by Robert Ward
Change, heavy and jinking in her hat, she finally ran off behind the dunes to find the Sand Sculptor and to take off the terrible stifling costume and to rest.
She sat on a blanket and drank greedily from a water bottle as the Sand Sculptor counted their money.
“Sea-serpent, Sand Sculptor.”
“Sea-serpent. A great long orme, killed by the tide.”
The Sand Sculptor, an old man with a face of scored leather and eyes black and sparkling, passed her her primrose cotton dress and she slipped it on and lay down facing the sky.
“Does it hurt, Sand Sculptor?”
“Every day.”
“All your creatures are lost.”
“Every one.”
“Will you make another?”
“Not today.”
She looked at him for a moment, shading her eyes.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go home.”
The old man packed away his spade and coloured pebbles and the water bottle and the blanket with the Bird Girl’s costume wrapped inside into his long canvas bag and they set off along the beach, away from the sound of the people, around the rocky headland, and forded barefoot the little shallow river that entered the sea at that point. They walked for a mile along the deserted beach. No one ventured beyond the headland.
Nestled between two steep sand dunes and hidden from sight on all sides was the old beach house where they lived. A virtual ruin when the Sand Sculptor had discovered it, he had made it habitable little by little and now it was as sound and as weather proof as it could be.
A small single storey wooden cabin without electricity or water, and whipped by the cruel sea winds, this was where the Sand Sculptor and the Bird Girl came to eat and sleep and in winter to keep warm in the cold and dark when there were no visitors to the beach and no one to pay a few coins to see her dance or to see his fragile figures in the sand.
The Bird Girl cooked mackerel in a frying pan on the wood burning stove and she poured rough red wine into beakers for them both, and they ate for a while without speaking.
After their meal, the Sand Sculptor lit his pipe and clouds of pungent blue smoke filled the cabin and the Bird Girl lay back on their makeshift wooden bed and stared up at the rotten wooden slats of the roof.
“We’ll not go out again today then, Sand Sculptor?”
“No. I think not, Girl. I’ve got no heart for it anyway.”
“No, nor I.”
“Too late to be worthwhile. The beach will be sparse soon.”
He re-lit his pipe with his petrol lighter, replacing it in the brown leather pouch he kept tucked in the side pocket of his worn corduroy trousers.
“Season will be over soon, Girl,” he said with the stem of his pipe clenched between his teeth.
“How much money do we have? Enough to get us through the winter?”
“With beachcombing for fuel, and a little from the fishing, we’ll get through.”
“Fishing in winter is cruel, Sand Sculptor. I fear for you. Perhaps we should go to the town. They will give us money to live.”
He looked at her through the smoke haze and shook his head.
“They’ve left us alone here. If you let them give you money they have power over you. They want to know things about you. Where you live.”
“But no one would mind us living here. No other has use for it.”
“Best leave things alone, Girl,” he said, his eyes asking her to agree.
“We’ll not go to them then,” she said. “We’ll manage.”
Later that night, as they lay together in the darkness, the Bird Girl was restless, and he turned to face her and stroked her long yellow hair.
“What is it?” he asked.
She swallowed.
“Last night the sea cried out to me,” she said.
“What did it say?”
“It was a quiet whispering, spoken on its breath, above the water.”
“What words?”
“Not words, just whispering sounds. Something of a terrible sadness.”
The Sand Sculptor kissed her cheek and they eventually fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of the distant sea.
The Bird Girl and the Sand Sculptor lived in the dunes, hidden from view from Drew’s cottage, but that was the nearest place of human habitation. It was Elizabeth who saw the Bird Girl running along the beach towards the cottage in the light of the early morning. She had been lying awake for some time and looking out towards the sea.
Elizabeth put on her dressing gown and went onto the balcony. The Bird Girl stopped running and shouted up to her.
“Come quick, come quick. The Sand Sculptor.”
She pointed back in the direction from which she had come.
“Drew,” Elizabeth said, loud enough to wake him.
“What is it?”
“There’s a girl out here. I think she needs help.”
Drew joined her on the balcony.
“Wait there. We’ll come down,” he shouted to the girl.
They dressed quickly and then ran down to the beach.
“Come quick, come quick. The Sand Sculptor,” the girl repeated when they reached her.
“What’s happened?” Elizabeth asked.
The girl grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her.
“Should we phone for help?” Drew asked. “Is somebody hurt?”
“Just come,” the girl said, imploring them with her eyes.
They followed her as she ran ahead, turning occasionally to urge them to hurry. They reached the shack and followed her in.
The Sand Sculptor was dead. His eyes were wide open and staring and his lips were purple. Drew went over to where he was lying on his back on the bed and felt for a pulse for form’s sake. It was obvious he was dead. He turned to them both and shook his head. Elizabeth put her arms around the girl and hugged her. The girl sobbed from her soul.
“She’ll have to stay here I suppose,” Drew said, looking at the sleeping girl on the settee. “Can you imagine living in such a place? It shouldn’t be allowed.”
“What’ll happen to her, d’you think?”
“Who knows?”
“She hasn’t eaten anything, but then I suppose that’s the last thing on her mind. They were lovers of course.”
“It would seem so. She certainly loved him, that’s for sure. I didn’t know the human body contained so much water. She’s literally cried herself to sleep.”
The girl was curled up, wearing her primrose dress and she was barefoot. She was somehow beautiful to watch. All of that love and pain. It was as though she had switched herself off, being unable to bear any more.
“How old do you suppose she is?” Elizabeth asked.
“It’s hard to say. Young.”
“She must have some family somewhere I suppose.”
“We’ll let her stay for a few days? Shall we?”
“Of course. I don’t know if it’s because of what she’s gone through but she’s remarkably uncommunicative, and she speaks in the strangest way. Have you noticed? It’s like she’s something out of the past.”
Drew carried the girl into one of the spare rooms and Elizabeth put her to bed.
“She’ll have to borrow some of my clothes,” she said. “Her dress is so thin and worn.”
“Maybe we should have left her where she was on the settee? When she wakes up she won’t know where she is,” said Drew.
“Shall I stay with her? Do you think?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.”
The girl was still asleep when Elizabeth woke in the morning. She made some toast and scrambled eggs and brought them in to her on a tray. The girl was awake when she returned.
“Are you all right?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
“I thought it was a horrid dream,” the girl said. “But it wasn’t, was it?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Try to eat some of this,” she said. “I’ll make you some coffee.”
“She’s awake,” she told Drew in the kitchen.
“How is she?”
“She seems okay. It’s hard to tell of course. I’ll take her some coffee in.”
To her surprise the girl had eaten some of her breakfast and was sitting up in the bed and was just staring in front of her.
“I’ll be lonely now,” she said.
Elizabeth sat down next to her and stroked her cheek.
“Did you stay with me last night?” the girl asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought so. I could feel someone near me, but I didn’t wake. That was kind of you. And thank you for the food.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Elizabeth said feeling a strange compulsion to kiss her. “Try not to worry. I know it must be awful for you now but the pain will pass. You just have to live through it. God, I’m sorry. I must sound ridiculous to you.”
“You’re kind,” the girl said and smiled. “Can I have my coffee now please?”
The girl borrowed a red dress from Elizabeth. They were roughly the same size though Elizabeth was taller. She wore a green T-shirt and beige shorts. They walked along the grassy tops of the cliffs away from the cottage towards the big headland. It was mid-afternoon and hot, though the sea breezes cooled them a little. Drew hadn’t wanted to go with them.
“What’s your name?” Elizabeth asked.
“Koo Koo,” the girl said, hopping over a tussock.
Elizabeth looked at her.
“An unusual name.”
“The Sand Sculptor gave it to me.”
“How long were you together?”
“Two years.”
“You don’t mind talking about it do you?”
“About what?”
“About you and the Sand Sculptor.”
“Oh, no.”
Elizabeth hadn’t been sure if the girl would want to go for a walk or just be quiet sitting inside, but the girl said she wanted to go to blow the cobwebs away.
“I’ve never been along here before,” the girl said. “It’s beautiful to see the sea from up here. Do you live in the house?”
“What? Oh, the cottage. No, we’re just visiting. It belongs to Drew’s family.”
“We’ve seen lights from it sometimes, me and the Sand Sculptor, from the beach when we’ve walked far in the evening sometimes beachcombing or just for the walk as the light dies.”
The girl sniffled and ran the back of her hand over her face. Elizabeth didn’t know what to do and so they walked along for a little way without talking.
“Let’s sit here for a minute?” the girl said, pointing to a flat rock near the edge of the cliff.
The rock felt hard and cold for a moment and they dangled their legs over the side. Elizabeth looked at her and saw the quiet acceptance on her face.
“You can stay with us for as long as you like you know?” Elizabeth said, realising as she spoke that she might regret such generosity as she and Drew were not staying there that long themselves.
“No, I’ll go back home tomorrow I think,” the girl said.
“Isn’t there anyone you can stay with? I mean family, or friends?”
“No, there’s no one. I’ll be all right at home.”
Elizabeth thought of the shack and shuddered at the thought of having to call it home. She knew there was nothing she could do about it though. She wasn’t responsible.
“What will Drew be doing?” the girl asked.
“Drew?” Elizabeth said, realising she had forgotten about him. “Oh, he’ll be reading I expect. He loves to read.”
“He’s nice,” the girl said.
“Yes, he is nice.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“I loved the Sand Sculptor.”
“I know you did.”
The sea was stormier that day and white breakers crashed onto the beach far below them. The sky was a little duller and there was the faintest chill in the air now.
“The Sand Sculptor said the sea was the blood of the Earth. That when the sea stopped moving the Earth would die. It moves in rhythms, like a heartbeat. We came out of the sea you know? But oh, it was a very long time ago. We forgot things when we came out of the sea.”
Elizabeth shivered.
“Are you warm enough?” she asked the girl. “I didn’t realise it would be so chilly along here.”
“I’m not cold. The season is ending. The Sand Sculptor said he could feel it in the night after I heard the whisperings.”
“What whisperings?” Elizabeth asked, looking at her.
“They came from the sea in the night. They were telling me something but I didn’t know what. Now I do.”
The girl looked out to sea again and put her hands flat against the rock beneath her thighs and swung her legs. Elizabeth stared in the same direction and tried to feel something, but it was as though she was dead inside.
“I love Drew,” she heard herself saying. “But I won’t stay with him. I want more than he can give me, but I don’t know what else there is. I have no right to ask for anything more. He gives me all he has, everything he is, and he’s a lovely person. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied. I don’t know what it is I’m looking for.”
The girl put her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder and they looked into each other’s eyes.
“You’re not happy,” the girl said. “But you must try to be happy.”
“But maybe there’s nothing in the world that will make me happy.”
“You must try to find it, even so.”
Drew cooked for them later when they had returned to the cottage. He made a seafood pasta and opened a bottle of Chablis. They ate on the balcony in the early evening just as the Sun was beginning to go down. The nights were beginning to draw in though it would be light for an hour or so yet. The sky was hazy, and the normally blood red Sun was muted as it slowly sank. The air was heavy and the sound was dulled. The atmosphere made them inward.
“I don’t think you should go back there and live there alone,” Drew said, leaning forward and holding his wineglass in front of him.
“I want to,” the girl said.
“They’ll find you somewhere. No one should have to live in a place like that.”
Elizabeth shot him a look of disapproval.
“The Sand Sculptor said we weren’t to go to them.”
“But now that the Sand Sculptor’s gone…”
“Drew,” Elizabeth said.
“But I can’t bear to think of you living there alone, especially now that winter’s coming.”
“I’ll be happy there,” the girl said. “I’ve always been happy there.”
“But you’ll be alone there now.”
“Drew, leave it. She’s decided,” Elizabeth said to him firmly.
He looked from one to the other of them and shaking his head he then took a drink.
“It was a lovely meal,” the girl said. “Thank you, Drew.”
He smiled at her.
“I wish there was more we could do for you,” he said.
“You’ve helped me so much. You’re kind. Both,” she said, looking at one then the other again.
“If ever you need help you must contact us,” Drew said. “Before you go I’ll tell you how to get in touch with us when no one is here at the cottage. Please, it would make me feel better.”
“You’re kind,” the girl said again.
Later, when the girl had gone to bed, Elizabeth and Drew sat in the drawing room drinking brandy.
“How was your walk?” he asked.
“Pleasant,” she said. “But how could it have been pleasant? She’s just lost the person she most loved in the world. Why do we answer each other like that? Why do people always say, fine, when asked how they are? When they’re not fine at all but fucking desperate? It wasn’t pleasant. I meant that she is pleasant, pleasing, and the sky and the sea were pleasant, and walking and talking and breathing were pleasant. That’s what I meant.”
�
�It was a stupid question,” he said.
“Oh, no, Drew. I’m sorry. Why do you put up with me?”
“I’ve told you why.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It is, for me.”
Elizabeth thought about lighting the fire as she had begun to feel very cold, but she decided not to, feeling in it some ridiculous sense of finality, as though she would formalize the end of something, like summer.
“You’re really worried about her, aren’t you?” she said.
“Of course. Aren’t you? Imagine what it’s going to be like for her living there on her own.”
“It’s strange, I know. Or maybe I’m strange. But I’m not worried about her at all. I think she’s got everything worked out in her own primitive kind of way. She’s going to be all right.”
Drew looked at her, not quite knowing what she meant but unsure whether to probe or not.
“The Sand Sculptor sounds like a fascinating character,” he said.
“I’m sure he was.”
“Did she tell you anything more about him?”
“Some,” she said, pulling her legs up underneath her on the armchair and pulling her brown cardigan closer around her.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
“No, not now,” she said thoughtfully. “Not that there’s much to tell.”
“There never is,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“We just don’t talk about anything anymore, do we? Not about really important things. In fact about anything.”
“We talk too much, we just don’t say anything.”
“What’s wrong with us? Why can’t we be happy?”
“It’s me,” she said. “No one could possibly be happy with me.”
They sat in silence for a long time as darkness fell and they could hardly see each other across the room.
“It’s over, isn’t it, Liz?” he suddenly said, slowly and quietly.
“Yes, Drew. It’s over,” she answered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rich,
I saw your play on the telly. I was truly amazed. It wasn’t half bad. What’s this? Next stop Hollywood? You’ll have to write something less parochially English though, something with lots of action and blood and gore. Who knows, you might make a fortune and if you do don’t forget your little friend! Take me to America. We could drive across it in a Buick, wearing sunglasses and staying at motels. How long is it since I’ve seen you? This is getting ridiculous.
