by Nigel Bird
*
“Where did you stay last night?” Arturo looks stronger than the last time I saw him. Maybe it’s just that he’s standing up.
“I went to pray in the church.” Mainly because I couldn’t cope with any more of his grief. “I guess I must have fallen asleep.”
“How did it go with the collection?” His hair is brushed into a neat ponytail and his one good hand is scrubbed clean. The bed sheets, draped around the room, are dripping dry. The soapy smell reminds me of school.
“It was easy enough.” I was surprised at how it went. Instead of worrying about the lady who was about to fall from her balcony, I simply got on with the drawing. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but it was no big deal. If anything, I had a good time. Working the chalk was a pleasing distraction from all that’s been going on. And I did a good job of it, too. “I didn’t stick around to see what happened.”
“What about the new boy? Think he’s up to the job?”
“Enzo? He’s no Valentino if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s what I meant.”
“He did everything I needed. Got me there. Kept me calm. Made sure I finished on time.”
“That’s good.”
“You cleaned the place up while I was away.”
“I couldn’t bear my smell any longer.”
“You’re not the only one.” We laugh together. It’s a relief to change the mood for a while.
“And I needed a distraction.” His shoulders dip. I wonder if the new light in him has already been snuffed out. I need to raise his spirits before he gets worse.
“Valentino loved you.” I know I swore I wouldn’t tell, but I think him dying like he did changes the rules.
“We were friends for a long time.” He’s totally unaware of the way it was.
“I mean he was in love with you. Fancied you. Wanted to share your life and all that.”
Arturo stumbles backwards towards the bed. Sits down on the mattress and swings his legs like a child. “How do you know?”
“It was the last conversation we had.”
His expression is blank. “To think of all those years we had together and I didn’t have a clue.” He pinches the top of his nose. Rubs his eyes. “I’m such a blind fool.”
I sit down. Put my arm around him and pull him close. “It’s not always easy to see what’s right in front of you.”
“It must have been terrible. I wish I’d known. I could have changed things.”
“You’d have married him and run off into the sunset?”
“I could never do that. Not even for Valentino.”
“Then stop beating yourself up. Imagine he’d told you. How would it have made life any easier?”
“I might have been a better friend.”
“I doubt it.” I think of the way they were together. The ease with which they moved around each other. They were like Dee and I, tied together by invisible elastic.
“If only I could talk with him. Have him explain what it was like. I think that would make me feel better.”
“And can’t you?” Surely someone who is trusted with the collection of souls must know how to contact the other side. “There must be a way.”
He scratches his goatee. Pulls the end to a point and twists it together. “I was told about that when I was first recruited. Some of the old-timers were getting drunk and showing off about what they could do. I learned a lot that night.”
“Oh?”
“When they lost someone close, they told me, they would draw a round window onto the ground. Whoever they wanted to see would appear and they would get their chance to say goodbye.”
“But you’ve not tried?”
“I never had good reason.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“It’s too early. I should think about him instead of me. I’ll give him time to settle and if I still need to straighten things, I’ll do it.”
What a sweet thing to say. I kiss him on the forehead. Pull his head to my shoulder and keep him there.
“Even if I was being selfish, it wouldn’t be a sensible thing to do.”
“Oh? Why not?” I stroke his hair as gently as I can.
“Because being connected with the other side can do funny things to you.” His voice is barely a whisper now. “The people there are like sirens. They want to lure their loved ones in. Many collectors have been lost that way.”
“Then I won’t let you try.”
“I’m glad,” he says and curls his legs up onto the bed. I rock him side to side to bring him comfort. His breathing slows and his body twitches in my arms. I lay him down and let him catch up on his rest, just like the doctor ordered.
*
“Draw the window.” Rory’s voice wakes me from a light sleep. Whatever I was dreaming of is locked away for ever.
I stretch my back and legs. Sip water from the bottle. Give myself a moment to get my bearings. The stone walls and uneven floor remind me I’m still in the church.
“You heard what he said. We can see each other again.”
There’s a chill to the air. I pull a cardigan from my bag and push my arms through the sleeves.
“Just get out your pastels and get on with it.”
I ignore him. Maybe if I keep it up, he’ll get bored and leave me alone.
“Nat? Don’t be like this. I’m only trying to put the pieces of the puzzle back together.” I stay as still as I can manage. “You know you want to.”
Those words drill deep into my world.
“I still love you, babe.” His words tickle my lobe. Send shivers to my toes.
“It’s the middle of the night, Rory. I’m tired and hungry.” He doesn’t know the half of it. “Can’t we do it in the morning?”
“I need to touch you.” His presence materialises as a physical force. It’s as if his hands are touching mine. The hairs on my arms stand to attention as he moves along to my shoulders. The nibble of delight warms the base of my neck. It’s like he’s seducing me for the first time, slow and patient and paying attention to every detail. My appetite for him is rekindled. I’m ravenous. Need him everywhere at once. “Right now.”
“Wait.” I crawl to the sink. Squeeze toothpaste onto my brush and clean my teeth. Wash my face and hands. Dab perfume onto my wrists and collar bones. Roll deodorant under my arms. If we’re going to meet up, I don’t want to smell like a tramp.
I take the lamp down from the hook, turn up the wick and rest it on the floor. Pull out my box of crayons, kneel down and set to work.
First I need an image to work from. I imagine a derelict stone cottage in the middle of a wood, hidden among overhanging trees and wild ferns. See a round frame in the only intact wall. Memorise my creation and draw.
“Make it bigger.” Rory’s direction. “You’ll only see my face through that.”
I start again. This time the arc has my arms at full stretch. I draw another circle inside the first and set to shade the frame in brown. I add scuffs and scratches to give it the authentic appearance of the window in my mind. To finish it off, I add the ivy leaves and the moss.
“It’s amazing.” Rory’s encouragement always meant a lot. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t know. Let me wash my hands and I’ll clear up.”
“Don’t bother.” He sounds impatient. “It’s the way I remember you. All covered in different colours of chalk dust or splodges of ink.”
“Okay.” I wipe my hands on my skirt anyway. Lean over my drawing and wait for him to arrive.
His face pops up before me. Makes me jump even though I knew he was on his way.
It’s not like seeing him through glass. It’s more like he’s swimming in a pool of viscous pink water. The smile on his face is there, just like always. The one that says everything is going to be all right, even if it isn’t. His curls frame his face like a lion’s mane and his beard is as well-groomed as ever. I guess they must have combs and razors in heaven just like everywhere else.
His mouth forms strange shapes that must be making words, but it’s like someone’s turned the volume control to mute.
“I can’t hear.” I exaggerate the movement of my lips so that he can read what I say.
He shrugs his shoulders. Reaches out. Places his fingers on where the glass would be if the window were real.
I put my fingers on his. All I feel is cold stone.
“Maybe there’s a magic spell,” I think he says. He waves his arms as if he’s holding a wand. “Abracadabra.”
“I always said you paid too much attention to those Harry Potter films.”
He furls up his eyebrows to show he doesn’t understand. Folds his arms and looks around the frame as if looking for a clue.
I can’t believe we’ve come this far just to be thwarted. Wish there were such a thing as magic. That way, everything would be so much simpler.
His palms spread on the glass. He pushes hard and the strain shows on his face. Veins I’ve never seen before pop up in his forearms. It’s all to no avail. He swears. Steps away. Turns and punches the space between us.
The thud sounds dull. Like there’s material wrapped around his hand and he’s standing far away. He shakes his hand up and down. The fingers bend and twist as if they’re made of rubber. His mouth opens wide. Gives me a perfect view of his teeth and tonsils.
There’s probably a scream to go with all the actions. I’m grateful I can’t hear it.
I look away and check that we haven’t disturbed Arturo. He’s lying perfectly still with his back to me.
I turn back and Rory is knocking to get me attention.
“A handle.” He points to the bottom of the frame. “Draw a handle so we can open it.” Mimes doing precisely that.
“Don’t be daft.” I can’t believe he’s being so irrational.
“Go on.”
I don’t know where my reservations come from. Maybe it’s Arturo’s warning. Or because the tingling around my body has gone. Either way, I’m not sure this is a good idea.
“I don’t know,” I say.
His face loses its shape. He puts his hands together as if he’s praying. “Please.”
It’s that hurt look that always won me over when we were together. I can’t bear to see him suffer.
I pick out a copper crayon from the box. Draw a hinges on either side of the frame. Change the colours and set to work on a handle. My hands shake. The lines are less than perfect.
Rory gives me the thumbs up. Smiles at me and opens up.
Warm light spills over the floor. A wave of sound rushes past my ears. It’s as if the wind and the sea have united in perfect harmony.
“You did it, Nat.” Rory’s voice is soft. The sharp edges I’ve become used to have gone. “You’re a bloody genius.”
The light engulfs me. It’s like being in a club as the DJ plays the coolest track and the strobes freeze the world in cross-sections of the happiest days of your life.
“I’m sorry.” These are the first words that pop out of my mouth. Usually, when I think about our last moments together and want to apologise, it hurts. I fall apart and burst into tears. Not this time. It’s as if all my pain has been drained away.
“What are you talking about?” Rory seems puzzled.
“About what happened before you were shot. For not understanding that you needed space. For running out on you the way I did.” These ideas have circled my mind ever since his death. Hovered above me wherever I’ve been.
“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t your fault.” He moves closer. “I understand.”
“I’d change everything if I could.”
“I know.”
“But it’s done. Turning the clocks back isn’t possible.”
“That’s just it. We don’t need to look to the past. This is all about embracing our future.”
Confusion surrounds the edges of my thoughts. Our future? Like there’s some way of joining our two worlds together. I imagine a wedding set up with all the living on the one side of the church and all the dead on the other. I can’t begin to picture what the photograph album would look like.
“All you need to do is to slip through.” His words jumble my thoughts. “At least come and see what it’s like. I promise you, you won’t come to any harm.”
The strange tunes are hypnotic. I want to concentrate, but they won’t let me. Arturo’s words pop into my head and flash like a lighthouse. I think of the sirens and their songs. The way they lured sailors to their rocky coasts. Their beauty in the paintings I recall – Waterhouse, Frost, Draper. Their names merge into one and dissolve to nothing.
“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.” His words float above the music like kites catching the breeze. “This is heaven, they say. And it is. Almost. Only without you here to share it with, I might as well be burning up in the flames of hell.” I don’t remember him being quite this romantic. “Let me hold you. If I can’t have you forever, give me one more moment that I can savour for the rest of time.”
A last hug for him to enjoy. The chance to turn his eternity into the sunny place it should be. To make amends for those last minutes we spent together. Surely there can be no harm in that.
“Just one,” I say and reach through the window in the floor. It’s warm and comforting like the Mediterranean. I want to dive in and immerse my whole body in the pool of joy on the other side.
Rory strokes my palms and the backs of my hands. “I told you, didn’t I? This is how it should be. Tell me you feel it, too.”
“I do.” All of a sudden, all of the months of pain are behind me. The therapy. The pills. The days spent hiding under my duvet. They’re gone. In their place, a confident me. An individual without self-doubt or anger. A new person full of peace and beauty. Someone I don’t recognise.
“Come closer,” he urges. “Let me hold you in my arms for one final time.”
Doubt clutches at my heart, but the new me is desperate to enter. I lean in further. Put in my head. My neck. My shoulders.
The gentle sounds I loved from the outside pound at my eardrums and start to hurt. Pressure builds until they feel ready to pop.
My eyes burn, just like when I’m swimming with no goggles. My skin itches and screams. If I didn’t know better I’d say I was allergic to Heaven.
I inhale, but it’s all wrong. Like breathing in warm honey. I pull my hands from Rory’s. Flap them in the air so he’ll understand. I’m not waving, I’m drowning.
He doesn’t seem to get it. Just grabs me round the wrists and yanks me in.
“I can’t,” I try to say, but my words are lost in the sea of fluid.
“You must.” Rory’s expression has changed. The sweetness gone. Now he wears the tight lips of determination.
“No!” It should be the loudest shout ever, but there’s nothing to hear.
I do my best to fight my way back to my side of the world. Strain every sinew to stay in the land of the living. Press my knees into the rough stone above and urge them to find purchase. Feel their grip diminish as I slide in up to my waist.
“Don’t fight it.” Rory’s voice is strained. “It won’t be long now and we’ll be together.” He stops pulling for a moment. “Forever.”
I stare at his face. It bends in and out of focus as my brain begins to melt. The will to resist has gone. My world is coming to an end.
“Stop!” The word pierces the wall of noise that’s assaulting my ears. It’s Arturo, I’m sure it is.
Strong hands grab my hips. Heave me back towards the church.
Opposing forces tug me back and forth. My vertebrae jolt apart as I stretch.
Arturo’s arm wraps around my stomach. Lifts me in a sudden jerk.
Rory’s grip gives. My arms slip from his grasp and I tumble backwards. My back crashes into the floor. I gasp. Fill my lungs with air and pass out.
Episode Ten
Arturo scrubs away, obliterating the window I drew on the floor. He’s working so hard, it’s as if he wants
to erase the memories of the last few days.
“That should be enough,” I tell him, not wanting him to waste his energy.
He ignores my advice and continues with the fervour of a miner who senses gold. His clothes are damp with sweat and his hair slaps his face as he cleans. The pendant swings like a pendulum beneath his chest and his grunts work in time with the cloth as it scours the stone.
I hate to see him in this state. Reach over and touch his shoulder. “You can stop now.” His rhythm slows. “Please.”
He pushes himself away from the wet sludge. Sits down with his back against the wall. Unravels the sopping bandage from his hand.
“You can’t take that off.” I sound like my mother. “What will the doctor say?”
He removes the dressing. Holds up his fingers and flexes them. “Look. Good as new.”
It’s true. There’s not a kink or a bruise in sight. I check his face. Realise that the markings have gone. “You’re better?”
He pokes at his chest and stomach. Examines his arms and legs. “I think I am.”
“But that’s not possible.”
“No?” He laughs. “Is it any less likely than your dead boyfriend trying to kidnap you?”
I don’t suppose it is. Nothing’s quite what it was anymore. “How can it be?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t understand it myself.” He stands up. Steps over to the sink and turns on the taps. Lifts the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head. “Maybe it has something to do with being on the other side.”
“That would make sense.” If anything does these days.
Arturo fills his hands with water and splashes it onto his face. He bends and rinses his hair. His frame is lean and tight, the muscles perfectly defined beneath the skin. He has the kind of body an artist would love to draw. Or even to touch and get to know better.
He picks up a flannel and wipes his torso. Cleans under his arms. Reaches around to wash his back. Doesn’t manage to get to the very top.
I get up. Step over. “Here. I’ll do that.” He allows me to take the flannel. Leans into the wall and stands still. I wipe away the grime and the sweat while admiring his body. The urge to touch him is overwhelming. “Thanks for saving me back there.”
