Authors: Nerine Dorman
“Aah, screw them,” Johan said. “Just you lot wait. We’ll get even.”
“Sure you will,” Etienne replied. “Now be good little doggies and fuck off to your bitch.”
“Fuck you, Etienne,” Jean-Pierre snarled, and gave the appearance as though he would cause trouble, but he evidently thought better of giving Etienne the shove he’d been considering.
God, it felt good to have the roles reversed, for once.
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.
The saying went something along those lines, although Etienne was pretty sure he mangled Friedrich Nietzsche’s words. Etienne chuckled, despite himself.
With a last, venomous glare, Jean-Pierre and Johan stormed off, giving the group the finger before they disappeared around the corner of the south quad.
“Wow,” Damon said. “That went better than I expected.
“Until tomorrow, when they catch us on our own,” Arwen muttered.
Helen rushed toward Tim, who still kept his back to the wall, his arms splayed out across the painted surface as if his nails would dig into the plaster.
“Are you okay, Timothy? Your name is Timothy, right?”
The small boy nodded, the terror etched on his features relaxing before he screwed his face into a scowl.
“Stay away from me!” he spat as he sidled away from Helen.
“We’re only trying to help!”
“Fuck you!”
He pushed her aside and ran downhill toward the sports field. Helen made to go after him but Etienne sprang in time, grabbing Helen’s wrist.
“Let him go, Helen.”
“But.”
“He’s full of hang-ups,” Arwen said. She laughed, bitter. “He’s more messed up than me. Tried to commit suicide in grade seven.”
An uncomfortable silence settled on the foursome, punctuated by the sawing wail of the cicadas in the blue gums nearby.
“Let’s get out of the sun,” Arwen said. “I don’t want to lose my ghastly pallor.”
Etienne decided to push his luck once they’d settled in the alcove. Arwen had relaxed enough to take out a new deck of cards, which she shuffled while staring off into the distance. Damon ignored Helen’s attempts at handing him one of the canteen’s pre-packed sandwiches. He was too absorbed with poking a stick into the drain, most likely wanting to see what would attempt escaping such a rude interruption.
Etienne smirked. “So, Helen, who’s this new boyfriend I’m hearing so much about?”
She flushed and almost dropped her bread. He purposefully did not look in Arwen’s direction, for he knew she’d be pissed at his probing at the past weekend.
Not being subtle about it at all, was he? Bugger it, he was curious. As much as he now regretted his decision to stay behind, he also disliked being kept out of the loop.
“I, uh, met some guy.”
Damon laughed while clapping his hands. “The dude climbed up our balcony Sunday evening to come kiss her goodbye. A regular Romeo. Ugh. He even brought her flowers.”
Helen blushed an even deeper crimson then tried to whack her brother, who fell out of the way.
“He’s bad news,” Arwen said. “He’s trouble.”
“He got us away from the cemetery when your dad came looking,” Helen said.
“Yeah, well, we still got
into
trouble, didn’t we? Dad still knew it was me.”
“
You
got into trouble,” Helen replied. “You shouldn’t have lied to your dad in the first place. I don’t understand why it’s such an issue at all. Our grandmother knows all about your family, in any case.”
Etienne had to laugh. “Well, there you go, guys, it’s all in the open. It’s full moon on Saturday. Are we going to try for real this time?”
Arwen and Helen both rounded on him at once with a resounding “No!”
He fell back, caught off guard by their vehemence. “Gee, what’s gotten into you two?”
“We can always go see the Prof. He’s got some boa eggs that are near hatching,” Damon said.
“Perhaps,” Etienne said. Anything would be better than staying at the dorms this weekend.
Arwen pouted and shuffled her cards with more force than necessary. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if you stay over, Etienne.”
Her words stung and he looked away from the group, taking a deep breath to dispel the pressure building in his chest.
“Don’t be a bitch, Arwen,” Helen said.
Damon said, “If you can put up with our deranged mother, the dog and our batty grandmother, then I’m sure it’s fine if you spend the weekend with us, hey, Helen?” He looked to his sister for affirmation.
Helen shrugged. “I can call this evening. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“What are we going to do, then?” Arwen asked. “We’re not going to play Monopoly or something so totally retarded, are we?” She sighed.
“Who cares,” Etienne said. “As long as I can stay the hell away from those twits who–”
“What?” Arwen’s tone was anything but happy and he flinched from her gaze.
“Nothing,” Etienne muttered. “I’d like to have a break from school, that’s all. Some of the others worked on my tits on the weekend.”
“Is that why Auntie Miriam was mending your jeans and I heard some of the kids calling you ‘dustbin dwarf’?”
He wanted to protest, but swallowed his words. Of course it was damn obvious he was the only student at Rubidge Secondary School who wore trousers short enough to fit an eight-year-old.
“Just drop it, guys, please,” Etienne said.
Nobody spoke. The bread Etienne tried to swallow stuck in the back of his throat. He squinted against the brightness reflecting off the white walls. There was a reason why the vertical blinds in the window of the music studio behind them were always drawn.
Helen’s warm, damp fingers enclosed his own. He couldn’t help but notice how slender and elongated her bones were that moved beneath her skin compared to his own stubby digits.
No piano lessons for Etienne.
“If we look out for each other, we’ll be fine,” Helen said.
Chapter 17
Stalker
Thursday morning dawned like any other, except Helen lay in her bed for longer, with her eyes closed, listening to the slow, even breathing of her roommate Myrna.
Part of her wished Friday, with its promise of more time spent in Trystan’s company, would come sooner. Perhaps, for all his strangeness, he could be introduced to the rest of their group. What an odd collective they would make.
He puzzled her, being at once hesitant, yet at the same time persistent in his visits. He would not tell her where he lived yet it must be nearby. Trystan spoke as if he rarely used his voice, considering each word before it rolled off his tongue.
The questions never stopped. He wanted to know all about Cape Town, the friends she’d left behind and what music they listened to. Every time she tried to find out more about him, he’d counter with more questions.
Part of her railed against revealing so much to a complete stranger but it was Trystan’s peculiar mix of vulnerability tempered with her suspicion that he was far more experienced than he let on, that kept her talking. Maybe he’d let something about his past slip.
Each night she’d taken out her sketchpad and attempted to draw him from memory. Helen could not recall if his wide-set eyes were gray or blue. The irises were light, dark rings accentuating them–startling eyes.
Even after several attempts, it took her two nights before she’d rendered a drawing that met with her satisfaction–a fine-bridged nose, high cheekbones and a small, sharp chin. He had tiny earlobes and a narrow mouth; a smile had tugged at its corners that last night on Sunday. The drawing she liked best had his hair spilling over his shoulders, as she’d imagine it to, if he’d wear it loose. Elfin was a word she’d use to describe him.
When he’d visited her on the Sunday evening, he’d brought her flowers–a half dozen pale yellow day lilies, softly scented, dark ochre pollen dusting their petals. He’d allowed her to brush his hair, even though Damon had teased them.
Anabel had called from downstairs, demanding to know why they were being so noisy. Trystan, who had been leaning against her knees, had tensed, as if he would fly off the balcony. Damon had given a warning look from his perch on the railing, for Trystan was their secret.
Their grandmother had resumed watching the Sunday night movie, and their mother was too blissed out on tranquilizers to care about anything.
Trystan confused Helen. She’d had boys ask her out before but he’d inserted himself into her life so quickly, with far more ease. He hadn’t exactly asked her out, yet he pressed himself against her and held her hand. His skin was cold and smooth, and she couldn’t get enough of feeling it close to hers, or his presence which sent warning prickles up her spine.
Since the weekend, Arwen had done nothing but complain that Trystan was bad news; that he was somehow dangerous, but Helen failed to see how the fine-boned creature could harbor any ill intent. There had been that moonlit walk on the Saturday night, when he’d shown her where the red lynx came down to drink at the river, and she was almost certain thin crackles of blue-green static had flared whenever their skin had brushed together.
He’d taken her a way out, along one of the roads leading farther inland, toward Murraysburg–if the rusted sign half falling off its screws gave the correct information.
A large kudu bull whose horns spiraled long and lethal, had crossed their path to stand for a moment, keeping a wary eye on them while they watched him, his liquid gaze catching the light from distant stars. The beast had stamped once so his white-striped flanks quivered, before he’d cantered away to melt into a dense stand of thorn bushes.
Trystan’s pale skin gleamed in the starlight and, that moment after the kudu bull, he’d taken her hand again and leaned closer, as if he’d kiss her. Then he’d hesitated and smiled, half turning his face away from hers. Without a word spoken between them, they’d entwined their fingers. The gesture brought a shock of recognition, some part deep within her responding, chiming in agreement.
Was this love? The prefect on bell duty started ringing the wake-up call, and she was jolted out of her reverie. The clanging started, faint at first on the boys’ side of the dorms, the brassy sound growing louder as the person approached.
Next to her, Myrna muttered something that sounded like, “Oh, no,” before groaning.
Helen sucked in a deep breath and stretched her entire body, so the muscles grew taut, and flexed her limbs. Her spine crackled as the vertebrae aligned.
What would it be like to wake next to someone else? To feel his body against hers?
Then, with a surge of guilt, she thought about her mother. What chance did she have of ever finding another person to love? Their father would not come back to rescue such a broken woman, not when he had thrown her away in the first place.
Perhaps it was better not to love. Then she wouldn’t know what to miss when she lost it, when he moved on. Could all men be like that? What was wrong with her mother? Could there be something wrong with Helen, by default? Would Damon become like their father?
With a shudder, Helen suppressed these thoughts.
“Only one more day of hell to get through, Helen. You at least get to go home tomorrow,” Myrna said, a little too brightly.
It was Helen’s turn to groan. “Bah, you’re right. I don’t want to think about that comprehension test waiting for us.”
She could have ended up being a full-term boarder, like Myrna, or Etienne, and only go home every quarter. On the bright side, she had remembered to arrange with Anabel so that Etienne could visit over the weekend. That big old house certainly had enough space.
“You ready for the math test?”
They chattered while they dressed and Helen felt glad for the distraction, especially when Myrna began to talk about her beloved horses.
“I’ve never ridden a horse,” Helen said.
“Oh, but you must come stay on the farm with me for one of the school holidays.”
“That sounds lovely.” Helen tried to inject some enthusiasm in her answer. The March holidays lasted a fortnight. Helen could not imagine being away from home, from Trystan, for such a long time.