‘That’s what it was like looking at this angel on her horse. She stirred up our hearts and filled us with courage, and I suppose you could say she filled us with the Holy Ghost – all of us, the non-believers, too. At that moment our fear evaporated like dew on a summer’s morn; death no longer held terrors for us. What would it mean, other than a transition to the state of Grace the angel had given us a glimpse of? How could a man whose life is normally full of trouble and vexation fear such a thing? The next morning we arose at dawn and went out to fight with the hearts of lions. Nothing could dismay us.’ He paused and wiped the back of his sleeve across his nose. I realised he was crying silently in the darkness. His cheeks glistened with silver snailtrails in the candlelight. He snivelled and spoke in a voice that warbled out of control.
‘What the fuck was she thinking?’ He shuddered as sobs swept through him. He repeated the words, but this time in a pitch nearer that of a whining dog. ‘What was that angel thinking?’
I sat and watched the man weep into his hands. Tiresias climbed up his sleeve and put a tiny mouse paw of comfort on his finger, but to no avail. I stood up and said, ‘Is that what made the priest lose his wits?’
He shook his head behind the hands and said in a muffled voice, ‘No, it was what came next.’
‘What did come next?’
He opened his hands and looked through them at me. ‘I can’t tell you; my lips cannot utter it. All I can say is this. If I was that angel, I would never have gone back.’
Chapter 18
THE DESK DIARY said today was the shortest day: the moment the tide of light changed from ebb to flow, the highwater mark of night. It must have been tough working it out in the days before desk diaries, but nothing was more important. They had good reason to fear the dark, huddled together for warmth in their wooden halls. It was full of terrors. The evil men who had been cast out from the bosom of society and lived in the dark forests grew leaner and more desperate; travel was treacherous. Malevolent spirits, incorporeal, came out at night and waltzed through the wooden walls and locked doors and took away whoever they wished. No one was safe, but the old people, those whitebeards over twenty-five, had most to fear. They sat awake at night, too frightened to close their eyes; sleep, the one balm, now a Judas. They huddled together and threw great logs of oak onto the fires and licked the grease from their fingers. They put their best priests on the task of measuring the lengthening night; augurers who divined the year’s pulse in the sweat of the gravedigger’s brow, and the fat on the ribs of his children. When they pronounced the moment had arrived, the morning after the longest night, it meant the worst was over; the time had come to bring in the Yule log, and to wassail. You had passed the halfway mark, there was hope. You could maybe make the long run in till spring. All you had to do was get to the end of the shortest day. Piece of cake.
* * *
Myfanwy was leaving.
She stood in the middle of the office, as if reluctant to come in too far, anxious not to make it last longer than necessary. She did not want a cup of tea.
‘I think it’s best this way.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ll be leaving on the bus to Shrewsbury tonight, after the carol concert.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll stay with my auntie. Maybe I can help out in the shop – you know, start a new life.’
I sat at the desk, resting my head on the palm of one hand. I felt grimy and unwashed, unshaved; mouth filled with old beer; teeth gritty with old rum and not enough food. My head ached. I dragged my head up from staring at the desk and said, ‘Help out in the shop? That’s a great idea.’
‘Don’t make it difficult, Louie.’
‘You’re a singer. Your place is in Aberystwyth . . . singing. We need you.’
‘I just don’t feel I can do it any more.’
‘You can’t go.’
‘Please don’t try and stop me; you said you would never stand in my way—’
‘When did I say that? I never said that.’
‘In the caravan.’
‘I said I wouldn’t stand in Calamity’s way.’
‘Because you love her?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you don’t love me.’
‘Myfanwy, what’s happened?’
‘Tadpole has explained everything. I—’
‘Tadpole!’
‘Please don’t make this harder than it is. You needn’t try to explain.’
‘There’s nothing to explain.’
‘No one’s to blame, these things happen. It’s not a crime to fall in love.’
‘It ought to be if this is what you have to deal with.’
‘I hate it when you get like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Bitter and dark.’
‘You’re walking out on me, what did you expect?’
‘I think that’s a bit rich in view of what you did. Oh, don’t say anything, please! I don’t want it to be like this. I didn’t come here to end in recrimination. It’s not your fault, I know. She told me. Told me how it was, and that you never meant it to happen.’
‘Myfanwy, this is all fantasy. She only joined the nursing home a few weeks ago. She’s a screwball.’
‘Is she? I think she’s been very brave.’
‘Brave? Climbing onto the caravan roof?’
‘She let you go, Louie.’
‘How did she manage that?’
‘If only you knew how hard it was for her. You were the first man she ever loved, did you know that? If only you’d seen her, Louie, how noble she was to let you go like that, if you’d seen how much she cried.’
‘I’ve seen her cry. She does it all the time.’
‘But of course I wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Her cheek muscles quivered. ‘It’s no good, Louie. I love you and always will but I’m going to leave because it’s for the best.’ She turned her face away, towards the window, the drab morning light causing her eyes to glisten. ‘We can’t argue with the iron laws of fate.’
I stared, mesmerised, at the edges of her eyes, two soft lanterns in the darkness of my life. Pure, soft translucence. ‘Did she tell you that?’
‘Oh it’s too hard, I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’ She wiped her hand roughly across her cheek, as if swatting a fly. The tears ran unheeding.
I sat, unable to think of the words to say, that might make her stay.
‘I just wish you hadn’t . . . I could forgive everything but that . . . just wish you hadn’t given them to her. That’s all.’ She turned to the door, with her knuckles digging into her eye.
‘Given her what?
‘M . . . my records.’
‘Huh?’
‘See! You thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?’
‘But, Myfanwy, I d-didn’t. I’d never do such a thing!’
‘Don’t make it worse by lying, Louie. She’s got them all. And you’ve scribbled my name out and written hers on the l-l-label.’
Myfanwy ran out the door, slammed it behind her. High heels clattered down the bare wooden stairs. I stared at the closed door. I sat there strangely inert, drained of energy. I looked out at the garret across the road. The Pieman’s light was still burning. Maybe he would know what to do about Myfanwy. I put on my hat and coat. The phone rang.
‘I’ve named an inlet after you.’
‘Lucky me.’
‘In Greenland. Louie Knight Sound. Just below Van Hoegafhgaaerden’s Land, a hundred and fifty miles south of Ultima Thule. That’s what I do, you see. Name inlets.’
‘That sounds like my kind of job.’
‘Trust me, you wouldn’t like. There are so many of them, the whole coastline is perforated like the edge of a postage stamp.’
‘Couldn’t you have named it Louie’s Gulch?’