Elysium. Part One. (9 page)
‘That sums up your whole life?’ Semilion asked, sitting back on the bench.
‘Well, pretty much,’ she said, hoping she wasn’t going to have to fall into a detailed monologue of her life to date; for she was as complex as any person, yet could be, exasperatingly, reduced to nothing more than four zero’s on a bank statement.
Semilion looked at her for a long time. On retiring to bed he’d considered making them tell him every single detail about themselves with techniques he’d only read about in old espionage novels: bright lights, rubber hoses, deprivation of food and long periods of isolation.
Come three o’clock, however, when sleep had seemed a luxury in which only others could indulge, he pictured fancies of water-boarding, stress positions, and a retaliation of the sleep deprivation they had inflicted upon him. He felt bile rise inside him at the thought of it. They were his grandfather’s thoughts, not his own.
On his return to the cells he received word of the bodies in several bays along the coast.
He investigated the sight himself; and was lead to four brutalised corpses breaking on the rocks. The intensity of the sight, and the reports of other bodies along the coast, convinced him at once that the women had been telling the truth.
He gathered together those with him and told them to collect any who wanted to voice their opinions in a council. He made it clear to them his knowledge and his opinions, then ushered them on before making his way to the cells.
‘There’s not been anyone from the outside here in a long time,’ he said to Selina, an air of gravitas about him, as though he were showing her the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. ‘I just want to be certain that I’m not releasing someone into our community who’ll be the end of it.’
‘We’re just...’ Selina began, not sure how many times she could repeat the fact that they were merely castaways. ‘I wish we’d just kept walking,’ she sighed, looking back out to sea.
Semilion was quiet for a little while, watching her body language and her expressions. She seemed upset and bewildered, uncertain as to where she was and why she was there. He had found Priya much the same, though her strength of spirit was much stronger, and she appeared to be unwilling to admit that she was uncertain of anything.
‘Where were you heading for?’
‘My cousin lives in Russia. I was going to work there.’
There was another long silence, then he said, ‘So you boarded the ship, the... what was it called?’
‘The
Tangaroa
,’
‘Right, you boarded the
Tangaroa
when?’
‘On the second of April. Seven weeks ago,’
Semilion frowned, ‘Seven weeks? It doesn’t take seven weeks to sail to Russia. Was it a row-boat?’
‘It was a vagrant ship, what they call an immigrant haul. I couldn’t afford travel by the accepted means; fees for immunisations, antitoxins and quarantine lodging are astronomical. I’d been made redundant more times than I can remember so I emptied my life savings, a measly $430. No passport. No questions, just a one way ticket to the South of France, Ireland, Norway or Germany.’
The severity had escaped Semilion’s tone, and she felt as though she were simply engaged in conversation with a stranger.
‘Miss. Cray explained to me the risk of being discovered by the U.N. You were willing to risk being destroyed to get to Russia? Was New Zealand really so bad?’
‘Your peaceful little community doesn’t reflect the outside world, Mr. Tupper. You’re not at the mercy of giant corporations and the grasp of bureaucracy. I was at the end of my tether. The only prospect at home was to wind up in the debtors reformatory alongside my father. It was a desperate risk but the only option for me was to try and build a new life somewhere else.’
Semilion leaned forward, and spoke quietly to her. ‘Your friend... Miss. Cray. How did you come to meet her?’
Selina explained what had happened the morning after the shipwreck. Semilion looked at the floor as she explained how the long beach had been littered with bodies and debris, how she had roused Priya and spent hours searching for survivors.
‘Some washed up here this morning,’ he said solemnly.
Selina said nothing for a time, it seemed as though his questioning had come to an end. ‘What will happen to us?’ She asked, turning to him pensively.
‘We’ll have to keep you close,’ he said, standing. ‘Welcome to Mortehoe.’
*
On her way back up the steep road to the village, a bag of bottles slung over her shoulder, Eryn came to a stop beside a stone wall hidden by a dead thorn-bush. Jasmine Sooth was sitting on the curb, picking burrs from her stockings, and Eryn slid her sack from her shoulder with a groan.
‘Morning, Jasmine.’ She said, catching her breath. ‘Blow me! It’s hot already.’
Jasmine tilted her head and peered up at Eryn, squinting in the morning light. ‘It certainly is…’ she said in her lyrically detached manner.
‘How’s Benjamin?’ Eryn asked, a little surprised that she hadn’t been asked about the strangers. Then again, she considered, Jasmine was supposed to be clairvoyant.
‘He’s fine… he was a little frightened by all the commotion last night, but I told him there was nothing to fear. He’s sound now.’
‘It’s got everybody a bit worked up,’
‘People around here get very frightened by change… They don’t much like it. Your grandfather was testament to that.’
She made a vague noise of agreement. Eryn knew loosely what had happened during her grandfather’s generation, something to do with one of the Bordley’s, a son who’d been ill in the head. The children all told stories that he’d been locked up in a cellar. Sometimes it changed to him being bricked into a wall, or crushed in the mill to make bread, but the foundations of their stories were true. Something had happened to the Bordley’s boy, and it had cost Eryn’s grandfather dearly.
‘I don’t suppose you want reminding of things like that?’ Jasmine said, patting the curb beside her. Eryn accepted the invitation.
‘You remember when you and the girls would visit me before James died?’
Eryn did, she used to enjoy visiting the Sooths’, but it seemed a long time ago, before Benjamin was born, and before Jasmine’s husband had been killed in an accident. She would read the children’s fortune in tea-leaves and tell of what she saw in their palms. It was entertaining, that’s what Eryn remembered. There was nothing sinister or immoral about it, even if their parents didn’t like them going there. It was just a bit of fun with an eccentric and lonely woman.
Always, when she left the Sooth household, Jasmine would give a small bunch of tiny flowers, tied together with ribbon. Eryn had kept them all on a drawer until her father found and burnt them in a rage. The visits, even the surreptitious ones, came to an end after that.
‘I remember it was a really nice time, to have someone to talk to who wasn’t going to judge me.’
‘We could start again, if you liked? You’re pa can’t stop you now.’
Eryn looked up at Jasmine and smiled. ‘Yeah, I’d like that. You know, the only reason we stopped…’
‘…was because of James’s death, and your parents’ disapproval. I know, and I understand.’
‘You weren’t angry that we abandoned you, because that’s what it felt like.’
‘At first I was hurt… but I soon came to understand that you were just giving me space to grieve… you know, it’s a funny thing, grief, when you believe in what I do.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I know there’s a life other than this one… and that it’s a finer place than we can ever hope to experience in this world. When James died I should have been happy that he’d gone there. I felt so selfish for missing him, I wanted him to leave that breath-taking world and comfort me. How self-centred is that?’
‘It’s understandable though.’
‘You want to go somewhere don’t you!’ Jasmine said disconcertedly, a frown creeping over her. She looked ahead and tilted slightly as though searching the horizon. ‘You’re thinking of going somewhere!’ She turned on Eryn, who was looking shocked, though thought she’d changed her expression to one of confusion just in time.
‘What?’ Eryn tried to sound as mystified as possible. ‘Go where? Where’s there to go?’
Jasmine watched her thoughtfully, not sure if Eryn was telling the truth. ‘I just had an impression you were planning something…’ Her voice drifted off as though she had been distracted mid-sentence. She then looked directly at Eryn and all her concentration was with her. ‘You’re doing the right thing, Eryn. Whatever it is, you’re doing the right thing.’
‘Do you know anything about it?’
Jasmine smiled and cupped Eryn’s cheek. ‘Know? I know how to sew and grow herbs, dear. It’s not about knowing, it’s about feeling.’
‘Well, I can’t tell you what I’m doing, but it’s for Kelly.’
Jasmine smiled.
‘I better start heading back. I’ve been gone quite a while.’
‘Ok. You’ll drop into see us sometime, won’t you?’
‘Of course. See you.’ Eryn stood and picked up the sack of bottles before trudging up the steep hill. She couldn’t get Jasmine’s words out of her mind; they sent a shiver up her spine. Was she really aware that Eryn was planning on going somewhere? Or was she simply voicing every young woman’s desire for metamorphosis? She couldn’t quite tell. Though of a sudden she found herself doubting her actions; maybe it was foolish to go to Lundy, there were so many things that could go wrong. They could increase the already hostile tension between the Mortehoe community and the Lundians’, they could attract the attention of the Blackeye’s, and they could arouse the awareness of Kelly’s murderer. Her heart sank a little further with each example, and yet, as she passed the stone wall of the churchyard she thought of Kelly laying there in the dark soil, grey and empty. She knew she must risk it all for him.
It was the busiest Eryn could remember the pub being for a long while. Everybody was present - even the Harvey’s, who were estranged from the village, so far away was their mine on the outskirts of Ilfracombe.
She could hear her father pacing about upstairs. Everyone was speculating when he and the women would make their appearance.
She’d learned a little from her mother over the course of the day whilst washing her collected bottles. Apparently the women came from a ship that had been destroyed in the storm the night before last. They’d been washed ashore and were the only survivors.
Eryn had swallowed and asked her mother, ‘Do you think they’ve got anything to do with Kelly?’
'What’s that, dear?'
She had kept the possibility of Kelly’s murder a secret because she knew how ridiculous it sounded; like the prose of the worn mystery books she had read as a child.
She let it rest.
Morgan and Jack Little, the village cobblers, were taken aback momentarily by the crowd as they entered the pub. ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Morgan said once he’d pushed his way to the bar – we could hear this lot right down the street.’
‘Probably hear it across the Severn too, we’ll be found out after tonight I reckon!’ Jack smirked gesturing for Eryn’s attention.
‘Friends?’ He leaned a little closer to Eryn, 'Or foes?' He was the fifth person to have asked her this.
‘I don't think pa would be introducing them to us if they were wronguns.’ She replied before being snatched away by another request for drink.
Jack turned to Morgan. ‘She don’t know either.’
‘I got ears, ain’t I?’ Morgan shook his head and they peered over the crowd to Fay and Rose Schmichen.
‘Fancy a try with them?’
Jack shrugged and pulled a face, and then they both squeezed through the throng of excitable chatter to sit with the young women.
Breaker squirmed between legs, licking hands and enjoying the tickling fingers that scratched his ears and rubbed his mane. He heard Ted's succinct whistle and wound his way to his master’s feet, sitting proudly on his boot - his tongue lolling - while Ted held on to him protectively.
Semilion appeared from the shadows of the foyer like the compare of a Victorian Cirque de Macabre, and everyone fell to whispers. He stood before his patrons and in the shadows of the foyer, everyone was certain, lingered the two women.
‘I know you’ve spent the day fretting, and I'm sorry for it. Needless to say there's been a lot to talk since last night, and I thank everyone who voiced their opinions at the council this afternoon. We were unanimous in our decisions come the end of it, and hope there won’t be too much argument from those who couldn’t attend. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense…’ He stepped aside, and from the shadows came the woman with curling golden hair, straight posture and an elegant stride that didn’t fit with archaic surroundings.
Eryn had seen them both the night before but had been blinded by confusion and fear; she looked at Priya afresh, she appeared wholly exotic! Her skin was so smooth, unlike the women of the village whose palms were cracked after a life of toil; her hair hadn’t been turned drab by dust or flour, her arms weren’t scratched by thorns, and her nails weren’t broken.
She was beautiful.
‘…Unfortunately, killed by the storm… They are the only survivors…’ Semilion was saying, as though presenting them as slaves at some ancient auction.
Next came Selina, less elegant, though no less beautiful in her plainness. Her lightly freckled nose and pale cheeks gave her features a youth that made the women envious, and her hair was so thick and black that it seemed unreal. She was thin, with less a womanly figure than Priya, her hands fidgeted, and she stood slightly pigeon-toed.
‘… was going to live with her cousin in Russia,’ was all Selina heard, and then her mind went blank with nerves. All eyes were on her, and it took all her focus to stand, let alone listen.
‘Bear in mind that they have lost more than their families, they’ve lost everything they knew before coming here. I know you’ll make them feel welcome. I’ve decided to put Miss. Cray…’
‘Priya,’ she corrected with a smile.
‘I’ve decided to put Priya in the Camberwell's house. I know it'll be a shock when they return but they'll be needing a larger place soon and I want Priya and Selina here to be close to one another, therefore Selina will have Richard Kelly’s old place at Channel View.’
Muttering flowed through the pub like a draught, and Selina felt for a moment as though she were being dared to spend a night in a haunted house.
Eryn was a shocked that her father would give this woman, this
girl,
Kelly’s house, he’d not even been buried a week.
She felt someone pinch the back of her arm and she yelped, turning.
‘Boen! You sod, what did you do that for?’
He smirked; looking passed her at Priya and Selina. ‘Pretty nice as far as driftwood goes, aren’t they?’ he said, and then looked back to her. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’ll do it, but we leave the second my pa gets back, and we have to return the boat well before he leaves in the morning.’
She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. ‘When’s he coming back?’
‘Should be in the next hour or so, can you get away?’
She couldn’t. If she wasn’t present while the bar was still serving there would be hell to pay, but Boen was making a huge sacrifice, she supposed she ought to as well. ‘Ok, I’ll meet you at your boathouse at nine.’
‘Nine!’ he said, blanching. ‘How’s that going to give us enough time?’
‘I can’t make it any earlier, pa’ll notice… I’ll have to twist Baron’s arm to help me out as it is, I can’t make it any earlier.’
Boen looked ill as he disappeared into the crowd; he stopped for a moment to admire Selina and Priya, and then left.
Eryn was almost dizzy with adrenaline. Since childhood she had heard stories of Lundy Island and its inhabitants: tales of webbed-toes, bestiality, and interbreeding that she mocked in daylight. Come night, however, she felt the same as she did all those years before. It brought a flutter to her stomach, to think she was crossing the wide channel to that dark smudge forever on the horizon.
The moon was rising, and the lonely island of Lundy awaited them.
