Silent

by David Mellon

  You should be crying. You have no idea what trouble will come from this. There’ll be no Halick with a pistol. No assassinated prime minister. Or was it to have been the queen? The pictures grew fainter in his mind. The war would not happen the way it was supposed to.

  How many times he’d tried to explain to Dr. Bleuler: to keep the balloon from bursting, you’ve got to keep letting a little air out.

  “And what is this ‘air’ that’s filling the balloon?” asked the doctor.

  “Human . . . malevolence, maybe? What do I know?” said Coal. “I’m only the piano player.”

  Flames poured from the windows. Years of plans and improvisation up in smoke. All three of them gone. The duchess. And now the abbot and Halick. All done.

  Nothing to even put in a jar. Just ashes.

  And you’re surprised? Coal said to himself. The way you’ve behaved. The way you’ve always behaved. You and your never ceasing carelessness? He stuck his hands deep in the frayed pockets of his coat, jangling the last of the gold coins.

  His last minutes were ticking away. The girl had not, would not, could not, get here in time.

  “To hell with it,” he said. “Ashes. Better that way.” He pulled up his collar and turned to leave. Then stopped.

  A few feet away, Xander and Xavier, one of them with an arm around the other’s shoulder, were staring at the flames. The courtyard was chaos and confusion, professors and brothers and students were working to form a bucket line from the well.

  “Boys?” said Coal. They didn’t hear over the noise. “Xander! Xavier!” he called.

  They turned and saw him there. “Yes, Professor Coal?”

  “Come with me. I need your help.”

  Chapter 40

  She tried to get the engine to fire up again. But short of turning the rain to petrol, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Wheeling the bike off the road, she leaned it against a stone wall and clicked off the headlight. The woods returned to a drizzly gray.

  She left the goggles on the handlebars, but kept the helmet and gloves for warmth.

  She ran.

  Nearly an hour later, all uphill now, Adi stood in the middle of the road, leaning on her knees, fighting to catch a breath, trying to ignore how long it had been since she had had anything to eat.

  Twenty-four minutes left. No matter how fast she ran, she wasn’t going to make it before six. She clicked the watch shut, rain dripping from the brim of her flyer’s helmet. She’d seen the towers of the abbey and the smoke rising over the treetops. She took a breath and kept going.

  • • •

  “What do you mean you can’t find them?” said Thomas. “They—they were just here.”

  Brother Christopher, surprised at Thomas’s degree of panic, said, “Don’t worry. They’re around somewhere.”

  Thomas passed the bucket along the line. He’d meant to not take his eyes off the boys, but with all the goings on, he’d lost track of them.

  The urgency to put out the fire had turned to spiritless labor. There was no one coming out of that house alive. The rain was doing more now to quench the flames than the one or two buckets at a time.

  “Do me a favor, Brother,” said Thomas. “Could we go and find them? I’ll explain later, but I need to know they’re all right.”

  “Of course. We’re not doing much good here.”

  Making a wide circle around the fire, Brother Christopher called to a group of boys staring blankly at the flames. “Paul? Taddy? Anybody seen the twins?”

  A younger boy in the back said, “I saw them, Brother. A few minutes ago, at the front gate. With Professor Coal.”

  “Good work, René,” said Brother Christopher. “Would you boys go put some coats on before you freeze to death out here.” They nodded, but didn’t take their eyes off the fire.

  “Coal?” said Thomas. “The—history teacher?”

  “You remember him?”

  “I think. Wasn’t here long before I graduated. Never had him.”

  “Odd man,” said Brother Christopher. “Good teacher, though. He talks about Napoleon, you feel like he was right there. He’s been gone a lot. Off to serve, don’t know where. Got wounded. Doesn’t talk about it. You know.”

  They got to the front gate. No Xander and Xavier. No Professor Coal either. There were, however, a score of students and brothers gathered around the statue of Saint Alberic.

  • • •

  Adi saw it as she stumbled around the curve. A spark on the far side of the road, a golden fairy light in the mud, charming her away from the real world. There’s no time for this. She could hardly put one foot in front of the next.

  But—there was no time anyway. Eighteen minutes left.

  She trudged across the road, and leaned over to see.

  It was four and a half years since she’d laid eyes on a coin like this. 1786. But even in the dim light she knew what it was. Her mind, tired as it had ever been, calculated the odds of this coin being here independent of Coal.

  She couldn’t know that at that same moment, a half hour up the hill, Thomas and Brother Christopher and a group of students were all staring down at the same gold coins in a circle (with a ring of emeralds and diamonds next to them) scattered around the marble feet of Saint Alberic—Halick’s final act before soldering his soul for eternity to the man who had been his father.

  Not that Halick had anything to do with the coin at Adi’s feet. The material in Coal’s pocket had just finally lost the battle with the caltrops.

  What’s it doing over here? thought Adi, rubbing the coin with her thumb. Assuming he dropped it on his way to the abbey—wouldn’t it be—?

  Then she spied the footprints, lots of them, scuffling through the mud, heading off the road. Not to the abbey, but from.

  Looking through the woods, a twinkling through the trees, Adi saw the silhouette of the house and gave up fighting her intuition. Dropping the coin in her pocket, she headed for the light.

  Chapter 41

  The ground, littered with seasons of rotted chestnut shells, slowed her down. The trees were overgrown now, and run wild. But they’d been planted in rows, an orchard once.

  It was a fine-looking house, even in the dawn, but it had fallen on hard times. Through a gate she stepped into the yard piled high with leaves and fallen branches.

  The front door was boarded over. Another door under an eave to the left was nailed shut.

  The seconds were ticking. She should have stayed on the road.

  She stepped back a few feet and looked up to the roof. Traces of smoke were coming from a small chimney on the far side. Even as she watched, the amount of smoke increased, turning from gray to black. She caught a light through a slit between the curtains.

  She continued around the house. Only windows on the left side, either shuttered or curtained or with glass too filthy to see through.

  Around the back, a little porch swamped in leaves. Clambering up the steps, she tried the door. Locked. There were narrow windows on either side, as grimy and impenetrable as the others.

  No time for good manners. If it’s someone else’s house, she’ll apologize.

  Stepping back on her right foot she slammed her boot heel through the panes. Glass and rotten wood gave way. Reaching her hand in, she felt about for the lock, threw it, and pushed the door open. She listened. Just the sounds that houses make.

  A small entry hall. Three doors. Left, right, and straight ahead. The smell of smoke, stronger now.

  The door on the left was not locked. But it was only a shallow closet with a mop in a bucket.

  No such luck on the second door. In addition to a keyhole lock, there were two more great iron padlocks. Leaning down she peered through the keyhole. Dimly illuminated by moldy skylights, she could make out a hallway stretching off into darkness, doors running the length on either side. Strangely, the hallway had the appearance of being too long to fit within the house.

  A bump, the sound of creaking floorboards through the doo
r to her right. Smoke was trickling out along the top. No time to search for another way in, she sized up the door. Paint peeling, worn wood, a rusted old mortise lock.

  She slammed her shoulder hard into it and nearly swooned from the pain. Wrong shoulder. Leaning her head against the door to recover, she thought to turn the knob.

  It wasn’t locked.

  She nudged the door open. Acrid smoke whorled around her, blocking the top of the narrow corridor. She ducked down and made her way through the debris piled up along the walls on either side: books, figurines, clocks, birdcages, piles of shoes, and stacks of dirty dishes. She took a peek around the corner at the end of the passageway.

  Much of the furniture in the drawing room had been pushed aside to accommodate a huge piano. Like the rest of the room, it was covered with rubbish.

  She almost missed the boys, dumped in a heap onto the chaise longue along with a pile of shirts and socks. She ran to them, the canopy of smoke just above her head now. Besides the smoke, there was a sweet chemical odor of—chloroform! Tipped over on the floor, a bottle and a handkerchief. She shoved the cork in the bottle and pulled the pile of shirts down on the spill.

  She pulled off her helmet and gloves and reached out to touch the boys’ cheeks. One of them groaned. Alive, but there was no time to examine them further. From the next room—the source of the smoke—came the crackling of a fire and the sound of a kettle coming to boil.

  Adi ran low across the room and stuck her head into the kitchen.

  In the far corner, rising out of a pile of broken furniture and what appeared to be the contents of a man’s clothes closet, the flames were a breath away from reaching the curtains covering the windows.

  And there, past the table and chairs, on the floor next to the stove, sat Coal. He slouched against the wall, ripping pages out of a magazine, crumpling and tossing them into the fire.

  Seeing something out of the corner of his eye, Coal turned and froze, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. The kettle screamed.

  Pushing past him, Adi caught hold of the curtains and tore them loose from the rods, out of the path of the flames. She snatched the kettle from the stove, got as close as she could to the flames and poured.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Tossing the kettle aside with a clang and a clatter, she started plucking dishes out of the sink, crashing them to the floor, until she found a pot, full of fetid water. She pulled it out and threw it on the flames. But the fire still grew.

  This wasn’t working! Could she drag the boys out of the house? Was there time? Did she have the strength?

  Just then, behind her.

  “Sir! Stand clear!” A hand grabbed her shoulder. Pulled her back. One of her brothers, looking a bit groggy, tottered across the kitchen and dumped a full bucket of water onto the flames. With a great whoosh! the fire surrendered.

  “Not a bad thing, a leaky ceiling!” said one of the boys, banging on the empty pail.

  The other one didn’t respond. He stood stock-still staring at Adi.

  She threw the window latch and pushed the casement open. A blast of cold November air blew into the room, fluttering magazine pages, scattering the smoke. Now, both of the boys stared.

  “Xander,” said Xavier. “He—Thomas was right! It’s—”

  From out of the smoke and shadow, eyes blazing, Coal rose up before them, higher and higher until he seemed to scrape the ceiling.

  Adi moved between him and the boys.

  But, just as quickly, with a cough and a groan, the man fell into his chair at the kitchen table. From under a crow’s wing of black hair he stared up at them, his eyes bruised and runny, a sickly stain darkening the shoulder of his coat.

  Muttering to himself, he dug around in the dishes on the table until he found his cigarettes and lighter.

  Adi pulled the watch from around her neck and opened it.

  Seconds remained. Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two . . . She held it out to the man.

  A cigarette hanging from his lips, Coal looked at the watch, clicking his lighter to no effect.

  Adi snatched the lighter and the pack of smokes and tossed the lot into the sink. Leaning over, she swept everything away: the books, the cups and dishes crashed to the floor. The boys stared wide-eyed as she slammed the watch down on the empty table. A saucer gyrated on the floor in accelerating circles until, finally it stopped.

  Coal looked up at the girl, watching her as she listened to the house moan and creak through the walls, as if these indignities were the last it could bear. There was a popping and cracking sound like marbles bouncing on a wooden floor.

  “Don’t you know, Adi Dahl,” said Coal, nodding his head toward the pile of wet wood filling the corner. “I always have a backup plan.”

  It took a second. With a gasp of comprehension, Adi grabbed the boys and shoved them toward the open window.

  With the tip of his last cigarette, Coal spun the watch around on the table.

  “ ‘’Tis a consummation,’ ” he said, with a cough, “ ‘devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep—To sleep—perchance to dream.’ ”

  He looked over at Adi, the last out the window. Glass began to explode in the back of the house.

  “But . . . not just yet,” he said and picked up the watch.

  Chapter 42

  When Xavier told the story, he always claimed he saw sparks flash as Coal’s hand touched the watch. Xander said it might have had something to do with the ceiling collapsing. The last thing Adi remembered was flying backward out of the kitchen window.

  • • •

  They pulled her to safety and watched through the trees as the house burned, like a torch blazing in the dark. Even the chimneys seemed on fire. Wet branches of chestnut trees hissed and steamed in a circle around it, nearly covering the sound of glass popping and cracking in the heat.

  • • •

  When Adi woke she was on a horse. A dapple gray, stippled across the neck with black spots, like ink flung against a wall.

  The dawn was ambling along behind the trees, the sun in no more of a rush to rise this day than on any other day.

  Walking ahead of them, a few yards up the road, Adi saw Thomas and a man in a brother’s robe. Between them were the boys, even from behind beautiful and tall.

  • • •

  There were arms crossed in front of her, holding the reins. Adi looked up and saw George’s face. She was leaning against his chest, his coat swaddled around her. She looked at him as if it were the first time she’d seen him. Though she thought that seemed to be the case every time she had.

  “You . . . found a horse,” said Adi in a voice so light and fine, you wouldn’t guess it had been tucked away all this time.

  George smiled and shook his head and wrapped his arms tight around her. Laying her head back on his shoulder, Adi closed her eyes. She slept and dreamed of blue sky through wisteria.

  Epilogue

  In the forest of Compiègne, a couple of hours north of Paris, the soldiers on guard duty came to attention as the door at the end of the train car cracked open. A ray of warm light leaked out into the gray morning. A crow circled and landed on a branch at the edge of the clearing.

  The Germans came out of the train first, followed by the French and the British. They paused on the coach steps for a photographer to document the event. With no farewell, the Allies went for a walk in the woods.

  The Germans stood around the train car, saying nothing. One of them tried to light a cigarette but broke down, his shoulders heaving. His colleagues looked away to give him a moment. When he recovered, they walked back to their train car on the second line.

  • • •

  Done.

  Coal sat on the ground and leaned his head against the tree, not caring about the drizzle or the wet leaves soaking through his suit. It was a relief to not have his shoulder hurt any more, but it hardly mattered. He was a candle guttering out. As the doors on the train cars shut one after another, he closed his
eyes. “Just for a moment.”

  In the morning showers, he didn’t hear the train engines start up and pull away, one to the north, one to the south. Nor did he meditate on the reception that each would receive arriving at its destination.

  • • •

  It was cold in northern France during the winter of 1918. There was snow in December, the rivers froze for a time in January. But the spring came and with it a spray of feverfew and toothwort and yellow foxglove, until the volunteer pines in a circle around him got full enough to steal the light.

  The clothes he wore fell apart after a few years to be replaced by moss and lichen and creeping vines. Mushrooms and toadstools: milkcaps, pinkgills, pale brittle stems, and jelly fungi grew wherever soil filled the hollows. In the fall, the watch resting in the palm of his hand was often circled by a fairy ring of tiny yellow mushrooms. If it inconvenienced him to have starlings nest beneath his neck for consecutive springs, it didn’t show. They quit coming when a skulk of foxes moved into the neighborhood and began to eat the eggs. Though this didn’t bother the doves who, except in the dead of winter, cooed every morning under the eves.

  • • •

  One day, many years after the Great War (twenty-two years, or 681,523,055 seconds to be precise), a boy came to see what the commotion was about at the park near the little train car museum not far from his home.

  Through the trees he saw that someone had knocked down a wall of the museum and dragged the train coach out into the square. There were automobiles and reporters and cameras and row upon row of shiny German soldiers standing at attention. In the middle of it all was a German officer, his smile nearly hidden beneath his toothbrush moustache. He stepped up into the train car, followed a moment later by a forlorn French general.

  Trying to better his view, the boy stumbled and fell into the brush. Looking up, he saw some sort of statue. Nothing like the big statue of the French general standing on the far side of the park. This was a seated man, covered in branches and leaves, tucked right in with the trees.