Then the moment was lost forever, because in his reverie he spoke a name.
– Elfrina, he said.
Irina Cherkassova stiffened beside him. Elfrida was the name she heard.
– Get out, she said.
Flapping Eagle came out of his mind and back into the candlelight to find his new-found perfection lying in ruins.
– Get out, said Irina Cherkassova.
The moment of perfection had spawned its own destruction.
It was after midnight as Flapping Eagle crept back into the Gribb residence, but Elfrida Gribb sat drawn and pale in the front room, and the glow of a single candle echoed the bedroom he had left.
– Good evening, Flapping Eagle, she said.
He shook his head wordlessly and sat down in a chair, opposite her.
– Irina? she asked, knowing the answer.
– What can you expect? he said and heard his words cheapen the memory of his vision.
– Ignatius is the soundest sleeper in the world, she said bitterly. So you might as well make love to me here and now.
– You don’t mean it, he said.
– Make love to me, she said. Damn you.
But again it happened; in his hands, filled with the wanting of him, she froze.
– I’m sorry, she said, it seems the flesh is weak.
– Or strong, said Flapping Eagle quietly.
Count Aleksandr Cherkassov, Countess Irina Cherkassova, Alexei Cherkassov and Norbert Page were having tea together in the salon. Irina fanned herself frequently, though it was not really very hot.
– Ma-ma, said Alexei happily.
– Mama’s here, Alexei, said Irina. Mama’s always here.
– Irina, said Cherkassov, you are a very strong woman.
– Yes, she said. Yes, I am. I know how to deny myself. And when.
Mr Page caught none of the undertones; he thought they were both rather marvellous.
– It’s a great gift, he said nervously, feeling he should offer some sort of conversation. A great gift. To know when to stop.
One word had thrown away the chance. He could have given Elfrida back her peace and contented himself with her soul. He could have given Irina the companionship she lacked and never worried about where her affections lay. Elfrina Eagle, they would have been, and it would have lasted into infinity. Instead of which they were three points again, no longer a triangular one. A single word, changing the course of history.
The farmhouse stood at the side of the road. It was long and low and white. Flapping Eagle felt the shock of recognition: here on his first journey into K he had vaulted this gate and peered through that window into that granite face; here he had been reminded he was pariah. He was different now; he was a part of the place of which the farmhouse was also a part, and so he was a part of the farmhouse. At least, he was today.
Elfrida Gribb was with him; this was the furthest they had walked, but neither of them had noticed the distance, walking in absorbed silence. Now Flapping Eagle told the story of the granite farmer with the face full of crevices and the basilisk eyes.
– Like a man who knew a hundred secrets and wasn’t going to reveal even one, he said. Elfrida smiled wanly. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
– Which is rather like everyone I’ve met in K, said Flapping Eagle. I wouldn’t say they keep their secrets to themselves-they simply behave as if they had never known them. There’s too much left unsaid. Too much.
Elfrida replied, without looking at him:
– Yes. I believe there is.
– Glad to have you aboard, Flapping Eagle, said Ignatius Gribb that evening. You’re doing Elfrida a power of good. I’m afraid I’m rather a recluse during the day. It must be difficult for her to fill her day, eh, darling?
Elfrida forced a smile.
Ignatius Gribb leant quasi-confidentially towards Flapping Eagle.
– Until you turned up, old chap, she wouldn’t have known what to do without me.
– Really, Ignatius… said Elfrida, but Gribb waved her down cheerily.
– Which is only proper, he went on. Because I wouldn’t know what to do without her.
– A happy marriage is a wonderful thing, said Flapping Eagle, feeling like a gargantuan bastard.
Elfrida Gribb left the room.
– One look and I knew, Irina was saying. He’s a bad influence on poor, innocent Elfrida. You’ve only got to look at him.
– Appearances are deceptive, hedged Aleksandr Cherkassov.
– I’m sure there’s something between those two, said Irina. In my opinion, you ought to have a word with Ignatius.
– Whatever for?
– Why, to warn him, of course. To warn him about his guest.
– I don’t think one…
– If you don’t, I will, she snapped.
– I tell you what, said Aleksandr Cherkassov worriedly. I’ll speak to Flapping Eagle. Straighten him out. You know.
– You stupid, stupid man, said Irina Cherkassova angrily.
Events, however, were to move faster than her anger.
For all that it is over. Flapping Eagle told the mirror, and despite the tragedies surrounding it, and whatever dark horrors may come, that was a supreme moment, a moment of clarity, a moment of light.
– No, said Elfrida Gribb, I don’t feel like a walk this morning. You go. I have one or two things to attend to here.
He left her reclining on the chaise-longue, as quiet music played.
XLVII Death
WHEN DEATH CAME to Calf Island, it came anticlimactically, without any warning, wearing soft shoes; it was even a beginning rather than an end. It came matter-of-factly, as though it had been there all the time and had merely decided to make its presence felt; but the consternation it created was entirely undiminished by its manner of arrival. Flapping Eagle returned from his walk to find a small crowd gathered outside the Gribb home. Norbert Page was there, and Quartermaster Moonshy. Irina Cherkassova stood still at the front door, as though mummified at the moment of entry. She moved mechanically to let him through. No-one spoke to answer his questions.
Count Aleksandr Cherkassov sat perspiring on the chaise-longue; he had picked up Elfrida’s petit-point and his hands toyed with it absently.
– What has happened? asked Flapping Eagle.
– We heard a scream, said the Count. One long scream.
Flapping Eagle looked around at the silent, empty room.
– WHAT HAPPENED? he shouted. Where is Elfrida?
Cherkassov nodded towards the study. -One long scream, he repeated.
Flapping Eagle lunged at the closed door and into the study. In the silence he imagined he could hear a whine in the corners of his mind.
The shutters on the window were closed, so that the only light in the room entered with Flapping Eagle through the door. There was Ignatius Gribb’s desk, littered with papers and files, quills and home-made ink. There were his books, scattered on desk-top, chair, floor, falling out of shelves and off ledges. The untidiness alone was a scandal to the eye in this house.
The bed was immediately beneath the window. A figure lay upon it, still, dead, shadowed in the shuttered gloom. Another figure stood by the bed, still, alive, also shadowed. An unlit candle stood at a table by the bedside.
The figure on the bed was the short, bent corpse of Ignatius Quasimodo Gribb, sometime professor of philosophy, bigot and sage.
The standing figure was his newly-widowed wife, Elfrida Gribb, who had been Elfrida Edge, who had thought her falling father was a chimneypot.
– I killed him, she said. It was me.
’Fr ida Gribb
’Fr ida Gribb
Killed her hubby
That’s no fib.
Flapping Eagle closed the door behind him. The room darkened; he moved to the bedside. There were old coins on Ignatius Gribb’s closed eyelids.