The Click of a Pebble

by Barbara Spencer

  ‘How odd because swans have such poor sight,’ she retorted. ‘And yes, Yöst, I do understand,’ she continued, her voice softening. ‘Albert was faced with a similar decision when he was twenty. We may resemble each other yet, in many ways, the two species are so very different. You mention smell and hearing. There is much, much more. We are tied to the earth and, as you have seen for yourself, our lives are not always easy. Our existence is regulated and controlled by a need to work, to earn money for food and lodgings. Not you. You are born free from all that. Your very nature frees you from all responsibility. Chasing the moon and stars.’

  Yöst didn’t reply, mulling over the picture Madame Meijer was busy painting for him among the carinatae. Over the past year, that existence had retreated into mist as if he had read it somewhere in a book. A book he had loved but now didn’t want to re-read. ‘That’s how I felt when I first arrived here. I couldn’t see anything apart from the freedom it gave us. But …’ he hesitated, ‘I discovered work brings its own freedom. There’s huge satisfaction in doing a job well, knowing because of my efforts Zande and TaTa will have a better life. I’d be quite content to do this always, spend all my life here caring for Zande and TaTa.’

  The glance she gave him was piercing, ‘Are you sure you’re not influenced by your feelings for someone else?’

  ‘You mean Rico?’ Yöst shifted uncomfortably. ‘To be honest I wasn’t actually thinking of him. I was remembering how Pascual helped me in those early days. Even Ramon in his own way. He considered work the best way to heal our wounds. He was right. Did I ever tell you Ramon knew about the island?’

  ‘He did, how?’

  ‘Apparently some drunken fisherman boasted of the killings. I overheard him telling Pascual; he said he was going to talk to Uncle Albert about it.’

  ‘It’s the first I’ve heard,’ she commented. ‘I knew there was trouble in town, although Albert said nothing. Did Ramon speak to you?’

  ‘Not about that … he did about my neglecting my family,’ Yöst grinned shamefaced. ‘That’s what I mean. Ramon in his own peculiar way helped me to grow up; taught me about responsibility. The night it happened, I was expecting to be packed off back to town. Somehow Pascual persuaded Ramon not to say anything; he was still suspicious, though. For weeks, everywhere I went, I felt his eyes on me. It was exactly how I imagined it would feel to walk barefoot on hot coals.’

  Mme Meijer smiled fondly at him. ‘I’m sure hot coals would be far, far worse.’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t,’ Yöst grinned, his voice immediately sobering again. ‘That suspicion eventually went, except …’

  ‘Except what, Yöst?’

  ‘Just occasionally, I still catch him looking at me.’ His voice brightened, his eyes shining with merriment. ‘Of course, that might be the wine he drinks at dinner. Now, what took place on the island, feels like it happened to someone else.’

  His voice wavered and faded into silence and Mme Meijer heard him swallow loudly. ‘Tante Marie, I don’t care about that life, not any more,’ his voice took on a pleading tone. ‘I know you said we could stay ’til spring … please, let us stay longer. Rico and me …’ he hesitated, ‘we talked about running the farm when Ramon retires, breeding goats and …’ he lapsed into silence. ‘We’re best friends, that’s all. He helped me get over losing Willem.’

  She reached out, stilling the fingers twisting round and round. ‘Oh, my poor boy. A wonderful pipe dream, but that’s all it is. It can never happen; you have to leave. Besides, Rico will marry and raise children, not goats. I was talking to Ramon in the market last week; he is already speaking with his friends about a suitable husband for Ana. And Rico will be next.’

  Yöst’s thoughts blew apart, dissolving into tiny pieces as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer, as heavy as the one Pepe used to drive posts into the ground. He dragged them back together. ‘I don’t much like goats, anyway,’ he laughed shakily.

  ‘Yöst?’ Rico waved from the doorway. ‘Pa says to stop chatting. You can do that later. He’s hungry and wants his dinner,’ he reported verbatim. Spotting the parcel clutched in Yöst’s arms, ‘I’ve got a gift for you too, only you have to wait ’til after dinner for mine.’ Extending his right hand in invitation, he bowed formally, his face flushed with excitement. ‘Madame Meijer, please allow me to escort you into the house.’

  Mme Meijer rose to her feet. ‘Rascals, the both of you.’ She smiled fondly at the two boys, ‘Definitely troublemakers.’ Rico’s smile switched, instantly becoming doleful. ‘Who me? White as driven snow, I am. Except it don’t snow down here by the river.’ He winked at Yöst, his glance mischievous once more. ‘You have to go up into the hills to find snow.’

  The massive dinner table was full, twenty-three people sitting down to dinner. Besides Matthew Benoit and his wife, an old friend was visiting with his family. A big man, older than Ramon, his family of three had arrived at the house in a motor vehicle.

  The news that Ramon was already seeking a husband for Ana had been a surprise, and watching their eldest son chatting with his mother, Yöst wondered if a match between him and Ana had already been decided on. On hearing the engine on the drive, all the children, apart from Ana, had rushed out of the house to see it, patting its gleaming paintwork with approval.

  That set the tone of the evening and it was a merry party, apart from a tense few seconds, when Pascual and Katarina first brought in the joints of roasted meat for Ramon and M. Benoit to carve. Calling from his seat, Maestro had pointed to the roast pork, ‘You said we were having suckling pig for dinner, Pascual. Do I see it anywhere?’

  Hastily shushing him, it was Adelita who changed the evening into an uproarious party, tuning her wit to a fine pitch. Yöst seated next to Mme Meijer chatted happily, as anxious as any proud parent to pass on the adventures and doings of Zande and Tatania, boasting about their new skills and tediously recounting them one by one. As coffee was served, an air of excitement swept across the table arresting the conversation. Yöst wasn’t surprised; Katarina and Adelita seldom danced but when they did, it was an experience never to be forgotten, and he knew their landlord had been trying to wangle an invitation all autumn.

  Silence fell as Maestro began to play. It was a different melody, one with more zest, Pepe striking the snare wires of the cajón firmly. Yöst watched him for a while, his former abhorrence changed to admiration. Now he saw loyalty, bolstered by his unswerving kindness and patience towards everyone at the farm, especially Tatania. For his change of heart, he had Adelita to thank; Pascual had warned her sharp eyes missed nothing. They’d been planting beans, working backwards along the drills and the sun had been intense. Noticing, Pepe had immediately run back to the house to fetch umbrellas to shield Maestro and the two youngest girls from the sun.

  ‘He wanted children, you know,’ she confided. ‘But what woman would take him on now?’

  ‘Pepe?’

  ‘Yes, he wasn’t bad looking before the soldiers got hold of him.’ Adelita skilfully covered the roots of the young plant with soil, firming it down before moving on. ‘Pascual insists that our stories stay ours until we decide to share them. Only Pepe can’t do that because they took his tongue before breaking most of the bones in his body.’

  She had laughed, despite a lack of gaiety in her mirth, the sound escaping her throat bitter and angry. ‘Still, when he eventually escaped, he got his revenge.’

  Yöst remembered her words every time he and Maestro entertained them. Pepe, despite his shambling gait and garbled speech, staring down at the strings of his instrument, to all intents and purposes oblivious to everything around him, yet never missing a beat of Adelita’s heels hitting the ground.

  Somehow, this performance was to be special. Yöst was aware of it the second Adelita swept out onto the makeshift stage. Summoning every ounce of her youthful agility, she clasped her fingers around the castanets, her glance imperiously sweeping the audience, demanding their full attention before beginning to da
nce. Katarina, as graceful as a young bird, joined her. Dipping and swaying they circled around one another, while Maestro created a melody to suit her beauty, softer and more melodic. Then, as the jarring chords of the guitar sent them spiralling in opposite directions, their feet and arms began to beat out a passionate refrain of love and jealousy.

  Tonight, Katarina wore a black shawl, its long fringe bound around her golden hips, every eye riveted on their subtle movement. Yöst held his breath, watching her arms twist gracefully through the air, her body drooping in response, creating the impression of being solitary and sad. At the same time, he sensed tension between the two dancers, amounting to almost anger as the older woman dominated the younger one, the vibrant red of her dress patterning the air.

  The duet of gold and red continued, revolving, spinning round and round, their heels and fingers talking to one another. Then, without warning, a figure, clad all in black, strode from the shadows of the balcony.

  Hearing an angered gasp from Ramon, Yöst saw it was Rico.

  Wearing heels, and as tall and as slender as a wand, he circled slowly around the two women. From the outset his stance was imperious, his body brooding, its presence as menacing as the hawk that floated unchallenged over the hillside. At first his heels spoke slowly, cautiously, his arms wielded like a sword. At one with the rhythm of the cajón, they created patterns in the air around the two women. Then the two women began circling tentatively around the male, proclaiming their independence, yet still flirting with him, enticing him to watch them dance. At once, his attention was focussed on Katarina, calling her to him with a twist of his shoulders, his arm reaching out to circle her waist. The music softened, a dance of love taking place on tiptoe, their heels redundant. The melody changed again, the rhythm demanding a response from the dancers. It came, as Rico threw Katarina away, his shoulders a callous fortress clad in stone. Seductively, he began flirting with Adelita, the black and the red swirling round and round, Adelita binding them together with Katarina’s shawl. Then, with both women proclaiming their love, Rico’s heels took on a life of their own.

  No longer aware of anything, Yöst listened to Rico’s heels drumming out their paean of love, and felt his own heart speed up. He imagined he was out there on the dance floor, as closely entwined with the figure in black as Rico had been with the red and the gold. As he danced, he felt the warmth of Rico’s body pressed against his own. In a flash, the pettishness and sulks his friend so frequently used to get his own way were forgotten, swept away by a silhouette so exquisite it brought tears to his eyes.

  26

  Yöst crouched on the edge of his pallet, sensing the existence of some new entity, oozing through his skin with the persistence of deadly poison. It lodged in his extremities, his fingers and toes a pincushion into which a thousand pins were being thrust, all at the same time.

  After the performance, Ramon had been exultant taking the compliments of the visitors as his due, and ignoring the deception practised on him by Adelita and his son.

  ‘Had I known?’ he boasted.

  Only the Meijers were staying, Pascual declaring the journey back to the distant town too demanding for the elderly couple at night. After the visitors had left, the house settled, its inhabitants falling into the deep sleep that so often accompanied lateness of the hour.

  Rico leaned up on his bed, calling softly to Yöst. ‘That’s why I don’t want be a farmer.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Pa would have stopped me. I’ll never be clever at schoolwork, not as good as you, however much Pa wants it. After tonight … did you see how proud he was when Monsieur Benoit congratulated him … and Monsieur Corton … he slapped him on the back? He won’t stop me now. Not now I’ve given him something to boast about in front of his friends. He’ll let me dance all right.’ He yawned sleepily. ‘It was such fun keeping a secret from you. Now you know what it feels like,’ he added with a resurgence of his old jealousy. ‘Ma gave me Pa’s old suit, the one he wore when he ran with the bulls. Says I look just like him.’

  ‘You were wonderful, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’

  ‘You mean that?’ He stretched out his fingers and touched Yöst on the arm.

  He felt it as powerful as electricity. It awakened his senses and once again stirrings of desire raced through his body as it had done during the dance, watching the figure in black sinuously tapping out the steps of the passionate love triangle. With every fibre of Rico projected into bold relief, he picked up on the tiny beads of sweat lingering at his temples, wanting to reach up and wipe them away; to hold him close and feel the length of his body against his own. He stopped himself, his arms rigidly by his sides.

  ‘I wanted so much for you to like it.’

  Now, if Rico had awakened and touched him, Yöst would have screamed in protest, even the nightshirt he was wearing agonising where it brushed against his skin.

  Dragging himself into a sitting position, he pushed himself up onto his feet, sensing the room tilting and swaying. In the bed next to his, Rico was deeply asleep, his face peaceful, the shadows of discontent and sadness disappeared, lost in the exhilaration of the dance. Painfully crouching down, he stroked a strand of his hair framed against the white goose-down pillow, saying goodbye.

  It was goodbye, he knew that now. These pains brooked no argument. Earlier that evening, before the dancing began, he had asked M. Meijer about living there permanently. ‘In a few years, it will be safe enough to visit,’ he had repeated his wife’s comforting words. ‘However, for a while, you will need to be among your own kind. It’s never pretty for outsiders and you will find changing uncomfortable, even painful the first few times. That is, until you become accustomed to your new state.’

  ‘New state? It’s our true nature,’ he had argued despite himself. ‘Why would we need to grow used to it?’

  ‘It may well be our true state,’ the older man replied tartly, ‘yet you will find it very different, both clumsy and awkward. Remember, for all your life so far, you have been essentially human. It will take time to adjust. During that time, you will need to stay close to the clan.’

  ‘Leave Zande and TaTa?’

  ‘Marie and I will care for them.’

  ‘And Ramon? How will you explain our leaving to him?’

  ‘I have already spoken to Ramon. He knows we will be travelling north in the spring.’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ he insisted stubbornly. ‘Not then, not ever.’

  ‘Why the sudden change of heart, Yöst? Remember the first time we visited, you begged me to take you away.’

  ‘That was years ago; everything’s different now, Uncle Albert. I’m useful here. Besides, I like work. I can’t go back to my old life where I did nothing but play all day. I don’t want that kind of life, anymore.’

  Now, although his heart told him one thing, pain was telling him something quite different. He felt it spreading, crawling up his legs and gripping his intestines, making his stomach heave.

  A faint noise caught his ear and he swung round. Maestro was sitting up in bed watching him.

  ‘You need help?’

  Yöst flinched a reply, a bolt of pain so fierce it took his breath.

  Maestro swung his legs to the ground, using both his sticks to pull himself upright. ‘I will call Monsieur Meijer. Can you make it to the door? Get yourself outside, the cold will help. Go on, quickly now, before it’s too late.’

  Without stopping to ask how Maestro knew this, Yöst stumbled across the floor, his arm automatically stretching out to hold the curtain back and stop its noisy rattle; his attention see-sawing between bouts of pain and the idea of leaving the place where he had discovered such happiness.

  As he hobbled across the yard, Léon whined. ‘You know I’m in trouble, don’t you, old boy?’ he gasped out, feeling the dog’s rough tongue against his palm.

  The wind in the yard was tinged with ice. It swept round him caressing his limbs, drawing out the pain from und
er his skin, even the malign force invading his body succumbing to the greater power of nature. He straightened up and lifted his face to the sky, grateful for the cold wind that blew through him, carrying most of the pain away with it.

  ‘Yöst, my poor boy.’ M. Meijer emerged from the house. He had thrown on his shoes and a coat over his nightshirt, Maestro fully dressed hobbling behind. ‘Are you sure you’re not mistaken? December … it’s unheard of. Are you sure?’ he repeated.

  Wearily Yöst nodded. ‘Yes, it’s how Rue described the pain, like a pin jabbing.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness! What are we to do? There is nothing prepared. Come,’ he fussed, ‘can you make it into barn, it’s freezing out here.’

  ‘In winter, it is always freezing.’ Maestro limped into the shelter of the barn, the rope Yöst had so often climbed hanging like a dark finger pointing to the sky. Sighing with gratitude, he lowered himself onto a bale of hay. ‘Then my joints hate winter days.’

  ‘How did you know about the cold?’ The pain had lessened, no longer dominating Yöst’s body to the exclusion of everything else, his mind his own again. Despite those terrifying first moments, he felt a frisson of excitement. Soon he would have no need of ropes, he would have his wings. ‘Is this what happened to the boy you met?’

  ‘Yes. I tried to stop it by throwing buckets of water over him. There was an endless supply of the stuff in our prison; I have not always been as crippled as this.’ Maestro fell silent, and Yöst guessed he was back in his prison reliving his own nightmare. ‘Then came the day when the water no longer worked.’ His expression darkened into one of untold bitterness. ‘That was the day the guards shot him.’

  ‘Why? What had he done?’ Yöst gasped out.

  ‘With men of that persuasion, a reason wasn’t necessary; a whim often considered as valid as a crime. They were about to shoot me because I had witnessed … this thing, this aberration. That’s what they called the boy. And he was so beautiful.’ Yöst saw Maestro’s face full of pain, his fingers clenched exactly as his had been. ‘Even in pain, he resembled some god. By that time, I didn’t care if I lived or died.’ He smiled, ‘I admit to believing death the easier of the two options. The gods, however, decided otherwise, and the following night Ramon and the guerrillas rescued me.’