Episode 24

Clara woke up with aching breasts…the way they used to ache when Joshua was a baby. She hugged her arms tightly to her chest and rocked backwards and forwards on the bed. It was night and her bedside table-lamp was on. She still felt a bit woozy from the sedatives but she was determined to fight it off. She got up and went to the dressing table. When she looked in the mirror in the half-light it was worse than she thought. She looked like a mad-woman, with dark, sunken, staring eyes, and the skin pulled tightly across her cheekbones. It looked like she had aged ten years. Twenty more like it.

She reached for her brush and tried to drag it through the mess of her hair, but her arms weren’t strong enough. She’d been out for days. She had more luck with the powder and rouge, but they just seemed to emphasize her stark condition.

“Never mind,” she thought grimly. “I’ve got things to do. I got to find my boy. No one else is doing anything. It’s up to me.”

At that moment she heard police sirens approaching, the blue flashing lights reflecting through her windows as the cars drew up outside. There was a banging of doors and Clara went to the window to see what was going on. On the other side of the road she could see a couple of policemen talking to someone, then the front doorbell rang. She hurriedly put on her housecoat and slippers and, taking a last look in the mirror, hurried out of the room and went downstairs.

The policeman in the hall was talking to Samuel with Alice close by his elbow as usual.

“They’ve caught a young man loitering outside,” said Samuel when he saw her. “He might have something to do with Joshua’s disappearance. Apparently he’s there every night…watching the house…or so Alice says.”

“I phoned it in,” said Alice, hoping to get commended for her public spiritedness.

“Is that so,” said Clara with a wary eye. “What young man? Where is he?”

“He’s sitting in the police car,” said the young policeman. “We’re questioning him. We thought he might have something to do with……..”

“I want to see him,” she said, pushing past everyone and rushing out into the street in her dressing gown and slippers. She had a strong suspicion who it was. Who else would be lurking outside her window? Her hunch was justified when she got to the car. It was the young man from the bus.

For the first time she noticed that he reminded her rather strongly of Joshua…the eyes…the hair…but she didn’t want to get fanciful. She couldn’t afford to start imaging Joshua in every person she saw. Madness that way lies. But still. She felt very protective of him, and somehow she knew he had nothing to do with Joshua’s kidnapping.

“Let him go,” she said to the policeman.

“He might be dangerous. I’d rather….”

“He’s not dangerous. Let him go.”

“But we don’t know who he is. And he won’t speak.”

“I think he has trouble communicating. I know him. I see him every day on the bus. Well, I don’t know him as such…we’re nodding acquaintances. But he’s harmless; just a boy. Let him go.”

“But Miss Mitke told us he’s been standing here every night for the last week…apparently watching the house?”

“Maybe he’s got a crush on me. Who knows? But he isn’t dangerous. He’s just a kid. Anyway, the Miss Mitke who told you this had no business phoning you. I am the mistress of this house. She’s just a guest. A very temporary  guest. I am telling you, you have no reason to detain him. He has done nothing wrong and no one here is willing to press charges so…..” she said with finality. “Please get him out of your car.”

The policeman looked at Clara for a moment and decided that obedience was the better part of valour. He had nothing on the boy anyway.

“Okay,” he said, helping the boy out. “You’re free to go.”

Before anyone could do anything Clara had grabbed the young man’s arm and steered him halfway down the block.

“Off you go now,” she said to him kindly. “You go off home now.” The boy nodded and continued walking into the night.

Clara turned back to her house and for the first time saw all the neighbours hanging from their windows, ogling at the spectacle. Some were standing in well-lit doorways, others had even come out onto the pavements, getting as close as possible in the hopes of overhearing something. Clara turned a blind eye to them and strode purposefully into her house.

Once inside she marched up the stairs into Joshua’s room and collected all Alice’s clothes into a bundle. She took them out onto the landing and threw them down into the hall below. For a moment she watched them float towards the floor, then went back into his room for her suitcase and shoes and toothbrush – anything that wasn’t Joshua’s – and threw them over the banisters too. After this she went downstairs and got their only bottle of liquor from the glass cabinet in the lounge. She opened the bottle, took a swig of fiery liquid and, taking the bottle with her into the kitchen, put it on the table. Then she took the alarm clock off the dresser and put that on the table next to the bottle. Next she took a large carving knife from the cutlery drawer and placed it carefully next to the alarm clock and the bottle. Then she sat down in front of the objects and waited.

Beulah was the first to come in from outside, quickly followed by Samuel and Alice, the pile of Alice’s things in the hall by no means going unnoticed; as were the things on the table in front of a tight lipped Clara. She waited till they were all in and looked at Samuel.

“You have five minutes to get that bitch out of my house,” she said, fingering the handle of the knife. Then she turned her eyes back to the clock in front of her and fell silent. Samuel hesitated for the briefest of moments, then took Alice’s arm and led her out the kitchen.

Episode 23

His head feels heavy and stupid. He blinks his eyes and looks around. The light hurts him and he has to squint. Standing in front of him is a strange and beautiful woman. She has bare feet but is richly adorned…beautiful like a gypsy or an Arab girl. Her skin glistens like oil in the lamplight: hair as shiny as silk, lips like rubies, and eyes as black as coal.

They are in some kind of tent with richly coloured wall hangings. There are brass lamps hanging at the corners and incense burners on little tables by the entrance. The boy is lying on a sumptuous divan made of luminescent green silk with red and gold thread. It is as soft as goose down. Two sand scorpions circle each other in a bronze dish on a table nearby, tails akimbo, quivering in expectation.

The woman speaks to him but it is a foreign language and the boy has no idea of what she is saying. She looks friendly though.

In one corner, on the floor, sits an ugly, misshapen creature…probably some kind of pet. The boy doesn’t like the look of it. It has very sharp teeth.

“Where am I?” asks the boy.

The woman barks back a guttural reply which means nothing to him.

“Where is the old lady….OLD LADY?” he enunciates. “The messenger?”

The woman shrugs her shoulders, then turns and says something to the creature in the corner. It also just shrugs its shoulders. The woman turns back to the boy and gives him a great beaming smile. She too has very sharp teeth. The boy doesn’t know this is the custom of her people. He is suddenly afraid of her. It reminds him too much of…..he almost remembers. He begins to back away, but the more he backs away, the more the woman smiles and comes closer.

“GO AWAY!” he shouts at her and the woman retreats, nearly bumping into a large covered object in the centre of the room. She has another long confabulation with the creature and then turns to the boy again.

“Chie,” she says, pointing at the object. “Durr.”

The boy doesn’t like this one bit. Who are these people…and where are his friends? Then a chill walks up his spine and his head begins to clear. What if this is the demon woman? The full realization hits him in a rush. He has been captured. She is going to suck out his soul. Well, that’s what the messenger said. That’s probably why she has such sharp teeth. Like a vampire. He wonders if she’ll bite him in the neck…or where? He puts his hands up to his throat and watches her warily.

“Munn ee jee,” says the woman, holding her palms upwards, inviting him to come forward. Then she gestures excitedly at the cloth covered object.

“Chie,” she says again, and with a swift movement whisks away the cloth to reveal a large black mirror, set in an intricately carved ebony frame.

“Chie,” she says again, pointing at the mirror, and despite himself, the boy can’t help looking into the murky depths. At first he sees nothing…but as the mist begins to clear he sees a young boy looking back at him. He knows it is himself. He has seen his reflection often enough in pools and puddles. The only difference is that the boy is dressed in strange clothes. He has shoes and socks on…and fancy looking short pants with a leather belt. The shirt is very white and very clean, without any tears or holes in it. The boy’s hair is also short and neatly combed.

Unaware of himself he has climbed off the bed and is now standing in front of the mirror. It is fascinating. He can’t stop looking. Like Narcissus he is absolutely in love with what he sees and can’t let go of the reflection. Time goes by and he watches in awe as the boy before him begins to grow older. Still he cannot tear his eyes away.

More time goes by. And still more…seven years in fact, and still he stands, transfixed, looking at his image which is now a young man in the prime of his life. The man is well dressed in natty long pants with a jacket and tie. Behind the image he can see a glass tower rising high into the sky.

Then something new happens. The young man turns and walks down a road. There are strange looking houses on either side…all neatly in a row. The young man stops and stands at the kerb. He is waiting. Soon a red bus comes into sight. He doesn’t know how he knows it’s a bus. He just does. The young man gets onto the bus and hangs his hand on a leather strap to steady himself. For a while he stands there and sways with the motion of the bus, then the bus stops again and a woman gets on and brushes past him as she walks to her seat. She is a pretty woman and the young man cannot take his eyes off her.

After a while the woman looks up and notices the young man. Their eyes lock, and for a very long moment they are one person. The woman is the first to look away and her cheeks go bright red.

Then the scene changes and the woman is lying in a child’s playground, crying. It is empty because it is night time and all the children are asleep. The young man is watching her from the bushes. He feels sorry for her.

The scene changes again and this time the young man is standing on a pavement staring intently at a house on the other side of the road. It is still night time. The house looks vaguely familiar to the boy. He instinctively feels that this is where the pretty lady lives. The young man stands quite still. Patiently. More time goes by. Then suddenly a noise is heard…a wailing type of sound. A flashing blue light comes towards them down the road and the boy feels himself falling into the mirror.

Episode 22

 A lonesome piano played in a melancholy minor, a sad tune echoing through the empty rooms….like an old person’s memories, when everything else has gone. Was she old? Was she that old? How did it happen? What had happened in between? She couldn’t seem to remember. She couldn’t even remember the beginning…just this music, which was strange because they’d never had music in the house. And who were they? Samuel. A disembodied name jumps to mind. Meaningless. Where is she? What has been happening?

A funny face hovers into view above her and smiles inanely. The lips move but she can’t hear any sound. Then the face is gone, but leaves a smell behind. Disinfectant. The music tinkles on. Time goes by. More faces appear in the sky above her. Black lips and green eyes glint over her foggy head…unmoving…expressionless…just watching her. She watches back…unmoving…expressionless. Other faces come and go. She gets tired of them and closes her eyes. 

When she comes to again it is dark. Perhaps she is blind. She closes her eyes and waits. She hears the sound of movement and the light comes on. Blinding. She screws her eyes closed and little tears pop out the corners.

“How are we feeling today?” asks the nice lady who appears above her. “Time for your medicine.”

She recognizes her bedroom now and feels a prick in her arm.

“Ouch. What is that?”

“Just a little sedative dear. A tranquillizer.”

She can smell the disinfectant again.

“It’s nice to see you’re awake. I will tell your husband.”

Samuel. Her husband. Beulah. Alice………..JOSHUA. She lurches up in bed but her muscles are too weak. She sinks back and drifts off to sleep.

“She seems to be improving. I’ll come back again tomorrow night.” The nurse tugged her cape about her shoulders and picked up her medical bag.

“Thank you very much. I do appreciate your help.”

“No problem. And don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.”

Samuel sat staring at the kitchen table after she had left; all he could hear were Clara’s last words burning in his brain. He’d never been screamed at like that since he was a child. Her words had stripped him to the bare skin. He’d never forget the venom in her tone. Is that how she really felt about him…when the gloves were off? Was he all those things she called him? Her words had pierced him to the core and laid his soul bare.

He remembered how his mother used to scream at him…and at his father…nearly every day. He remembered his father. A limp little man who never stood up to his wife….never defended young Samuel against her attacks. Was this what Clara was doing? Defending Joshua against his……….he was almost going to protest at that sentence and say that he didn’t attack Joshua, but then he remembered how often he’d clipped him around the ear; just like his mother had clipped him around the ear. Suddenly he felt very sick. He felt like he’d been clipped all over again. Clara was right. He was a bully. His mind tried to wiggle out of it but the facts were there in black and blue…undeniable. He’d never seen himself from the outside before…and he looked just like his mother. How had Clara put up with him for so long? He felt ashamed and embarrassed at the way he had treated his family. But why? This is what he couldn’t understand. Why did he behave like that? He had no idea. He was just being himself. He had no idea it looked so bad from another person’s point of view. One man’s casual clip is a child’s experience of hell on earth.

As luck would have it Beulah walked into the kitchen at that soul searching moment and he found he just couldn’t look at her. What must she think of him? He hadn’t been any kinder to her. He didn’t hit her, except for the occasional strapping…when he thought she deserved it…like he had never deserved it when his mother had strapped him. He remembered the pain and the humiliation….and most importantly, how he loathed her. And there it was again, the hate. Now he understood why Clara and the children hated him so much. Now he understood why Beulah called him an arsehole to his face. Here he was thinking that he was the big father protector and provider, Captain of the family boat…in the meantime he was just a vicious tyrant. He never understood his mother…and he didn’t understand himself now. The only thing he wanted to do now was crawl into a hole. He felt so…humiliated.

“Whassup?” she asked.

 “What?”

“You alright?”  He must’ve looked a sight because there was a rare look of concern on Beulah’s face.

He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear her being kind to him. He didn’t know how to speak to her with all this new found knowledge in his head. It would feel easier if she despised him like she normally did. He didn’t know how to face her like this.

“Dad?”

Suddenly the tears welled up in his eyes and he turned away so she wouldn’t see. But he couldn’t stop them so he ran from the room and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He had nowhere to run. He couldn’t go to his room because Clara was there and he couldn’t bear to look at her either. He didn’t know at this moment whether he hated himself more for being such a cry-baby or for being an arsehole.

 Beulah didn’t move, intuiting how sensitive the situation was, she waited in the kitchen until he had pulled himself together and had come back.

 “I’m…er…going out now,” he said with his eyes on the floor. “I was wondering if you could look after your mother for a while. Maybe sit up in her room. I know she’s just had her shot and should sleep for a while, but you know how determined she is. I don’t want her escaping again and wandering the streets.”

“Sure,” she said with a wan smile.

The wounds on his cheek throbbed where Clara had scratched him. He touched them gingerly.

“You alright?” asked Beulah again.

“Fine. Thanks. I won’t be too late,” he said, not daring to raise his eyes to hers. Then he turned and headed for the front door feeling like a thief in the night.

Alice appeared like a ghost at his side and slid out through the door with him. He wondered for a moment where the hell she went when she was not visible.

 “What are you going to do?” she said, rubbing the toes of her feet she had perched on his dashboard. She had on a very short skirt and her bare legs glowed in the light from the Odometer.

“I don’t know……yet.”

“What about this prisoner guy….the old lady’s kid?”

“No one escapes from there….” He said it like an old litany he used to recite to himself as a matter of pride in his work. It sounded hollow now.

“I think it’s very exciting. You busting someone out of your own jail. Bit of a turn on,” she said, wiggling her toes.

“Alice!”

“Alright already,” she said, taking out a bottle of black nail varnish. She opened it and began painting her toes very carefully. She had no idea what he’d been going through recently.

“I’m not going to ‘bust him out’. Well at least I don’t think so.”

“But the old lady said…”

“Old ladies say a lot of things. Anyway, it doesn’t mean she’ll keep her word. Our best hope is to find out as much about her as possible, and hope the police find her…or Joshua.”

“So now you’re a detective….Taraaaa. ‘With Shield and Gun…’” she quoted from a popular TV program.

“Alice.”

“Alright. Can’t a girl have a little fun?”

Why was he so lenient with her…letting her get away with murder…but being so hard on his own family? He could see there was something very inconsistent in his behaviour. Maybe he should go to a shrink. But that scared him. God knows what else was lurking inside of him. Nothing good, he was sure. He didn’t really want to know.

“There,” she said, sitting back and admiring her handiwork. When he did not say anything, she continued. “You’re getting tired of me, aren’t you? I can tell.”

Samuel didn’t know what to say. He waited to see where she was going.

“’s’alright Sam. I understand. You don’t need me anymore. You just say the word and I’ll disappear.”

This was her usual ploy. Playing on his pity. But Samuel was strangely mute tonight. Something going on, she thought. After a long while he spoke again after clearing his throat.

 “No, it’s alright,” said Samuel. “It’s good to have some light relief around the place. Otherwise we’d all be cutting our throats.”

Alice didn’t quite know how to evaluate ‘light relief’, but she took it as a compliment.

“Thank you. I aim to please.”

For a while they drove along in silence, Alice’s legs shining like a beacon in the dark.

“I’m horny,” she said.

Samuel smiled to himself. She was a real bundle of tricks. 

Keys clunked and bolts bolted. Shouts of ‘passage clear’ and ‘number four secure’ echoed round the prison halls. It was an old place, surrounded by dark, high stone walls with razor wire on top – electrified. Inside it was mainly bare brick walls that seemed perennially damp and cold. The dim lights hanging from tin lamp shields added to the grim appearance of the place. Even the bars and gates were painted a miserable grey that always looked dirty and dank.

 “You can’t go in with me, so you’ll have to wait here. There’s plenty to read…television, coffee, snacks.

“Any al…co…hol?”

“’Fraid not. I won’t be long.”

“You work here every day? No wonder you’re that way,” said Alice, trying not to touch anything.

 Samuel left her there and made his way over to the central block to sign in.

The moment Clara had told him the name of the prisoner, he knew who it was. He gave a little rueful smile. The fates were certainly conspiring to teach him a lesson.

The man’s name was Ronald……..or Ronetta as she preferred to be called. But technically, and for the sake of the penal system, Ronald was a man.

The big problem, Samuel had realized immediately, was that Ronald…Ronetta, was one of those prisoners who probably didn’t want to be freed. She had made a home for herself right here in prison, and found it infinitely more amenable than the outside world.

He had never met her because he worked mainly with the South Wing high-risk prisoners, but he knew of her. Everybody did. She was something of a legend and very popular with the inmates. As the story goes she was a sort of diva; singer, soother of souls, comforter and friend in the night…kind of thing. She was the Queen of cell block ‘J’: mother, brother, father, lover, teacher, confessor, and correctress. And it wasn’t only the inmates she took under her wing. Some of the wardens from cell block ‘J’ can truthfully be said to be amongst the happiest men in the whole prison. In cell block ‘J’ there was never a riot, no slovenliness, ill manners or lack of discipline. They all pulled together with a will. Ronetta always said, ‘a tight ship is a happy ship.’ Apparently when the boys went to sleep at night you knew who they were dreaming of. And there wasn’t a dry eye in the house…or so they said.

Remembering his recent revelations, Samuel made a conscious effort not to be judgemental about her, even though he was always polite to his prisoners, no matter who they were - much more so than with his family. He had taken a blow to his confidence and wasn’t so sure of himself anymore. He didn’t know if he could trust himself, and he needed Ronald….sorry, Ronetta, on his side. He didn’t want to alienate her with his old fashioned prejudices. To his advantage though, he had at least had some experience with transvestites when he had been a cop on the beat, so he more or less knew what to expect.

“Hello Darling. My, my. What an honour,” she said, extending an exquisitely manicured hand for him to shake. “Wardens get a special discount, you know,” she winked at him with such warmth that he couldn’t possibly have taken any offence.

Samuel’s face clanged shut like one of his steel prison doors. He froze on the outside like a man who had stepped on a mine. Inside however, his mind was a cauldron of chaos. An all-consuming desire ran rampant behind his wide staring eyes. He didn’t dare move a muscle lest it show on his face. He looked like a polecat in the headlights. And her headlights were on bright. A forty-two double D with no room to spare.

The effort of maintaining his cool was starting to show in little beads of sweat that crept out on his upper lip. This wasn’t a man with make-up on and an Adam’s apple. This was no pretty boy in a dress with a five o’clock shadow and hairy arms. This was undoubtedly the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

Samuel’s jaw was working up and down as he gasped for air and fought valiantly for control of his tongue. Samuel just wasn’t prepared for her. Nothing could prepare one for Ronetta. She was a force of nature; the kind of woman that Empresses are made of. Samuel looked at her but his brain refused to engage. Everything he had meant to say melted away. He took her hand and lightning bolts went off between his ears.

“How do you do,” she said, noticing his quickly reddening cheeks. This was something she was quite used to. “Please…do sit,” she said, taking the situation in hand until Warden Mitke could find his ball bearings again.

“I’m very pleased to meet you at last.” She smiled at him again. “I have heard such nice things about you.” Warden Mitke actually giggled like a nervous schoolgirl. Ronetta settled herself comfortably in her chair and waited for him to recover. By the looks of it, she thought, this could take all afternoon. Men are such easy meat.

“I hope you don’t mind the dress. I didn’t have anything else to wear,” she said, holding out her arms to display her indubitable charms. Warden Mitke made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort and tried to disguise it with a cough.

“Well. What can I do for you?” she asked.

Samuel’s blood was finally beginning to find its way back to his head and he gathered his thoughts together.

“Your mother sent me,” he said finally, and it was Ronetta’s turn to be gob-smacked. For a moment the beauty fell from her face like a mask, leaving Ronald, a slightly over-aged, overweight man with too much makeup on. Then Ronetta was back in full force.

She reached into her pocket and took out a cigarette packet. She handed one to Sam and lit them both.

After a few deep puffs, she spoke again.

“How is she? Okay?”

“I don’t know. I got the message via someone else.”

“Hmmm.” she thought for a while. “So she’s still alive. I haven’t seen her in ages.” She shrugged. “What does she want?”

Samuel had meant to be circumspect about the information he would share with her. He didn’t want everyone to know his business. But he found himself spilling the beans like some cheap, two-bit hustler under interrogation. There was nothing this woman couldn’t get out of him. In ten minutes he had told her the whole story. Ronetta listened intently.

“I am so sorry for your son, Warden. It must be terrible…him being in a coma as well. You must be worried out of your mind. Of course I’ll help in any way I can…but what does she want with me? That’s the puzzling part. She hates me. She kicked me out years ago…when she couldn’t change me. And boy, did she try.”

She took a drag on her cigarette and squinted through the smoke. “Perhaps she’s losing her mind. Dementia….or something. Look honey, I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand on his and Samuel momentarily forgot what universe he was in. He had to work hard to remember that she was a man. But even that didn’t help. Samuel had to work hard just to remember his own name.

“I think you’re dealing with a crazy woman here. And seriously, not to frighten you, but I’d be a bit scared to go back to her.”

Samuel had to focus very hard on the words coming out of her lips. Then a word came floating out of the fog.

“Why?” he asked.

Ronetta dropped her eyes to the table. Samuel saw again how incredibly beautiful she was.

“She’s a nurse. Was.” She rubbed at a spot on the table. “She thought she could change me. With drugs. Testosterone amongst them. Every day she would come home from work with something new from the dispensary. I never knew what, except that I usually came up in bumps, or a rash, or swellings (in all the wrong places I may add), or got very sick for weeks on end. This was all in addition to the floggings and cold baths and…..things.” She sighed, and flicked the ash into the ashtray. “I shouldn’t think she’d hurt your boy, though I have no idea what she wants with me.”

Samuel took some time to digest all this.

“What’s her name?

“Isobel Watts.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“If she hasn’t moved, it’s 130 Camellia Drive.”

“Does she have any favourite places? Where did she like to go?” Samuel noticed that his lower lip trembled when he spoke.

“You mentioned the City Limits motel. Is that where she wants you to take me?”

“Yes, but I’ve checked it out. She isn’t there.”

“She took me there once…to meet a girl. The idea was for us to spend the night together in a motel room, while my mother waited in the one next door. Listening at the wall I should suspect. But I’m afraid she listened in vain. Next morning she dragged me home by the ear, complaining about all the money she’d wasted.”

“What was the room number?”

Ronetta shrugged.

“How old is your boy?”

“Thirteen.”

“That’s about when she kicked me out. Maybe she’s having a déjà vu. Maybe she’s going nuts and thinks I’m still that old.”

Samuel looked at the table. It was the only way he could concentrate.

“Something like that,” he said.

“I’ll come with you…if you want. But I doubt if she’d recognize me. She hasn’t seen me since those days. I could try and talk to her, but….” She shrugged her beautiful bare shoulders.

Samuel could see the problem. He knew how things went when you’re dealing with crazy people…usually down the drain, but he had to try. The authorities might give their ‘consent of release’ for Ronetta, but the paper work would take weeks and they didn’t have the time. Alternatively he could ‘bust her out’. God knows he knew enough about the system to manage that, but he would have to think carefully about that and come up with some kind of plan. And there were all sorts on complications to worry about.

“Well. If you think of anything that might be useful…..anything about your mom that might help.”

“Of course.”

Samuel had pretty much reached level flight again as he took his leave….but deep down inside of him she simmered and seethed and slid her fingers into his soul.

Episode 21

 The door on the box creaks and cracks open a few inches, but no further. It seems to be stuck….straining at its hinges. The tension is knuckle cracking. Behind them they can hear that demon woman on her thundering beasts very nearly upon them now, but no one turns to look. The boy concentrates on the door, willing it to open. He can almost swear that the snake winks at him. They wait. The dust settles a bit more and suddenly the door comes open with a squeal and a lurch and bangs wide open. Beyond the door is a land of trees and flowers, like the Garden of Eden. There are fruit trees of every kind, bushes, birds, bees and insects….animals wander about in the lush green grass, chewing contentedly.

“WWAAARRRR” says the camel, rushing towards the scene and tripping over the doorstep. But she rights herself and plunges into the verdant landscape with the messenger close behind, shepherding the boy and the old lady inside. They don’t have much time for dallying because the door begins to close almost immediately; leaving Demona and the elderly man in the suit on the other side. The camel goes straight to an apple tree and begins munching on the juicy fruit.

When they turn around the door and box have disappeared. They are completely enclosed by green nature. Even the sun seems to be tempered to suit their pleasant environment.

 The heady aroma of fruit and flowers overpowers their senses and they stand bemused and stunned by the beauty around them. The old lady wanders as in a daze amongst the flowers, gently touching a leaf or a petal here and there and smiling at the butterflies. The boy is more interested, like the camel, in the different fruit upon the trees. There are pears and figs and pomegranates, though none of the names are known to him. It is an enchanted land. The messenger watches their reactions with kind amusement.

The camel has found a river flowing in four different directions and they all stop to drink, lying down on the cool grass and cupping the water in their hands. The old lady wades into the shallows and begins washing the many years of dust and dirt from her body.

She has taken off her clothes and stands completely naked in the moving stream. The boy watches her with his mouth hanging open. Truly she seems again like a goddess to him. He can even see the divine light streaming from her body. She smiles at him, aware of his gaze, and begins to wash herself. The camel seems to have followed her example and is also standing in the water with a beatific expression on its face, its swollen feet cooling in the crystal water.

The boy jumps in and begins splashing around, diving and ducking his head under in ecstasy. This is even better than the salt pans. Here is shade and softness, gentle light and so much food he can’t stop eating. The messenger knows he will have a tummy ache in the morning…but he is young and will survive.

Once they have all had their fill of the river, they retreat to under a vast oak tree and make their camp for the night. The old lady has tied a clean piece of cloth round her waist and is busy making a garland of flowers for her hair. Her skin gleams. The boy sits and watches her…spellbound. She looks more beautiful than he has ever seen and finds it hard to come close to her. He is glad she is happy. She is his life.

They watch the deer browse close at hand, unafraid, and birds flit from tree to tree…a wonderland of plenty.

 Soon they are all fast asleep, the soporific power of the smells and sights working their magic on the tired wanderers. In the middle of the night the messenger awakes and places a blanket over the old lady. A slight chill has crept into the air. The boy lies at her feet, invulnerable to everything while he is close to her.

The birds begin to chirp and chatter at the first hint of light in the sky, and the boy wakes up to listen to them. The messenger is nowhere to be seen, but his camel stands quietly nearby, munching away contentedly. The boy turns over to look at the sleeping old lady and feels his heart gladden. He slides up next to her and reaches out and touches her face. Either she is asleep or she pretends not to notice. How he desires this old woman with her wrinkled skin and sagging breasts. He leans forward and kisses her on her wrinkled lips. He can still smell the sour aroma of old nicotine. It is a smell he never wants to forget: because it is her. Still she sleeps…or pretends to. He lays his head down on her bony chest and closes his eyes again. He is happier than he has ever been in his life.

Sometime later the camel gives a low pitched “nurrrr,” sound which wakes him up. He doesn’t want to move away from the old lady. He likes lying here with her. It feels…right. Then the smell of coffee wafts across his nostrils and he sits upright…sniffing the air. The messenger has made a fire and collected some fruit and nuts for their breakfast. The boy is beside him in an instant.

After breakfast, while the messenger is packing their things, there is a sudden flurry and a flapping from the undergrowth all around them. The camel begins her same old nonsense, bucking and barking and the messenger has to keep a tight hold on her rope. The deer and rabbits that have been browsing suddenly take off and dash away into the forest. Birds take to the wing and within a few moments there is absolute silence around them. Something has scared them. The trio wait breathlessly, eyes peeling the forest. Soon they hear something coming through the underbrush, getting closer and closer – and then a man walks into view.

A most amazing man…for he is covered in scars and scratches. He limps on a leg that seems twisted all the wrong way round. He only has one eye and there are deep nail marks and bright, livid scars on his cheeks. His arm has a bloody bandage wrapped around it and all over his body there are gouges and gashes in his flesh. Some of the wounds are old and healed with white scars…others are still quite fresh and pink, or bleeding. He is a mess. He is a very strange man. And the strangest part is that he doesn’t seem bothered by his injuries – he doesn’t even seem to notice them. Clytemnestra is showing the whites of her eyes. Something about the man is terrifying her, but for all that he seems a cheery chappie with a ruddy complexion.

The boy is fascinated by his wounds. How could he have got them? He must be awfully clumsy, he thinks. He knew a boy at school like that who was always falling over things or walking into things. Maybe because of his missing eye he didn’t see so well. He remembered the trick they used to do. Try and pick up a glass of water with one eye closed. It is very difficult to judge the distance.

“Hello there,” he calls in a good humoured way. He has a deep, sunny voice. “Nice to have some visitors for a change. It’s been quite a while I can tell you,” he says, sticking out his good arm and shaking hands with everyone…even the old lady. “Welcome. I’m sure you will enjoy the place.”

But the little trio aren’t so sure. Things were starting to look mighty suspicious.

“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he beams at them. “But, tell you what, why don’t you come over to my place and I can make you some lunch? It’s not too far away. What do you say? You can meet the wife.”

None of the three look that keen on the idea, but it would be rather rude to refuse – and who knows what will happen then. Rather be safe and humour the poor fellow. So they pack up camp, taking as long as they can about it, and load everything onto the camel, who tries to bite the messenger for his pains. She is very tired of having to carry all their baggage about.

The man waits very patiently, smiling all the while, happy in his new found friends.

“Come along then,” he says when they are ready, and the caravan sets off down the forest trail. Still no birds sing…and no animals in sight.

The man limps off ahead with so much vigour and gusto that the others are hard put to follow. After an hour’s walk they come to a large clearing. “It’s just at the bottom of that little hill over there…by those rocks.”

As they get closer they can see a cave at the base of the hill with a patch of bare sand in front of it.

“And this is my home,” he announces with a wave of his good hand. “My Elfin Grotto, so to speak.”

And so it looks, for off to one side is a waterfall and many fruit trees and bushes.

“Please be welcome.”

The messenger ties the camel to a nearby tree and the four people move to the mouth of the cave. The boy loves caves and can’t wait to see what’s inside.

“It’s a bit dark inside, but that’s the way my wife likes it. I did mention my wife, didn’t I? Yes, I am most fortunate. But please, follow me and I will introduce you.”

The man enters the cave and the three adventurers cautiously follow him in. They go slowly for it is quite dark in there. The first thing that strikes them in the nose is the smell. It takes their breath away. The boy grabs his nose and says “Phew.” The messenger and the old lady merely pull a face. It takes some time for their eyes to adjust to the gloom, but what they see is not very comforting. Broken and chewed bones of animals and muck are strewn across the floor, piles of faeces everywhere…the stink is incredible. Their instinct is to turn and get out of that hell-hole.

“Hello dear,” says the man. “I have brought some friends to meet you.”

They all freeze in terror as they see a tiger crouching in the darkness at the back of the cave. Two green eyes watch them unwaveringly.

The tiger growls softly in its throat.

“It’s only me my love,” says the mangled man. “I have brought some visitors for lunch.”

Another growl…louder this time.

The boy is sure that the man means that they are the ‘lunch’.

“No, dear. They are friends,” says the man, and goes closer to the tiger who is now showing her huge teeth and growling in a rather ominous way under her breath. The man takes another tentative step and the tiger lurches forward with a fearsome howl and rakes at the man with her claws. He backs away rapidly making soft placating sounds to the tiger. The rest of them have also moved back about ten paces without even realizing it.

“She’s not feeling well today,” he says, but he doesn’t want to disappoint his guests, so he turns to address her again.  “They just want to say hello….” But the tiger has had enough. She gives a full throated roar that rattles the rocks, and charges at them. Everyone runs for their lives. The boy doesn’t even know he’s screaming until he’s way out in the countryside and can hear his voice in his ears. Eventually he risks a glance over his shoulder to see if the tiger is on his tail. Only then does he slow down. He sees the messenger helping the old lady to safety and the mutilated man standing at the entrance of the cave, still talking to the tiger, obviously trying to pacify her. The boy runs towards the old lady and the messenger and they untie the camel and prepare to leave.

“Oh no, you mustn’t go,” says the man. “She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s not having a good day today. She suffers from her nerves you see. Don’t worry.”

They look at the man as if he’s mad. The boy has never seen a real mad man before and can’t take his eyes off him.

“Please stay for lunch. It won’t take long to cook.”

“I am afraid we have to go,” says the messenger, and the boy is much relieved to hear that.

“Please stay,” A cunning look comes into his only eye and it wobbles a little. “I know a lovely bower, further along, besides a bubbling brook. Let me make it up to you. There we will be far enough away from my wife and won’t bother her. I am sorry she isn’t very sociable today…she just isn’t used to visitors anymore. Anyway. We’ll be far enough away…and she only comes out of her cave at night. You’ll be quite safe. Come on…I’ll show you the way.”

And once again they have no choice but to be polite. The boy likes this less and less with every minute, but is fascinated nonetheless.

“A bit of food and rest will fortify you for your journey ahead…. come, eat and drink,” says the man, giving the pot a final stir. “Why don’t you stay a little while? It’s lovely here isn’t it….please stay. We don’t get many visitors.” He turns his head away to hide the tear in his eye. “It is quite lonely here,” he confesses. “And Estrella gets a bit cranky when she doesn’t have anyone to talk to. I worry about her. She’s not really happy. To tell you the truth,” he says with a conspiratorial whisper, “I am feeling rather…disheartened. It’s very difficult…she’s….she’s going through a change, I think…she doesn’t talk much to me anymore…except to complain.” 

They sit beside the fire, sparks floating up into the clear air – the logs shifting and cracking as they burn, tongues of blue and orange flame licking up from underneath the cooking pot. But no-one says anything. They are too full of what has happened.

“We cannot stay,” says the messenger in a kindly tone. “We are on a journey. A rather important one, and cannot stay too long in one place. We are being pursued and need to keep moving.”

“Ah,” says the man, some of his good humour coming back. “I understand, I have heard…”

“What have you heard?” asks the messenger.

“Things. I don’t quite know, except, things….things are stirring.”

The messenger nods his head.

“So we must go.”

“But do have something to eat first, to fortify you for your journey.”

Much as they want to, they can’t resist the man’s invitation. He dishes out the green potage into wooden bowls and hands them around. The meal looks very unappetizing, but they grit their teeth and begin eating. The food is bitter, but other than that it tastes of nothing….just gruel. No one has anything to say; everyone wishing they were far away. Afterwards they lie down in the grass to rest…….and sink into a very deep and dreamless sleep.