The Awakening

by McBean, Brett

  The old man climbed onto the brown mule and, looking down at me, said, “Get up.”

  I clumsily swung my leg over and sat behind the old man. Nearby the other man was mounted on his mule.

  “Follow me, and if we encounter any gendarme, just let me do the talking.”

  The three of us rode the few miles in the moonlit night across endless fields, until finally we arrived at my house. At the time I wasn’t sure where we were or why we had come here. The small hut meant nothing to me, other than it was familiar, and that I felt fear being there. To me, it was an evil place, one that I never wanted to see again.

  When I started whimpering and struggling, I heard the old man say, “Good, he won’t ever return here,” and then, much to my relief, we left.

  “We head to the mountain path,” the old man said. “The one near Saint-Raphael. Be careful.”

  We rode down narrow paths between plots of land, the scattered huts around us bathed in darkness. The moonlight was our only guide, and the clip-clopping of the mules seemed to blend in with the night sounds of dogs barking and the occasional baby crying. We crossed over a river, which due to the meager rain of late wasn’t too deep, and continued through fields, towards the massive mountains ahead.

  At the base of the mountain, the old man spoke. “Get down, zombi.”

  I hopped down from the mule. Then stood there in the darkness, not thinking, not feeling, just waiting.

  “I have done my part, now for the payment.”

  The other man nodded, reached into a sack and pulled out some money. He handed the old man some notes, I couldn’t see how many. The old man placed the money in his pocket, then handed the man the clay pot that had been passed under my nose earlier, except now a cork was wedged into its top. “Here. He is now yours. Don’t be afraid to use the rope if you have to.”

  At that the old man steered his mule around and soon vanished across the fields.

  “Okay slave,” the man, now my master, said. “Get up here.”

  I hopped up onto my master’s mule, sitting behind him.

  “Now don’t get used to this kind of luxury. You’re only up here because you can’t be expected to ride a mule by yourself, and it’s a long journey on foot to my plantation, and most of it’s through the mountains. So hang on, don’t fall off and don’t whine. And try not to look so... zombi-like. We’ll probably run into a gendarme patrol at some point.”

  The master sighed.

  “It’s risky enough transporting a zombi, they had to give me one with a broken neck and a nasty cut on its face,” he muttered. “Christ, I’ll be lucky to make it back without getting shot by a marine. I’m getting too old to be doing this.”

  We started up the winding path leading up into the mountains, and so began our long journey.”

  Mr. Joseph finished off his fourth glass of rum. “This all feels like it happened yesterday,” he said, shaking his head, obviously affected by the memories.

  “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, going through all that,” Toby said.

  “And you should be grateful for that,” Mr. Joseph said. “Nobody should have to go through what I did. It’s just a pity there are so many people who don’t appreciate being alive and free.” Mr. Joseph pushed away the empty glass. “If they knew what it felt like to be enslaved, truly enslaved, both in body and mind, they would appreciate every breath, every moment they were alive.”

  “Yeah, I kinda know what you mean,” Toby said.

  Mr. Joseph looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You do?”

  “Well, if you hadn’t found me when you did...” Toby sighed. “I guess it made me see things differently. I think back on what it used to be like, you know, before the attack, and I wish I could go back to those times. It’s funny, but only a month ago I couldn’t wait to grow up, be treated as an adult, not like a kid and all that. Now, I wish I could be a kid again and have Frankie back.”

  Mr. Joseph nodded. “Freedom,” he said. “Something most people take for granted. But without freedom, there is only misery. That’s what you’re missing, I’m guessing.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Toby said.

  “That’s why I sit by the window and watch you kids go by.” Mr. Joseph smiled. “I know it must seem weird to you and your friends. I see the way you look at me as you go past. And I do understand. If I was your age and saw a strange old man sitting watching me, I would’ve thought it weird, too. But it’s simply about freedom. Watching freedom in its purest form.”

  Toby shifted in the chair, feeling bad for all the times he had hurried past Mr. Joseph’s house, all the jokes he had made about the “freak by the window”.

  “That’s also why I walk around town at night. I feel safest at night, under the cover of darkness. There are no accusing eyes or whispering mouths. It’s when I feel the most free. I wish I could walk around during the day, but it’s too unpleasant. Still, I’ve gotten used to the night, its sounds, smells, its quiet. It helps pass the time. Sometimes I walk for hours.”

  “Where do you go?”

  “Wherever I feel like. I suspect I know this town as well as anyone.”

  “So you don’t go anywhere in particular? You don’t do anything...?”

  “Untoward?”

  Toby frowned.

  Mr. Joseph chuckled. “Suspicious.”

  “Oh.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I just walk around. It’s all rather boring.”

  Well there’s another rumor dispelled, Toby thought, and found it strange he would feel disappointment. He should be happy that Mr. Joseph wasn’t some Peeping Tom.

  He checked his watch. It was 3:40.

  “Well, I’d better get going,” Toby said. He stood up, pushed the chair into the table.

  “Take care, Monsieur Fairchild.”

  “You too.” Toby started for the back door. But he stopped when a thought entered his mind. With all the talk about vodou, zombi spells and him missing Frankie, something occurred to Toby that was frightening in its possibilities. He considered walking out the back door, not bothering to ask Mr. Joseph such a question, but he had to ask. He had to know. He turned around and looked at the slightly hunched man sitting at the table. “Mr. Joseph?”

  Mr. Joseph gradually eased his body around. “Yes?”

  Toby took a deep breath. “I was wondering. Is it possible to... do you have the power to... could you bring Frankie back if you wanted to?”

  Mr. Joseph stared at Toby for a long time.

  “I mean, he wouldn’t have to be a regular zombi. He could be a savane, like you.” Tears stung Toby’s eyes. He wiped them away.

  “Toby,” Mr. Joseph said with a sigh. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Because I miss him. I want him back. I could be talking to him like I’m talking to you.”

  Mr. Joseph shook his head, and Toby didn’t know if that was his answer, or just a sign of his disapproval at the question. “If I said yes, I could bring Frankie back, would you really want him to live this way? After what I’ve told you about me, what it’s like to be a savane, would you really want Frankie to be put through that?”

  Toby knew it wasn’t fair to ask Mr. Joseph such a question. But damn it, he missed Frankie so much it was a palpable pain that was constantly gnawing away at his body. Still, as he brushed more tears away, he said, quietly, “No.” He looked to the floor. “No, I wouldn’t want him to be like you.”

  “He would hate you for it. He wouldn’t be able to live a normal life. He’d be living in constant pain and fear. He wouldn’t be the Frankie you knew. That Frankie is dead. You can never get that back.”

  Toby nodded. He turned around and opened the back door.

  “But Toby, to answer your question... no. It’s not possible. I don’t have the knowledge or the power to bring Frankie back. I’m not a bocor. I was a simple peasant farmer.”

  “Okay,” Toby said, and then he stepped outside.

  The afternoon was warm and there was the
smell of perfumed flowers in the air. Toby breathed in deeply as he closed the back door. He wiped his eyes dry and left Mr. Joseph’s house.

  Stupid question. What did you think Mr. Joseph was going to say? Sure, of course I could do that, let’s go over to the cemetery now and bring Frankie back from the dead.

  Feeling foolish, Toby started along Pineview.

  He walked with heavy steps, his mind drifting like pollen in the wind, had turned from Pineview into Bracher, when he heard a voice whisper, “Toby.”

  Toby stopped, looked around, but couldn’t see anyone.

  “Psst… Toby.”

  “Who’s there?” he said, suddenly nervous.

  A figure stepped out from behind an oak tree.

  “Warrick?” Toby said.

  “Sssh, not so loud.”

  Warrick remained half-hidden behind the oak’s thick trunk, head darting this way and that as if he was worried about being seen.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Toby said. “Why are you hiding behind that tree?”

  “I... I just wanted to speak to you,” Warrick said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

  “Then why didn’t you just come and see me at my house like any normal person? Oh, that’s right, that’s because you’re not normal.”

  Toby remained tense, cagey; Warrick hadn’t so much as said boo to him this past month, and now here he was hiding behind a tree, acting stranger than usual.

  “What do you want, Warrick?”

  With eyes still searching, head shifting from side-to-side, Warrick said, “I don’t know.”

  He was acting different, not like the usual Warrick Coleman, all cocky. He sounded sad, his voice flat and if Toby didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn he was scared.

  What has Warrick got to be scared about? Toby wondered.

  There was silence. The wind blew gently, leaves skipped along the pavement.

  This was the first time he had seen Warrick since that horrible night. He didn’t know what to say to him, how to act around him; and by the way Warrick was standing there nervously, as quiet as Toby had ever seen him, it looked like Warrick felt the same way.

  “I... I’m sorry,” Warrick said, softly. The words sounded strained, foreign to his tongue.

  “Sorry about what?” Toby said.

  Warrick shrugged. “For what happened. To Frankie. I bet you miss him.”

  Toby swallowed, found it difficult to get the words past the golf-ball sized lump in his throat. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “Every day.”

  “They reckon it was that hobo that did it, huh?”

  “Yeah, that’s what most people think.”

  “Huh,” Warrick said. “Look, Toby...” Warrick drew in breath, jerked his head towards a car cruising towards them. He watched it sail past, and then turn into Pineview.

  When Warrick turned back, his eyes were wide, and he had beads of sweat on his top lip. “I gotta go, Toby,” he said, and started walking away, fast.

  “Warrick, is there something you want to tell me?” Toby called, standing on the sidewalk, baffled. “Warrick?”

  “I have to go,” Warrick called back, his high voice wavering. “I have to go.”

  Warrick jogged off down Bracher and was soon out of sight.

  What the hell was that all about? Toby wondered, and he stewed on the strange encounter the rest of the way to Gloria’s.

  Toby pressed the doorbell. Chimes ding-donged inside the Mayfour house and when the door opened, Helen Mayfour—local florist, church-going Christian, member of the PTA—smiled out at him.

  “Hi Toby. Please, come in.”

  Toby stepped inside.

  As the door closed behind him, Toby felt a surge of paranoia and a fluttering of nerves. He had never been inside the Mayfour house—never been inside any girl’s house. Stepping into the home of the two hottest girls in town was kind of like being given permission to enter the girls’ locker room at school; it was unfamiliar territory, a little scary, a lot exciting.

  “Gloria’s in the family room watching a movie,” Helen Mayfour said. “Follow me.”

  Toby followed her down the cream-tiled hallway, past framed picture after framed picture of the Mayfour family. In the early photos young Gloria was all smiles, pigtails and pretty dresses. Debbie seemed colder. She was still smiling, but Toby wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she had been a brat. In all the photos of Helen and Rudy, both were immaculately dressed and groomed, complete with designer smiles.

  The house itself was as white and sparkling as their teeth. And big. It was the kind of house usually featured in those glossy lifestyle magazines, and was easily the most luxuriant house Toby had ever been in—but then Gloria’s dad probably made double what Toby’s dad did.

  Toby had never spoken much with Rudy Mayfour, only the occasional ‘how d'ya do’ at town festivals, or bank picnics, but he had already long ago formed an opinion of Gloria and Debbie’s father, thanks mostly to his dad’s grumblings. But, Toby figured anyone who could produce and raise a girl like Gloria couldn’t be all that bad.

  Mrs. Mayfour led Toby into the dining room. The room was bigger than Toby’s, the furniture looked more expensive, and there were lots of large paintings hanging on the walls. Down the opposite end were two doors, presently closed, behind which Toby could hear the sounds of a movie playing.

  When they reached the doors, they stopped. Mrs. Mayfour pulled them open and the gun blasts and screaming grew louder. Toby followed Mrs. Mayfour into the dimly-lit room. Aside from the glare of the TV, the room was in darkness. Mrs. Mayfour flicked on the light switch. Gloria, lounging on the sofa, jumped. She turned around and at the sight of her mom and Toby, she paused the DVD. She smiled shyly. “Oh, hey Toby.”

  Toby smiled shyly back. An awkward silence filled the room. Finally, Mrs. Mayfour said, “Would you like a drink, Toby?”

  Toby swallowed, throat dry. “Thanks.”

  “Gloria?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you two kids alone.” Mrs. Mayfour left, leaving the doors wide open.

  Gloria’s family room was bigger than Toby’s and was populated with a pool table, a couple of beanbags, a stereo system, the large flat-screen TV, and two sofas—the one Gloria was sitting on facing the TV, and another sitting adjacent. Both were cream-colored and looked expensive. A well-stocked bar took up the entire far wall, and behind it a row of trophies sat proudly on shelves.

  Gloria hopped up and walked over to Toby.

  “Hey,” Gloria said, still smiling.

  “Hey,” Toby answered. “What were you watching?”

  “Huh? Oh, Heat. It’s one of my dad’s favorite movies. It’s pretty good, actually.”

  Toby nodded.

  “Are you okay? You seem... nervy.”

  Toby shrugged. “I guess it’s... you have a really nice house.”

  Gloria frowned, then laughed. “It’s okay, I feel strange, too. I’ve never had a boy come over before. Mom’s acting strange, too. Doesn’t know how to behave. I mean, Deb’s had boys come over since she was in elementary school, but me...”

  A door near the bar opened and Mrs. Mayfour came in. “Here you go, Toby.” She wandered over to the table in front of the sofa facing the TV and placed a can and a glass on top. She straightened and then stood there for a few beats. “Well, I guess that’s it. If you need anything...”

  “I know where the kitchen is, Mom. Straight through that door. I do live here, remember?”

  Mrs. Mayfour nodded. She looked embarrassed. “Don’t have the TV up too loud, okay?” Then, reluctantly, she turned and headed back through the door leading into the kitchen, leaving it hanging open.

  Gloria expelled a long sigh and striding over to the door, eased it shut. “Sorry,” she said, moving back to the sofa. “She’s not usually this uptight. Come, have a seat.”

  Toby looked behind, to the open double doors, then turned around and made his way to the sofa.

&n
bsp; “We’d better leave the dining room doors open,” Gloria said. “Mom would have a conniption if she saw those closed. But don’t worry, I don’t think she’ll spy on us. Deb on the other hand...”

  Toby sat in the sofa beside Gloria. The material was soft and smelled of leather, and the cushions felt like marshmallows. As he had expected, it was the comfiest sofa he had ever sat on.

  Gloria leaned forward and kissed Toby on the lips.

  It was a short, but tender kiss. “I missed you,” she said, pulling back. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I have.”

  “I... I’ve missed you, too.” Toby reached over and picked up the can of Diet Coke. He cracked the can open, was about to take a drink, but then eyed the empty glass sitting on the table. He filled the glass, set the can down and then took a drink. He must’ve made a face, because Gloria chuckled.

  “Sorry, Mom only buys diet drinks. Want something else? Juice? Water?”

  “No, it’s okay.” He set the tasteless drink down.

  Gloria picked up her drink, Toby guessed apple cider, took a few sips, and then said, “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  Toby sighed. “It’s just... well, I ran into Warrick on the way over here. And he was acting really strange.”

  “You mean stranger than usual?”

  “He was hiding behind a tree, acting like he didn’t want anyone to see us talking. He was really jumpy, too.”

  “Yeah, that is weird. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to act around you. You know, because of everything that’s happened. You said so yourself he hasn’t been around to see you. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions.”

  Toby took another sip of the Diet Coke—his mouth was exceptionally dry. “Yeah, I guess that could be it.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “He apologized. For what happened to Frankie. And then it looked like he was about to say something else, but then he got spooked and ran off.”