by Chris Mawbey
“It’s time for us to go as well,” said Pester. He turned and walked towards the school exit. Mickey watched the children going back into school then turned towards Pester. There was something odd that Mickey couldn’t quite put his finger on. He looked back at the children and then again at Pester. No, whatever it was, it kept itself secret. Mickey set off after Pester.
The rocky desert spread out before them; seeming to run on forever. Mickey sighed and put a first foot forward to resume his journey.
“Why did you speak to the younger version of me back there?” Mickey asked.
“I wanted to know why you helped the boy,” Pester replied. “I was curious about whether you got involved because you wanted to help or because the fat boy insulted you.”
“Like I said, it was the right thing to do,” said Mickey.
“Perhaps so,” mused Pester. “But he still insulted you and you still reacted to it. It shows a streak of temper in you.”
Mickey shot Pester a look but chose not to respond.
Eventually the scenery of dusty desert began to change. The two men came across what would once have been a lush green meadow. Though dead, the grass had been cropped short in places by a small flock of skinny free roaming sheep. A shallow river had appeared from somewhere. It would have looked picturesque if the trees and reeds that bounded the waterway weren’t dead. Skeletal fingers from the willow branches reached down in desperate hope of touching the life giving water.
“We can fill our water bottles in the river,” said Pester.
Mickey was still trying to work out where the river had come from as he followed Pester.
“We can take one of those sheep for some fresh meat,” he said, pointing towards a small flock in the distance. “I take it they are real?”
“They’re real enough,” said Pester. He’d led Mickey to a gravel bank, where it was easy to reach into the water, to fill their bottles.
“Those sheep belong to someone though. But then I suppose sheep rustling is small time for a bank robber like you.”
Mickey ignored the taunt. He was more interested in the fact that the sheep had an owner.
“Are you saying that people actually live here? That doesn’t make sense. I thought that this was a place of the dead.”
“It is a place of the dead,” Pester replied. “The place is inhabited but no-one lives here. Do you understand? Everyone and everything is dead on this side. Even those sheep that you want to eat are dead.”
“I don’t get it,” said Mickey.
“Don’t worry about it,” Pester told him. “You’ll see what I mean soon enough. And don’t concern yourself about getting meat. I’m pretty sure you’ll be welcomed and well fed before too long.”
The prospect of meeting other people and getting a decent meal inside him thrilled and worried Mickey in fairly equal measure. He wasn’t sure how he would react to seeing a group of other dead people; or how they would react to him. It was only one day since he’d died and he still hadn’t got used to the idea. That said Mickey was starving again. He had quite a hunger for a corpse.
There wasn’t a path through the meadow but a small track wound along the river bank. Mickey could almost be forgiven for thinking that he was back in the living world. The only thing that spoilt the image was the lack of living creatures along the river. There should have been fish in the river and dragonflies and other insects skimming over the margins. Birds should have been feeding and nesting in the trees. They were all conspicuous by their absence.
Mickey had rarely been to the countryside during his life and it occurred to him now just how much he’d missed. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine fish in the rivers and birds in the trees. Lush, verdant grass was easy to visualise – rather than the dead stunted clumps that looked reminiscent of the drought ridden areas of central Africa. Though he was in a land of the dead, Mickey found this environment peaceful. His Mum would have enjoyed seeing a place – a living place – like this. Mickey’s father had never taken them anywhere when he’d been around and Mickey had never picked up the initiative after the vicious bastard had cleared off. He regretted the missed opportunity. It would have been good to see the smile on Mum’s face from a day in the country, or even at the seaside.
The mountains seemed a little lower now and though they still sported needle sharp crags, their slopes were dotted with a few bushes and trees. They may have been the shades of what they had been in the living world but at least they gave the impression that something was trying to exist and not give up entirely.
As Mickey and Pester put the old school further behind them a cluster of buildings came into view. More became visible as the two travellers got closer.
“Is this an entire village?” Mickey asked.
“Almost,” Pester replied. “I’ll let the villagers explain things when we get there.”
“How come the buildings are here?”
“A mudslide buried a large section of the village. When that kind of thing happens the whole area comes over, buildings, fields, rivers, animals, as well as the people.”
Mickey was stunned to silence by the enormity of what must have happened. He racked his brain for a memory of a major disaster like this. The world had been full of bad news but a name finally came to him.
“Was this Koprno?”
Pester smiled and applauded the young traveller. Mickey let out a low whistle. This was getting weird again.
“Will they be ok with us?” Mickey asked.
Pester nodded. “They’ll welcome you.”
“Me? Why not you as well? Do they know you?”
“They used to know me,” Pester replied. “I was the guide for the village when they came across. They decided that they weren’t ready to take their journeys and refused to move on. When that kind of thing happens the association between the guide and the traveller is broken and the guide stops being visible to them.”
“So I’ll be on my own in there,” said Mickey.
“No,” said Pester. “I’ll be with you. The villagers might have forgotten that you’ll have a guide. So it’s best if you’re careful about how you talk to me. They might think you’ve gone round the twist if they see you talking to yourself.”
“Sounds creepy to me.” Mickey shuddered. “I take it this is another encounter for me and you recommend that I’m a good boy and just get on with it?”
Pester shook his head. “No. This place is always here in the valley. Everyone who comes this way sees it and can just walk past if they want to.”
“Really?” Mickey made no attempt to hide his surprise. “I thought everything had been planned out for me.”
“A lot has,” Pester conceded. “Some could well be spontaneous; based on what you do as we go along. This ... This is just a choice.”
“Will not going in affect what happens later?” Mickey was beginning to understand how things worked over here.
“Don’t know,” said Pester. “It may just mean you get to the end earlier and avoid something else. On the other hand it could mean you don’t pick something up that would have been useful later on.”
“And there’s no coming back?”
“No. You’ll be free to roam around the village but once you leave or walk past you won’t be able to return.”
“Well, Guide,” said Mickey. “What would you recommend?”
Pester was silent for a while. He just stood and stared at the rooftops less than a mile away. He opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind and walked away from Mickey. It was only a few yards and it wouldn’t have given Pester any better view of the village but it did seem to help him come to a decision. He turned back to face his young companion.
“It’s up to you. I don’t care one way or the other.”
Worthless advice, thought Mickey. You’d have made a bloody good solicitor.
Chapter 7
The village looked deserted as they approached it. Windows, though intact, were dark and sightless. Some were shu
ttered, the painted wood aged and faded; many were hanging off or broken. It wasn’t possible to see the rest of the village from where Pester and Mickey stood; only a few rooftops were visible and the cross on a church steeple.
A portion of cobbled road ran in front of the homes. Half of the road was missing. Fractured stones butted up to the desert of the valley floor. It looked as if a large portion of the village had been torn up from its original position and dropped into the valley of the dead.
So this is what a disaster looks like, thought Mickey. This wasn’t just one or two people, it was half a village.
Mickey and Pester rounded the last building and walked along part pavement and part desert to a junction. On the right, the village faded to meadow, scrubland and the mountains beyond. On the left hand side, the road opened out into a small square of three story townhouses. These homes all had first floor balconies and most of the shutters on the windows were intact. All of the buildings were coated in pastel coloured render. The hue had faded on all of them with time but Mickey could tell that this had once been a pleasant place to live.
Some of the homes were occupied.
A few people were leaning on their balconies, gazing into the centre of the square; other villagers were sitting in chairs outside their front doors. In the middle of the square was a fountain in the shape of a trio of dolphins. It was surrounded by a concentric ring of concrete steps that led up to a low retaining wall.
From where he stood Mickey could see that the pool surrounding the statuary was empty. The spouts on the dolphins’ heads, where water would have sprayed into the air, were silent. Mickey imagined a scene where the pool was full and children splashed and played in the spray raining down from the dolphins. Mum would have enjoyed seeing this. She would have been happy just to sit on the wall, trailing her hand in the water. Mickey knew all this because Mum had once told him about all the things that she would like to do. This was a secret that she and Mickey shared – his father never knew any of this. He wouldn’t have understood, wouldn’t have cared and would never have allowed it to happen.
The eyes of the villagers all turned to Mickey as he and Pester entered the square. No-one moved and no-one hailed him; they just stared. As Mickey and his companion reached the fountain the reality of the place hit home. The fountain had not seen water for a very long time. Dust and sand was gathering around the edges of the pool. The dolphins were cracked and parts of their snouts and fins were missing. The stucco on the surrounding buildings was in a similar state of disrepair. It didn’t look like simple neglect to Mickey. The place had a feel of more than just old age about it. It was almost as if the square, and possibly, the entire village had reached and gone past its allotted time on earth.
Mickey glanced across at some of the villagers who were still making no attempt to hide their curiosity. He looked around him, more deliberately, at some of those who were watching him. They all had a similar look about them. They were all late middle aged to elderly and all had a look of resignation and defeat about them. Everyone looked as if he or she was waiting for their end to come. Mickey wondered if some of these hadn’t realised that they were dead – or if they had, were unsure what to do about it.
“They look as if they’re waiting for the undertaker,” Mickey whispered to Pester.
“In a way they are,” the guide responded. “The village made its choice a long time ago. Now it’s paying the price.”
Mickey and Pester had almost reached the far corner of the square when a man came out of the final house. He had the same defeated look as his neighbours but did at least manage to attempt a smile.
“Welcome, my friend,” he called and walked over to where Mickey had stopped. “Welcome to Koprno. My name is Janic. Janic Kovaks.” He held out a thin, bony hand. Mickey took the hand and felt the weakness and decay in the shake. It was like shaking hands with a Mummy.
“Mickey,” he replied. “Mickey Raymond.” He started to turn to introduce Pester before remembering that the guide was invisible to the residents of Koprno.
“I am happy to be meeting you, Mickey Raymond. You are welcome here. We are to have a wedding – the first one in many years.” The last comment was made wistfully. “You shall be my honoured guest.”
“Er, that’s very kind of you,” said Mickey. “But, we’re ... I’m just passing through.”
Janic’s smile broadened, revealing a mouth with more gaps than teeth. He raised his arms in as exaggerated shrug. “Stay, please. You are welcome. My house is your house.” He gestured towards the house at the end of the row.
Mickey got the feeling that Janic thought it was a done deal. The man had disregarded Mickey’s comment that he was just passing through, with no intention of staying. The thought of spending some time with other people, even dead ones, did appeal to Mickey though. He pretended to look around the square but made a point of catching Pester’s eye. A questioning raise of the eyebrows from Mickey was met with a shrug of indifference from Pester. Though Pester had seen and heard everything he didn’t seem willing to share his opinions with Mickey.
Mickey turned back to Janic and smiled. “Thank you Mr. Kovaks,” he said. “You’re very kind. I’d be happy to stay – for a day or two.”
The ancient villager smiled and hugged Mickey. “Please to come and meet my family.” He steered his guest towards the open door to his home. Mickey noticed that an audience had gathered to see what was happening. With nothing else to do, they lingered even when old man Kovaks and Mickey had disappeared through the door.
The ground floor of the townhouse was a storage area, or would have been if Janic Kovaks had anything to store. The room was dark and smelled stale and rotten.
There was a small sealed barrel and a few hessian sacks. One of these was open and Mickey could see what looked like some kind of dried vegetables. There was also a set of shelves with a few tins of food dotted here and there. Mickey saw that there was no fresh food.
Janic led Mickey up a flight of stairs to the main living area. Sunlight flooded into the lounge through the open balcony shutters but added no warmth. It took Mickey a while for his eyes to adjust from the gloom of the storeroom below. There was someone sitting in the lounge. Though he couldn’t see them clearly there was something about the person that caught and held Mickey’s attention. He didn’t realise that Janic was talking to him again. He turned to face the householder.
“Please to be meeting my wife. She is Olga,” said Janic.
The woman in question had emerged from the kitchen at the back of the building. She had once been a plump woman and reached to about Mickey’s shoulders. Death hadn’t been kind to her though. Loose skin sagged where the weight had fallen away and her clothes hung from a frame that was only slightly larger than what Mickey had taken to be Janic’s naturally skinny build.
Mickey and Olga exchanged pleasantries, he in English, she in her native tongue. Though neither understood a word the other said, they understood the sentiment. The woman had the same destitute look that Mickey had seen on the other villagers. He wondered if she was actually worse than those outside – or was it just the fact that he was seeing her close up? As the two of them shook hands Mickey felt that he was being scrutinised. A faint flicker of a different expression played across Olga’s face. It was there and gone in an instant – too quickly for Mickey to be able to work out what it meant.
“Please to come and meet my daughter,” Janic said. His wife reluctantly released her weak grip on Mickey’s hand, who then allowed himself to be steered into the main living area. The girl hadn’t moved. Either curiosity hadn’t bettered her or disinterest had kept her seated.
“Mickey, my friend. This is my daughter, Elena.” Janic presented his daughter to his guest. Mickey had never seen a girl like this before. He had only known a few girls in the past. Some of them were good looking. Others were average to dog ugly. Even the very best of them came nowhere close to this girl. In a dark and desolate world she was a beacon. Mickey felt
an unexpected stirring that caused his face to flush. He hoped that the girl and her father hadn’t noticed this.
“Elena,” Janic said. “Stand up girl and say hello to our new friend. This is Mickey. He will be my honoured guest at your wedding.”
The girl did as she was bid, but reluctantly, shooting a defiant look at her father. She shook hands with Mickey. Her grip was surprisingly firm, almost challenging. Elena’s expression was nothing like that of her parents. Defeat and dejection hadn’t clouded her looks yet. Her oval face was framed by long, straight, raven hair. She had a small, almost pert nose and full lips that if they ever cracked into a smile could break a boy’s heart. Though just as dead as everyone else, Elena had life in her large, dark eyes. Mickey suspected that this spark was fading but he also got the impression that Elena was fiercely battling to hang on to it. When his hand had come into contact with Elena’s he felt a sizzle of excitement run through him. Like her mother, Elena held on to Mickey’s hand longer than he would have felt normal and, like her mother, seemed to appraise him.
The girl didn’t smile or speak, but a flicker of something passed over her face. As with Olga, it was too quick for Mickey to work out what it meant but he was sure that Elena had the same thought as her mother. Had it been a look of hope? What was there to hope about round here?
“Hello,” said Mickey. His voice wavered and croaked. He felt like a fourteen year old. He felt his face grow hotter. “Er ... congratulations on your wedding.”
Mickey had expected at least a flicker of a smile form Elena. Instead, Elena’s face clouded into a picture of sadness. Mickey thought that she might actually start to cry.
Janic seemed completely oblivious to all of this. He was beaming through his mask of defeat and despair.
“Please to let me show you to your room,” he said. Mickey gently broke his grip on Elena’s hand and followed the girl’s father up a further flight of stairs. On the top floor of the house were three bedrooms and a small bathroom. Mickey was shown to the smallest bedroom at the back of the house.
