Mrs.
Jarvis, who should have been crippled with spinal cancer, walked
along the street in the direction of Mark's shop, a basket over her
arm. She gave a cheerful wave. Chris waved back.
"I've
never seen a whole community like this," Ruth had said. "I
can't believe it. Everyone's so happy."
"Don't
knock it. That's because we live in an enchanted village." Chris
had said it lightly. But he believed it. Magical. Enchanted. Yes. A
happy enchantment.
He
found it hard to describe. The nearest he could get to putting it
into words was to suggest that these couple of miles or so of coast
had become sexy. Like the sexy girl who works in the newsagent's. You
find yourself going to buy a magazine you don't really want because
you know she'll be there. When you see her you get a warm buzz of
sexual electricity goosing through you. Compared with the rest of the
world the very molecules of the place seemed to dance to a richer
rhythm.
David
pedalled down the drive as Tony Gateman strolled toward the house.
"Hi,
David. How's school?"
"Fine,
thanks. How's the pub?"
Tony
laughed heartily.
Chris
came down the ladder. He'd slipped into this relaxed custom of
chatting to neighbors. Time was a plentiful commodity in
Out-Butterwick.
They
chatted for a while. Then he began to suspect that Tony had come for
more than small-talk. There was something on the man's mind.
After
five minutes it came out.
"Chris,
I haven't told you this, but for the last few weeks I've been
attempting to put down on paper what happened to us at Manshead over
those few days in April."
"You're
not going public?"
"No,
perish the thought. Everyone in the village agreed to keep it secret.
I'm certainly going to abide by that. No, it's ... it's just that I
want to get this thing straight in my mind. Call it intellectual
conceit, but I want to work out what happened up there."
"Perhaps
there's no need. Any more than you really need to know why the sun
rises each morning. It happens. It's beautiful. That's all we need to
know."
Tony
smiled. "Humor me, Chris. What happened on that final day?"
"In
a nutshell, some kind of sacrifice took place.
Whatever
came here-god, cosmic spirit-took what was offered and paid us in
return."
"And
the result was that the Saf Dar were destroyed forever. And there was
enough left of that payment, that burst of supernatural power, to
heal everyone that was sick in the village and leave us with an
uncannily happy and prosperous community."
"True."
"But
what was sacrificed?" Tony smiled. "You know I keep
recalling what I read in my history books. That in ancient times the
greatest, most valuable sacrifice was self-sacrifice. In some
cultures, the men and women who sacrificed themselves in times of
acute danger became gods themselves. Or so the legends ran."
Tony looked hard at Chris. "Chris, what happened to David that
afternoon, when he ran back to the burning seafort?"
"Tony,
I don't want to think about it. Really I don't."
"Humor
me, Chris. Let me put this into words for you. Then stick it in the
back of your mind and get on with your life." Tony Gateman
pressed his hands together. "David did this. He knew what he had
to do. Even if he wasn't completely aware of it consciously. He had
to make you believe he had died. So that it would release within you
that tremendous outflow of emotion-not just grief, hatred, anger, but
an emotion so deep, probably so primal, that it has no name. He knew
he had to break that barrier between your higher mind and that
reservoir of emotion that burned deep down inside you."
"So
... out it all came," Chris whispered. "This eruption of
pure emotion. Whatever it was took it. And paid us with some of its
own power." He stood up, rolling the words around his mind. He
looked out to sea. Moving away from the jetty across the ocean,
shining in the October sunlight, was a rowing boat. Chris knew who
the giant figure at the oars was. With each slow pull of the oars,
Mark Faust moved further away from the shore.
"But
how could David know all this? He was only six years old."
"David's
special. You know that. The things he tells you. Tell me this, Chris.
Do you ever go out to Manshead?"
"Sometimes."
"Notice
anything?"
"Yes.
And I think I know what you're going to say."
"David
told us that when he ran into the burning building he hid in the
cellar. And that the cellar protected him from the explosion that
demolished the seafort."
"Yes."
"But
you know that's not possible, Chris. It wasn't exploding gas bottles
which destroyed the seafort. The detonation came from within the
cellar itself. Perhaps a natural build-up of methane gas-who knows.
Anyway ... The building collapsed into the hole created by the
detonation. The cellar is full of rubble. No one could have survived
in there."
Chris
nodded slowly, trying not to allow his imagination to show him
pictures of what might lie beneath that mound of butter-colored
stone.
As
they talked, David came pedalling toward them.
"You
know what happened now, Chris, don't you? To David?"
"Yes."
"Right.
I'm ready, Chris. Oh ... hello, Tony."
Ruth
walked as quickly as the new bulge in her stomach would let her. She
smiled. "Someone tells me they saw you out walking with
Elizabeth again."
For
the first time ever, Chris saw Tony blush. "Ah ... That'll be
Mark. The old gossip ... Yes. It's true."
Chris
grinned. "Something you're not telling us, Tony?"
"Time
for the beach, Dad? called David, catching hold of Chris's leg to
steady himself on the bike.
"Sure
is, kidda. Coming, Tony?"
Tony
laughed. "Love to. But I have ... er ..."
"An
appointment with Elizabeth?" Ruth's smile broadened.
Tony
colored again. "I'll, er, walk part of the way with you."
"Can
I go down on my bike, Mum?"
"I
expect so. Come on." In the warm sunshine, mother and son walked
ahead, Ruth waddling slightly, David on the bike wobbling a lot.
Chris
did not bother to lock the door. There was no need to be
security-conscious in Out-Butterwick.
"So
... Chris." Tony spoke in a low voice as they followed. "You
know what happened to David, don't you?"
"Yes,
I do, Tony."
I
do know. I know that on that afternoon in April my six-year-old son
returned from that place to which we all ultimately travel. And now I
know he will grow into a man the world has not seen in centuries, if
not thousands of years.
"Chris?"
They
had reached the crossroads.
"Yes,
I know what happened, Tony." Chris smiled. "And I know
things are going to happen to David in the future-wonderful things.
But that's in the future. For now, I've made up my mind not to think
about it too closely."
Tony
smiled back, understanding. "You're right. Enjoy your lovely
family, Chris. You're a lucky man." Tony straightened his tie.
"Presentable?"
"Presentable,
old son."
"Right
... Wish me luck. Cheerio."
Tony
walked quickly away along the street.
At
the crossroads, Chris paused for a moment, looking around at the
village he called home, the handful of cottages, Mark Faust's store,
the pea-green village hall, the tip of the church tower almost hidden
by autumn trees. He nodded with a quiet satisfaction-then he followed
his family down to the sea.