Текст книги "Wall of Days"

Автор книги: Alastair Bruce

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

I lift it and walk through, climbing the narrow stairs. I used to come here sometimes, at night mostly, still summer nights. Looking out over the town, the quiet darkened town, I can see all of it. I can see the town hall. I can see the walls and the grey wooden buildings that have stood for so long, the architecture of a people with little imagination, little will to better themselves. I was torn, I remember, between fatherly feelings, between wanting to protect this mongrel people and anger at the lack of imagination, at the lack of will to do something out of the ordinary, to be extraordinary. A failure of imagination. I felt anger, sometimes, that it was left to me, a stronger mind, to lead, to imagine, to impose something like order on these simple people. I wondered if it was worth it. To have saved a savage is perhaps no great thing after all.

It is true, they did imagine something different for a while. But were they true believers or simply believing for the sake of expediency? I fear the latter. But then sometimes, at night, lying awake, I too sometimes stopped believing. I never told anyone that. Too late though. I stopped believing too late. Too late to stop the faces coming to me in the dark, to stop the screaming of the children in the island night.

I have achieved little since coming back. I have not told my story, I have not found Tora or Abel. I need a reaction in order to know what to do. Somewhere in the town, somewhere in a building I can see will lie the answer, will lie my future. Somewhere in the town if alive, or somewhere just beyond the walls if dead, lie their bodies, my touchstones. Breathing or decaying, breath or fetid airs, their fumes I imagine wafting in the warm breeze, drifting here to my nostrils. I could follow them like a dog follows its prey. So close.

But not close enough. I have come home after a long absence and my children have made rules of their own. The patriarch has returned but his children no longer know who he is. Or admit to know.

If I don’t get a reaction soon I will have to take matters into my own hands.

8

I am surprised when the door opens. It is opened not by Elba but by a girl. She has large brown eyes. I am struck by them. They remind me of mine when I was a boy. It is the same girl I saw when entering the town for the first time.

‘Hello,’ I say. ‘What is your name?’ I lean down to her.

She turns her face away from me and walks into the flat leaving the door open. Elba appears. ‘This is my daughter,’ she says. ‘Tell the man your name.’

The girl looks up and says boldly, almost haughtily, ‘My name is Amhara.’

I did not expect Elba to have a child. She had not mentioned it before. But then why would she? In the settlement children spend a long time away from their parents. They are schooled intensively and live in boarding houses for most of the week. That way we could both accelerate their learning and ensure that each was provided for equally and adequately. I presume that at least has not altered since my time.

‘That is a beautiful name.’ I say in response. ‘And how old are you?’

‘Nine.’

I will admit disappointment at the fact that Elba has a daughter.

Though I do not expect much of her, it will mean that her loyalties will never be totally with me.

‘I did not mention her to you as it did not come up,’ Elba says, as if reading my thoughts.

‘Oh,’ I say, ‘nothing to be concerned about.’ I don’t know what to say. ‘You have a very beautiful daughter.’

Luckily Elba smiles at that point and asks if I would like to come inside.

For a while we talk while the child draws on a sheet of paper at the table. The conversation is slightly awkward. She asks after a pause, ‘You seem to be wondering about her,’ nodding towards the girl. It is more of a statement than a question. In fact I have not wondered much at all.

It would be unusual to see a woman of a certain age without a child in our settlement and there do seem to be a lot of them around now. Tora did not have one. She was different in that way. I suppose you could say she was allowed certain favours, being the lover of the Marshal.

‘Where’s the father?’ I ask.

She pauses and does not look me in the eye. ‘He left,’ she says simply. ‘He went away. He is still alive but he won’t come back. Not truly.’

I want to ask what she means but she carries on.

‘He would not be a good father anyway. Too flighty, too angry. I do not mean physically, not that kind of anger. An anger against the world. Though he had things just so, though he was very successful in our way, he was angry. To say he went voluntarily would not be true.

He could not have stayed. Others began to sense it. It was like he was always looking for something else, somewhere else. This place was not for him.’

‘Where is he?’

She does not answer. Her head is bent over.

‘He named her.’ She says suddenly, pointing at Amhara. ‘At least, he suggested the name. He left before she was born. A long-dead people who once ruled the world only for time to turn their monuments into ruins. That’s what he said anyway, I have never heard of them. There was much knowledge of the past he claimed to have.’ She was beginning to sound bitter.

‘Still,’ she says more calmly, ‘without the history, it is a beautiful name. It is like the wind at night.’

I smile at her quaint expression. The Amhara people are indeed another of our rumours. I remember telling Tora about some evidence I discovered: a stone monolith engraved with a phrase. There were two scripts. The one I could decipher read, ‘We, the Amhara…’ The rock was chipped at that point and the rest of the sentence lost. I scratched around in the dust but could find no more.

‘You laugh,’ she says, smiling herself. Her gaze meets mine for a moment, then we both look at the child.

She changes the subject, ‘You say you too have been away. Where, with whom, doing what?’

I take a deep breath. I decide to play along for now. ‘I left ten years ago,’ I begin. ‘Ten years ago I lived in this town. I was an important man. It seems people have forgotten me. Our people have always had a lot to think about so I do not begrudge them their forgetfulness.’ I want to make sure she knows I do not blame her for the town’s collective memory loss.

I continue while we eat. ‘I left… The truth is I was asked to leave. The settlement had changed. They thought I was no longer able to lead them into the next phase of the recovery. They thought there was a need for a change. Or they were made to think that way by treacherous people close to me. They thought the policies that had served us so well for the previous ten years were no longer warranted. Or so they said. The fact of the matter is they could not admit that I had saved the settlement with these policies and given them all a sense of meaning and that they had been right behind the policies when it suited them. They could not admit their culpability for the deaths that took place beyond the city walls where the orange groves now stand. An interesting point that, I think. Where people previously lost their lives for the greater good now stands a fertile grove of fruit trees. Is that remembering the dead properly? Maybe it is.’

I realise I have gone off topic and Elba is looking at me strangely with her head cocked to one side.

I continue: ‘I went to an island just inside the settlement limits on the border we agreed with Andalus of Axum. And there I stayed for a decade. I found I could live off the island well enough. Though it rained nearly every day and I do not believe I saw the sun once, it was not too bad. It was never very cold and I found enough peat and enough food to keep myself going. I did not cultivate anything as there was no point, it being just me. I also realised that the island was winding down. Like an old man it had a number of years left to live but no more. In the north the cliffs were falling rapidly into the sea. Virtually every day a section would collapse. The water round that end was always black with the mud. I would fancy that it was like blood, that the cliffs were men falling one by one to be broken by the sea.

‘After a while I realised that the trees were infertile and weren’t replenishing themselves. I realised the fish were becoming more scarce, that the peat bogs were not as extensive as they seemed. I calculated – and I made many calculations – instead of planting. I made notes and wrote down observations and sums. I worked out that the island had about as many years left to live as I did. My death would coincide with the end of the island as a viable source of support. And I preferred it that way. I was, I thought, resigned to the island being my resting place. I was resigned to never seeing this place again. There was a pace of life that appealed. The routines, the endless rains, the wet grasses brushing against my skin, the silence of the forest. Though I was alone it was a better life than you might think.’

‘Why then did you leave the island?’ Elba asks.

‘Why did I leave?’ I repeat her question almost to myself. ‘I left because something happened that changed all that. One day I came across a man who had washed up on the shore. He was lying on the beach, almost dead. I gave him back life, took care of him but he had been through a trauma of some kind and would not speak. He did not say a word. As silent as a stone. To this day he has not said anything and it has been several weeks since he first appeared on my island.

‘But this was no ordinary man. Though I did not recognise who it was at first, after a while I realised that this was no less than Andalus, General of Axum, with whom I had negotiated our peace. I then realised the significance of why he might be there, of the immense danger our people might face. There were always those factions within the Axumites who disapproved of the Peace Treaty. If they got the upper hand and ousted Andalus, there would be no doubt where they would turn their attentions next and I feared our people had become weak after years without war. Or, though it seems fanciful, what if there were other people entirely who ousted him? Even if he wasn’t overthrown, what was he, a General, doing out there? Exploring? Looking for new territories? Something which is strictly against the terms of the treaty.

Something had to be done. Our people had to be warned.’

Out of the corner of my eye I notice the child looking at me, staring at me in fact. Elba notices too and says quickly, ‘Bedtime.’ She takes Amhara by the hand and leads her through to the back of the apartment without a word to me.

When she returns, she says simply, ‘She seems to like your stories.’

I do not say anything.

Then she says, shaking her head quickly as if remembering something, ‘You’ve come into my home, told me a story, met my daughter and yet I don’t even know what you want me to call you.’

I can’t help but scoff. I hold my hand up to apologise. She sits down again and I lean in to her. ‘You have been very kind to me but I must ask, I must know.’ I pause. ‘You surely know who I am?’

She shakes her head. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Bran of course.’

She smiles again. ‘Like our town, I like that.’

I lean back again and sigh. ‘Elba, I would like you to help me understand what is going on. I would like you to tell me why it is that no one here has acknowledged me, why no one has admitted to recognising me? I was the ruler of this settlement for a long time, a man many grew to despise, and yet nothing. And where is everyone?

Everyone I knew. Is this a town of ghosts?’ I realise my voice is slightly raised. Again I hold up my hand.

Elba looks at me from across the table, then gets up and stands with her back to me, her arms folded.

After a few moments, when it seems like she is not going to answer, I ask, ‘How did you know what happened this morning? I did not tell you.’

‘People talk.’ She shrugs her shoulders. Then, ‘I heard it mentioned that someone was chasing someone else through the streets. I assumed it was you.’

This is not a reasonable explanation but I cannot push her too hard, not yet. She is my best potential source of information so far.

‘The man I was chasing was the judge at my trial. He is the first person I’ve been able to put a name to. Some people here seem vaguely familiar, like the Marshal, who I think was someone I used to know. Though some are familiar, it is like everyone I knew well has disappeared.’

She says nothing.

‘And what of the person who lived in this flat before you? I cannot believe you wouldn’t know her. And Abel, the man who became Marshal after me, the one who led the campaign against me? You must know them. Where are they?’

‘The memory plays tricks sometimes. It can tell you you’re one thing when actually you’re another. Sometimes you discover you have an entirely different past to what you believed.’

‘Is there something going on I should know about? Is there a plan being cooked up for how to deal with me? I realise I have probably brought confusion to your midst. I am not asking to come back as Marshal. I am not even asking to come back. I am asking for… There are things I’ve done…’ I stumble.

‘What are you asking for? What have you done, Bran?’

‘I need to be able to speak to the Marshal about this. But he was not at his post yesterday even though we had an appointment. It’s irregular. The world is broken, Elba. You will not survive without strong leadership and a man who abandons his duties is not a strong leader.’

‘The strong sometimes know very little about strength.’

I do not know what she means. She turns around quickly and says,

‘It is late. I have an early start. I think you should go now.’

I am being dismissed, perhaps a bit curtly too. At the door though, she takes me by the arm. She speaks softly, ‘Though I cannot help you, you will have your answers one day. I’m certain of it.’ With this she closes the door and I am left in the cool night.

I wander slowly back towards the shelter. The town is dark. There is no moon. Around me a few shapes flit through the dark, their heads buried in cloaks. I grab one by the shoulder as he shuffles past. I spin him around and the hood falls from his head. A blank face. ‘Do you know me?’ I ask. I speak from the back of my throat. He shakes his head. ‘Do you know Bran?’ He shakes his head, tries to pull away. ‘Ten years ago–’

He interrupts me. ‘I was not here.’ He wrenches himself free and slides back into the dark.

When I am within sight of the town hall I see a figure hurry into the courtyard. I don’t think he sees me. I recognise the gait and stature of the Marshal and I hurry after him. When I reach the courtyard there is no one in it. A glow from a lamp in the centre illuminates, dimly, the surrounding buildings.

I walk up to the Marshal’s door and am about to knock but I lower my hand and try the door instead. It is open.

My eyes have to adjust to the gloom inside. Once they do I see that the floor is coated in a thin layer of dust. It is on everything. The dust gets everywhere in this town. I look down at the floor and try to make out the Marshal’s prints. But there is nothing. He must have gone through another door. Most of the offices connect so I could still find him. I will be quiet though. I might be able to find evidence of what’s going on if no one knows I’m here.

If I walk through the building now they will know from the footprints that someone has been in. But that is alright. They should know. I head up the stairs. They creak, but so lightly someone standing a few paces off would not be able to hear. I pass the landing with a window overlooking the courtyard. I freeze. There is a man standing below looking at the door. He would not be able to see me.

I cannot make him out, cannot see his face. He stands there for what seems like minutes, not moving, just staring at the door. Suddenly he turns and walks out of the courtyard. I wait for a while but he does not return.

I walk up to my old office. The door is closed and locked. I carry on down the passageway. The next room is one I used for my assistants.

This too is locked. The third room was used in my day by Abel. The current Marshal does not seem to have a deputy. This door is wide open. Inside everything is covered by sheets. I pull one off the desk.

It is the same. I know because I had it made. It was a present to Abel when I made him deputy. I try one of the drawers. Locked. I pull at it but the handle breaks off.

I must face the possibility that both he and Tora are dead. That would be unlucky certainly, for both of the people I know best to die within my period of absence. Perhaps they were together when they died. They would have been together quite often I suppose after I left, sharing what they did. But with no wars anymore, little crime, enough food so it seems, why would they die? They were both young. Younger than I am anyway. They cannot both have died.

There on the side of the desk, the motto of Bran: In unity, strength.

The wood is worn from use.

I pull off the sheet from the bookshelf. There, a copy of the constitution of the settlement. Abel and I wrote this together.

I walk out of the room after replacing the sheets. Further down the corridor are more offices. Because we built in a random fashion and added bits to buildings when we needed to without regard for a grand design, the corridor is not straight. It turns, doubles back on itself. With no windows it is dark inside. You could lose yourself in here if you didn’t know what you were doing. I walk through the building trying all the doors. Abel’s office is the only one unlocked. I regret leaving my knife in the shelter. I usually have it. With it I could have forced a lock.

I could push in the doors but that would make a lot of noise.

I return the way I came and instead of going through the front door, turn left. I push open the doors to the hall. There is something I want to see. The room is empty. This is not unusual, it often was. Only for big meetings would we spread out the chairs. I walk towards the far end. There is a stage and to the left a wall panelled with wood. My footsteps, though cushioned by the dust, echo round the room. Gold lettering appears out of the gloom as I get close. At the top it reads, simply, ‘Marshals of Bran’. Below are just two names. I peer closely at them. It is like my heart stops. My name is not there. The first entry should be ‘Bran’ followed by the years I ruled but instead the first entry is Madara. The years are the same, b1 to b10. The second name is Abel.

That is right but then what of Marshal Jura? Why no inscription for the current Marshal? And if the decision was taken to expunge the name of a Marshal convicted of wrongdoing, why replace my name with a fictional one? No matter what they thought of me, they cannot forget my achievements. And besides, they all know they are guilty too. Yes I was banished but out of guilt, not hatred. There were some who hated of course but it was mostly guilt. I feel a rage inside me, something I have not felt for years, not since the battlefield and even then infrequently. In a battle the angry lose, the detached win. I calm myself as I walk through the door and out into the cold air, though I notice I have been sweating. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.

I decide against exploring further tonight. Tomorrow I will make sure I have an audience with the Marshal.

Madara. A name. A fictional name. A word whose presence means that the settlement has an imperfect history. Why not keep the true name? Even if you hate the name and what it stands for, at least recognise it, stare it in the face.

Madara. It is familiar somehow. A name I once heard. A person I once knew. I am not Madara.

I walk around the town for hours. I walk past Elba’s windows. There is a light on in one. I watch it for a few minutes. A shadow moves across the yellow blinds, floats across the space, back and forth, back and forth as if in a dance.

I walk past Abel’s house. That, in contrast, is still dark. It is very late, however. It means little.

I walk past the courtyard entrance. Twice, three times.

The third time I look up at the windows. Behind one there is a movement. I am almost certain there is someone, a pale figure deep in the shadows, staring out, looking at me. I stare harder but there is nothing more. I go further into the courtyard, look up. The window is black.

I think back to the figure I saw in the courtyard earlier. He too was looking up at the windows. Was he waiting for a signal from a figure behind one? Was he looking for me?

As I notice a lightening in the sky, I walk back to the shelter. Andalus is snoring slightly, his hands spread across his belly as if he has been feasting splendidly. I sit outside, my back to the wall, close my eyes and wait for the sun to creep up the alleyway.