Heaven's Edge (7 page)

I figured there was nothing to lose by then. ‘She disappeared about ten days ago,' I explained. ‘I'm trying to find her.'

He inspected me over the tops of his spectacles. Then, with a loud exhalation, he pulled out a tin of spice grits and slid it across the counter. ‘Meet me at the fountain plaza just iffore sundown.'

‘Where?'

‘By the Victory monument. The stone soldier, you know?'

I picked up the can and nodded, ‘OK.' I mentally ticked another box, but I still wasn't sure how much I could trust him.

Zeng withdrew and I decided to look over the rest of the hall. I wanted to find out if anyone sold instruments, implements or utensils. Survival tools.

In the far corner of the hall, overlooking the canal, I came across a display of shields, lamps, cups, plates – all made of metal – and a selection of knives including what looked like a switchblade. I was surprised. Everything else looked strictly utilitarian. The copperware, though, was very elegantly done: sophisticated designs, careful workmanship. Each piece was flawless; each seam perfect and straight. Behind the counter a young man was decorating a brass tray with an intricate pattern of geese circling the moon.

‘That's beautiful,' I said. I wanted to compliment the artisan. He was the first person I had come across since I arrived, besides Uva, who seemed to do anything with passion: an inner intensity.

He bowed his head of bushy, frazzled hair.

‘You learn to do this here?'

He took a long noisy breath. His lips squirmed as though he was trying to find the right word to spit out.

‘I mean, in this city?'

I could see he understood me, but he gave up on the word he was struggling to find and set to work on a sheet of metal instead. Placing it in a vice clamped on to a worktable, he folded the sheet over and smoothed down the edge with a wooden block. He then reversed it and put the other edge in to create a mirror groove. After smoothing that down too, he took the sheet of metal out and hooked one curled edge to the other to form a cylinder. He slid the shining copper cylinder over an iron mould so that the locked edges were held in place on top. Pulling out a small hammer from a shelf underneath, he proceeded to hammer down the seam to seal and harden it. I was fascinated by the deftness with which he transformed a flat sheet into a polished three-dimensional vessel. When he finished, he placed the piece next to the others and ran his fingers against them, tinkling them like the tubes of a wind chime. Then he pulled out the tray of knives and placed it on the worktop in front of me.

While I toyed with the switchblade, he pulled out a pair of familiar metal-capped ebony sticks from his pocket and flicked them apart. Carefully he placed the butterfly knife on his outstretched finger; the split hilt on one side and the blade on the other. It floated in the air, perfectly balanced. He lifted it up and the knife levitated, drawing him to his feet after it. A moment later he threw it, up in the air, and caught it by the handle. He then twirled it back into its sheath. Although he seemed tense and tongue-tied, I could see this was someone whose knife might easily have pricked more than one heart.

But was it hers? Or was it a copy?

‘You made that too?'

The young man's head moved back.

I did not want to think of her captured, although it was impossible not to. Perhaps he was another friend. ‘What's your name?' I asked.

‘Kris.'

She'd never mentioned him. I looked around. I could see a flight of steps leading down to a paved parapet of concrete humps overlooking the canal. The water was thick with rubbish. A couple of soldiers were standing on the other side. I felt I had to have the butterfly blade. I turned back and threw ten of my tokens on to the counter. ‘For
that
knife.'

‘No.' Kris pushed them back at me. ‘Mine is not for sale.'

On our last night together in the hotel, Uva had used her knife to whittle the bone of a sweetsop into a nautch-knot, a serpent's coil. When she finished, she spun the handle, bringing the two parts together, and said, ‘Only by coming together can the blade be closed.'

I feared for her safety, separated from her weapon. I tried to visualise it and, in the end, decided the knife I had seen was not the same one. It was a close match, but I hadn't seen the ankh on it: the looped cross, the symbol of eternal life, her gender and our most important first metal.

Across the city sunlight intensified, bouncing off one white building after another. Even the oily water of the canal seemed to seethe in the heat.

The midday whistle blew twice; the metalworker quickly shut up his stall and headed towards the cafeteria where I
could see some people assembling. I followed him, anxious but uncertain whether I should ask him about Uva. I stepped between a mat strewn with dried reptiles and a collection of battered, broken flashlights. The next moment, I lost sight of him. He had vanished.

I was hungry and joined a queue of men in overalls who seemed to be the only people able to afford a meal. I handed over the tokens required and was given a clump of overcooked brown seaweed and fried rubber rings.

Although there were about fifteen other people in the cafeteria with their tin bowls, hardly a word was spoken above the slurp and splutter of soporific feeding. The whole place was in a stupor. Even the flies had slowed down and toppled from one rim to another like drunks in a daze. The hot air around me and the warm blubber made me drowsy. If only Uva had been more careful, I remember thinking then … If only I had been too.

When they began to close up the cafeteria, I decided to take one more look around the market before the stalls were taken down. I couldn't find Kris again, nor Zeng. There was nothing more to help me. In the end I bought a cucumber and a cabbage to supplement my diet at the compound, and a small string bag to carry them in.

There was still quite a bit of time, I reckoned, before I was due to meet Zeng. The bus back to the compound was meant to leave soon after the final whistle heralded the shrouding of the city. I wasn't sure how I was going to manage. I'd have to collect the pass, and then run back to the depot to catch the bus. Then I'd have to find a way of coming back … Of course I was being naive; Zeng might not even turn up. I had to check out what else was possible.

I left the market by another gate and headed towards some bigger buildings, hoping some sign would lead me to the special enclave Uva had mentioned. I thought something might be possible there, despite her scepticism.

After about two hundred metres, I came to a security cordon. The soldiers looked hostile; they didn't speak but it was clear I was not allowed to go through. I tried a couple of other streets with similar results.

Eventually I found myself back at the bus depot. It was already quite empty; even the morning's tout had withdrawn. My options were closing fast. Straight ahead, the light in the sky was turning lurid as though blood was pumping out of a wound. A large tulip tree began to stir as small rodents prepared for nightfall.

I quickly retraced the route the bus took in the morning, along the canal, and found the monument and the fountain plaza. The monument was more complex than I had noticed from the bus. The stone military hero seemed to be celebrating a victory over several garuda-like warriors he had slain. It was out of their wounds that the fountain spurted.

Some real soldiers were taking a break, sipping beer with their guns half-cocked, on the benches. There was no sign of Zeng. I went and sat on the wall around a smaller fountain from where I could see the whole of the plaza, feeling quite spent.

‘All ready?' Zeng nudged me.

‘How did you get here?'

‘You too tired. Dropping off, eh?'

My eyes hurt. ‘No. I expected you along the canal road.'

‘So, you want to visit the Carnival?'

‘I am looking for Uva.'

‘She's there?'

‘You telling me, or asking me?'

‘Asking, asking.'

‘I don't know. Our plans got a little upset. But she mentioned one or two people …' I hesitated, then gave the only other name I knew. ‘Like Jaz?'

Zeng did not seem impressed. ‘You know the Juice Bar?'

‘Yes, of course.' I don't know why I lied. Panic, I suppose. Uva had told me so little.

Zeng studied me. Was he too looking for some sign of commitment? It was not the politics of the island that had brought me. I had come for something much more primal. I wondered whether he could understand that. I wanted him to trust me, but I didn't know how to show him that he could. I wished I hadn't lied.

His head moved slightly. Then he proceeded to explain that the Juice Bar had a blue lantern hanging outside it. Jaz, he said, was usually there. ‘He is now the Pin manager.' He handed me a small laminated card. There was a metal barcode imprinted on it. Nothing else. ‘You know how to use this?'

It was a familiar enough device but I had not come across any machines in Maravil that could use plastic cards. I rubbed the tag on my ear. ‘I've been a little … damaged.'

Zeng dipped a finger in the greasy water of the fountain and drew a wet map on the stone ledge. He showed me how to get to the Carnival checkpoint in the evaporating slime. ‘You know it is underground. You must go straight to the metal box before the barrier. If there is a soldier there, don't talk. Just insert the card. Everything is automatic. As soon as it comes out, take it and walk through the steel door that will open. Do not lose the card. You will need it to come out again. It will work only this one night.' His lips tightened
over the ridges of his teeth. ‘I do this for her, OK? You better be careful.'

The box, luminous in the fast-failing light, whirred for ages before regurgitating the card. My whole body broke into a sweat. The soldier in his sentry-box was asleep. I should have been on the bus, going back. I didn't know how long I had before someone would come looking for me, but I had to go in. My only chance now was to find her Jaz. The door slowly cranked open. I covered the tiny metal hospital tag pinned to my ear and crept in.

Behind the door, a tunnel descended lit by a line of small round bulbs. Black dust frosted the top of each bulb and lay between the spiralling ribs of the concrete floor.

Expecting at any moment to be challenged, I followed the tunnel down, tripping from one sphere of light to the next. It looked to me more like the ramp of a car park than an exclusive entrance. I came to a swing door that led to the upper gallery of the underground mall: it could have been something built under a hotel or an office block anywhere in the world – thirty years ago. It was still unfinished, and looked like it always would be. Most of the units were bare; there were cables sticking out of the concrete in twisted loops at every corner. From where I stood I could see galleries on two floors, with a few shops selling clothes, and the main promenade sporting a bakery and a couple of cafés. These looked to me no more inviting than the cafeteria in the market, but the people who were drifting around looked in better shape. My clothes, I reckoned, would not set me apart too much among them. The only problem was that there was no sign of a bar and not even a flicker of blue among the tiers of dull lamps. Pressed against
the cold galvanised railing, not sure what to do next, I felt stupid for believing Zeng. Stupid also for taking the risk, and stupid for thinking Uva would really have come anywhere near such a place. Stupid and more than a little scared.

‘Fear is not cowardice,' Eldon had always maintained. ‘To be brave, one must know fear and learn to overcome it. Release it, not instil it.' It was a theory I wanted to subscribe to. I took the stairs down to the promenade.

Only once I was down at that level did I glimpse the blue beacon, flickering beyond the empty atrium tubs. I hurried towards it, stooping so that my height would not be too noticeable.

When I finally reached the Juice Bar, I lingered outside. I remembered how Uva had spoken of Jaz as though he belonged to a profane underworld I could never bridge. But why not? If she could, why couldn't I?

Hiding my fists in my pockets, string bag swinging, I entered. Inside, scarab lamps burned in a dozen miniature alcoves. As my eyes adjusted, I made out a cluster of young men and women, preening and clucking. On a small mirrored stage, a troupe of nubile, genderless creatures with shaven bodies gyrated to the hard relentless noise of a dance machine. Two girls and a bleached boy detached themselves from the huddle and crowded around me. ‘Happy … ?' the boy mewed through lips of gilt and glitter. I missed the other word as the drums intensified.

‘Happy tea,' the high-booted girl echoed cuddling up. I held her at bay and shouted out Jaz's name, trying to raise my voice above the racket. The boy smiled knowingly and passed me a bowl of mist. I took a sip and felt, for an instant, that my head had come apart; the mouthful spread through me deadening each cell in my body, one by one, until my flesh unreeled from my bones. Someone struck a flint and
flames streaked across the room lighting a river of spirits to burn what looked like spunk off the floor.

I asked for water, plain water.

‘Try the bar,' the girl pouted and pushed me towards the back of the room. The deranged electrons around me had no rhythm, no anchor. I was spinning.

Then behind the bar, I spotted Jaz.

He was unmistakable. A radiant face, embellished by the glossy curved lips of a charmfish; dark eyes twinkling over a rococo amethyst necklace, and a bare body of thin light muscle enmeshed in the filigree chain-cloth of a silver waistcoat laced on each side. Around his middle he had a tiny pleated tangy-green sarong tied with a fantail bustle at the back. ‘Speak up, darling.' He cupped a hand to his left ear, distinctly larger than his right, compensating the twist of his taut body as he leaned over, exposing a gleaming buttock and exuding the scent of cinnamon and honey. ‘Into my ear, will you?' he coaxed.