Ventriloquists (28 page)

Good point. Where
was
she going? Down, down, down was the direction; but the destination could only be a guess. The foot of this hill? Of a mountain? It was impossible to predict: if the sun-on-snow was not sufficient to dazzle and disorient, the wind knew how to play with the freshest fall. Scooping flakes up by the kilogram, the wind tossed it around like a drunk with confetti at a favoured niece’s wedding. The snow danced in front of Bernadette’s eyes, part-dervish, part-waltz, part-tarantella.

Bernadette thought back to what Connors had said about God’s breath. The notion was temporarily intoxicating: that she, a nurse from the Home Counties, could be breathing the holiest of holy carbon dioxides! It was enough to quicken her pace.

However, the extension of her stride brought a problem – immediately. Her right heel skidded on a well-worn patch of ice, her legs spread, and it was all she could do to remain upright by whirling her arms. Equilibrium restored, she could not help but notice the twanging pain that she’d caused herself in her groin. She winced. Bloody snow, she breathed. A least no one had seen her…

Wrong.

A child had seen her: a boy of twelve or thirteen, dressed snuggled up in the protective cattle by-products of his people… and bent at the waist laughing. Bent at the waist laughing
at her.
And just so that there was no doubt about the source of merriment, he even pointed Bernadette’s way.

Bernadette failed to see the funny side. Quick to her lips were a couple of nasty conditional clauses; after all, slips, trips and the common variety of household accident were what she had to deal with at work on a daily basis.
She could’ve this, she could’ve that
… But it was hard to stay riled with the kid for long: his laughter was too infectious.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked at length, his accent heavy, his tone hormonally deep. (He made Bernadette think of someone speaking Russian.)

‘I don’t know. Just walking.’

‘You shouldn’t go much further. It’ll be difficult to come back… if you intend to come back.’

‘I do. Why would it be difficult to come back?’

‘It gets steeper,’ the boy said; ‘you need equipment, a guide – some proper clothing, resources…’

Bernadette held up her fur-mittened hands. ‘I’m not running away. I only just got here.’

‘I know.’

‘But what’s down there?’

‘Bears.’

‘Oh my!’

‘…Do you want to see the lizards hatch?’

‘Not… Yes, I would. Thank you.’

‘Take my arm, Bernadette.’

‘You know my name. I will.’

‘It’s a village,’ the boy explained the name-awareness.

‘So what’s yours?’

‘Atchoo.’

‘Bless you.’

‘I haven’t heard that before,’ the boy answered, a trifle bitterly. ‘Maybe I should change it to
Simon
.’

4.

‘So what do you intend to do now?’ Massimo asked.

‘I intend to finish my breakfast,’ Connors answered. ‘Funny. I never had much of an appetite in the real world. Here I eat like a piglet.’

‘So I see.’ While Massimo had dithered over his own bowl of red-berry potage, Connors had tucked into his third, which he had all-but completed.

‘The mountain air helps.’

‘I didn’t mean now as in after you’ve stuffed your face, I mean now as in the general future.’

‘Oh
that
now,’ Connors answered. ‘Well, I keep moving north, don’t I? The rumours are, if you get to God’s eyes you see through them – you see everything ever existed, multi-dimensional.’ He spooned in another portion of blood clot; Massimo winced. ‘Wanna come?’

‘Sure. I’ll fetch me coat.’

‘Are you not enjoy your brekkie, by the way?’

‘It’s all right, I suppose. I’m a bit hungover. And not only because of the drink.’

‘I know the feeling. It’s the weirdest jetlag you’ve ever had.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘Well, think yourself lucky you didn’t land on a
ship
. We were arse-over-tit for two weeks on the ocean wave!’

Massimo nodded. ‘I accept that me and Bernie have had it better.’

Connors smiled. ‘She’s Bernie to you now, is she?’

‘Unofficially.’

‘Forgive me asking, Mass, but are you banging her?’

‘No.’

Connors nodded. ‘Good-looking bird... man gets lonesome. You wouldn’t mind if I tried, would you?’

‘Fill your boots, mate. I’m queer.’

‘Ah! But I thought you said – when we was in your house, I think you said to Dorman to be careful where he pointed Percy – because your missus is a devil for cleanliness and hygiene in the bathroom.’

Massimo laughed. ‘I probably
did
say that,’ he admitted, ‘but I’ll tell you something else for the record, now that it don’t seem to mean much, one way or another. That weren’t my house.’

‘Eh?’

‘My other half’s an estate agent. House I called mine was one of the places on his books.’

‘It was fully furnished.’

‘That’s how he sells em. Well, some of em, anyway: fully furnished for rich fucks with no time to waste on painting and decorating. Year-long leases. That game.’

Connors laughed. ‘You fooled
me
.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You fooled
us.
’

‘Yeah. Poor Dorman.’

‘…We have work to do,’ Connors announced, laying down his spoon.

‘What sort of work?’

‘Planning. I was absolutely serious about moving on north.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘And about you coming with me.’

‘…I wanna go home.’

‘We’ve discussed this, Mass. No point in being petulant about it.’

‘I’m not being
petulant
, Chris. I’m homesick.’

‘You haven’t been here a day!’

‘Don’t matter. Things I gotta do.’

‘He won’t’ve missed you yet, probably. You’ve only been gone five minutes, your time, or whatever. What’s his name, by the way?’

‘Charlie.’

‘Well, Charlie can uncork his own wine for a couple of nights. He won’t starve.’

But Jess and Nero might, Massimo thought. No one knew that they were in the Eggington house. What if Charlie forgot to feed them, as he sometimes did? It was worse than having pets.

Connors summarised his position. ‘I’m going north to God’s eyes, to see the whole of Creation, living and dead. Can you imagine? Only a handful of mystics have come back alive.’

‘Did they bring chocolates?’

‘Their brains were fried. They were made imbeciles by the experience.’

Massimo shook his head. ‘Put it
that
way, Chris, where the fuck do I sign up?’

‘Well, I can’t get anyone here interested in accompanying me.’

‘Fancy that.’

‘But with you and Bernadette…’

‘What makes you think
she’ll
go?’

‘She’s a nurse.’

‘…So?’

‘Honour-bound to help the medically needy.’

‘In a
hospital.
I doubt her contract includes mountain ranges or hippie religious clauses.’

Connors shrugged, resuming his breakfast. ‘Won’t hurt to ask, will it?’ he said. ‘Where is she, talk of the Devil?’

‘Went out for a breath of fresh air.’

‘Mmm. It don’t come any fresher.’

‘I suppose not.’

5.

Massimo filled two wooden buckets with snow and used them as weights to work out. After a few reps, while experiencing the familiar bicep burn, he let his mind trot away to pastures new. God’s eyes? What about God’s
brain?
Why limit themselves to
seeing
everything, when a trip to the Big Man’s noodle would allow them to
think
everything,
remember
everything? God’s first steps as a toddler in the cosmos. Playing bricks with entire constellations. Swatting alien spaceships down like flies…

The thought developed. How did deities reproduce? What was the godlike equivalent of a one-night stand? Imagine the Cunt fucking! There He is, in some intergalactic nightclub somewhere the size of Venus… and – hello hello! – who’s
this
Goddess?
Bonjour, darling
. All things being equal in the Heavens, she clicks over on Milky Way-sized high-heels and asks Him to dance. ‘Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft’ by The Carpenters is in a mash-up with Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’. The DJ’s augmented bass is causes tidal waves in Honalulu… They go back to His place: a black hole south of Neptune (the universe-cab costs a fortune at this time of Existence; the driver is not keen on going south of the time stream). Using a frozen planet as an ice cube for Her glass, He pours Her a drink...

A century later, both of Them climax. ‘Did the Earth move for you?’ They quip in unison… but Massimo could not picture Their celestial congress, try as he might, as he flexed his biceps. God’s dick was simply beyond his comprehension.

He put the buckets down in the snow; the workout was over, and he felt peculiar. Not sick exactly. The hangover had passed uneventfully enough; no ghosts of pain haunted his muscles, synapses, or clogged up the back of his throat. It was more like jetlag, as Connors had suggested. Or more like one of those dreams where you could see that the bus on which you were travelling was about to hit a pedestrian. The inevitable hung in the atmosphere – like a restless calm before a storm. And he did not see Bernadette until she was three metres away, approaching him from behind.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi there. Nice walk?’

‘Apart from slipping everywhere,’ Bernadette answered. ‘I went to see some lizards.’

‘Was it fun?’ asked Massimo.

‘It was a distraction, I suppose. A small boy introduced us – they were hatching.’

‘Have you eaten anything?’

‘Yeah, the kid gave me some bread and jam. You?’

‘You did better than I did. I had slop… What’s the plan for the day, do you think?’

Bernadette shrugged. ‘The boy seems to think we’re travelling north. Connors has been thinking about it for a couple of weeks at least, apparently – the news is on the psychic front page. I asked him why he didn’t seem surprised to see us and he said they’ve been
waiting
. For us. Or for some people like us, anyway. Apparently the… the prophecy is, three people – two men and a woman – travel north to become part of God’s brain.’

‘Christ. Just been thinking about that.’

‘Yes, I felt you thinking about that,’ said Bernadette, ‘as unlikely as that sounds.’

Massimo exhaled. ‘I don’t think
anything
sounds unlikely anymore,’ he admitted. ‘So we’re going then – it’s decided.’

Sidestepping the question, Bernadette started walking; Massimo followed. ‘I’ve got to keep moving,’ she explained, ‘or I get frozen toes.’

‘That’s fine. Let’s stroll.’

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Aimlessly they strolled in the snow, each of them scarcely daring to believe that this was the same place that had hosted the violent wind storms of the night before. The air was Alpine crisp; the winds were boisterous, but no more so than they would be at the top of any mountain.

Massimo longed for conversation. ‘I didn’t know lizards could stand the cold,’ he said. ‘Always picture them on a Brazilian tavern or something. Diplomats in white suits sipping cocktails.’

‘I know what you mean, but the boy told me – this is what I’ve been thinking through. He said they were bred for the purpose – get this. By someone from
Eeeng
-
lan
.

‘England?’

‘Presumably. He didn’t know for sure, but there’s at least one man who’s made the voyage across… and guess what he had in bags when he marched through Customs. Fucking lizards!’

‘But why bother?’ Massimo asked.

‘I don’t have a clue… except if you think about it, say there are animals here we don’t have at home. And say you happen to be fascinated by these reptiles – maybe you breed them, sell them… Imagine your good name in the professional lizard fraternity, if you so-called discover a brand new one. You’d be famous!’

Massimo stopped in his tracks. He raised his mittened hands
to his head, as if to hold the thoughts in before they flew away.

No.

Couldn’t be.

No,
he insisted silently.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Did the boy describe this traveller? This reptile-fancier?’

‘No. I didn’t ask him to. Why?’

‘Where does he live?’

‘I asked you why. Do you know him?’

It
couldn’t
be, could it? But Massimo heard Benny’s voice loud and clear.
Do you wanna see me snakes?
he’d asked. Then that bull about intra-rationalism. And knowing that he couple at Number 11 would be up north for a funeral…

Benny?

Massimo felt cold - a cold that had nothing to do with the air temperature.
I’ve been bamboozled,
he thought –
bamboozled
being a word he’d picked up from Charlie.

‘I might do. Will you take me there?’

6.

Connors went with them. He told them that he was intrigued, and besides (he joked) it was good to get out of the house every now and then. It was a fifteen minute walk away. They made it in twenty due to the minor injury that Bernadette had sustained slipping earlier.

Atchoo was waiting for them, knotted into a yoga position on a patch of cleared dirt the size of a picnic rug. He had one ankle behind his head. His eyes were closed, the calm expression on his face all but catatonic.