Lost
Page 22
���We���re here,��� Garetta said.
On the far side of the clearing was a low stone hut with no windows. The roof had caved in at one end and a tree had sprung up inside the hut, its branches growing out through the hole.
���That?��� Karim said. A toothpick had materialised in Denis���s fingers and he began picking his perfect teeth. ���If they find us here, there���s no way out,��� Karim told Garetta. ���We���re trapped.���
But Garetta was carrying the child towards the hut.
���They won���t find us,��� he said, ducking to pass through the door.
Karim looked at Denis but he was still picking his teeth. It was impossible for him to think straight in this place, so he sat down on one of the bags and began to roll a spliff.
*
Sam could feel the hard ground against his back but it still felt as if he was falling through the air. His whole body was tense, waiting for the landing. His legs and arms were tied up so tightly he couldn���t feel them any more. There was a small hole in the roof and he could see the big round moon. He knew that if he turned over and faced the ground, the falling might stop, but he could not take his eyes off the moon, which was trying to tell him something.
Sam wished they had left him in the cupboard. When they had pulled him out he had felt like one of his stick insects being ripped off its branch. He wished they had left him in the dark with the man talking to him through the wall. The new men didn���t talk. The tall one looked like his wolf puppet. Sam kept his eyes on the moon. As long as he looked at the shining moon he would not see the skinny man���s head again, all bloody on the floor.
As he fell backwards Sam felt that he was un-growing. He was seven years old ��� the age of reason, his mother called it ��� but now he was going back through his life to before he was born. He could remember what it had been like inside his mother. It was warm, as though he had an invisible blanket on him that weighed nothing. Sometimes tiny bubbles ran along his skin and burst, which felt like the lightest rain in the world. He had heard his father���s voice and felt him pressing down on his mother and he had smiled and said, Hello, Dad, but his dad couldn���t hear. He remembered being a little kid, too. His nose ran all the time and he could hardly walk and hardly talk. His life was like a dream. Then he had woken up; when Dan arrived, he had woken up. Now he was back in that dream again. He was un-growing.
When he had come out of the dream he had wanted to know what other people saw when they looked at him. He had held his mother���s face in his hands and looked into the dark mirror of her eyes.
���Mummy. What do you see when you look at me?���
���A handsome boy.���
���No, I mean what do you see?���
His mother never completely understood.
The moon was her face smiling down at him in his cot.
*
Karim woke up with a headache and a dry mouth. He was lying on the long, brittle grass, his head resting on his bedroll, which he had not bothered to undo. It was the moonlight that had woken him and there was a noise, like a distant motorway, which had reached him in his sleep. He stood up and looked around. The moon was still covering the clearing with its obscene light. Denis was asleep a few paces away from him, tucked up in his sleeping bag like a dead knight, his hands folded on his belly. He was forcing air out through his closed lips with little puffing noises. Garetta was in the hut with the child.
Karim walked round to the back of the hut. He walked through the long grass to a track that disappeared into a gorse thicket. He followed the track towards the noise. The gorse pricked his legs through his jeans. The track began to descend steeply and the gorse was replaced by thin, twisted trees that rose on either side of him. Karim began to jog, keeping his knees bent, down the track that had become a staircase of stones. A breeze had come up and there was a smell of mildew. The track levelled out and stopped suddenly on the edge of a precipice. He was standing on a ledge, looking into another gorge. Down below him the waterfall sprang from the dark forest into a deeper darkness. He could see its white foam shining in the moonlight and feel the cold air it generated on his face. The sound of the water was terrible.
He stood there swaying on the edge of the precipice, the noise emptying his mind. Then he pulled back and ran up the path as fast as he could.
When he reached the hut he stood beside the entrance breathless, his back against the wall, and listened to Garetta talking on the phone.
���He���s asleep,��� he said. There was a pause. ���If you don���t, he���ll sleep for ever,��� he said. ���No. Thirty million or nothing. You���ve got a week to get the rest.���
Karim waited, listening to the sound of Garetta moving about inside the hut. Then he stepped through the door. Inside it was cold and it smelled of goat-shit.
���You called her,��� he said.
Garetta was standing in the middle of the hut with his back to him. His head almost touched the rafters. He turned round. His expression was calm.
���You said we���d call in the morning,��� Karim said.
���It is the morning,��� Garetta said.
���We should have made the call together.���
���I heard you get up and I went out to get you. But you���d disappeared.���
Karim stared. He recalled his terror before the waterfall and felt ashamed. He drove his hands into his pockets.
���So what did she say?���
Garetta glanced at the boy, who was lying on his back in the corner, his knees up. Karim could not see if his eyes were closed or open. Garetta stooped as he passed through the door. Karim followed him outside.
���So?��� Karim said.
���No more weed,��� Garetta said. ���I don���t want you stoned up here.���
Karim smiled.
���Let���s talk about the phone call.���
Garetta pointed at him.
���No weed up here or you���re out.���
Karim looked at him. He was not taking orders from Garetta. Still he grinned and swiped the air with his palm.
���I need all my faculties, right?��� he said. Garetta studied him. ���So what did you say to the woman?���
���I told her we wanted thirty million and I gave her a week.���
���And? What did she say?���
���She said she wouldn���t even talk about ransom until she���d heard her child���s voice. I told her he was asleep, so she said she wouldn���t pay a penny until she heard him. I said if you don���t pay he���ll sleep for ever.���
Garetta reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out some tobacco and papers. Karim watched him roll a very thin cigarette.
���And?��� he said.
Garetta lit the paper.
���She asked me to take the nine million she already had.���
���What did you say?���
���I said I wasn���t interested.���
���What?���
���I said I wasn���t interested.���
���What���s all this ���I��� shit?���
Garetta was concentrating on smoking his roll-up.
���This is Santini���s deal, not yours. I���m here because Santini hired me. I���m not working for you.���
Garetta exhaled the smoke noisily, studying the roll-up in his hand.
���Listen, Garetta. I���m not staying up here in this shithole for another week.���
Garetta looked up.
���Do you know how long ETA holds people?���
���I don���
t fucking care.���
���They can hold a man for two years. Do you understand? They cut themselves off from the world and they sacrifice their petty appetites for a higher cause. They���re strong and they���re focused. You���ve been up here five minutes and you���re already shitting yourself.���
���All I���m saying is you���re going to have to be a bit cooler, man. I mean share,��� he said, making a give-and-take motion with his hands. ���We���re in this together.���
Garetta appeared not to be listening. Karim shifted slightly and Garetta turned on him.
���And this place is not a shithole!��� he shouted, stepping towards Karim. ���This is the most beautiful place in the world.��� The man was too close. Karim could see his jaw muscles working. ���You���re not up here to get rich,��� Garetta went on. ���You���re up here so that we can take back this paradise for the oppressed.��� He flicked his roll-up into the long grass. ���I���m not interested in her nine million. I���m not going out for nine million. We won���t even get started on nine million.���
Karim looked up into Garetta���s dark face. The moon was behind him.
���You���re not joking, right? You never did have a sense of humour, so this isn���t a joke. Right? Am I right, or what?��� Garetta folded his arms and waited. He was much too close but Karim did not move. ���Listen, man, I don���t give a shit about politics,��� he said. ���If I needed politics I���d have joined the FNL, but I didn���t. I chose to work for Santini because the man has an independent mind. If I���m up here��� ��� he paused, looking around him ��� ���in this shithole, it���s because Santini asked me to come. And if you���re here it���s because Santini wants you here. So if the woman offered nine million, I think you should have talked to Santini before you turned it down.���
Garetta grabbed hold of his sweatshirt at the neck. Karim could feel how the weed had taken the edge off his reflexes. He looked back into Garetta���s eyes while all his nerves hummed uselessly.
Suddenly Garetta let go of him. Karim turned round and saw Denis sitting up in his sleeping bag, watching them.
���Denis,��� Karim said. ���Okay. Now we can all have a talk.���
���You can talk,��� Garetta told them, walking off into the hut. ���I���m going to sleep.���
Karim watched him go, aware that he had lost.
���It���s this place,��� he said, turning to Denis. ���What the fuck are we doing here, anyway? What was Coco thinking of when he hired this lunatic?��� He smoothed out his sweatshirt. It was white, with the word ���Thermocooler��� printed in black sci-fi letters across the front. He had not seen the point of it when Nadia had given it to him and he had been angry. Now he stroked it lovingly. ���I mean what is this shit about the oppressed?��� He looked at Denis���s patient face and made a decision. ���I���m calling Santini.��� He clicked his fingers at Denis for the phone that was in Denis���s jacket.
���You can���t.���
Denis was still sitting up, his legs trapped in his sleeping bag. Karim strode towards him and punched him hard on the upper arm, right on the nerve. It took a few seconds for the pain to show on Denis���s face.
���Give me the phone.���
Denis clutched his shoulder and with his free hand found the phone. Karim leaned down and snatched it from him.
���I���m a professional,��� he said. ���I haven���t kept clear of those nutcases in the FNL all this time just to end up in some headbanger���s fantasy.��� He punched out the number of Evelyne���s mobile. ���The mother offered to give him nine million straight up,��� he told Denis. ���He should have taken it then seen about the rest. We���d still have the kid, but at least we���d have some cash.���
���It���d be a risk collecting the money,��� Denis said.
Karim ignored him.
���Pick it up, pick it up, Evelyne.���
���It���s the middle of the night,��� Denis said.
���Shut up, Denis.���
Karim called the main number for the villa and waited. It rang seven times, then Evelyne answered.
���Yes?���
���It���s me.���
There was a pause, then Santini���s voice.
���Yes?���
���It���s me.���
���Don���t call here.���
���Wait!��� Karim shouted. He was still there. ���Call me from a clean phone. It���s important.���
Karim heard Santini���s breath in the mouthpiece. Then a kind of grunt, which Karim knew was acquiescence. He hung up and began to pace while he waited. Santini was being watched but he���d think of something. Karim smiled at Denis triumphantly then went over to his own bedroll to make up his bed. How could Garetta sleep in that stinking hut? Karim climbed into his sleeping bag and lay back clutching the phone. It was good to know that Santini���s voice could reach him up here in this shithole.
Friday
Chapter Thirty
The bathwater had begun to cool and tiny air bubbles had settled on Alice���s skin. Here in the water she could get through the night. Her sternum was red from trying to rub away the pain in her chest. In the water, she could feel her heart, the poor beating thing, for the hanging sac of blood that it was. The tap, dripping slowly on to her left foot, was a more soothing pulse on which she could focus.
She sank beneath the water, tilting back her head. When she was beneath the surface she believed Sam was alive. Underwater she found a preternatural logic. Their bond was inviolable. She was his mother. So long as she was here, so was he.
She came up and gasped for air. The bubbles on her skin had gone. She added more hot water. She recalled the kidnapper���s voice, the calm brutality in it. He had not let her speak to Sam and she had not been afraid then, only very angry. Now she was afraid and she began to sob. She reached forward, turned off the tap and sat clutching her knees, weeping. She sobbed deeply, begging it not to happen. ���Mummy,��� she said. ���Please help me.���
She lay back and let her tears subside underwater. She was the mother. No one could rescue her. She was the one.
When she came up again she was calm. She looked down at her body in the water. She had always felt towards it a detached appreciation, as though it did not belong to her but was on loan. Mathieu had made love to her as though he too believed that her body was beside the point. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers up the middle of her abdomen and between her breasts. She opened her eyes and looked at her hands on her breasts, the long fingers not quite able to contain them. She thought of Stuart, downstairs in the kitchen. His love for her filled the house. She saw his head resting on her breasts, kissing away her fingers. She saw his hair, wet from the bath.
*
Downstairs Stuart opened his eyes and reached for the alarm clock on the floor beside the bed. It was 5 a.m. He had been asleep for less than two hours. Accustomed as he was to a hollow, dreamless sleep, the sensation of the dream now slipping through his mind was a little unpleasant. He got up, put on his underpants and opened the shutters, then the French windows, and stepped on to the wet grass. There seemed to be no light in the sky and yet the garden was so sharply defined, the pine trees on the lawn looked like cut-outs. All was too still and too luminous and Stuart felt as though he had burst in on the natural world while it was undergoing some secret mutation. He went back in to dress, leaving footprints of dew on Constance Colonna���s parquet floor.
He made his bed, his throat bu
rning from the packet of cigarettes he had smoked in the night to keep himself awake. It was good to be smoking again. He picked up his watch from the side-table. He was aware that he was running out of time: Mesguish was filing a report to Central Office about his treatment of the case. The idea of losing his job did not alarm him. Only G��rard���s distress, carefully dissimulated over the phone, had bothered him. He recalled his deputy���s plaintive tenor: ���Be careful, Stuart. He can do you a lot of damage.���
���It���s much too late for that.���
He went into the kitchen. The room was quiet and filled with the bizarre grey glow of dawn. He did not turn on the light. He poured a mountain of coffee into the filter and turned on the machine. That night he had sat here, at the table with Alice, waiting for the call. She had drunk whisky and he had smoked. She had talked to him ��� about her son mostly, about his problems at school and with other children. She had been so careful not to talk about herself and he had still heard the anguish in her. He had been careful himself ��� careful not to look at her, because he knew if he did, his eyes would make some impossible request. At 2 a.m. the call had come and she had stood up and walked calmly over to the phone on the wall. When he nodded, she had picked it up. She was composed and determined and he had wondered if it was the whisky. He had feared that the strange energy would subside in the night and leave her with the knowledge that her son was further, much further, from reach.
���Stuart.��� He spun round. She was standing in the doorway. ���The water. You forgot the water.���
The coffee machine was spitting and smelled of roasting metal. Alice sat down at the table. Her hair was wet.
���It���s early,��� he said, filling the machine with water. She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Her face looked different in the morning; he thought he could see the child in her. She sat with her bare arms folded on the table.
���Do you want some coffee?��� he asked.
���Please.���
He could see that the energy was still there. He felt a sudden urge to smile and he turned his back on her to watch the coffee machine.