Fog Heart (27 page)

That's it, Charley thought, write the damned script for her, why don't you? They must love you.

‘Fontana Fontana the barn the lake the day we played the day the birds of prey came to say eat you eat you they'll eat you out past the barn the lake Fontana look out child—'

‘I was three,' Jan said to herself.

What was this? Jan had grown up on a farm in Fontana, which was just another hick town in southern Wisconsin. Over the years he had heard stories from Jan of her childhood and adolescence, a typical chronology of joys and sorrows, milestones and memories, images from Norman Rockwell and Grant Wood. Nothing remarkable, unless you considered her move from the Future Farmers of America to English literature a shocking leap.

‘Don't want don't want don't want the runt don't go not now not here don't want the runt—'

‘They didn't,' Jan said. ‘They didn't want me. They called me Runt, too. Gail and Sue.'

‘Jan, please,' Charley felt compelled to say.

He had thought that Oona was speaking about Fiona, and meant to suggest that he and Jan hadn't wanted the child. Which was a lie. But now it appeared that Jan thought it was about her. She was the youngest of five children, and he knew that her two sisters had called her Runt. But he had always understood that it was a trivial family joke, the kind of thing you may not like when it's happening but tend to remember fondly later in life. Jan had never given him any indication that it had been all that painful for her, and still was, until now.

‘Stay stay stay I said please but stay stay stay they said I had to stay there till they came come back come back the barn the barn the birds came off the barn the roof oh no oh no—'

‘Only three,' Jan said. ‘The clearing beyond the barn. Sue sat me down there and said don't move.'

‘Come back come back and then you see you see oh no the dead grey squirrel in the grass oh no—'

Jan gasped, tears in her eyes. ‘It was just a game of hide and seek, but sometimes they'd play it as a trick on me. One of them would hide me somewhere and tell me to wait there until the others found me, but then they wouldn't come. I was too young to know what was going on, and so I'd sit there and wait. And wait. And nobody would come.' Jan gave a shuddery laugh. ‘Seems like it took me years to catch on, I was such a…'

‘Ashes in the grass grey and red colour of the dead the dead the dead squirrel in the grass oh no sister sister brother mother father sister don't go don't go don't leave me again—'

Oona was curled up tightly now, lying with her head on Jan's knee. Oona barely moved. Her eyes were wide open and her hands covered her chest protectively. She spoke in what was nearly her normal speaking voice, but the words came in short, jagged spasms that didn't always match the slower movements of her mouth.

‘Bird of prey bird of night raven crow and corbie come oh no oh no blood on the grass grey and red I'm dead I'm dead—'

‘That's right,' Jan said. ‘There was a dead squirrel beside me in the grass. I don't know if the other kids put it there, or if it just happened to be there, but it was only a few feet away. I wanted to move, but I couldn't. I don't know why, maybe it was because I'd been told to stay put, and at that age I did what the older kids told me, regardless. And I didn't want to look at it, but I had to, because I'd never seen anything that bloody before. I was three. The birds had been at it already.'

‘Mother sister father brother help me help oh mother save me save me save me can you save me—'

‘And they came back for more.'

Jan seemed to be in a trance of her own. But she spoke in a soft voice, and the only obvious signs of distress were the occasional tears that trickled down her face. Oona, on the other hand, was rigid with terror and pain, and her voice grew fainter, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a cave.

Charley was vaguely annoyed by all this, but fascinated too. He knew nothing about the story Jan and Oona were jointly exploring, least of all whether there was any truth in it. But he had been paying fairly close attention, and he couldn't honestly say that Jan had been leading Oona, that Oona was simply using clues given to her on a silver platter. Perhaps Jan had already provided the basic outline when she was talking with them in the other room, earlier. But at this stage, Charley would not put anything past Oona. Perhaps she was seeing something that really happened to Jan at the age of three. That only made it worse, of course, and Charley wished again that they had stayed home.

‘Wings around my head around me oh no birds of night birds of prey come sweeping round me in the middle of the day they pick and stab and poke and tear all is blood and flesh—'

‘And the eyes,' Jan continued. ‘The whole flock came back, ten, fifteen of them. And they flapped and walked all around me and kept on eating the squirrel, pulling it apart bit by bit, and I remember how they jabbed and pulled the eyes out and ate right through the hole, into the skull.'

‘Jesus, Jan. Please.' But she wasn't listening to him.

‘They didn't hurt me. They just – touched me.'

‘Mother! can you can you save me save save me please please don't leave me alone here Sister! Brother! Father! Mother!'

‘But nobody came back for me. Until later, much later,' Jan said. Absently, she began to stroke the side of Oona's face. ‘Nobody came.'

Oona's voice suddenly changed. She sounded older, less of a child. She sat up and gazed at Charley, but it was not as if she were seeing him. She was gazing blindly in his direction.

‘When the laird the laird the laird when the laird went down to Ravenswood to Ravenswood with his bride his bride—'

‘I didn't want to go,' Jan said. Another tear escaped from her eye and coursed across her cheek.

‘Oh no oh no oh no don't leave me—'

Charley exhaled and sat back, feeling as empty as a sack of skin and bones. Now he could see where Oona was leading him, and he felt stripped of his intelligence, suddenly stupid and vacant. It was true, Jan had wanted to rent a house or a flat in Galway, to stay in the city. He was the one who had preferred the rustic whitewashed cottage a few miles out in the countryside, where on a good day you could just see the sea.

Ravenswood. His wife had apparently suffered some childhood trauma over crows or ravens, and he'd taken her to a place called Ravenswood. Brilliant. Why hadn't the stupid bitch ever let on? It was his doing, and yet he couldn't help feeling angry that Jan had silently agreed, had gone along with his wishes. Charley was the Laird of Ravenswood. He'd taken his young bride there. This was all still Scott, of course, but at last he could see how Oona had mangled it into a kind of rough truth.

‘Don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me—'

Which was exactly what he'd done – left her out there when he went into the college every day. He had lectures, tutorials, notes to take in the library, bookshops to browse. And all those merry hours spent in pubs with his colleagues, his students.

Oona screamed:
‘Mother don't leave me!'

‘Just for a minute,' Jan answered, tears running freely down her face now. ‘It was just for a minute.'

‘Oh no oh no oh no Mother!'

‘To get a cup of tea.'

Oona thrashed wildly on the cushions, but her arms were held tightly to her sides. She struggled as if she were trying to get out of a strait-jacket. Or, Charley realized, as if she were all wrapped up in blankets. Her voice raced, frantic, trapped.

‘Bird of night bird of prey come to get me in the middle of the day raven crow and corbie come oh no oh no oh no dark of day black in the sky raven crow and corbie come to circle in and take my – oh no oh no oh no – Muh–muh–muh–Mother!'

‘It was such a lovely day,' Jan said, her voice dull. ‘Too nice to stay indoors. You were in the pram. I was reading Flann O'Brien,
The Dalkey Archive.
In the backyard – the garden, they call it there. I didn't care for the book, so I went to get some magazines. And I put the kettle on for a cup of tea.'

‘Black black black black black – Mother! don't leave me Mam don't leave me oh no oh no Muh–muh–muh–Mother! Mam!'

‘I waited for the water to boil. I was reading an article about the hostages in Iran. I waited for the tea to steep. When I got to the door to the backyard, they were on the pram. Black, like a collar round you.'

‘No,' Charley struggled to say, his throat clogged, his face burning with blood in the skin. ‘No.'

‘Save me save me save me save me save me save me Mother can you save me save me save me—'

‘Fiona…'

‘Muh–muh–muh–muh—'

Rain spattered the windows. Oona writhed furiously and then let out one long savage scream that lingered in the room even after her voice had collapsed.

‘Couldn't,' Jan continued vacantly. ‘I couldn't move, I saw the blood on their beaks. I didn't hear you. There were five or six of them. I didn't hear you at all.'

‘This didn't happen,' Charley stated.

‘I threw something. It was too late. I threw something and yelled, and they flew off a little ways. I got you then, but it was too late. And I wanted to go with you, I didn't want to stay there any more. You must take me with you. I didn't want to let you go, I didn't, I didn't. But I couldn't move.'

‘This is not true,' Charley said bitterly, staring down at Oona. She was lying still, as if dead. If only you were. ‘Yes, there were ravens in the area, but this is – fantasy.'

Jan turned to him. ‘So I took her into the new nursery, and I started the fire under the crib. I put the heater and fuel can by it and I got down on the chaise and waited.' Jan started to cry again. ‘Whoosh … it would have been all right, too. If only the van man didn't come and save me.'

The man driving by, who'd seen the smoke and flames from the road. He had managed to pull Jan out, not badly burned but half-dead from the heavy fumes. Mr Hurley, by name. Mr Hurley, who had not been able to get back inside for Fiona.

The things you remember. Days later, surveying the charred remains of the cottage, Charley had come across a coffee mug from the Kilkenny Workshop in the trampled garden grass near the place where the pram had been, and wondered.
I threw something.

‘Don't,' Jan said piteously. ‘Don't save me…'

‘Jan.'

Oona's mouth was open, slack. She still didn't move, but a voice emanated from her. A child again.

‘Mother don't leave me Father don't leave us don't go don't go don't leave me again no more no more no more I want you I want you Mother Father you left me left me left us – you.'

Oona seemed to crumble into herself.

Charley had to move, to do something.

*   *   *

Carrie wondered if it was over. Oona was still and silent, curled up between Jan and Carrie. Her eyes were open, gazing off at the window. Tiny beads of saliva had gathered at the corners of her mouth.

Charley O'Donnell got up and lit a thin cigar. He paced by himself, away from the rest of the group. His wife didn't move. She had stopped crying and was sitting passively now, staring at Oona and stroking her hair.

Carrie wondered absently if the O'Donnells had just had the kind of breakthrough that they wanted – or needed. Their story sounded too terrible to be true, like a nightmare that becomes a confused part of everyday life.

But her mind was too full of her own frightful and uncertain thoughts to worry about anybody else's problems for long. Oliver looked patient and imperturbable. He let out a small sigh every now and then, but otherwise hardly stirred.

‘Love me like the angels honey…'

Oona rose and sat back on her heels, legs apart. She rocked very slightly, rolling her head around on her shoulders as if to loosen stiff muscles in her neck. Carrie saw that her eyes were nearly closed, and then Oona's hair swung across her face. After a moment or two of unintelligible moaning, Oona began to speak in a female voice with an English accent.

‘I don't want don't want don't want to want to want you just to be the one the one the one in London no no Becky darling Becky no no not like that be careful of your teeth gently with the lips and tongue not the teeth that's it that's better bye bye let's go bye bye Bayern Bayern München Bayern bye bye Becky—'

Oona put her hands between her legs, up under the skirt of her dress. Rocked slightly for a few moments.

‘Bye bye bye bye Bayern Becky by my my my Marty Marty Marta Marta Martha Martha my my my Myra! Myra! my Myra! be my Myra and eee–eee–eat-uh eat a eat a eat a Ian Ian Ian eee–and–oh oh my my muh-muh-muh Myra—'

She froze for a second.

‘The knife. Here. Beautiful.'

Charley O'Donnell came closer, apparently curious now. He stood near the edge of the group and watched.

Oona stuck out her tongue, bit down hard on it, and let the blood ooze over her chin. She made rasping, gurgling sounds, and the blood flew from her mouth in a fine mist. Carrie saw some of it dapple the water in the stone basin, and tiny pink plumes were visible against the white sand as the blood diffused.

Oona's head was slung forward, on her chest. A moment later she began to speak in the voice of a young man.

‘Look at her. Beautiful. Now my heart is full.'

Oona threw back her head, and her long hair whipped through the air. Her face was smeared red, her eyes were quite bloodshot now, and she began to tremble violently. The palms of her hands, scratched and cut, were held open on her thighs. She seemed to spit out the words in tortured clots. Blood flew from her, and she spoke in several voices, each one tumbling out of the last, careening into the next, so that it often seemed as if two, three or even four of them were struggling to be heard at the very same instant.