Suddenly Anna jumped on him. ‘That’s enough!’ She grabbed him by the arm. ‘I’m your sister, do you understand? I decide.’ She dragged him through the dust. ‘Do as I say.’
The wind brought a shrill whistle to her ears. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the blues charging towards her.
Astor broke free and scrambled back up onto the pile of bones.
*
The blues were pulling her hair and T-shirt, clutching at her legs. Anna fell to the ground, punching and kicking, but as soon as one dropped off, another latched on. A cluster of little children hanging off her. She took a couple of steps, trying to shake them off, but they wouldn’t let go and she fell down in the dust, gasping for breath.
They pinned her to the ground by her wrists and ankles, the noonday sun in her eyes.
A slim shape, standing against the light, asked her in a hoarse voice: ‘What do you want with Mandolino? Leave him alone.’
‘Mandolino? Who’s that?’ Screwing up her eyes, Anna made out the form of Angelica. She was white all over, and so skeletal she might have stepped out of a coffin. A necklace of bones with a bird’s skull pendant hung down over her small breasts. She wore an open purple gilet, and a pair of torn combat trousers draped her bare feet. Sunglasses with golden metal frames rested on her aquiline nose, across which ran a black strip, continuing onto her high cheekbones. Her stringy hair was divided into thick twists which fell onto her shoulders. She went over to Astor, who was crouching down on the bones, staring into the distance with his thumb in his mouth. She stroked his head, as you might a dog’s. ‘This is Mandolino.’
Anna tried to get up, but was immediately stopped by numerous little hands. ‘His name’s not Mandolino. It’s Astor. He’s my brother.’
‘How old are you?’
Anna looked round and saw the Bear. A cubic head supported by a short neck. A white face as flat as the palm of your hand, with a constellation of zits showing through the paint on his forehead. A short beard stained with blue dust, linked to a helmet of curly hair by bushy sideburns. A ragged T-shirt with a slogan across the front: ‘On My Way To Mexico’. A pair of green and black checked Bermuda shorts held up with string, sagging down over plump calves.
Anna spat on his feet.
Angelica crouched down beside her, a cigarette dangling from her lips, and looked at her. She took a drag, blew a cloud of smoke in her face and shoved her hand down Anna’s shorts.
Anna screamed, trying to squirm out of the blue children’s grasp. ‘Get your hands off me, you bitch.’
The other girl grabbed her pubic hair and pulled. She held a tuft of hair between her fingers, which she examined carefully. ‘Thirteen, maybe fourteen.’
Anna growled: ‘You guys paint yourselves white to hide the Red Fever.’
The response was a slap in the face. Anna pursed her lips to stop herself crying.
‘Let her go,’ said Rosario, but the children didn’t move; they looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘I said, let her go.’ He pushed one away with his foot, whereupon all the others released their grip.
The Bear scratched his beard. ‘He’s your brother, you say?’
Anna got to her feet. ‘Yes.’
‘Here it doesn’t matter if you’re a brother, cousin or friend.’ He gestured towards the children. ‘They’re all the Little Lady’s property. So is Mandolino.’
Anna breathed in through her nose. ‘Don’t call him that. His name’s Astor.’
‘Hey you! What’s your name?’ the Bear asked Astor.
He mumbled something incomprehensible.
The Bear cupped his hand to his ear. ‘I didn’t catch that. What’s your name?’
Astor looked at his sister, hesitated, then replied: ‘Mandolino.’
*
Over the past four years Anna had suffered and recovered from some terrible shocks, which still weighed on her heart. After the death of her parents she’d fallen into a solitude so complete and stunning as to leave her dazed for months. But not once, even for a second, had the idea of suicide crossed her mind, for she sensed that life is stronger than everything else. Life doesn’t belong to us, it passes through us. Her life was the same thing that makes a cockroach limp along on two legs when it’s been stamped on, the same thing that makes a snake crawl away under the slashes of a hoe, dragging its entrails behind it. Anna, in her lack of knowledge, sensed that all the creatures on this planet, from snails to swallows, and including human beings, must live. That is our mission; it has been written in our flesh. We must go on, without looking back, for the energy that pervades us is beyond our control, and even when despairing, maimed or blind, we continue to eat, sleep and swim, struggling against the whirlpool that sucks us down. But there in the quarry that certainty wavered. That mumbled word ‘Mandolino’ opened up new, broad horizons of pain to her. She felt her heart shrivelling up in her chest like a flower in a furnace, while the blood in her veins dried into dust.
*
The Bear grinned smugly. Angelica winced and gave a forced smile. The children started laughing, like trained monkeys imitating their masters.
Anna walked off, hanging her head.
*
ASTOR VERSUS THE SMOKE MONSTERS
Three days earlier, Astor had still been the king of Mulberry Farm. A king running a slight temperature and with ulcers on his palate, but well enough to play games. During the night his temperature had dropped and at first light he’d woken up in a tangle of sweaty sheets.
A cool breeze came in through the window, pleasant to feel on his neck and shoulders after being so hot.
Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he wandered out onto the balcony. The sun was behind the wood, which was taking a last breath of cool air before it was overwhelmed by sultry heat. Above the treetops the sky was clear and almost white, but higher up it was darker, still holding some remnants of the night.
During the long summer Astor had discovered that this was his favourite time of day, and he liked to enjoy it in peace. It was a favourite time for the birds too, when they engaged in song contests. Many took part – sparrows, woodpeckers, robins, starlings and unmelodious crows. Those that had been awake all night, such as barn owls and tawny owls, preferred to sleep, either in their nests or, like Peppe 1 and Peppe 2 – two little owls – on beams in the loft.
Astor held onto the railing and peed, aiming at an oil drum among the weeds.
Mama had written in the exercise book that you had to go to the toilet in the wood, well away from the house, and that if you pooed you must dig a hole with the spade beforehand and cover it up afterwards. But his sister wasn’t there and there were some things, like peeing from the balcony, that he could get away with; she’d never know if he didn’t say anything. Pooing was different – he’d never done that from the balcony. In the first place because he couldn’t get his bum through the bars, in the second because he found the idea a little disgusting.
He went downstairs and found the food Anna had left for him on top of a big box. He devoured a tin of lentils, burping contentedly when he’d finished. He picked a mobile phone up from the floor and put it to his ear. ‘Hello! Is that you, Anna? Where are you? When are you coming home?’
‘I’ve just got to kill a monster, then I’ll come back,’ he answered his own question in a high-pitched nasal voice supposedly resembling his sister’s. ‘I’ve found some chocolate. Do you want some?’
‘Yes. I’ll have the crisps too.’Then he rang the long-haired lizards. ‘Hi! I’m up! See you in the wood. I won’t be long.’ He dropped the mobile and went back upstairs.
Going into the bathroom, he climbed up onto a stool and looked at himself in the mirror.
Every time he did this, he discovered something interesting – in his nostrils, into which he’d stick the handle of his toothbrush; in his pink gums, which turned white if you pressed them; in his ears, which clicked back into place if you bent them. He would bang on his stomach as if it was a drum, grab hold of his penis
and pull down the skin at the tip. Out would come, depending on the light, the damp head of a pink tadpole, a snake’s nose or a sparrow’s egg.
Today his attention was focused on his eyebrows. What on earth were they for? Why did he have those two little arches of woodland, separated from the forest of his hair by the desert of his forehead?
Opening the white Formica cupboard, he took a Bic razor out from between the jars and shaved them off. ‘There! That’s better.’ Now, instead of eyebrows, he had two pale patches of skin, which made him look like a lizard.
He kept a secret key in a box of aspirin. His sister didn’t know it, but he’d found one that opened the lock of Mama’s room. He turned it in the keyhole and pushed the door open. It was dark. He drew one curtain a little way, and a strip of light fell on the opposite wall.
The secret to not being found out was to put everything back where it was before, taking care not to remove the dust. He’d never touched Mama’s skeleton, though. Anna had arranged all the jewels that adorned it; he’d just made some suggestions.
He pulled The Big Book of Dinosaurs out of the bookcase, sat down on the floor in the sunlight and started turning the pages. He knew it off by heart, but he was always noticing new details: a funny claw, a spiny tail, the colour of a feather.
His sister told him she’d seen lots of these dinosaurs during her travels on the Outside. The smoke monsters could gas you with their smell, but these creatures could eat you whole. He could see some of them when he climbed up a tree at the edge of the wood. His favourite was the Heterodontosaurus, a small animal not much bigger than a cat, purple in colour, with a beak-like muzzle and a beautiful pointed tail. It didn’t look very fierce in the picture.
He followed the printed lines with his forefinger and, with some difficulty, read out loud: ‘The Heterodontosaurus had three kinds of teeth. The front ones were small and were used for tearing off leaves; the back ones were flatter and were used for chewing. Males also had two long teeth at the sides of the jaw.’ In the corner of the page, there was a question in a yellow box: ‘What about you? How many different kinds of teeth have you got?’
He touched his teeth and mumbled: ‘I’ve got some good ones and some that hurt.’
His gaze fell on the wardrobe. The door was ajar. Hung up inside were Mama’s dresses. One, which was longer than the others, was the same colour purple as the Heterodontosaurus. He went over to it, scratching his neck. If his sister found out he’d gone into the room and touched the dresses, he’d get a spanking. He’d have to be very careful.
He climbed up onto a chair and breathed in the smell from the wardrobe. It was like the smell of those green sweets that make your nose tingle when you chew them. It was Mama’s smell.
He stretched out his arm and took the dress off the hanger, then jumped down and compared it with the picture. Exactly the same.
He put it on and looked at himself in the mirror. Perfect: the bottom part formed the tail, and the V-neck hung down as far as his belly button. On the lowest shelf of the wardrobe was a neat row of shoes.
Selecting a pair of red stilettos with ankle straps, he put them on. They were extremely uncomfortable, but the long pointed heel would be useful for killing snakes.
He walked round in a circle with his arms outstretched, as if balancing on a beam. Then he pulled the dress up over his head, so that it covered his face. ‘Arrr … Arrr …’ he growled, imitating a Heterodontosaurus. ‘I’m going to get you …’
Then, barely able to see where he was going and clip-clopping on the high heels, he locked the door, hid the key and went downstairs. He stumbled across the sitting room and out onto the veranda, flexing his fingers as though they were sharp claws. ‘Here I am. Watch ou—’
What was that?
Through the elasticated fabric covering his eyes he seemed to see something, a black shape moving in the distance.
‘Anna, you’re home! Don’t worry, I’ll put it back straight away.’ He uncovered his face. ‘I haven’t damaged it.’
Some human figures were coming down the drive between the overgrown box hedges.
Astor shut his eyes and opened them again. His jaw dropped and his facial muscles tightened in an expression of terror.
Coming towards him were two older children, painted white all over, one of them pushing a wheelbarrow, and several younger children, who were all blue.
Fear thickened his flesh. The hundred thousand billion cells of which he was made up huddled together like a brood of chicks. His stomach tightened, his lungs crumpled like paper bags crushed in a fist, his heart missed several beats and his bladder relaxed.
Astor looked down. A warm trickle of liquid ran down his legs. He’d peed in Mama’s dress.
Now the figures were closer.
He decided to shut his eyes and count up to six. He was good at counting up to six.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
He opened his eyes again. They were even closer. The smaller children weren’t really blue; they seemed to be covered in paint, and they were making funny noises.
Ghosts.
Ghosts which for some unknown reason had succeeded in entering the magic wood. Anna had told him they were harmless, made of air, of nothing. The dust of past lives. What else could they be? The only living things in the world were him, his sister and the animals in the wood. So they must be ghosts. He decided to ignore them and go back indoors, but he found that he was paralysed. He couldn’t move a muscle; all he could do was tighten his bum. A shiver ran across his scalp. His hair was standing on end and quivering like antennae.
The two big ghosts, a male and a female, were pointing at him.
They’ve seen me.
His legs gave way and Astor fell forward, as stiff as a tailor’s dummy, leaving the red shoes behind him and hitting his forehead on the concrete. He lay there on the edge of the steps with his arms stretched out, like a worshipper prostrating himself before his gods.
Dirty feet, black toenails, broken shoes and grazed ankles filed past, stepping over him, to much laughing, pushing and shrieking. Two children, in their eagerness to enter the house, walked straight over him, as though he was a doormat. Nobody so much as looked at him or spoke to him.
What if the ghost is me?
The idea died immediately, drowned by the buzz of blood in his eardrums. He didn’t move, even when he heard voices echoing in the sitting room and realised that the ghosts talked like him.
‘Look at all this stuff,’ said one.
‘I’m going upstairs,’ said another.
The secret was to let them get on with it, not disturb them, stay where he was and keep quiet. Just as they’d appeared, they’d disappear. But the more he told himself not to move, the more he longed to see them. Fear and curiosity were battling in his mind, and eventually fear surrendered.
Astor stumbled awkwardly towards the front door, holding the hem of his dress like a nineteenth-century maid of honour. He rolled his head right and left, like a doll with a spring neck.
He liked the little blue children a lot; they reminded him of the mice when they ran amok at night. They threw things to each other, climbed up bookcases, jumped on piles of rubbish. One had got into his pedal car and another was pushing him against the wall. Another was picking things up and putting them in a yellow bag tucked under his arm.
Astor watched the looting spellbound, as if this wasn’t his own home. His eyes were filled with mouths, noses, eyes, hands, strange facial expressions, penises, painted buttocks, movements and utterances he didn’t understand. Leaning against the door post and absent-mindedly touching his own penis, he silently watched the most extraordinary scene he’d ever witnessed.
After a while, one of the blue ferrets, rushing out of the room with Astor’s big cuddly dog, pushed him so hard he fell down on the floor. And there he lay, with a smile on his face.
The big white boy, who had a bone necklace on his chest, was sitting on a chair holding Anna’s mandolin. ‘Is
this your home?’
He was pretty ugly. His legs were as thick as tree trunks, he had a fat belly and thick hair. There were even some long hairs on his chin.
‘Do you understand what I say?’
Astor stared at him in silence.
The ghost shouted towards the stairs. ‘We’ve found another one that can’t talk.’
The female ghost replied from upstairs. ‘Come and see what they’ve done. It’s beautiful.’
She must have gone into Mama’s room. Of course it was beautiful, the decorated skeleton was in there.
A hairline crack opened in his certainties, lengthened out, following a complicated but correct mental process, and suddenly everything collapsed. Astor understood that they weren’t ghosts. They were as alive as him, his sister and the animals in the wood.
They weren’t transparent like spectres; they were smelly, they held things in their hands; they drank, spoke, broke his car. This intuition made him happy, and a new sensation warmed his heart. There were other human beings in existence, who had escaped the smoke monsters, dinosaurs and deadly gases. He was only sorry Anna wasn’t there so that he could prove it to her.
He swallowed and tried to speak: ‘S-s-s …’ He took a deep breath and finished the sentence: ‘S-s-so you’re alive?’
The fat boy burst into cavernous laughter. ‘For the time being, yes. We won’t be for very much longer, though.’ He shouted to the girl upstairs: ‘Angelica, I was wrong. He can talk.’ Then he beckoned to him. ‘Come over here.’
And Astor, as if the order had come from a god, obeyed.
The fat boy smiled at him, slapping his thighs. ‘Come here.’
Astor looked at him anxiously, his blue eyes wide open.
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of.’ The god stretched out his hand.
The little boy examined it; it was short and broad, the nails thick and yellow. He touched it hesitantly with his middle finger, as if it might give him an electric shock.
‘See? I’m flesh and blood.’
Anna Page 12
