A Gathering of Twine

by Martin Adil-Smith

  Cullum smiled. He knew the old man was playing, but he also knew he had an uncanny knack of deflecting questions.

  “George, I have your latest test results back. It’s not good news...”

  “Excellent! Does that mean I get to request a final supper? Can I have Nurse Arnold for dessert?”

  “George.” Cullum was being serious now.

  Tate saw it and settled down. “Sorry Doctor,” he mumbled.

  “George, the vasoconstriction around your war-wound has been resisting treatment for quite a few months. I’m worried that gangrene might set in. I want to schedule you for surgery to...”

  “NO!” Tate spat.

  Cullum flinched. Tate never spoke like that.

  “Andrew, I don’t mind being your guinea pig. I know that what I’ve got is unique, and you want to prod and poke me and give me all sorts of pills. And that’s fine. But Andrew, if you want to start hacking bits off me,” Tate raised a gnarled finger towards Cullum, “you can take a long walk! A very long walk! By the stars, you people…”

  “George,” Cullum tried to soothe the old man. “If we don’t remove your leg and gangrene sets in, it will kill you.”

  Tate laughed, braying maniacally. “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew. You can be a real wonder sometimes. Look at me. I’m eighty-one. My daughter never comes to see me. My ex-wife won’t return my letters. My son is so liberal he’s basically a commie. I’ve watched just about all my friends die, and now I’m paying good money to sit around all day and be patronised by boys like you. You keep promising an end, but it never happens. The liver failure was supposed to get me last year. The cock-rot the year before. Still not happened, has it? If Death is the best you’ve got Andrew my son, then bring him in! Let’s liven the place up a bit. Lord knows it could do with it!”

  Cullum let Tate finish and kept quiet as the old man turned to look back out of the window. Silence hung between the two men for a few minutes.

  “Hznuggah,” muttered Tate.

  “What?”

  “What?”

  “You just said something.”

  Tate shrugged. “Just drifted.”

  Cullum looked at the old man. Of course, he was right. According to everything they knew about the human body, Tate should have died years ago. But here he was, still ticking over. He had even outlived a couple of his doctors. And that definitely was not supposed to happen.

  “Ok. What do you want to do?” Cullum asked.

  “Yhzhera,”

  “George?”

  Tate turned to his doctor, rheumy-eyed, and frowned, his lines appearing as furrows in a field. “Andrew?”

  “Are you all right George?”

  Tate’s mind seemed to stumble, and he chewed his bottom lip. “Been here a while? You shouldn’t sneak up on an old man.”

  “No George. I was just passing,” Cullum smiled gently. “Thought I’d say hello.”

  “Hmm...” Tate returned to gazing out the window.

  Cullum looked over to Arnold, who just nodded, and mouthed It’s ok. She was more familiar with Tate’s episodes and did not seem unduly concerned.

  Tate was chuntering under his breath again, and Cullum strained to catch the words.

  “Da da Danu ha, da sa hznuggah, da da Danu ha, yhzhera, yhzhera...”

  The drone began to repeat, but Cullum fancied that Tate’s eyes had brightened, and were fixed on a point far away.

  Tate stopped suddenly, and turning to Cullum he asked, “What time is it?”

  “A little after five-thirty.”

  “Hmmm... my nephew is late.”

  There was a knock at the door. “That’ll be him. Celus get yourself in here!”

  Tuther stepped through. “Alright, Unc?”

  “No, I’m bloody well not. This quack keeps threatening with imminent death, and Lisa still won’t give it up!”

  “The world is going to hell Unc,” Tuther made for Tate, smiling at Arnold and Cullum.

  “You’d know you upstart!” Tate retorted, and then to Cullum, “Investment banker. Milked Argentina in o-one and o-two.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Who do you think pays for this place?” Tuther sat down, close to Tate.

  “Well, could you see your way to paying for Lisa? I just want to do it once more before I go.” Tate was beaming and his eyes sparkled.

  “I’d snap you in two George,” Arnold said, and then to Tuther, “I’ll give you a bit of time. I’ll leave the door open – bit of a to-do last night. I’ll just be outside if you need anything.”

  Cullum followed Arnold out. “Is he always like that?” he said to the nurse, once they were in the corridor.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You know. In and out like that?”

  “Oh yes. Always been like it. Even when he was an outpatient. I think of it like driving in the mountains and trying to get radio reception. He sort of fades in and out. One minute clear as you like. Next, static...”

  “FOR GODS SAKE TURN IT DOWN!” the sound of an easel crashing in the adjacent room cut Arnold off. Cullum saw the red emergency light winking at the nurses’ station.

  Urgent Assistance.

  Two orderlies had already barrelled past Cullum before he had even spun on his heel. He met Dawkins in the doorway. She was clutching at a nasty gash on the side of her head and it was evident that Kandian had done more than knock his easel over.

  Cullum passed Dawkins on to Arnold who led her towards the nurses’ station. Another orderly was charging up the corridor and an older nurse was following him.

  Cullum entered Kandian’s room. Simon and the two other orderlies were circling in on Kandian who was brandishing the end of his brush at them. His eyes bulged and there was spittle on his chin. His robe had become undone, revealing dark hair protruding from over-worn dark grey pyjamas.

  “Alright boys,” Cullum said to the two orderlies. If the man became violent then they would have to restrain him, and that was when things got broken. And he did not want to have to explain that to Amy Kandian.

  The two orderlies retreated to the doorway. The older nurse said something to them and they stepped out of sight, although they were clearly still lurking in the corridor. Simon stayed where he was, watching Kandian.

  “Now Eric,” said Cullum. “You appear to have caused quite a mess here. Can you...”

  “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? CAN’T YOU HEAR IT!” screamed Kandian, pointing jerkily to the dividing wall between his room and Tate’s. “ALL THE TIME! JUST TURN IT DOWN!” he screamed at the wall.

  “Ah... Eric? Eric!” Cullum could see that Kandian was probably at his most agitated. “What can you hear?”

  Kandian looked at him incredulously. “Are you joking with me? Are you really joking with me?” Kandian started towards Cullum and Simon stepped forward.

  “Yeah?” Kandian said to Simon. “I’ll have you too big boy. Pair of you! I know your game! But I won’t! I won’t tell! And I won’t tell him!” He spun, screaming the last sentence at the wall. Spittle was flying from the man’s mouth, and Cullum noticed a throbbing vein in the man’s temple. He knew he did not have long to defuse the situation.

  It had been quite a while since Kandian had been this bad, but Cullum knew it had been building for a long time. Maybe one of the more secure rooms would be best for tonight at least.

  Cullum sat down in an effort to take some tension out of the atmosphere. “What won’t you tell me, Eric?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” he sneered.

  He’s ill, not an idiot.

  “Maybe if you tell me, I’ll turn the music down.”

  Are you sure you want to play into his psychosis?

  “You can’t break me! YOU CAN NEVER BREAK ME!”

  This isn’t working Andy. Cullum tried a different tack. “The music really bothers you?”

  “How can it not bother you? How can you just sit there like it is nothing? Did they give you ear plugs? Did they did they did they?” Kandian started to circle Cullum, to ge
t a look at his ear.

  Cullum turned his head so the profile was facing Kandian. “No ear plugs. But if the music really bothers you, what about we move you to another room? Where it’s quieter?”

  Old Patricia McDermott had passed away late yesterday. It would not take much to get her room prepared. It would have been cleaned already. Perhaps just the bed to be made.

  Kandian’s whole persona changed. “No! No no no! Oh god, please. Don’t move me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Cullum saw a dark stain radiating from the old man’s crotch. Kandian had wet himself.

  “I... I... I... please. No. I’m sorry about that nurse. I didn’t mean to hurt her. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be good. Please don’t send me away. I’ll be so so so good. Please.”

  The smell of ammonia began to fill the air.

  Kandian was imploring childishly now. “I... I’ll clean up. Yes. I’ll tidy everything. I’ll do my double chores. Double chores. Yes? Yours too? Yes. I’m sorry. Please. No. Don’t send me away.”

  Kandian sat on the edge of the bed and began to gently weep. The fight had left him completely.

  The old familiar feeling of pity stirred in the pit of Cullum’s stomach. “Hey now,” he said gently, moving across to sit on the bed next to Kandian. “What’s all this? There’s no need...”

  “I must see The Lights, Doctor. I need to see them.”

  Cullum frowned. “Which lights Eric?”

  Huge sobs wracked the old man, and he just nodded towards the upturned painting in the bay window. Cullum, leant forward to pick it up.

  “Plllleeease be careful. Oh please please please!” Kandian was starting to panic again.

  “It’s ok, I’m just making sure it’s not damaged.”

  Cullum picked up the canvas, turned it over, and shivered. He knew that Kandian’s therapist had been encouraging him to paint more. He was often at his most coherent when he was engaged in an activity, but this... this unnerved Cullum.

  The style reminded him of something of an elderly Turner if Lovecraft had read to him. The immense cityscape seemed to pass beyond the boundaries of the canvas. Colossal towers arched from domed and spired buildings towards a vast canopy of stars above. At the forefront was some sort of dock where giant greasy waves seemed to lurch hungrily at the quayside.

  There were no people, but in the background, behind the grotesquely twisted buildings, were the nearly invisible outlines of monstrous half forms in loathsome contortions that loomed over the city, almost blending in with the shadow of the night that appeared to be falling.

  Whilst, not an expert, Cullum felt that there was an almost excessive attention to detail. A number of the buildings, hewn from a sickly blue and red stone, seemed to be clad in metal and were inscribed with an unidentifiable text. The pale green light seemed to fall limply through some of the impossibly elongated doorways, as though it had lost the will to shine properly. A light pall of smoke or mist hung in some quarters, whilst in others, some sort of creeper was threatening to encase the buildings.

  Something inside Cullum was repulsed by this depiction of bloated wealth and hubris that had fallen into dereliction. But there was something else too... almost as if he recognised the setting. Something nagged at the back of his mind as if trying to place the city and answer a forgotten question.

  “It’s... ah... it’s very good Eric.”

  “Thankyou!” Kandian replied in an excited gush, chewing on his own fingernails in a quasi-frenzy.

  “What...er... what do you call it?”

  “It’s the Lights!” he said triumphantly. “The Lights of New York!”

  Cullum had been to New York. The painting he held did not represent it in any way he recognised. He nodded his head. “I see. And when did you go to New York?”

  Kandian’s face contorted into disbelief. “I’ve never been. But I can see it from here.” He pointed towards the window.

  Cullum looked in the direction he was pointing. The sun was setting, and beyond the well-manicured lawns of the Paternoster grounds, he could see the thin line of trees, then Milton Road. On the other side of the street, the abandoned council flats sat squat, like unimpressed housewives of a certain age and weight. They were due to be demolished soon.

  “You mean the flats? This is your interpretation of the flats?”

  Kandian laughed falsely and loudly. “Ha ha. That’s good. Ha ha!” Then seeing Cullum’s question was genuine. “You know. It’s where we all live. If She’d...”

  Cullum tried to follow the tenses and failed. “You live here?” he said pointing to the painting.

  Kandian nodded.

  “This is the nursing home?”

  Kandian looked confused. “I thought this was a nursing home,” he said looking about himself as if he had only just realised where he was.

  “It is.”

  “I thought so.”

  “So where is this?” Cullum pointed to the painting again.

  Kandian’s brow furrowed. “I told you. New York.”

  “And we live there.... here?”

  Kandian nodded fervently. “We always did. But then we didn’t for a bit. And then we always did again. That’s where Dr Roberts lives now.”

  Cullum could sense that Kandian’s disassociation was rushing back in like a tidal bore, but he had mentioned Chris. Cullum tried to get Kandian to focus.

  “Eric, do you know where Dr Roberts is?”

  Kandian nodded enthusiastically, still chewing on the ends of his fingers.

  “Can you tell me? Or show me where he is?”

  Kandian pointed to one of the smaller towers in his painting.

  Cullum sighed inwardly.

  “He is there,” Kandian said, “He has always been there.”

  “Except when he was here,” said Cullum. “When he treated you.”

  “Nope. He was there then too. And now. It’s where he always will be.”

  Cullum tried a new tack. “Where do I live Eric?”

  Kandian looked intensely at his painting, eyes searching maniacally. “Hmmm... nope. Not on this one.”

  The old man got up and crossed the floor with such swiftness that Cullum half flinched and Simon took a single step forward as if to close the distance between them, but seeing that Kandian was just reaching for his other paintings he relaxed.

  Kandian began to rifle through a set of frames that leaned against the wall. Cullum had not noticed these before and began to appreciate how prolific Kandian had become in the last few months.

  “Hmm... nope... nope... nope... hmm, this one!” Kandian said triumphantly, taking a frame out, and presented it to Cullum. “You live here,” and jabbed his finger to a domed building.

  The painting was not dissimilar to the one Kandian had been working on and appeared to show the same cityscape albeit from an alternate vantage point. The light that was cast on the buildings was a sickly red, giving the impression the whole thing had just been vomited up. Cullum noticed that there was no water in the foreground of this version, but rather the twisted foundations seemed to rest on a single great rotting leaf. A thick disfigured stem could just be seen connecting to the deformed foliage before disappearing off the end of the frame. Again, half-formed monstrosities lurked on the deep horizon, and Cullum fancied they were looking straight at him.

  “I live here?” Cullum asked.

  “Yup yup yup. You were born over here,” Kandian pointed to an adjacent tower, “but when you married Mandy you moved here.”

  Cullum felt his blood turn icy. He had only just started dating Amanda Impsi, a district nurse who occasionally worked a bank shift at Paternoster House. He had not even mentioned it to any of the staff yet.

  “Eric. How did you know about Mandy?”

  Kandian looked confused. “Because you live together. Until the end.”

  “Until the end... of what?”

  “Oh, everything everything everything.”

  Cullum felt a growing sense of unease. It was clear tha
t Kandian’s cognitive function was impaired, but could such lucidity and insight really be a by-product of a diseased mind? Maybe he had taken a phone call from Amanda and Kandian had overheard.

  “You both looked after your mother very well,” Kandian rambled on. “You think that no-one knows, but we all do. It was a good thing you did. A good thing, yes. Yes. Yes. You had to let her go.”

  If Cullum’s blood was icy before, it was frozen now. “What do you mean Eric?” he said evenly.

  “When she was ill. You helped her on her way. She walked with... you know.”

  Cullum had not discussed his mother’s cancer with anyone, not even with Amanda. It was advanced, and the effect of the morphine was beginning to diminish. The previous weekend, she had asked him to give her something. Something stronger. Cullum knew what she had meant. He had refused. But she had asked again during the week. It would have been easy.

  What do you say to a man who knows that you’ve killed your own mother before you do?

  Cullum changed the subject. His attention was drawn to the top right corner of the painting. There seemed to be three bright stars and behind them a small spiral of a much dimmer constellation.

  “What are these? The bright ones?” Cullum asked.

  Kandian frowned again. “You know.”

  Cullum shook his head.

  “You silly. Everyone knows. Three stars turn, She will come.”

  “Who?”

  Kandian’s entire countenance visibly darkened, and he looked around furtively. “You’re not supposed to say,” he said quietly.

  “Who?” Cullum asked again.

  “Don’t say her name! The Third Twine says we should never say…” Kandian rose from the bed where he sat, the childish quality in his voice was gone, replaced by the raving desperation of only a few minutes ago.

  “Ok, ok, ok. I’m sorry...” Cullum tried to calm Kandian.

  “YOU MUST NEVER NEVER NEVER SAY HER NAME!”

  “Ok, I won’t say her name. I’m sorry. Here, what can you tell me about the other stars? The dimmer ones.”

  Kandian shrugged. “They say they aren’t there. But we know they are.” His temper had abated as quickly as it had come as if he had forgotten he was angry at all.

  “Who says they aren’t there?”