Voices in the Dark

by Catherine Banner

  ‘Perhaps he will be a priest,’ said my grandmother.

  ‘A great author,’ said my grandfather.

  ‘Writing is in the family,’ said my mother. ‘On Leo’s side, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t see why that should affect Anselm,’ said my grandmother.

  There was a sudden silence. No one answered, but everyone’s eyes were on her suddenly.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ she continued, glancing around at us all but meeting none of our eyes. ‘You are confusing the child, Maria. I think he should be told the truth.’

  ‘Anselm,’ said my mother, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘Go and get Leo. It’s time for lunch.’

  I got up and started away across the grass. Behind me, I heard my mother’s voice rising and my grandmother’s quick reply. I tried to listen, but I could feel my mother’s eyes on my back, willing me to walk faster. Leo turned when I reached him. He had been gazing at the horizon, where I could just make out a grey shadow beyond the hills. ‘It’s time for lunch, Papa,’ I said.

  ‘Stay up here with me for a while,’ he said. ‘I want to show you something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look – over there on the horizon.’

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  ‘Ositha,’ said Leo. ‘I went there once, when I was training as a soldier. During the war. It is just a ghost town now.’

  ‘What does that mean, a ghost town?’

  ‘It means no one lives there. The army destroyed all the buildings, and no one went back.’

  We stood for a while looking at that abandoned town on the edge of the sky. Then he took my hand, and we wandered back down to the valley. The argument was over. Aldebaran and my grandfather were talking about the unseasonable weather. My grandmother took bread and cheese and slices of meat pie out of the basket, and Leo handed round the cake, and for a while everything was all right. The sun even emerged.

  ‘Just to think,’ remarked my grandmother after the food was finished.

  ‘Just to think what?’ said my mother.

  ‘Well,’ said my grandmother. ‘Seven years since.’

  The silence settled again, more menacing than before. ‘That is enough,’ said my mother. ‘Don’t talk any more about it.’

  ‘I’m only remarking, Maria. There is no need to take that tone.’

  ‘There is every need to take that tone!’

  My grandmother raised her eyebrows and brushed an invisible fly from her skirt. ‘I’m just saying that it’s seven years since that whole sorry business. That’s all. There, I’ve said it, and you’re free to condemn me as you always do.’

  My mother moved so quickly that none of us saw until it was over. She slapped my grandmother hard across the face. Suddenly everyone was on their feet. The apples rolled off their plate and bounced away down the hill. They were good apples, and I wanted to pick them up, but I was fixed to the ground and could not move.

  ‘After what I’ve done for you,’ said my grandmother, her voice shaking. ‘After everything I’ve done for you, Maria, and you treat me—’

  ‘I won’t listen to this,’ said my mother. She picked up our rug and our basket, took my hand, and started for home, though it was five miles. Leo ran after us; none of the others dared. There was such a fierce anger coming from my mother that I thought I could see the air trembling around her. None of us said anything all the way back to the city.

  When we got home, my mother locked herself in their bedroom, and we could hear her crying bitterly behind the closed door. Leo’s hands shook as he smoked a never-ending chain of cigarettes. ‘Come on,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll take you to a restaurant and buy you a cake. As it’s your birthday. Anselm?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  ‘Anselm, please. Come on.’

  He badly wanted my birthday not to be ruined, but I kept up the resistance. Eventually he gave up and sat down at the table and rested his head against his hand.

  ‘Papa?’ I said. ‘What did Grandmama mean about a sorry business?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he began; then he shook his head. ‘Anselm, listen. Just before you were born, some bad things happened, and your grandmother can’t help remembering them.’

  ‘What bad things?’

  Leo traced a line in the flour lying on the table. ‘They lost their money and had to move to Citadel Street. Your mama has told you about that, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she’s told me.’

  ‘Your grandmother sometimes talks as though you had something to do with it,’ said Leo. ‘But you didn’t, and no one thinks you did – just remember that.’

  We sat for a long time listening to my mother cry. Then Leo got up and went to the bedroom door. I could hear their voices, my mother’s tear-choked and Leo’s gentle, saying, ‘Come on, Maria. Come on. Shh now.’After a long time, she stopped crying. I remained where I was, in the silent living room. I was suddenly certain of the truth. If Leo told me the misfortunes of the family weren’t anything to do with me, it meant – somehow – that they were.

  Jasmine listened to that story in silence, then lay down quietly. ‘Well,’ I said,‘that’s the best story I can make of it. It all happened so long ago, years before you were born.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘So?’ I said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The clock in the square chimed ten. ‘You should probably go to sleep,’ I said. She was already yawning. She reached up to kiss me goodnight and let me arrange the blankets around her. I turned out the lamp and left. But I could tell from the glint of her eyes as I closed the door behind me that she was still awake and thinking. Maybe it was remembering all those people who were gone now – Aldebaran and my grandfather, and somewhere far back the ghost of my real father – or maybe it was because I had never really worked out the truth about what happened the year I was born, but I could not sleep either that night.

  * * *

  The Imperial Order marched every night during those last days of July, and every morning the newspapers carried more reports of rioting in the north of the city. Leo did not sleep. He sat up at nights in the back room of the shop, smoking an endless line of cigarettes and studying that red book. And in those days, the world began to change.

  We did not realize it at first. No one spoke about it, only the newspapers. First there were those reports of militants rioting in the north. Then General Marlan of Alcyria threatened the states to his east with war, and Titanica threatened retaliation. Marcovy, a country I knew only from geography lessons, threatened Titanica in return to protect its coal-mining interests. Maybe we did not pay enough attention. But those places were hundreds of miles from us, and Aldebaran’s death still went unresolved. The king’s face appeared on the front of the newspaper every day, looking old and tired. ‘My duty to you is to promise you what Aldebaran always promised,’ he stated. ‘Our country will not go to war.’

  The last days in July were national holidays, and in former years we had shut up the shop and gone to the Royal Gardens every evening to dance as the stars came out. Neither Leo nor my mother seemed much inclined to go this year, and we kept the shop open. Then, one morning, Mr Pascal came to our door before seven o’clock. Leo was still lighting the stove, and I was out in the yard fetching water.

  ‘I just spoke to Mr Barone,’ he said breathlessly, shoving a newspaper at Leo. ‘Alcyria has declared war on all the states along its eastern border. It’s official. It’s no longer just a threat, North.’

  Leo took the newspaper; I leaned over his shoulder. On the front page was a line drawing of General Marlan with his fist raised. Below it a map was striped in black arrows that covered half the continent. Leo ran his hand backwards over his hair. ‘What does this mean?’ he said.

  ‘I hardly know,’ said Mr Pascal.

  Jasmine came skipping down the stairs at that moment. Leo threw Mr Pascal a quick glance. �
��We are getting on well with those old books,’ he said in a voice that hardly faltered. ‘Come and see.’

  Mr Pascal folded the newspaper. They went to the counter and turned over the contents of the box he had given us. I followed them. Jasmine wandered into the room and looked up at Mr Pascal. She could tell when something was wrong in half a second; our only hope was to conceal what the trouble was, and from Leo’s fierce glance, I knew Mr Pascal wouldn’t dare say anything more about the newspaper report.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked absently instead, picking up another book from the counter. It was The Darkness Has a Thousand Voices, still lying there from last night.

  ‘That’s something else,’ said Leo.

  Mr Pascal picked it up and flipped over the pages, from front to back and then the other way. ‘Harlan Smith,’ he said.

  ‘Do you know anything about him?’ said Leo.

  Mr Pascal shook his head and studied the first page of the book. ‘This is old-fashioned writing,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if there is much call for it nowadays.’

  ‘I’m not selling it,’ said Leo.

  ‘Seven Sisters Press,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘It doesn’t sound like a real publisher to me. Not that I know much about book dealing, but if it was a real publisher, I would have seen it about the city. What about John Worthy, the printers?’

  ‘They closed down two years ago,’ said Leo.

  I glanced at him. He must have looked that up somehow. Mr Pascal set the book down again distractedly and said, ‘I don’t know what we are going to do. I’m worried, North, and I don’t mind telling you so.’

  ‘Maybe it will all turn out all right,’ I said, but I did not sound convinced.

  ‘Anselm?’ said Jasmine. ‘What will turn out all right?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  That was too much for Jasmine. She stamped her feet and pulled the box of books off the counter. ‘Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?’ she demanded, fighting Leo’s attempts to restrain her. ‘And why haven’t we gone to the gardens to dance like everyone else? It’s not fair!’

  ‘You’ll have to go tonight, North,’ said Mr Pascal, shoving the newspaper into his pocket.

  ‘Why?’ said Leo.

  ‘The twenty-ninth of July,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘The king’s speech. You’d be a fool to miss it at a time like this.’

  With that he left. ‘Shh, shh,’ Leo told Jasmine, taking hold of her arms. ‘If you want to go to the gardens, we’ll go, all right?’

  All that day, people were hanging out their flags again and decorating their windowsills with white flowers. It was the tradition; the twenty-ninth of July was the day on which the Liberation had started, the day Lucien had been assassinated. The contents of the newspaper seemed to have brought out new patriotic feelings in the city. At six o’clock, the Barones called round to ask if we would go with them to watch the procession.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jasmine firmly, and put up the CLOSED sign.

  ‘I don’t know, Jas,’ said my mother.

  ‘Papa said we could go,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Did he?’ said my mother.

  ‘He promised, Mama.’

  ‘Then let me go and get ready.’

  She disappeared upstairs. We stood out in the street to wait. From the gardens, music was drifting over the rooftops in the still evening air. People hurried past in twos and threes.

  ‘Anselm, go upstairs and check to see if Maria is all right,’ said Leo when several minutes had passed.

  I ran up the stairs. The evening sunlight was falling in rays through the high window. ‘Mother?’ I said. ‘Are you coming?’

  ‘I won’t be long.’

  Her voice sounded strange, as though it was coming through a thick wall. ‘Are you all right?’ I called.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  I went back down again, and we waited. The clock struck seven. We could already hear the muffled applause as the king and his procession moved through the gardens. ‘Come on,’ Jasmine said. ‘We’ll miss the whole thing.’

  ‘You go ahead,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait for Mother.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Leo.

  ‘Yes. I’ll meet you by the fountain, where we always stand.’

  I watched them start along the street, Mr and Mrs Barone arm in arm, Jasmine with Michael, and Leo glancing back every few yards. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. The house seemed very quiet after I went back upstairs. The whole city must be at the Royal Gardens tonight. I sat down on the top of the stairs and watched the sunlight turn golden on the rooftops. From time to time, a wave of applause rose in the still air.

  As I sat there, I began to hear another sound, so soft that at first I thought I had imagined it. I stopped breathing and listened. My mother was crying.

  I went to the door of the bedroom. I wanted to speak, but the sound of her crying constricted my throat, and I could not make a sound. ‘Mother?’ I said at last. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  But she went on crying. I pushed open the door. She was dabbing at her eyes with her old coloured shawl and searching about for her shoes, and all the while, the tears ran down her face. ‘What is it?’ I said.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out for my hand. I thought she would tell me it was the war or Aldebaran. But instead she shook her head and said, ‘This was the day your real father died.’

  The silence closed around us, and neither of us could speak. I tried to several times, but I could not. Then the clock chimed the quarter hour, and my mother looked up. ‘Is it past seven already?’ she said. ‘Anselm, we have missed half the speech. It’s my fault. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She was brushing the tears from her face and struggling to lace up her boots, and then she took me by the hand and hurried me after her down the stairs. A thousand questions were burning in my mind. But then we were out in the street and running along the deserted alleys. The voices still rose from the Royal Gardens. A few white flowers lay trampled in the dust. All the way there, I wanted to ask her. But as we reached the gates of the gardens, the crowds came surging back towards us.

  ‘What is it?’ said my mother, tightening her grip on my hand.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you see them?’

  ‘No.’ I glanced about. ‘Wait – over there.’

  I made out Jasmine on Leo’s shoulders, somewhere near the fountain. We struggled towards them through the crowds. Halfway there, they met us. Jasmine was crying. Mr Barone and Michael were arguing loudly.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said.

  ‘The king has declared war on Alcyria,’ said an old man close by. ‘Get back home, because there’s going to be trouble.’

  The gunshots started just after we reached Trader’s Row. They were all over the city, quick rifle volleys and angry shouts. People were still hurrying past the shop windows or calling for their relatives. Leo put up the grilles on the shop windows. Next door, I could hear Michael and Mr Barone still arguing.

  ‘I just don’t believe it’s true,’ my mother kept saying. ‘Another war. I just can’t make myself believe it.’

  ‘If Aldebaran was here …’ said Leo.

  The shouting and the gunfire went on until the early hours. Eventually we went upstairs and tried to sleep, out of disbelief more than anything. There was nothing else to do. On the way to Mass the next morning, we passed people leaving the city. They were driving north in old horse carts with their belongings piled around them, avoiding our glances as if they thought we would condemn them for their loss of nerve. The church was more crowded than it had been for weeks. Father Dunstan preached about the steadfastness of the Lord in times of trouble.

  When we came out of the church, Michael was waiting by the fountain.

  ‘Michael!’ called Jasmine, and ran towards him, but he did not swing her up into his arms as he usually would have done.

  ‘You had better come,’ he said.

&nb
sp; ‘What is it?’ said Mrs. Barone.

  Michael led the way back towards Trader’s Row, and we followed at a jog. I could see nothing wrong at first. Then I made out the letters on the wall of the shop and the black space where the front window used to be. Leo ran ahead and went in at the side door, and I heard him go quickly up the stairs. ‘I was in the back room,’ said Michael. ‘I heard the noise and came out, but they had guns.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Imperial Order, I think, but I don’t know.’

  We caught up with him and stopped in front of the building. ‘They didn’t take anything,’ said Michael. ‘They ran away down the alley as soon as I came out.’

  ‘This is it,’ said Mr Barone, shaking his head. ‘I can’t stay here any longer.’

  It could have been worse. But my skin turned cold all the same, looking at the destruction. While we had been at Mass, someone had smashed all our windows and the Barones’, and NONE OF YOU ARE SAFE was daubed in six-foot letters on the wall.

  I wanted to talk to Michael that night, but the light never appeared at his window, and when I called his name, he did not answer. There was only air between us now that the windows were smashed, and I could hear him walking about his room. ‘Michael, I need to talk to you!’ I said in exasperation, but he did not stop his pacing. Eventually I gave up and put a board across my window and went to bed. The whole city seemed in a stupor the next day. No one went out.

  ‘Have you spoken to Mr Barone?’ Mr Pascal asked us when he came into the shop late that afternoon. Leo shook his head. ‘All he has been talking of today is getting out of the city,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘North, I think he is really going to do it.’

  ‘I should go and talk to Michael,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘And perhaps you can put some sense into their heads. I told him this whole thing will blow over—’

  ‘Will it?’ said Leo, startling us both. He had been silent all day, but he got up now and began locking the windows. ‘Let’s close up,’ he said. ‘No one will come in anyway. Jasmine!’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ she said sullenly. She was lying under the table drawing. Leo had forbidden her to go out and play with Billy and Joe in the street.