Cold Skin

by Albert Sanchez Pinol

  I sat her down on a stool. After removing the bucket from her head I took a seat and observed her for quite some time. The corners of her lips were crusted with blue blood. Her heart pounded as swiftly as a rabbit’s, and her breathing was shallow. I was met with an empty gaze. Her eyes followed vaguely as I waved a finger in front of her like a hypnotist. Then the thing wet herself on the stool. I kept watch out the window facing the forest path.

  Gruner did not come. My irritation mounted. One horribly violent blow from my fist sent her flailing on the ground. This time, the monster did not make a sound. She remained huddled in a corner, attempting to protect herself with manacled hands.

  It was past midday. The light was fading with still no sign of Gruner. Naturally, I had no intention of keeping the female. The monsters were to be feared even under normal conditions. What would they be capable of if they realised that I held one of their own kind captive? Her skin was like a dolphin’s; taut like the strings of a violin. She appeared to be a young and fertile creature. Nature is endlessly inventive as to its techniques of reproduction. Perhaps she could communicate with her companions through some chemical mechanism undetectable to humans. I was on the verge of putting the beast out of her misery.

  The sound of gunfire pierced through the window just as the sun had begun to set.

  “Rat bastard!” bellowed an unseen voice. “Why declare war on me? Are not the toads enough?”

  “And what about you, Gruner?” I called out into the void. “You would rather waste what little ammunition you have left on me?”

  “Thief! Sie bescheissenes Arschloch!”

  Another shot rang out. The bullet lodged itself in the upper corner of the window frame, bringing down a rain of wood shavings. I pressed the little beast against the window.

  “Fire away, Gruner! With luck you may hit your target!”

  “Let her go!”

  I wrenched her arm by way of an answer. The beast shrieked. Indignant cries could be heard from somewhere in the undergrowth. That was precisely the response I had sought. My laughter rang out.

  “What seems to be the trouble, Gruner? You don’t like my antics? Well then, listen to this!” My boot trod down hard on her naked foot, sending yelps of pain through the woods.

  “Stop! Do not kill her! What do you want? Tell me what you want!”

  “I want to talk. Face to face!”

  “Show yourself and we will talk!”

  He had not formulated his all-too-quick reply and its insincerity was patently obvious.

  “The only one who will show himself is you. Now!”

  He did not reply. My greatest concern was that Gruner might simply walk away. He had no reason to persist. It was inconceivable. Many a farmer may be capable of murdering a neighbour over a cow. But not one of them would risk his life for a wolf. In my possession was a thing whose value I could not gauge.

  I seemed to hear some branches move outside.

  “Gruner, come out immediately.”

  I pulled his pet away from the window in order to speak. I saw the double barrel of his shotgun emerging from the bushes, lit up by flashes of sulphur. Gruner’s bullets were authentic fragmentary shells. He missed me by a hair. The cornice of the window frame shattered; a sliver of wood lodged itself in one of my eyebrows. The wound, though insignificant in itself, enraged me. I threw the beast to the ground like a rag, pressing her down with the heel of my boot. My hands were then left free to wield the rifle. The surrounding greenery was cascaded with lead. I held the firearm up to my chest, covering every possible angle. Gruner could be anywhere, but at the very least he would be forced to take cover. I called out and was met with no response. What was he playing at? Assault or siege? Had he the will to conduct a prolonged attack? I had no choice but to leap from one window to another, with baited breath. If Gruner managed to reach that outer wall, my position would no longer be safe. I spotted him behind me. He was skulking around the house by way of the beach so as to catch me unawares. I fired, but he was shielded by an embankment.

  “I shall murder you,” he swore, huddled over. “By God, I shall destroy you!”

  The fellow’s position belied his words: Gruner was trapped. It would be difficult to take aim while he stayed on the sand. But he would be forced to leave the beach sooner or later. When that time came, he would be a sitting duck, regardless of where he went. It was far worse to remain where he was. Come nightfall, the monsters would surely be delighted to find his prone body on the shore.

  “You must give up!” I told him. “Surrender or I shall kill you both!”

  With unexpected determination and speed, Gruner risked an escape. He ran doubled over, screaming in an oddly high, girlish voice. I could fire only two shots. The bullets went astray in the ocean as he disappeared into foliage.

  The crossfire ended there. Had he gone back to the lighthouse? Perhaps that is what he would like me to think. I tied a cord around the hostage’s neck and secured her to a bed leg. Then I shoved open the door and pushed her outside. Gruner was sure to be disturbed by the sight and might do something foolhardy. Thinking she was free, the beast hesitated before running a few yards. The rope pulled tight with a jolt, throwing the little thing to the ground.

  All was still for several minutes. I kept an eye out of the window, observing the beast lying bound and listless on the ground. She strained on the rope off and on, like a chained dog in search of its owner. Then she would give up, rest and make another attempt. All at once, the rope was severed by a well-placed bullet. An excellent shot! What happened next can only be justified by mutual madness. We both made a mad dash for the hostage instead of firing at each other. Each of us abandoned our respective hideouts of house and forest, but Gruner was farther away. I grasped the beast’s neck in one hand and the rifle in the other. She did not resist. My arm had not the strength to fire the weapon as a pistol and I missed. Gruner’s entire body was in movement, a ball of fur and hair tossed by the wind with the ever present harpoon on his shoulder. He could not shoot me for fear of injuring the very being he was trying to save.

  “Give up!” I warned. “It is no use!”

  He spat at me before zigzagging rapidly into the forest. I learned the truth of a very old lesson: it is no simple thing to kill a man who knows how to move. I returned to my refuge, using the rifle barrel to prod the hostage inside.

  Evening fell over the earth like a net of darkness. I watched the forest furtively, gripping my rifle on an island infested by monsters, a specimen of wild sea vermin at my side. It was all too fantastic to be believed. Not four days ago I had been discussing politics with a sea captain. First I would tell myself that none of it was real. Then I would say, yes, yes it was. I argued with the world as to its plausibility until a sharp blast jolted me out of such musings. Dusk had settled in.

  I was just beginning to worry more about the monsters than about Gruner when a booming voice cried, “How do I know you will not shoot?”

  “Because I’ve had the opportunity to annihilate you many times over, and yet you are still alive!” I answered swiftly. “You fancy a nice sunbath, Gruner? Do you enjoy going out on your balcony in the morning half naked? Many a time I have had you in my sights. I just had to press the trigger.” Then, barking like a sergeant, I said, “Show yourself for once, damn you. Come out!”

  At long last, he left the woods, but not without some reluctance.

  “Throw the rifle aside,” I ordered, “and get on your knees.”

  He obeyed grudgingly. Kneeling but unshaken, Gruner spread his arms wide as if to say: Here I am.

  “Now it’s your turn to show yourself,” he demanded with his hands on the back of his neck, “and bring her with you!”

  I put the beast in front of me like a shield. When we grew near, I shoved her toward Gruner, aiming the rifle at them both. Gruner inspected the beast as a veterinarian might examine a sickly goat.

  “Look what you have done, she’s covered in bruises!” he protested.
<
br />   “What did you expect? The monsters have blue blood, after all,” I said with cruel irony. Gruner’s gaze ranged widely until his eyes finally rested on me.

  “Very well, it’s getting dark. What is it you want?”

  “You should know by now.”

  I sat down with the rifle across my lap. Suddenly, if one may say so, the situation became almost restful. Not a moment before, we had been about to cut each other’s throats, and suddenly we were practically chatting. We resembled a pair of Phoenicians who had worn themselves out in a theatrical and not very heartfelt bout of haggling. The island was an uncanny place.

  “I should kill you right now, but I won’t,” I began in a conciliatory tone. “To be honest, I care not a whit as to what is happening on this devilish island. For reasons unknown to me, you do not wish to abandon it. You had the opportunity when I disembarked and said nothing. Very well, remain if you wish. I, on the other hand, intend to escape from this place safe and sound.”

  I pointed in the direction of the lighthouse. “I mean to get in there, with or without you. Get in and survive. A ship is bound to pass by soon. We shall use the lighthouse’s beam to send an SOS and I will depart to some more tranquil place. That is all. Naturally, you may keep my provisions and the weapons. I have two Remington rifles and thousands of bullets. I am sure you will find them useful.”

  I caught a glimpse of rotten teeth as his mouth twisted into an enigmatic smile. He took a swig from a small iron flask without offering me any. “You don’t understand. This island lies far beyond any commercial route. The only ship that will enter these waters will be the one bringing the replacement weather official. A year from now.”

  “You cannot fool me! There is a lighthouse here. And lighthouses are strategically placed on shipping routes.”

  He shook his head, threw aside the cigarette he had been smoking and said, “I assure you, the route has been in disuse for ages. They had originally planned on building a jail here for prisoners of the Boer War. Something along those lines anyway, I don’t know. But the nautical charts were out of date and miscalculated the island’s size. This rock doesn’t even have room for a guardhouse. They believed it to be much larger” – sweeping his hand in an all-inclusive motion – “and the building contract was handed over to a private company. The surveyors realised as soon as they arrived that the project wasn’t feasible and rushed to get the budget approved before some general cancelled the whole endeavour. The lighthouse was included in the plans for the prison. They decided to build so as not to be accused of siphoning funds from the military budget. I imagine it all worked out on paper. They built the lighthouse and went away.”

  He sighed sarcastically. “They might have spared themselves the trouble. No public works inspector would ever have come here. Especially once the English ceded control of the lighthouse over to international domain. What does that actually mean anyway? What once belonged to an army is now the property of no one.”

  He sat back down. Indeed, none of it made sense.

  “I refuse to believe it! If that is how things stand, then what are you doing here? You are the keeper of a lighthouse without ships?”

  His moods were changeable. Gruner had feared the worst concerning the little beast, and getting her back had soothed his spirits. He laughed and this time passed me the flask. The liquor was bitter and cold, but I valued his gesture much more than any drink.

  “I was not sent to man the lighthouse. I am the former weather official. Well, to be honest I am not actually qualified for the post, but the company was not exactly picky about the sort of personnel they sent here.” He paused. “One of the sailors on the boat that brought me over, some South African who knew the tale, told me all about the lighthouse.”

  He motioned for the flask and took a swig.

  “And you, friend? Why have you come here? Victors are not wont to disembark in these climes. Ever. Nor honest or upright men. And you? Did your wife leave you for some railroad engineer? Or perhaps you lost a fortune in the casino. On second thought, don’t tell me. It is all the same. Welcome to the hell of outcasts, the paradise of the damned,” – and, shifting abruptly his tone and manner – “Where is the other Remington?”

  Overcome by fatigue, I let him have his way. Gruner’s little beast stared at the ground with a bovine indifference, sliding her fingers around in the mud. She swallowed an insect whole. Gruner went inside the house. He kneeled before the crate of bullets just like a pirate marvelling over a treasure chest. The sight of rifle and ammunition filled him with glee. “This is good, very good,” he said as one hand stroked the rifle, while his other fingered the bullets like a miser with his gold.

  “Lend me a hand!” he said abruptly. “It will be dark soon. You realise what that means, don’t you?”

  Gruner slung his own rifle and the other Remington over his shoulders. Together, we carried the ammunition box by its side handles. Yes, it was growing dark. He shoved the mascot ahead and the three of us began a mad dash. “Make haste, hurry,” Gruner spurred me on as we rushed through the forest. “The lighthouse, the lighthouse.” He muttered the same words in German: “Zum Leuchtturm, zum Leuchtturm!” It was an awkward business to coordinate our four legs and I tripped over a root. The ammunition scattered. “What the devil is the matter with you?” he swore while snatching up fistfuls of bullets. “Are you drunk?” The box contained a muddied jumble of moss and bullets. We began to run. Night was upon us. “Oh Lord, oh dear Lord,” Gruner whispered. “Zum Leuchtturm, zum Leuchtturm!”

  We were but twenty yards away from the lighthouse and had just begun the sharp ascent up its foundation of natural rock when Gruner screamed, “Shoot, shoot!” I did not know what he meant. “Behind the lighthouse, you fool!” I could distinguish about four or five vague shadows flicking around on all sides. My rifle let loose a wild volley of bullets. The monsters knew well the firearm’s power and fled as a pack. Gruner had taken charge of the crate. “Open the door, it is unlocked!” he cried.

  Not a second after we barred the door, the monsters began to pound the sheets of iron with apocalyptic fury. Gruner hovered over the ammunition, but I interposed myself between him and the bullets.

  “What now?” he protested. “They are attacking the lighthouse; I need the bullets!”

  “Look me in the eye.”

  “Why?”

  “Look me in the eye.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “That you look me in the eye.”

  He did it. I set the muzzle of his rifle against my chest.

  “You wish to see me dead? Then do it. I can’t abide the thought of being murdered in my bed. If you mean to kill me, do it now. It shall make you an assassin, but at least you shan’t be a traitor.”

  Gruner panted furiously, unsure of how to respond to such a vague insult. He ripped the weapon out of my hands and in one rough movement pressed it into my temple. The metal was cold. “You are the sort who wants to live forever. Did your dear parents never read you the words of Christ? They never taught you that our fate is to die many times over?” He pulled the weapon away and lowered his eyes. “Every one of us must die. Providence decrees whether it is today or tomorrow. We each have a rifle. Kill me if that is what you wish.”

  Gruner’s rough-hewn features dissolved into an unexpected smile. He paused in silence, ignoring the urgency of our situation. The shrieking continued outside as Gruner subjected me to a hermetic scrutiny. At last he said, “You sought refuge in the lighthouse and here you are. Do you expect my congratulations? You don’t understand a thing. You are the sort of man who has to get right up against the bars of a prison in order to feel free.” He gestured greedily. “And now, let me at the bullets. The toads are on their way.”

  I stepped aside and gave him what he wanted. Gruner bounded lightly up the stairs, despite the heavy burden of his rifle, the Remington and the ammunition box. I noticed a pair of empty sacks and put them to use as an improvised mattress. The mons
ters howled. I heard shots being fired from somewhere on high. But I could think only of sleep.

  Sleep.

  Sleep.

  Sleep.

  6

  An uncanny tranquillity reigned over the earth when I awoke. At some point in the night, my body had been resurrected like Lazarus. Outside, the waves crashed gently against the rocks nearby. The seaside sounds had a calming effect. From my supine position, the lighthouse’s interior gave the impression of being at once sturdy and welcoming. Shafts of light fell from various heights through the windows, which followed the twists of the spiral staircase. I watched motes of dust drift slowly in a nearby beam. They floated with an absurd and melancholy harmony. My mouth was dry. I sat up and drank from a nearby jug. It was vinegar, but it made no difference. I would have drunk it even if it were boiling oil. My every movement set off a series of shooting pains. Thousands of needles tingled in each limb, as though my blood hadn’t circulated in years. I took note of my changed surroundings while still sitting on those sacks. There was hardly any space left at the base of the lighthouse. It was packed full with crates, sacks and trunks. I looked closer. They were mine. Just then, Gruner came through the door.