Becoming (14 page)

Gaia felt Aran’s hand grip her wrist and squeeze it. She acknowledged the touch, and Aran smiled at her then darted around the back of the house. Gaia crept to the front and slid along to the window, crouching low and peering through the dusty glass. There was a huge iron stove against the far wall, covered with several large silver pots. A table stood in the centre of the room. It was large and surrounded by six wooden chairs, five of which were tucked under, one pulled out. On the table was a cup, a plate, and a clear glass jug half filled with water. The floor was grey uneven slabs of stone. Against the far wall behind the table was a tall kitchen dresser, the shelves filled with an array of cups and plates. There were photographs. In front of the dresser by one of the cupboard drawers was a pair of boots which were open with laces hanging loose. In the corner near the boots was a shotgun resting against the wall. Gaia had seen all she needed. Creeping under the window, Gaia followed the walls of the house around to the back. Aran was by the door under a small, wooden porch. Gaia moved to his side and whispered.

‘There’s someone in here, or there has been.’

Aran eased his head back and nodded. Leaning into her, his warm breath touched the side of Gaia’s cheek.

‘I know. There’s someone in the chair in one of the rooms. I can’t make out if he’s asleep, or dead. He’s old though, much older than any of the leaders. He looks frail and I can’t see any weapons. I’ve tried the door and it’s locked, but there’s a window around the side of the house. It’ll be easy to open with my knife. We’ll get in that way. Watch my back.’

Gaia nodded, and followed Aran as he moved back around the side of the house. They approached the window. Aran eased his knife in the gap in the middle of the two sections of the frame, and slid it across tugging at the latch. It moved. He turned and winked at Gaia, lifted the bottom section and climbed through. Gaia followed him.

They entered a narrow passage, the floor was bare exposed wood and creaked as they moved. The house stank, a mixture of damp and stale urine. Pictures hung from the walls, all crooked and thick with dust. The passage was littered with rubbish, clothes, empty bottles, cans, and old paper. At the far end was a door. It was open, just enough for one of them to squeeze through without disturbing it. There was a staircase and and a door at the far end of the passage led into the kitchen.

Aran crept forward, and there was a loud groan from the floor. He paused, listening, but there was no sound. Aran took another step, and there was another creak. He looked at Gaia and grimaced, but again nothing stirred in the house. Both edged forward step by step towards the room at the far end of the passage. The floor let out an array of cries as they shuffled forward, but there was no sign that anyone had heard them. Aran paused at the door, raised his arm and squeezed through the gap. Gaia waited outside, for a sound, a signal, but there was nothing, only silence. She peered through the crack in the door, but could see only flashes of the furniture. Impatience got the better of her, and Gaia crept through.

The room was large and cluttered with rubbish everywhere. A couple of bookshelves lined two of the walls. They were packed with an assortment of volumes. An open stone fireplace dominated the front wall, a wooden mantelpiece surrounded it. The walls were covered with pictures, ignored, in disrepair, and badly hung. A battered leather sofa hugged the main wall, and an armchair sat alongside it. In the armchair was an old man, dressed in a three piece suit and tie. His thick woolen socks each had a hole exposing his gnarled big toes. He had long grey hair which was lank and curled, and his face was covered in a scruffy beard. Gaia guessed he was at least seventy. His arms were resting on his stomach. By the side of the armchair was a glass, mostly empty but for a few drops of clear liquid. By the glass was a dark green bottle. Gaia looked at the old man’s chest, at the slow movements of his breathing. The man was alive, but still had not stirred. Aran stood nearby, machete in hand and at the ready. Aran was staring at him, waiting, not sure whether to wake him, hoping the old man would notice they were there. Gaia moved over to Aran, tried to catch his eye, but Aran’s gaze stayed fixed on the slumbering heap in the chair. Gaia decided to make the first move and kicked the old man in the shin. Without panic or fuss the man opened his left eye and smiled, then his right. He sat up, a broad grin still stretched across his rugged face.

‘Good morning. I’ve been expecting you.’

Aran tightened the grip on his machete and stepped back. He was poised, waiting for a move, ready to react. The old man sat forward, placed his elbows on his knees, raised his hands to his face and began playing with his beard.

‘Welcome. I’d ask that you have the good grace to show a weak and elderly man a little respect in his own home. Could you do that for me?’

The elder cast a glance at both Gaia and Aran, fingers still combing his beard. He spoke through his grin, the voice calm, but with a mocking tone.

‘Here’s me, a creaky old fellow, unarmed and defenceless. I think you could show me a bit of courtesy and put away those knives. What do we say?’

Gaia looked at Aran, knife still in her hand, but now lowered to her side. Aran looked like a coiled spring, but his face began to ease and lose the tension, his body started to relax. Aran raised his eyebrows at Gaia and placed the machete in its holder on his belt. Gaia followed and put the knife away. Aran put his hand out to the old man, who accepted and shook it.

‘I’m Aran, and this is Gaia. We’re sorry to barge in like this. We mean no harm.’

The elder lifted himself to his feet. He was stiff and unsteady, as he moved around the armchair, leant and picked up a pair of slippers. They were red checked tartan, ripped and full of holes. The man sat back down on the armchair and placed the slippers on, stretched his legs forward, and leant back into the chair, folding his arms across his chest.

‘It’s OK son. It pays to be cautious these days. You never know what you’ll come across. Now would you like a cup of tea?’

The elder looked at Aran and Gaia in turn. His face beamed a look of delight, the broad grin still painted on his face. Gaia noticed his eyes. They were hazel, not blue. She had never seen anyone that did not have blue eyes before. Her life had been immersed in the community where all eyes were the same colour, still distinctive and unique, but with that unmistakable tinge. The old man’s were much darker, but still sparkled with life and warmth. Despite these strangers in his home the man seemed unperturbed. He had the look of a man beyond caring, someone content to wake each day, see the sun again, feel the rain, and celebrate that he was still alive and free to experience another day. Even in this bleakest of worlds there were those who found some kind of happiness in living. Aran spoke.

‘That’d be great. Thanks. There are two others though. We have two friends, waiting up on the brow of the hill.’

‘There are two more of you? Go get them. I have only one condition.’

The smile slipped from the elder’s face, replaced by a stern look.

‘In my home you carry no weapons. You can put them by the kitchen door till you’re ready to leave.’

Aran frowned and looked at Gaia. There was a moment of awkward silence broken by the old man.

‘I know you’ve only just met me, and you’re suspicious. Why wouldn’t you be? But there’s one of me and look. I’m hardly likely to overpower four young people, am I? You’re my guests now, the first people I’ve seen in a long time.’

Aran nodded.

‘Of course.’

The old man led them to the kitchen which was bigger than it had looked through the window. Larger and messier. It stank of stale fat, and had the same damp, musty smell that infested the whole house. The man went to a drawer and took out a key, then moved to the front door, unlocked and opened it. He gestured to Aran.

‘Signal to your friends. I’ll stick a pan on and make some tea, or do you prefer coffee? I’ve got some grand homemade coffee. I make it from dried dandelion leaves. It takes a bit of getting used to.’

Gaia and Aran both half laughed and spoke in unison.

‘Tea’ll be fine thanks.’

Aran left to get the others, while Gaia waited as the old man filled a pan of water and placed it on the stove. He sat at the kitchen table, in the solitary chair not tucked under. He gestured to Gaia.

‘Have a seat young lady.’

‘Thanks.’

Gaia sat opposite the elder, who leant back in his chair, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He flopped forward and rested on the table and began twiddling his thumbs.

‘Sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Jack. I assume you’re running from the island.’

‘How’d you know?’

He winked at Gaia, continued to play with his thumbs.

‘Oh I’ve had a few pass through here over the years. They come and the leaders follow. I expect most get caught.’

Gaia shuffled in her seat, hands nestled under her thighs.

‘We’ve got a bit of a start on the leaders, but we won’t stay long. We had a tough night, and just need a bit of time to rest. Don’t worry we’ve got our own food. We can share some if you like.’

‘Thank you, but I’ve all I need here, enough to last me for now anyway. You’re welcome to have what you need. You’ll need your supplies for your journey. Where are you heading?’

Gaia picked up a pencil on the table and began to roll it between her fingers.

‘I’d rather not say. If you don’t mind.’

‘Don’t worry, there’s no need. I know where you’re heading. The others were heading there too. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Remember things aren’t always as they seem.’

Jack stood and shuffled over to the stove. Aran knocked and entered, moving over to the table.

‘I’ve signalled to the others. They’re on their way.’

‘Get four cups down from the dresser young man. Mine’s over there on the table. Then have yourself a seat with your friend. The water won’t be long.’

Aran took down four cups. They were thick with dust. He picked up a tea towel from the dresser, but it was damp and dirty. Returning it, Aran wiped the cups with the sleeve of his fleece, placed them on the table, and sat next to Gaia. As Aran sat he nudged Gaia’s leg. As Gaia looked at Aran, he frowned and focused his stare at something across the room. She followed his eye-line and saw the shotgun leaning by the wall. Jack approached the table with a large brown teapot, and filled each cup. Just as he had finished there was a gentle knock on the door and Freya entered followed by Yann. They waited in the doorway.

‘Come in. Take a seat. Your timing is perfect. Tea is just brewed. Now I’m Jack.’

Jack moved towards Freya and Yann reaching out his hands.

‘Aran. Would you like to introduce me to your two friends.’

Aran spoke as Freya shook Jack’s hand. Yann stepped forward holding out a solitary fist. Jack gave it a puzzled look and raised his fist to meet it. Yann nudged Jack’s and gave a thumbs up, nodding his head in excited recognition of their meeting. Freya sat at the table, smiling at Jack, who nodded with a warm grin.

‘This is Freya.’

‘Hi’

‘And this is Yann.’

‘Pleased to meet you Jack.’

Yann pulled out a chair and sat beside Freya. Jack opened his arms and laughed.

‘I’m pleased to meet you all. It’s a pleasure to have some life in this old house. I don’t get many visitors round here. Only every now and then.’

Jack caught Gaia’s eye. They all sat at the table, drank their tea, and chatted. Jack was animated and told stories of his life and how he came to be here. The old man lived alone and had done so for years. He had a wife, but she had gone. Gaia sensed a tragedy in Jack, there was a deep sorrow in his voice as he spoke of his wife. The old man never told them how or when she had gone. Jack spoke of the others who had passed through. Some were runners from the island, some were outsiders on journeys further north. No-one ever came from the north heading south. The old man told them of the rats, and the skulls, how he had hunted them for years, killed many, but not for some time now. The rats feared him, and left him alone. Jack had been an expert hunter in his day, but those days were gone. As the old man serenaded the group with his tales his lively, friendly spirit was a welcome tonic after the traumas of the day before. Jack was the first outsider they had encountered and was nothing like the outsiders described by the community. Jack knew he was getting old and entering his final days, but he was content and ready for whatever the future held. Something Jack said stuck with Gaia, it was something simple, but powerful.

‘I’ve lived the life I wanted, and the mistakes I made were my own. I’ve tried to find the joy in life, even in this broken world. I’m ready for whatever is next.’

Soon the arduous night caught up with the young and Aran, Freya, and Yann moved to the living room to rest. Yann and Aran lay either side of the sofa while Freya sat in the armchair. The plan was to grab a couple of hours sleep, but Gaia still did not feel like resting. She wanted to stay and talk to Jack. He had sparked her curiosity, and there were many questions. Gaia also welcomed the old man’s warmth and humour. All the adults in her life had been cold and calculating with roles and functions. Gaia had never known someone who was so open, without any agenda. Gaia could tell Jack loved the company and enjoyed chatting. He missed human contact, but had grown accustomed to being alone. Jack knew these moments would be rare now, and may be the last time he ever saw others. This was the old man’s opportunity to share his memories, a last chance to leave some kind of marker, however fleeting. When he died nothing would remain, no memories and no love. There would only be his decaying corpse which would crumble and scatter to dust.