by Pauline Fisk
I found myself clapping. He hadn’t done a trick yet, and I was already impressed. Gilda smiled and bowed, turning towards her father who cried out in a whole, new, ringing voice: ‘Wonders! Wonders! Wonders! I will show you wonders! Greater wonders, my friend Zed, than you will ever see in your whole life!’
And I believed him. How could I not? The show hadn’t even begun, and already I was on the edge of my seat! Dr Katterfelto threw back his cloak and, in his hands, he held a long golden hunting horn. He raised it to his lips and blew, and immediately the tall palms on either side of me started rustling like trees in a forest when a storm’s on the way.
‘Let the wonders commence!’ Dr Katterfelto cried, and suddenly the air was alive with circles of light. They looked like silver moons between the palms. I watched them rise up the conservatory, casting shadows outside in the snowy garden. One by one, they reached the top of the glass and started fluttering down again like white-frocked ballerinas doing pirouettes.
I stared at them in astonishment. I didn’t know where they’d come from, nor what had brought them into being. All I knew was that they were beautiful. As I watched, they formed themselves into an arc over the stage. Then patterns appeared on each of them, moving and shuffling across their surfaces like the shapes in a kaleidoscope. One circle filled with dancing snowflakes. Another filled with dark, winged birds. Another filled with floating clouds. Another filled with flowers opening out into exotic shapes.
Then Dr Katterfelto clapped his hands, and the circles disappeared like lights going out. But the moving shapes remained. Not only that, but they came to life! Suddenly clouds were drifting between the palms, and flowers bursting out all around the conservatory. Snow was falling on my face, and birds were flying everywhere. I felt their wings stir the air above my head. For a moment, they were that real. And then they disappeared as well, and the conservatory was plunged into darkness.
I clapped until my hands stung. ‘You think that was a wonder?’ Dr Katterfelto cried out, taking centre stage again. ‘Well, what do you think of this?’
He threw back his black conjuror’s cloak. Gilda came and stood in front of him, pressed her cheek against his chest and stood perfectly still while he wrapped his cloak around her until all that could be seen were her head and feet. Then Dr Katterfelto cried out, ‘Wonders! Wonders! Wonders!’ and, at the first ‘Wonder’, Gilda’s feet disappeared, at the second, her head disappeared, and at the third, the rest of her went too.
Dr Katterfelto threw back his cloak and Gilda had gone. All that remained – tucked into the crook of his arm – was a small, black cat with emerald eyes. Dr Katterfelto lifted it up, and I clapped and clapped. I didn’t really believe that the doctor had turned Gilda into a cat, but, before I could work out what else he’d done with her, he started on his next trick.
It was even better than the last. Dr Katterfelto ran his hand down the cat and its body started slowly vanishing. It happened right before my eyes – no cloak to hide behind this time, no mirrors, tricks or sleight-of-hand that I could see. Finally everything vanished, except for the cat’s tail that hung, disembodied, in the air. Then Dr Katterfelto ran a single, white-gloved finger down the tail and – with a little fizz of blue light – that vanished too!
I stared in unbelief, too astonished even to clap. But Dr Katterfelto hadn’t finished with me yet. From his pocket he produced a small biscuit wrapped in tissue paper. He unwrapped the biscuit, which he gave to me, but retained its paper, which he lit with a match and then let go. It rose to the top of the conservatory, burning all the way like a bright star, then slowly fell back down again until Dr Katterfelto caught it in his cupped hands.
By this time, it was nothing but a skeletal piece of grey ash. Dr Katterfelto held it up for me to see, and there in his palm – I swear this, honestly – was a miniature Gilda! A tiny model of her, perfect in every detail, except that it was made of ash. And then the doctor clapped his hands and the ash turned into a poof of smoke – and Gilda was back!
For a moment she stood against her father, her cheek pressed against his chest. Then she burst out laughing, and I found myself laughing too, and clapping as if I’d never stop. Dr Katterfelto bowed, and Gilda bowed as well, turning to her father as if he was the undisputed master.
Then Dr Katterfelto said, ‘That’s enough for one day. I think it’s time to take you home.’
I didn’t want to go home, but didn’t have much choice. Dr Katterfelto brought his tour bus round to the front of the house and we climbed in. I imagined flying down the valley fuelled by nothing more than hocus pocus, but by now Dr Katterfelto had removed his conjuror’s costume and got back into his holey old sweater. He had returned to ordinary life, and so had I.
Gilda tied the bus door shut with a piece of string, and I sat on the front seat next to her, staring out of the window. The house fell away from us with a final glimpse of the conservatory. Then it was gone and we were hurtling down the mountain, cutting through banks of snow and careering over ice.
Dr Katterfelto was a real devil of a driver. Every time we took a bank or bend too fast, he cursed in an accent that was far from Prussian. Several times I had to grab the seat, and hold on tight to stop myself from being thrown about. But he called out that I mustn’t worry – he’d done more journeys in this broken-down old bus than I’d eaten hot dinners, and he knew what he was doing.
This was hardly reassuring, given the speed at which we were travelling and the condition of the bus. But finally the village came into view – the village and my old life again, waiting for me like an answerphone full of nasty messages. The closer it got, the more my heart sank. For a few strange, happy hours, I had forgotten who I was, and why I’d run away, and what I’d done to Cary. But now I remembered everything.
All too soon, we pulled up outside Prospect House. I wished I could turn back the clock and find myself in the conservatory again, clapping wildly. ‘Thanks for everything,’ I said, climbing down from the bus and standing shivering on the lane. ‘I really mean it. The tea, and the lift, and the show especially.’
‘Get yourself inside,’ said Dr Katterfelto. ‘Make yourself a hot drink. Get an early night, and make sure you put an extra blanket on your bed – it’s going to get even colder tonight.’
He smiled, and so did Gilda. I stood and watched as the bus turned round in the road. Then they were gone, disappearing into the darkness like a conjuror’s trick, their two faces turned away as if they’d forgotten me already.
10
The Black Candle
When I got indoors, there was a new message from my mother on the answerphone. In a voice I hardly recognised, it announced that Cary had slipped deeper into her coma and that it was unreasonable, in the words of the hospital, ‘to offer too much hope at this stage’.
‘It’s best that you still stay where you are,’ my mother said, every word clipped and tight. ‘Cary wouldn’t know that you were here, and we couldn’t possibly come and get you, anyway.’
I went to Grace’s parlour, glad that I’d been out when the call came through, and that I hadn’t been required to answer it personally. In the dresser I found Grace’s whisky and, behind the Caradoc Evans, I found her cigars. I helped myself to both and sat nursing them before the ashes of the previous night’s fire. I couldn’t feel Grace’s presence any more. This was just an empty room, its owner gone away never to return. And my sister wouldn’t return either. She, too, was slipping away.
I was on my second tot of whisky, and had puffed enough of a cigar to make myself feel sick when Pawl came in. I didn’t hear him until too late, but there he suddenly was, standing in the doorway, seemingly unaware of my guilty attempts to hide what I’d been up to.
‘Came down earlier … Welsh lamb stew … heated up lunch … you all right … couldn’t find you …’ he said.
Now he’d brought me supper instead and, no matter how sick from smoking I felt, I knew I couldn’t turn it down. Pawl was in a funny mood. He sat do
wn opposite me, but didn’t smile. I pushed my supper around my plate, and he didn’t exactly watch me but then he didn’t exactly look away. It was as if something was bothering him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Everything felt changed since yesterday. Even the room felt changed. Pawl didn’t light the fire, and didn’t lean back and savour things the way he’d done the night before. I wondered if he, too, had had a phone call from my mother, saying that he shouldn’t phone her but that she’d phone him. Or perhaps the problem lay elsewhere.
I looked around the parlour, full of Grace’s things that she’d never touch again. Yesterday it had seemed alive, buzzing with the very essence of her personality. But now it felt like a museum – Pawl’s Gracelife Museum, you could almost say – and I wondered if Pawl was finally realising that she wasn’t coming back.
I went and sat on the edge of his chair, and put my arm around his shoulder. Pawl leant against it, as if he was my child. There were secrets in his face – things I couldn’t understand and, from the look of him, I guessed he couldn’t understand them either. We sat in silence. All sorts of things ran through my mind – a jumble of crazy, upset thoughts, but I couldn’t find the words for any of them.
Suddenly Pawl started talking – about my father. ‘A good old … boy your father … was you know … laughed he did … always laughed he … was always full … of good fun … tired I am … of missing him … you look just … like his son … glad he’d be … to see you … all grown-up … his big boy … and proud too … he would be … proud of you …’
He squeezed my hand. I tried to smile. My father might have been proud of me once, I thought, but not any more – not after what I’ve done to Cary!
Silence hung between us. Pawl had tried to tell me something that would make me feel better about myself. It was as if he’d sensed that I’d needed it. But it hadn’t worked, and he knew it. In the end, he got up, cleared away the supper things and left me on my own, telling me to make sure that all the doors and windows were secured because another bout of storm was on the way.
He was right, too. I didn’t quite believe him at the time, because the night was clear and starry, but I awoke in the early hours to find the windowpanes rattling and the whole house groaning. The night was freezing cold as well, and ice had formed on the insides of the windows.
I lay in bed, watching snowflakes dancing outside, filling up the darkness with wild swirling light. The scaffolding on the front of the house was rattling fit to fly away, and gusts of wind had worked their way under the slates, making the roof moan as if it was in agony.
In the morning, I found the phone line down and the electricity off. It was too cold to get out of bed, and I was snowed in again. I knew my parents didn’t want me at the hospital, but I also knew I had to get there. I’d thought of little else all night, and got up determined to do the best I could.
I dressed properly for it this time, with double layers of gloves, boots lined with plastic bags as well as socks and a huge old coat along with other clothing that I found in the shed and piled on too. No way was I going to be beaten by the cold again!
When I was ready, I started digging my way out. Quite how I’d make it out of the village, let alone all the way back to Pengwern, I’d no idea. But I’d wasted days already and was determined not to waste any more.
I forced the porch door open and started shovelling my way first up the path, then up the lane. No one else was around yet, and the morning was silent and overcast.
I got up to the main road, where the gritter had been out, and started trudging through the village. What I should have done was knock on some door, any door: Mr Pryce’s at the Black Lion Hotel, or anybody else’s, and ask for help. But I was too ashamed at the thought of anybody knowing what I’d done to Cary, so I carried on until the village lay behind me and a wilderness lay ahead, seemingly without boundaries. I couldn’t even see a hedge or wall to mark the edge of the road. In fact, the gritter had given up and I couldn’t even see the road.
All I had to guide me was the Afon Gwy. I followed it as best I could, heading in the direction of what I hoped was the main dual carriageway back to Pengwern. If everything else was snowed in, I reckoned, at least this all-important north–south route would have been cleared.
I walked for ages, but couldn’t find my way, and didn’t even hear any traffic. It began to snow again – the sort of nasty, wet snow that sticks to everything it touches like iron filings to a magnet. I kept wiping it out of my eyes, but the snowfall just got heavier and finally I could hardly see where I was going. I couldn’t find the river any more, and the hills and mountains had completely disappeared, buried in low clouds. I couldn’t even see the village behind me.
When I saw a boy, therefore, he came as a relief. He was out in one of the fields, wrapped against the weather in a duffle-coat and red woolly hat, engaged in throwing snowballs at sheep. Where he lived, I’d no idea, because I couldn’t see a house, but he stopped what he was doing at the sight of me and had the grace to look guilty.
I pretended I couldn’t see the snowball in the hand behind his back. ‘I’m looking for the main road,’ I called. ‘I know it’s round here somewhere, but I seem to have lost my sense of direction.’
The boy paused for a moment, as if considering what I’d said, then he pointed to a line of snow-laden trees on the edge of Forestry Commission land. ‘That would be your quickest bet,’ he called back. ‘If you carry on as you are now, it’ll take you for ever, but if you cut up through the trees, you’ll find the road on the far side. It’s quite a climb, but it’ll save you time.’
I thanked the boy, and headed where he pointed. He started throwing snow at sheep again, chuckling to himself as if he’d cracked some sort of joke. He turned out to be right, too, about the climb, but I didn’t mind. At least I was getting somewhere, I told myself. I was doing something about my sister. I was heading back to her – and I had the strangest feeling that she knew. It was almost as if she was with me already, here in spirit, sharing the journey.
I started singing – crazy, wild songs that I was sure Cary sang with me, the two of us in harmony, despite everything that kept us apart. But after a while, the journey started taking its toll. There seemed no end to the trees; I couldn’t shake them off, and couldn’t find the top of the hill, let alone the road beyond it.
I began to wonder if the boy had played a trick on me, in just the same spirit that he’d thrown snowballs at sheep. My feet dragged and my hands throbbed despite the double layers of gloves. My ears discovered by experience what the bite in ‘frostbite’ was all about, and the songs froze in my throat.
I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t seen the lights of a cottage. Suddenly I noticed it ahead of me, and saw a garden with a hedge running round it, and heard voices calling to each other. I forced myself forward, all inhibitions lost about asking for help. Perhaps somebody could be persuaded to take me to the main road, or even the next town. Or perhaps they’d even have pity on me, and take me all the way to Pengwern.
You never know, I thought. Grace always said how kind country people could be. She said they were the salt of the earth.
I approached the garden, trying to call for help, but my voice was still frozen in my throat, and I couldn’t make a sound. I reached the hedge. I could see the cottage but couldn’t get to it. I could also see figures in the garden – a dad and his kids trying to build a snow-castle, complete with towers and battlements.
As I watched, they gave up on their efforts and went indoors, shaking off the snow and laughing to each other as if they didn’t know that they’d left someone behind, freezing against their hedge. The last to enter was the dad and, just for a moment, I could have sworn he sensed that something was up. He hesitated in the doorway as if he actually might come back. But then he smiled to himself and shut the door – and I could have wept. I’d never felt so bleak in my whole life. Never such an outsider.
I leant a
gainst the hedge, feeling utterly alone. I couldn’t even sense my sister’s presence any more. It was as if she’d gone, and all my hopes had gone with her.
And that was when I saw the candle.
It was in the distance, between the trees – the same black candle, I could have sworn, that I’d seen the other night. But then I had been terrified, and now I found myself furious. How dare the candle come and gloat at me? I looked at it, shining in the darkness but throwing out no light. Suddenly I found myself lunging at it. Half of me wanted to snuff it out, destroying it so that it could never burn again and frighten anybody else. But the other half wanted to take hold of it, as if it was my sister’s very life itself, and keep her safe by keeping it alive.
Torn between the two, I staggered through the forest, following the candle, which was always just out of reach, until the trees fell behind me and I found myself on open moorland. Here the snow fell so thickly that I could hardly see my hands in front of my face. The ground beneath my feet looked like a great white bed – one that I would love to lie down and fall asleep in, but I knew I couldn’t. If I stopped, I told myself, I’d have had it, and so would Cary.
So I forced myself on, even though I couldn’t see the candle any more, or anything else apart from snow. My legs got slower and my body felt increasingly removed from the real me. My eyelids drooped and I could scarcely keep them open. Finally I found myself on hands and knees. I didn’t know how I’d got there, but I crawled into the shelter of an upturned tree root and curled up into a tight ball.
I knew that I should carry on looking for the candle, but I couldn’t take another step. Couldn’t do a thing but give up the fight. I closed my eyes – and there, inside my head, I found the candle waiting for me, burning without flickering, still giving out no light.
