your obvious knowledge of the subject and the fact that you have only just arrived, but next week we’ll be studying ‘Great Expectations’, have you read it?” Jason shook his head in reply. “Excellent, I hope you have a good first day,” Mr Rosenberg said with a smile before turning back to his desk. Jason threw his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door thinking, ‘I hope so too’.

  Jason’s day only got worse from that moment on. Following English he had algebra with Mr Flannigan, a tall skinny man in his early forties wearing a pinched face and a hawk like nose. He seemed to derive enjoyment from the suffering of his students. Jason could literally hear the minute hand on the classroom’s clock tick slowly by. After algebra was a double period of biology. Jason wasn’t sure if it was the dissecting of the frog or something he had eaten, but he had started to feel queasy and warm, sweat beads stood out on his forehead as he struggled to focus on the scalpel and the amphibian. He had to take deep breaths as his heart raced. His senses seemed somehow amplified. The smell of the preserving agent and the other chemicals was intense even the stainless steel benches gave off a strong aroma. His vision seemed sharper as every detail of the frog appeared so vivid and clear. It was overwhelming. He was about to make the first incision on the frog when a nauseous lump formed in his stomach. He lurched, excusing himself to go to the bathroom, praying he wouldn’t vomit in front of everyone.