Nine Letters Long

by J. C. Burke

  ‘I can’t hang around here, Evie. It’s too dangerous.’ Paris grabs Evie’s elbow, bringing her back to the here and now. ‘We’ve got to go. They’ll be back soon. Come on.’

  Paris walks fast. Her legs as thin as sticks stride down the street, way in front of Evie and Seb. Evie can barely make her legs work. Seb grabs her hand to stop her from lagging.

  ‘Evie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about Alex.’

  Evie shakes her head. ‘I can’t … believe it. And yet, it was happening. Of course, it was happening. There was … deception – everywhere. I smelt it. I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Are you going to tell her?’

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  Her mind is spinning. Her world and now the other world – the world whose simplicity she envies – feel like they’ve just collided. What’s real; what’s not? What matters; what doesn’t? Nothing is making sense. How could she have missed the very thing that was under her nose.

  Paris’s walk speeds up to a jog. ‘I think that’s his car down there. Quick!’

  ‘There’s no car,’ Seb says. But they quicken their pace and follow her into a petrol station’s convenience store.

  ‘What are we doing, Paris?’ Seb asks.

  ‘Hiding.’

  ‘But there’s no –’

  Then, just like that, Paris begins to laugh. It starts out as a slow chuckle then ascends into a high-pitched giggle. ‘Your top,’ she squeals. ‘I just noticed it!’

  Seb and Evie frown at one another. ‘My top?’ Evie says, covering the sparkling word with her hands.

  ‘Yeah. Angel.’ As she points, her bony arm shakes with her laughter. ‘Angel.’

  ‘Yeah – angel.’

  ‘Do you know what the Romanian word for angel is?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘Inger.’ The hysterical laughter stops, followed by a second of silence. ‘That’s why we have to call him Ingy.’ Paris’s mouth starts to quiver and twitch. She whispers, ‘He’s our angel. He saved our family. Took care of us after our father died. We must be forever grateful to him.’

  Then, covering her face with her hands, her body crumples into itself, her arched back shaking with the pain. Evie goes to her. They stand there, face to face. There’s a second of hesitation before Evie wraps her arms around Paris’s tiny frame. Paris’s cheek falls onto Evie’s shoulder. ‘I’m so scared,’ she murmurs. ‘Can you really help me?’

  The shoppers in the store are staring. Seb shrugs and tells them her dog died. It seems to satisfy their curiosity.

  Paris breaks out of Evie’s hold. ‘Did she tell you where it is?’ she asks. ‘Did she tell you where it’s hidden?’

  ‘What’s hidden?’

  ‘Her diary. My sister’s diary,’ Paris answers. ‘That’s when I knew you were for real. When you gave me those names in the envelope. The names Caz gave you. I thought she probably told you where her diary was too.’

  ‘No. She didn’t.’

  Seb leads the girls behind the shop to a vacant lot littered with the rusted shells of what once were cars. ‘We’ll be safe here,’ he tells them. Paris’s eyes scan her surroundings before she sits on the wall next to them.

  ‘The names. The names Evie gave you.’ Seb’s voice is gentle. ‘What did they mean?’

  ‘They’re Dad’s family,’ she answers. ‘Cosmin, Petar and Nistor were his brothers. Uncle Cosmin came and lived with us after Dad died.’ Paris stares at her feet and smiles. ‘He was so wonderful to us. He made me laugh when I didn’t think I’d ever be able to laugh again after Dad died. I really loved him.’

  ‘Is he …’

  ‘He had to go back to Bucharest. Ingy said he could arrange for him to stay in Australia but I don’t think he ever did anything about it. Caz and I cried for days after he left. Then, then …’ Paris stares at her feet again. ‘Then everything went … bad.’

  Evie feels herself swallow.

  ‘And the others?’ Seb asks.

  ‘Irina was one of his sisters. He had a big family. He wanted them all to come to Australia.’

  ‘Maybe the others were in the letters we couldn’t work out,’ Seb says to Evie.

  ‘Yeah. What were they? A-N-D –’

  ‘Andra,’ Paris tells them. ‘Andra and Anca were the two names you didn’t give me.’

  ‘Seb, that’s what they were – Andra and Anca!’

  ‘Our Romanian’s not very good,’ he smiles at Paris. She looks the other way. ‘Say something,’ he mouths to Evie. But she doesn’t have to. Paris has started speaking. Speaking as though they’re not there.

  ‘Andra, Anca, Cosmin, Petar, Irina, Nistor,’ she sings. ‘Breakfast.’ She starts to whistle. ‘Come on, little ones. Paris is with me today to help. No pecking her, Cosmin. All of you be gentle with my Paris.’

  Seb raises his eyebrows at Evie. She shrugs back.

  ‘It’s nearly time to take Irina out,’ Paris croons. ‘She’s going to have babies soon. We’ll have to put her in the special cage. The having-a-baby cage. In the little wooden –’

  ‘Cage?’ Evie’s mouth spits out the word before her mind has absorbed it. ‘Cage!’

  Paris stops and looks at her almost as though she’s forgotten Evie existed.

  ‘The … aviary.’ She almost looks startled. ‘My dad’s birds.’

  ‘Birds?’ Seb blurts.

  ‘Parrots. He called his parrots after his brothers and sisters.’ Paris smiles. It’s just for herself. ‘Cosmin was the one who protected the others. Anca was shy and affectionate. Dad used to say Anca was just like –’

  ‘Paris! Stop!’ Evie has begun to walk around in circles. ‘Did he keep them in cages? Like cages that were –’

  ‘They were beautiful cages. He made them himself. It wasn’t like –’

  ‘The drawing!’ Seb jumps off the wall.

  ‘Paris, listen,’ Evie says. ‘The cages, were they like boxes? Like … like cubes all stacked up on each other?’

  ‘Sort of, I s’pose. There was a special one just for –’

  ‘And bars? Just vertical bars?’

  ‘Yeah. How did …’ Paris turns to Seb now. ‘How did she know?’

  ‘And Caz kept a diary?’ Evie holds her head. What she wasn’t sure of is beginning to fall into place – the smell of feathers on her fingers, the random sketch of cubes, the beating of wings at the end of a séance – it’s like the shapes of a puzzle finding the right holes. She can almost hear them clicking together. ‘The diary. Was there something in it? Did she tell you about it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was it? Was it something she wanted you to know, or you to have, or you to –?’

  ‘Yes.’ It’s something about the way Paris says the single word that makes Evie stop and look at her. Paris’s head is hanging, her eyes are screwed tightly shut and her fingers are pulling and twisting at each other. And just like that, the final piece of the jigsaw drops. ‘Clink.’ Evie understands what’s in the diary and why it has to be found.

  ‘Paris?’ Her words are slow and careful. ‘Are the parrots still …’

  ‘They died. All of them.’

  ‘And … the cages?’

  ‘They’re still there.’

  She turns to Seb. ‘I think I know where the diary is.’

  ‘In the aviary?’

  ‘Paris, we need to go to your place. I think the diary is in one of the cages.’

  ‘How?’ she answers. ‘It … it can’t be there. They’re so old and rotting. It’s too risky going to my house … We can’t, we can’t –’

  ‘Paris. You’ve got to trust me. Please.’

  ‘We’ll be so careful,’ Seb tells her. ‘I’ll be on the look-out. We’ll make a plan. Trust us. Okay? Evie knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘We’ll get a taxi.’ Evie’s going through her wallet. ‘Where’s your place?’

  ‘Just around from Canada Bay.’

  ‘I’ve got enough money,’ Evie counts. ‘Seb, you go and find a tax
i. Paris and I’ll wait here.’

  ‘If you see a dark blue Saab convertible, that’s them,’ Paris says to Seb. ‘Don’t let them follow you. He saw Evie yesterday. He’s on the look-out.’

  Soon they are in the taxi, the three of them, heading for Canada Bay. Paris leans forward, her head in her lap, hiding. Evie rubs her back and thinks of the right things to say. ‘It’s okay, Paris. Nothing will happen. We’ll be so careful.’

  Paris hides low in the seat, directing them into the heart of the suburbs. ‘Right. Next left. Left at the next roundabout.’ Silently the driver obeys.

  Evie’s mobile rings and all three of them sit up with fright.

  ‘It’s my oldies.’ Evie answers the phone. ‘Hi.’

  ‘It’s been an hour, Evie!’ It’s her father.

  ‘Sorry, Dad. I was about to ring.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m actually just in the city with Seb.’ Evie screws up her face and bites her top lip. She doesn’t want to lie but, if they know where she’s really going, they’ll flip. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m fine.’

  ‘Well, you ring us in an hour. That’ll make it five to one.’

  ‘Yes, Dad. Bye.’

  ‘Five to one,’ he repeats. ‘On the dot.’

  ‘Yes, Dad! Bye.’

  Evie switches the mobile off and puffs out her cheeks. ‘Poor Mum and Dad.’

  ‘They’ll be right,’ Seb answers.

  Taking a peek out the window, Paris instructs the driver to turn left and stop at the next corner. ‘We’re here,’ she says. ‘My place is a couple down from here.’

  Evie pays while Seb follows Paris, who’s scrambling under an overgrown hedge. Evie joins them, pointing at the nearest house. ‘An old man lives here,’ Paris tells them, pointing at the nearest house. ‘He never comes out. I’ve hidden here before.’

  ‘So which one’s your place?’ Seb asks.

  ‘Number six,’ Paris replies. ‘The third house up. It’s dark brick with a porch at the front.’

  ‘And where are the cages?’ Evie whispers.

  ‘Out the back. There’s a side passage we can go down.’

  ‘Okay, Seb.’

  Seb nods. ‘I’ll go and see if anyone’s home.’ The ground snaps and rustles as he scampers out from the bushes and darts around the corner.

  Crouching down, the tops of their heads hidden, Paris and Evie wait. Around their feet, slaters and ants crawl out of the dirt they’ve just disturbed. Evie watches them busily getting on with their business, oblivious to the situation they’ve found themselves amidst.

  The sound of her heart pounds in her ears. At least Evie thinks it’s her heartbeat, but maybe it’s Paris’s, maybe it’s Caz’s. For there are really three girls hiding behind this hedge.

  Seb’s back, breathing hard. ‘No one there,’ he pants. ‘The carport’s empty and I checked right around the house. The front door’s locked. All the windows are closed. No sign of life. I’m positive.’

  ‘She was with him in his car before so she must’ve gone out in her car. Were there any lights on?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Seb,’ Evie begins. ‘Will you wait out the front while Paris and I are out the back?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll whistle if anyone comes.’

  Evie sees Paris gulp. She looks as though she’s going to be sick.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘You’ll stay with me, won’t you, Evie? Even … if he comes back and finds us, you’ll stay with me, won’t you? My mother, well, I can’t even talk to her. It’s so hard to speak to anyone you know …’

  ‘Hey,’ Evie soothes. ‘I’m not going to bale out on you now.’

  How could Evie explain to Paris that she, too, needs this to be over? It’d sound so selfish. Evie wanting to get back to a normal life while Paris will be left with a pain so black Evie can hardly begin to understand it. But that’s the way it is. Evie is here to do what Caz has asked her, and, when she’s done it, it’s over. Over for Evie. Perhaps just beginning for Paris.

  Paris’s grip is tight around Evie’s wrist as they creep down the side of the house. Past windows that are locked and rooms that are dark. The back of the house opens out to a courtyard bordered by a large square of grass. At the outer edge of the grass, shaded by the branches of a tree, is the aviary.

  It’s exactly as Evie drew it. Cages, stacked on top of one another, each the size of a large box with vertical mesh hammered across the front. Built out from the cages, almost the size of a small room, is a wired walk-in enclosure, high enough for an adult to stand in.

  ‘Wow,’ Evie whispers. ‘It’s huge. I was imagining just a few wooden cages.’

  ‘No way. Dad built a special flying area for them,’ Paris says. ‘In the day, he’d open the cages and the birds could fly free.’

  ‘Okay.’ Evie takes a deep breath. ‘Are you ready?’

  The girls scamper across the grass like a couple of rabbits. Too scared to look behind, too scared to stop.

  Up close, the cages seem even bigger. A rusted wire door held erect on just one hinge marks the entry to the aviary. Over and over, Paris slams her hip into the warped aluminium frame. Evie waits to hear the bone crack.

  ‘Let me have a try,’ she offers. With one bash, the door is open.

  They walk in, ankle deep in feathers and seeds. Tufts of grass are tangled through the floor and remnants of old bird droppings are smeared across the perches and water troughs. Without a thought, Paris is down on her elbows and knees, her hands searching through the debris.

  ‘How long have the cages been empty?’ Evie asks.

  ‘Years,’ Paris answers. ‘After Dad died, they died. All of them. One by one. Caz said they died of a broken heart. Uncle Cosmin wanted to fix the aviary and get more parrots but Mum wouldn’t let him. She said they cost too much to keep.’

  Evie can’t believe the aviary has been left like this. Untouched since the day the last parrot died. Left-over seed from the final feeds. Moulted feathers from the last bird. A token of life before their father died. Is that why it’s been left like this? Evie doesn’t understand, but there are many things she doesn’t understand about this family. Many things that have been left untouched.

  Paris searches in and under the water troughs. ‘It was only small,’ she says. ‘I saw her with it once. It had a green cover. She said, “All my secrets are in here,” and she pointed to her head. Then she smiled and said, “And all my secrets are in here.” And she held up the diary. That’s when I saw it.’

  Now Paris is opening each individual cage. Her hands sift through the contents, feathers and dust flying around her.

  ‘This was the maternity one.’ Paris points to a large wooden box almost the size of the cube it sits in. ‘Look, it’s still in perfect condition. Dad called it the “having-a-baby cage”. It was always so exciting when it was …’

  Evie sees it. The circle – a hole, just large enough for a man’s hand to fit in, peeping through the centre of the wooden box.

  ‘There!’ she gasps.

  ‘Where?’ Paris jumps back.

  ‘The, the …’ she points to it.

  ‘The breeding box?’

  ‘Yes! Inside that … that hole!’

  In a second, Paris is tearing at the mesh screen with her bare hands. Evie helps her try to bend and twist the wire that separates them from the maternity box. Paris’s tiny fingers hook themselves through the holes. She heaves and grunts as she pulls the wooden frame off the front of the cage then burrows her hand into the hole that is the entry to the box.

  ‘Is it there?’ Evie pants. ‘Can you feel anything? Anything?’

  ‘I’m not sure …’ Paris’s entire arm fits into the hole. ‘I think … yes, I think I can feel …’ Tapping and knocking sounds echo from the cage as her hand flaps and hits the inside of the wooden box. ‘Yes! There’s something in here … I can just feel the edge.’ Like playing cards, the rotted wood begins to fall away, piece by piece, and there
lying on the mouldy remains of what was once cotton wool is a tiny green diary.

  ‘Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!’ Paris says over and over. But Evie senses that danger is near. She takes Paris’s hand and leads her out of the aviary. ‘We have to go, Paris.’ But Paris hardly moves. She is frozen to the spot, clutching her sister’s diary to her chest, crouching over her pain and crying, ‘Oh my god! Oh my god!’

  ‘We have to get out of here,’ Evie whispers, navigating Paris out of the aviary gate, back across the grass and down the side passage. ‘Come on, Paris.’

  Seb is at the gate. He turns around and signals it’s safe. So past the three houses, around the corner and under the hedge they scramble to safety.

  ‘Did you find it? Did you find it?’ Seb pants.

  Paris nods, opening her hand to show Seb. She rubs the dirty green cover against her chest. Then licks her fingers and rubs it clean. The year ‘2000’ appears.

  ‘So, have you looked at it? What did –’

  Evie catches Seb’s eye and gives the tiniest shake of her head. He stops mid-sentence, understanding he can’t go there. It’s private business. For the eyes of the women only.

  A car slows at the corner. Suddenly Paris is scuttling to the hedge and peering out through the leaves.

  ‘It’s him!’ she cries. ‘Oh no! It’s him.’

  Seb creeps out to the edge of the street and peers around the corner. ‘He’s pulled into your place.’

  Paris grips Evie’s arm, squeezing it so that the skin is taut and twisted.

  ‘I’m going to take you to my place,’ Evie tells her. ‘Okay? You’ll be safe there.’

  ‘We’ll go through the park we play soccer in,’ Seb says. ‘There’s a little walkway that leads out to the shops.’

  ‘No, I’ll ring Dad. He’ll come and get us.’

  ‘Evie, don’t. Come on. If we get through the park and to the shops, there’ll be a bus or a taxi.’

  ‘It’s Sunday, Seb.’

  ‘Well, we can’t stay here,’ he tells her. ‘We’ll run fast.’

  ‘See if the car’s still there, at least.’