The men were stepping forward now, throwing me suspicious glances. I turned to leave. ‘It is kind of you,’I said. ‘But I don’t need any help.’
‘I’ll come and see you,’ he said. ‘Later tonight, or tomorrow, when I finish with this.’
I nodded. Then I was out in the street, the wind attacking my face and whipping my scarf out fiercely. There was no snow in it, but I could feel it about to fall in the merciless cold of the air. The two men hurried into the back room of the shop, taking Jared with them. I turned and went inside.
I could not concentrate that night at dinner. I was thinking again of the graveyard, and everything the others said passed me by. Eventually I went upstairs, under the pretence of a headache, and sat at the table in the corner of my room, turning over the books on it aimlessly.
At seven o’clock, my mother came to the door. ‘Anselm, what’s wrong?’ she said.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
‘There is; I can tell. You are just like Leo – easy to read. Can I come in?’
I nodded. She sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. It was not just my real father that troubled me; it was the way Jared had recognized me. From what my mother had said, that youngest son of the Wright family had not been a good man. And she had never been happy to see a single old acquaintance. They came into the shop sometimes, always driving up in carriages – well-spoken women with their babies, and gentlemen who had once been her admirers. ‘Mother,’ I said. ‘Have you met the man who has moved into the Barones’ shop?’
‘J. W. Fortune? No. I’ve seen him once or twice, from a distance, but I’ve never spoken to him. Why do you ask?’
‘Jasmine and I met him the other day. And I went in today, and he told me – it came out – that he used to know you. Years ago.’
‘I never knew a man whose name was Fortune.’
‘That’s not his name,’ I said. ‘He’s called Jared Wright.’
The pitch of the silence changed. I turned. She was watching me without breathing, one hand raised to push back her hair. ‘What?’ she said.
‘Jared Wright.’
‘Anselm, what do you know about him?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was in there and he recognized me. He said he was a childhood acquaintance of yours.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he the one you were engaged to for a day? The one whose father was in the government?’
‘Yes. That’s him. Anselm, are you sure he said Wright?’
‘It’s him. I told you, he recognized me. He said, “You’re Anselm Andros. You’re Maria’s son.”’
‘But you don’t look like me.’
There was a silence. The window rattled in the night breeze, and the lamp gave a strange cough. ‘He said he was never coming back,’ she said.
‘He has been in Alcyria,’ I said. ‘He has been in the city for only a few weeks. I suppose it got too dangerous there.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s …’ She trailed off and rubbed her forehead, as though she was trying to work something out. ‘Anselm, he said he was never coming back. He was a collaborator, and they wanted him imprisoned.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing terrible, not exactly. But he was a collaborator. He joined Lucien’s government as a boy of fifteen and filed papers for them until they lost the war. But listen to me – what has he told you?’
‘About what?’
‘About those days.’
‘Nothing. Just that you once knew each other. And he said he would call round.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight or tomorrow.’
She stood up so suddenly that the lamp shuddered. ‘I had better go round there,’ she said.
‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No. Stay here.’
‘Mother, what’s wrong?’
She put on her shoes and threw her shawl about her shoulders. At the doorway, she managed to smile briefly at me. ‘Nothing is wrong,’ she said. ‘But Leo seems melancholy, and I hardly think a visit from that man will cheer him up. No, it would be better if I went and put him off.’
I heard her quick footsteps as she went down the stairs and out of the side door. Leo was down in the shop shifting boxes around. Jasmine had disappeared to her room with today’s newspaper and my mother’s scissors. I listened to the silence. I heard my mother knock once at Jared Wright’s door, then again. But he did not answer. She knocked four or five times before she gave up. Then I heard her come back through the side gate and up the stairs. ‘Anselm?’ she said. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes.’
She stood just inside the door, still in her shawl and Sunday boots. ‘Anselm, listen,’ she said. ‘About Jared Wright. I don’t want you to go there again. I don’t want you to speak to him. I’m going to tell Jasmine as well.’
‘Why not?’
‘He is not a good man.’
‘He seemed all right. I mean, he must have changed since then, if he was only a boy when you knew him.’
‘Anselm, promise me you won’t go in there again,’ she said.
‘But I don’t see—’
‘Please,’ she said.
‘He is our neighbour,’ I said. ‘I can’t avoid him.’
She did not answer. ‘And, anyway,’ I said, ‘I don’t understand this. You’ve told us that you were engaged to him, and we know he was a collaborator. What else is he going to say to me that you don’t want me to hear?’
My mother’s eyes flashed very dark, and I was startled. ‘Just don’t go in there again,’ she said quietly. I did not answer. She reached forward, as if to touch my shoulder, then seemed to decide against it. She left me like that, closing the door behind her, and went slowly downstairs. I leaned on the table, staring at the scratched-up surface of the wood. The others were going to bed now, although it was still early; a general depression had fallen over the house. One by one, the lights went out. I watched the street darken and wondered whether it was just that brief engagement that my mother was upset about. Out of nowhere, the thought came to me that Jared must have known her on the twenty-second of April in the last year of Lucien’s regime. Jared must have known all the circumstances surrounding my birth. And that was the one thing she had never wanted me to know.
The next day, I passed a man with wiry brown hair as I went down the road for a newspaper and passed him again as I went in at the shop door. It took me several minutes of thought before I recognized him. He was the Imperial Order sergeant from the graveyard gate. I glanced out of the shop window. There was no sign of him out there, but it made me uneasy. He had been standing opposite our shop smoking a cigarette, and every now and then looking up at the windows.
I did not tell the others. My mother was quieter than I had seen her in a long while. Leo had not spoken since yesterday and the incident in the yard. Jasmine alone seemed cheerful.
‘I’ve got an important announcement,’ she told us at dinner. ‘I’m going to be in a play.’
‘A play?’ said Leo.
Jasmine put a school library book down on the table with a loud thump. It was Diamonn’s Complete Works, tied together with string to stop the pages from falling out.
My mother picked it up. ‘What play is it, Jasmine?’
‘It’s The Beggar King. It’s going to be in the Royal Gardens, and the king and everyone is going to come and watch, and I’m going to be in it.’
‘That play?’ said Leo.
We had watched it every year; it was a famous tradition. Every year, a different school was chosen to act it, but it had never been Sacred Heart. And ever since she could talk, Jasmine had wanted to be in it, with the same tearful desperation that had made me long for powers.
‘I can’t believe they have chosen your school this year!’ said Leo.
‘Usually it’s one of the schools from the east,’ said my mother. ‘It must be destiny, Jas!’
Jasmine’s announcement thawed the cold atm
osphere that had lain over the house for the past days. In between my mother’s excitement and Leo’s questions, none of them noticed the shadow that crossed the front window. Someone was out there, walking up and down.
‘Anselm,’ said Jasmine. ‘Aren’t you pleased?’
I drew my eyes away from the window, and smiled and ruffled her hair. ‘Of course.’
‘Why do you keep looking out of the window?’
‘I don’t.’
‘What’s your part, Jas?’ said my mother. ‘Is it a big part?’
‘Quite big,’ said Jasmine.
‘Who?’
‘The storyteller.’
‘The storyteller is the best part in it,’ I said, which made her smile more widely.
‘I think I might be an actress,’ she said. ‘I mean, when I grow up. I think it’s what I’d like to do. This can be the start of it.’
‘Your grandmother used to be a dancer and a singer,’ said Leo.
‘Grandmama? She used to dance on a stage?’
Jasmine was so incredulous that we could not help laughing.
‘Not her,’ said Leo. ‘No, I mean your other grandmother.’
‘Amelie North,’ said Jasmine solemnly. ‘I’d like to be like her.’
‘Read us your part,’ said my mother. ‘The table can be your stage, Jas – here.’
She and Leo began piling the plates into the sink to clear a space. My mother threw Leo’s overcoat about Jasmine’s shoulders, and he lifted her onto the table.
‘Go on, Jas,’ he said, and handed her the book.
Jasmine drew herself up impressively and opened it, ignoring the few battered pages that fell out. ‘“Good friend, draw close and hearken to my tale,”’ she began.
And someone hammered on the door.
Jasmine dropped the book, and my mother started out of her chair, then laughed at her own surprise. ‘That gave me such a shock,’ she said.
‘Who can it be at this time?’ said Leo.
‘It’s not late. I’ll go—’
‘Don’t answer,’ I said.
She was already halfway to the door. ‘Why not?’
‘Just don’t. I can’t tell you why – just don’t.’
The knocking came again. Leo was on his feet now. ‘Anselm, what’s going on?’ he said.
‘There was a man outside the house today,’ I said, speaking very fast to keep my mother from going to the door. ‘He’s someone from the Imperial Order, and he was outside our house. I saw him before at the graveyard.’
Leo took two steps towards the door, then back towards Jasmine. I turned down the lamp. In the dark street, I made him out clearly enough to be certain. It was the man with wiry hair, the man who had been in the street outside our shop twice today already. ‘Don’t answer the door,’ I said.
The man rapped on the door so hard that the windows rattled. Leo blew out the lamp.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ said my mother.
‘Come on,’ said Leo. ‘Quickly, Jasmine.’
He lifted her down from the table, and we went, falling over boxes in our hurry. Upstairs, the fire was dying and the room was dark. ‘Stay still,’ said Leo. ‘He may not know we’re in here at all.’
The wind was growling around the house now. We all stood still trying to listen. After the man had knocked four times, there was a long silence. Then we heard two people walking past, well-spoken women with heeled shoes, laughing over some story. If that man had been in the street, I was sure their conversation would have faltered. Jasmine ran to the window; none of us tried to stop her. It was too dark for her to be seen. ‘He’s not there any more,’ she said. ‘He’s gone away.’
‘Shh,’ said Leo. ‘Jas, keep your voice down.’
We glanced at each other. Then my mother stepped forward and closed the curtains. ‘I won’t be frightened,’ she said. ‘Jasmine, go on with your play.’
‘Maria …’ Leo began, taking half a step towards her.
‘No. I won’t let them frighten us.’ Jasmine stood shivering at the window. ‘Anselm, go and get the book,’ said my mother. ‘Jasmine can go on with the play up here.’
‘But listen …’ Leo began, then gave up. Jasmine went on with the play like a soldier in a battle, ignoring the silence that threatened to engulf us. But we could not get back the brief safety of that moment before the man knocked at the door. The shop no longer felt like a place of security, and the light threw shadows, no matter how far my mother turned up the lamps.
Leo did not sleep that night, and I did not either. I sat beside him, and we watched the fire and said nothing. I felt far removed from him. It was as though he had travelled a long way in his thoughts, and I could not reach him. And I suddenly began to see everything going wrong. I could not explain it, only that I felt strange forces working to divide us. ‘Papa?’ I said. ‘Would there be any reason for the Imperial Order to hurt you? I mean, do you think that’s what they want?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think that’s what they want.’
I tried to touch his arm, but I couldn’t do it. ‘Is it about what happened before? About the resistance?’
‘Anselm, I can’t stand this any longer,’ he said. He stood up. The fire blazed behind him and turned him to an outline of black against its flames. ‘Sixteen years ago, the year you were born, I did a very bad thing,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you what it was, because it would put you in danger. But I feel …’ He shook his head. ‘I feel as if it’s catching up with me. Like a dark shadow over my shoulder, you know?’
‘Is it really as bad as you say? Papa, I can’t imagine you doing anything wrong. Lots of people were involved with the resistance. Lots of people regret what they did. But surely—’
He shook his head. He went on shaking it, then looked up at me. A picture came to me from nowhere: Leo standing in the dark of the back room, holding our kitchen knife. Suddenly I could imagine him doing something wrong. If circumstances drove him to it.
‘Tell me, is it going to be all right?’ he said.
I could not tell him so. He lit a cigarette and stood at the window, looking out at the lights of the city. They came out and vanished again as the Imperial Order ran through the streets. He lit another cigarette, then seemed startled to see two in his hand.
‘Papa?’ I said. He did not turn. ‘Sometimes I think I don’t even know you any more,’ I said. ‘You are scaring all of us. Burning those things, and drinking, and arguing with Mother – it’s not like anything you ever do.’
He did not answer. He just smoked the first cigarette down to the bitter end. Away over the houses, beyond the edge of the city, I could see the dark line of the eastern hills and a greyish light over the mountains. And something else. All along the horizon, dim orange lights were burning. ‘What are those?’ I said. ‘Those lights over there.’
He pushed the window up and leaned out. The lights were so far away I could hardly make them out.
‘Maybe I imagined it,’ I said. ‘The stars are very bright.’
‘That one,’ said Leo, pointing with his next cigarette. ‘In the sign of the bull, low down on the horizon there. It’s Aldebaran.’
‘The orange one?’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘Where do you think he is?’ I said. Leo did not answer. We stood there until our teeth were rattling with cold. Then we closed the window and went back to the fire. Leo did not speak to me. He seemed locked in some private torment, and I could not reach him.
I could not help thinking of him differently after that. I could not help wondering what it was, this strange crime that haunted him. After that night, I was not so certain of his innocence any more. This history of his, this involvement with the resistance, was not just a boyish allegiance that he now regretted. It ran much deeper than that.
The next morning, we found the reason for the strange lights on the horizon. The Alcyrian army had advanced. And on the walls were a thousand posters. They had the Imperial Order’s crest, and they ca
lled for the arrest of the unknown revolutionaries who had killed Ahira and Talitha and Darius Southey and for the arrest of all royalists and every member of the old resistance. ‘And others known only to us,’ the list proclaimed ominously. While we were in school, the police came and tore the notices down. But at the end of the day, when we stood to sing the national anthem, half the class remained at their desks. As if by some agreement, they sat there with their arms folded and would not sing. They just sat there stubbornly, their eyes fixed too closely on the ground in front of them.
Sister Theresa read out a statement issued by the king. He would enter into diplomatic negotiations with the new president of Alcyria; occupation would be avoided at all costs. But none of us really believed him. The Imperial Order was here already, gathering force. And I knew Leo was one of those on the list known only to them. Sometimes, when things start to go wrong, you gain a kind of vision. Not enough to change anything – just enough to suspect, when life deals its next blow, from which direction it will come.
That evening, Jared Wright called at the shop. My mother was just home from work, sitting in the back room with her feet up on the sofa, and Leo was out in the yard chopping up firewood. Jared came in quietly and closed the door behind him. ‘Hello?’ he said. I looked up and saw him, standing at the counter with his hat under his arm.
My mother stared at him, and he looked at her. ‘Maria?’ he said then, very quietly. ‘Lord, you are just the same when I look at you now. Just exactly the same.’
‘Jared,’ she said. ‘Jared Wright.’
‘So you are still –’ he began, and she said, ‘Anselm tells me—’ They both gave a quick laugh and she came forward, and they gripped each other’s hands.
‘It’s cold as hell out there,’ said Jared, lighting one of his expensive cigarettes. ‘I’m just back from a meeting on the other side of town. Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of tea?’
My mother went to the stove and began boiling water. Then she stood beside the table, rubbing her hands together as though she was cold, and tried to fix a smile on her face.
‘I cannot believe I am seeing you,’ said Jared. ‘How long has it been?’
Voices in the Dark Page 19
