by Craig Cliff
‘When I saw Sandow, something twigged. Something broke. I couldn’t keep failing. If I could unveil the perfect mannequins, if I could trump The Carpenter, perhaps I could recover Louisa, or at least honour her. I found McCann, the troupe’s accordion player who doubled as vet and doctor, and brought him back to my property to make sure the two of you would survive. Would have a chance to grow up strong. McCann left Marumaru with the rest of the company and took my secret with him.’
He let out a long, crackling sigh.
‘It cannot end well for me. But I’ve been play-acting. All this time. Ever since that day. None of it has felt completely real to me. It’s no excuse.
‘I convinced myself that if we could just get to Christchurch, to the window of Ballantynes, everything would be all right. But it was just something to distract me from the fact I was running headlong for the edge of the cliff.
‘I know how it will end, because I was there when it ended. This is all a long dream. For some, a nightmare. When you wake, when you see the full horror of it, there’s no forgiveness. Don’t wait for it to arrive. Time doesn’t soften a man. Time can’t restore what has been lost. In fairy tales, perhaps. On a stage or through a window, perhaps. But not in life.’
IX.
‘Quiet fellow?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Short bloke?’
‘Yes!’
My father took the old farmer’s shoulder in his hand. We’d been searching the hinterland for three weeks. Our biscuits and flour were long gone and we’d resorted to raiding plum trees and even eating raw crabapples. Rabbits were common at dusk, though my father only ever managed to shoot one, running the bullet through its gut and tainting the meat. Though he held his facade during daylight, I suspected the fire had gone out of his endeavours. He’d even started leaving Bannerman’s rifle strapped to his horse for his interrogations. But, all at once, he was in full flame.
‘Father,’ I said, worried what he might do to the farmer.
‘Where is he? Where is Doig?’
The man looked up into the sky. ‘Used to see him around these parts,’ he said, his voice trying hard not to waver. He was fat-faced, but otherwise malnourished. ‘Caught him stealing scrap behind my barn one time. Thought he was sneaking round with one of my daughters.’ He snorted. ‘Thought he was just a boy. Short fellow. Big hands, though. Up close, you could see the wrinkles.’
‘Where is he?’ my father asked again.
‘Didn’t see him round here for years and years. My daughters have all moved away, you know. Then just recently, I saw him. The years haven’t been kind to either of us, it seems. He’s a little stooped now. Always a pity when you have no stature to begin with. Me, I can barely make a fist.’ He held out his gnarled hand to demonstrate.
I peeled my father’s hand from the old man’s shoulder. ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘where can we find Mr Doig?’
‘I’ve never seen it, but apparently there’s a hut up Crossman’s Gully.’
‘How do we get there?’ I asked.
‘Is he all right?’ He nodded at my father.
‘He’s fine. Could you draw us a map?’
The man took a step back across his threshold.
‘A map,’ I repeated, ‘then we’ll be gone.’
He lowered his head and disappeared inside the house.
‘Doig,’ my father said, looking back at the old man’s gate. ‘Doig.’
After a couple of minutes the old farmer returned with a piece of paper. ‘You’ll be better setting out in the morning,’ he said and handed me the map he’d drawn. ‘Crossman’s Gully isn’t too far as the crow flies, but I believe it’s still a rough ride.’
‘We’ll go tonight,’ my father shouted from the verandah.
I looked at the map. Lines, squiggles and two rudimentary house shapes—triangles on squares—with some writing beneath them.
‘Where are we now?’ I asked.
‘Here,’ the man said, pointing at the house at the bottom left-hand corner. He looked up at me, squinting. ‘That’s the river, there. You’ll need to get back on the main road here,’ he said, tapping the paper. ‘You’ll see the cliffs from the road. I’ve never been further than that myself.’
I thanked him.
‘Good, good. You sure your partner’s all right?’
‘Right as he’ll ever be,’ I said.
I didn’t get a sense of the scale of the rough map until we were back on the trail. The sun was behind the hills already and we only had an hour or so until dark, though it promised to be one of those late summer nights that clung to the heat of the day.
‘We can’t make it there tonight,’ I said, consulting the map again as Emily and Charlotte plodded on.
‘What do you expect me to do?’ my father shouted from in front of me. ‘Lie down and tell campfire stories with them just over the next rise?’ He pulled hard on Emily’s reins.
‘It’s further than that,’ I said, drawing level with him. ‘I think it’s another hour’s ride at least. The horses are tired. We don’t know the area. If we get lost or one of us falls—’
‘Give me the map.’ He snatched for it.
I pulled it away and began to fold the piece of paper. ‘I say we set up camp down there by the stream. We can start again at sunrise.’ Charlotte began to wheel around, turning me away from my father.
‘I’ll not spend another night on this trail, do you hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ I said. ‘I hear you at night, too.’ I reined Charlotte in and turned back to him.
He brought his hand up to his cheek and scraped his fingernails through the bristles of his beard. ‘You think that gives you some power over me, don’t you? Knowledge is power, isn’t that what they say?’
I’d never heard the phrase before, but it seemed to make sense. Before the window I may have questioned it. Wasn’t strength power? Wasn’t possession? But I was learning how easily things could be snatched away from you. How the only way to get them back, the only way to retain the smallest piece, was knowledge. I pressed the folded map to my chest.
‘You know nothing,’ he continued.
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘You never once sneaked out to see what was waiting outside. What kind of boy shows so little curiosity?’
‘How do you know I never sneaked out?’
‘What kind of boy waits a week before he walks past the front gate when there’s nothing left for him at home?’
‘You told me—’
‘What kind of boy does what he’s told?’
I got down from the saddle and began loosening the straps that fastened my swag. ‘Go on, then,’ I said. ‘If you want to find them tonight, I wish you all the luck in the world. But Charlotte and I need a rest.’
‘Give me the map, Eugen.’
‘You’ll have to come down and get it.’ I patted my shirt pocket and puffed out my chest. ‘I warn you, though. I may not know anything, but I’m strong. I’m willing to pit my strength against your knowledge. Then we’ll see what power really is.’
My father glared at me for a moment. Then he flicked the reins, dug his heels into Emily and the pair of them ambled away.
That night the moon was nearly full and I could see the scars on the boy’s face. Had there been a time when he was strapped to the rocket and the flames of the forest fire were overtaking him and he thought the rocket wouldn’t work? Perhaps the fuse was too long and he would be a cinder before he was propelled into space. Could he hear the screams of his parents inside the house as they were burnt alive? His neighbours? The same people who’d left him strapped to a rocket for seven days and nights because he’d wet his pants in the window. Was it worth it: being burnt to hear them burning? What did he think when the fuse finally burned down and the powder exploded and he was thrust up and away from his lousy town?
X.
I must have slept because when I woke in the morning the temperature had dropped, the sky had clouded over a
nd the first spits of rain were starting to fall. I hoped to catch up with my father before he made it to Doig’s hut, but his trail was soon washed away by the rain. It took me over two hours to find the sandstone cliffs at the start of Crossman’s Gully. I only spotted them because of the map, because I was looking for them. We may well have ridden past that spot once before. My decision to wait for the morning had been the right one, but there was still a chance my father had made it. That he was there ahead of me.
Long grass, heavy from the persistent drizzle, almost covered the narrow track that ran beside the cliffs. Charlotte’s hoofs made no noise against the ground but I could hear the swish of her shins against the vegetation. I considered what I might find when I arrived at the hut. The Carpenter’s body in a pool of his own blood. Avis in my father’s arms. My father with his back straight, his chin resting on the top of my sister’s golden head. Rescuer. Murderer. But if he wasn’t there, I could rescue Avis, negotiate with Doig, let him ride away and escape my father’s wrath. ‘Let him come at me,’ I’d say. ‘Let’s see him overpower me.’
As the gully narrowed, I realised there might be no other way out. Perhaps there’d be no escape for The Carpenter. I could send him on his way, only for him to be met by my father and killed. Perhaps he could scramble up the cliff face.
I entered the clearing. A grey mare was grazing a hundred feet away. Behind her a hut, small and rickety. The door was shut and there were no windows on the side facing me. Behind it the cliffs came together in a dark crease. As I drew nearer, I saw a small dray parked beside the hut; a metal drum and other pieces of scrap littered the ground.
There was no sign of my father or his horse. No smoke wafted from the hut’s mud brick chimney. This must have been the place the old farmer had told me about. He’d seen Doig recently. But that didn’t mean he and Avis were still inside.
I dismounted and walked the final few yards to the hut. There was a sign on the door. I ran my finger up and down and up the groove of the first letter. The wood was untreated, freshly carved.
There were tiny gaps between the timbers of the walls and a smell came through that was moist and sour, rank and enticing. I closed my eyes and saw Avis in the moonlight, her hair tumbling onto my chest, her lips just leaving my skin, her eyes looking into mine. I looked at the door knob. It had been carved, too, though this piece had been varnished and handled many times. It was a face. A boy, soft-cheeked, thin-lipped, his eyes averted. I placed my palm over this face and turned.
Light entered the small space. In front of me was a man slouched in an armchair, his head and torso covered by a brown wool coat. The Carpenter’s suit. The Carpenter.
He’d heard the door, detected the morning light coming through the entrance. He roused himself and slowly lowered the coat from his face until it slipped to the floor. He was bare-chested and not wearing any trousers. I hardly recognised the old man.
Over the corner of the armchair I noticed the white chiffon of Avis’s dress.
There was movement to my left: Avis sitting up in the single bed.
She looked at me, briefly, before turning to Doig. Their eyes locked. No one spoke.
Avis held the heavy grey blanket across her chest.
‘Eugen,’ she said at last.
‘Father is coming,’ I said.
‘Eugen,’ she said, her eyes wide, ‘you’ve found us!’ Although she still held the blanket I could see the side of her flimsy white slip, the lines of her ribcage appearing and disappearing as she breathed.
‘Get up,’ I shouted. ‘Both of you.’
‘Please, Eugen, calm down.’
‘Get up,’ I said again. ‘Father is coming.’
Doig remained silent. For a moment it was as if he were deaf as well as dumb.
‘Up,’ I said, gesturing with my finger.
He pushed himself up from the armchair with some effort. He stood there in his yellowed drawers. The scars that ringed his ankles and wrists were like earthworms.
They must have known I was coming, I thought. Perhaps they’d heard Charlotte’s approach and Doig had leapt from the bed and taken up his position in the armchair. They took me for a fool. I’d seen the look they shared.
‘What have you done to her?’ I asked.
He held out his palms, his eyes as wide as my sister’s.
‘Please, Eugen, calm down.’
‘Don’t defend him, Avis.’ I stepped nearer to Doig, an arm’s length away.
‘He doesn’t need defending. It’s the truth.’
I turned to Avis, still sitting in the bed. Her eyes dropped down to my waist. At first I thought she was too ashamed to meet my gaze. Then I realised she was looking at my fists, clenching and unclenching invisible spring-grip dumb-bells.
‘Please, Eugen, calm down.’
‘Get out of the bed,’ I said. I shook my head. ‘You disgust me. Both of you.’ I walked over, tore the blanket away and threw it across the room. ‘Up,’ I told her.
As she lowered her legs to the floor the smooth white skin of her shins caught the light from the open door. She took a step toward Doig, her arms folded across her chest. Her hair seemed darker, wilder.
‘Aren’t you going to run to me?’ I asked.
‘Eugen,’ she said. ‘Please calm down.’
‘I am calm.’ I unclenched my fists and wriggled my fingers. ‘I’m calm. You’re lucky that I’ve found you and not Father.’
They were shoulder to shoulder now. Doig’s hand moved behind my sister’s back.
‘No,’ I shouted. ‘There will be none of that. Step apart.’
‘Eugen.’
‘Step apart!’
Doig hung his head and cupped his hands over his privates, as if his drawers no longer offered enough protection.
Avis placed her dress over her arm and picked up The Carpenter’s trousers.
‘Leave those,’ I said.
‘At least let us get dressed.’
‘You should have thought about that before you got undressed.’
‘Eugen,’ she said, exasperated, ‘you know how warm it was last night. Gabriel slept in the chair and let me have his bed. You saw.’
‘I know what you do in other men’s beds.’
‘For goodness’ sake. Take a deep breath and then let’s start this over again.’ She handed Doig his trousers and went back for his shirt.
‘Leave it,’ I said.
Doig looked up, one leg already in his trousers.
Avis picked up the shirt and held it to her chest. ‘Don’t worry about him, Gabriel. He’s just worked up.’
‘Worked up?’
‘Let us get dressed and we can talk.’
‘What is there to talk about? You’re coming back with me.’
‘And what about Gabriel?’
He buttoned his trousers and Avis handed him his shirt.
‘If he had any sense he’d be halfway down the gully by now.’
‘Half naked?’
‘That’s not my fault.’
‘We were at opposite ends of the hut. Asleep.’
‘So you say.’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Sun’s been up a long time, Avis. Whatever life you’ve been leading up here, it doesn’t become you. Look at your arms.’
‘What is wrong with them?’
‘Nothing, if you’re happy with sausages for arms.’
I saw her neck redden and noticed she was still wearing the seashell necklace my father had given her. I stepped forward and took it in my hand.
‘Everything we worked for,’ I said, so close to Avis I could feel her breath. ‘You know it was a lie, don’t you?’
She blinked deliberately.
‘The world is full of weaklings and invalids.’ I looked at Doig, who was still holding his shirt in two hands, as if he were about to throw it over a smouldering fire to snuff the flames. ‘We’re better than them, Avis. We can be better than them.’
‘We’re not leaving.’
‘We? Is there room enough for t
hree in that fine bed of yours?’
‘I’m not ready to leave,’ she said. ‘I want to stay here with Gabriel a little longer. I’m—’
‘What are you telling me? That you’d rather be with this shrunken old man than me?’
‘Eugen.’
‘Stop saying my name like that.’
‘What am I supposed to say?’
‘Say it’s not what it seems. Say you were kidnapped and he forced himself on you. Say you’re pleased to see me.’
‘I am pleased to see you.’
‘That’s a start. Now act as if you mean it.’
‘But we haven’t . . .’ She let her dress drop to the floor. She breathed deeply and the silk slip shimmered. ‘Gabriel hasn’t forced me to do anything. He’s the sweetest—’
‘No,’ I said and grabbed her shoulders. I could feel the pricks of her gooseflesh. She lowered her head.
‘He stole you from the window.’
‘He rescued me. We’d been left there all afternoon and evening. The curtain was never coming down.’
‘Look at me. You don’t have to stay here. We don’t have to go back to the way things were, either. We can’t. But we can do whatever we want. We can go anywhere. Don’t worry about Father. I can handle him. I’ll bend the barrel of Bannerman’s rifle if necessary.’ I let go of her shoulders and stooped to pick up her dress. ‘Put this on.’
She took the dress and pressed it to her body.
I placed my hand on Doig’s chest. ‘I don’t know what you’ve told her. Or how—’
‘Here,’ Avis said, taking a pile of pages from beneath the bed. ‘Here’s everything you need to know.’
She knew I couldn’t read any of it. She was showing me how separate we had become, how helpless I was without her. I batted the pages away, the stack striking the wall and fanning out across the floor. Doig reached down to pick up a page that had slid near his feet, but I grabbed him by the wrist. The scarred flesh was cool and surprisingly smooth in my grip.
I shook my head. Still holding his wrist, I turned to Avis. ‘Get dressed.’
