Capcir Spring Page 5

  "And then what?"

  "A few more days in local libraries and museums. The best stuff on my period for this area is split up between the university museum in Barcelona, the city museum in Perpingan and a collection in Paris. I'll take in Paris on my way home and then I've got all the writing up to do."

  "And where is home for you"

  "Just west of Manchester"

  Mary started running the water hot into the washing up bowl. John was clearing up the remains of the table. He lifted the chicken carcass and the carving knife off the top of the cupboard beside the dining table and said, "What do you want done with this?"

  Mary turned round quickly. She saw John silhouetted against the curtain lit up by the spotlight in the living area. And she saw the knife in his hand and she went to scream but no scream came. Her mouth held open in silence and then she collapsed on the floor in a faint.

  John stared at her in silence for almost a full minute before he worked out what to do. He put the knife and chicken bones down and went to her side. She had turned very pale before she passed out and the look in her eyes indicated something she had seen had made her open her mouth as if to scream or shout. He bent down and she was still breathing easily. She had fallen slowly and softly and he didn't think she would have any big bruises from hitting hard objects.

  He lifted her gently onto the sofa and placed a cushion gently beneath her head. As he did so he stroked her face with his fingers as if willing her to wake. It was very soft. So very soft. Her eyes flickered open and she looked up at him.

  "What's happened?" she asked.

  "You passed out" he replied. “one moment you were talking to me and we were clearing up the remains of the meal and the next you were on the floor.

  "How embarrassing and stupid."

  "It must have been the strain and excitement of this evening - or perhaps too much sun again?"

  "Yes something like that I suppose must be it."

  "Do you want me to call a doctor?"

  "No. I'll be all right now." She struggled to get to her feet, and he offered her his hand and pulled her up. When standing she dropped the hand instantly and reached out and held the nearby table top to steady herself. "I'm fine now." she continued.

  "I really think you should see a Doctor," repeated John. He was trying to forget the feel of the touch of her hand.

  "Yes, well, in the morning. The medcin in the village holds his surgery from 9.30 to 11. I'll go down then. Now perhaps if you'll leave me I'll get off to bed."

  "Are you sure you will be all right. I don't like leaving you after something like this."

  "Perfectly" she added emphatically as she started to manoeuvre him to the door. He was beginning to sound like her mother. "Now please go. All I need is some rest. I guess I must just be overtired."

  John went reluctantly to the door. He felt uneasy about leaving her, yet he felt uneasy too in case she asked him to stay. "I'll call and see that you're OK later tomorrow" he called as his parting shot from the hallway.

  Mary walked back to the window and opened it fully. The cool night air swept into the room and she suddenly realised how stale the air had become from Edouard's cigars. The village looked at peace and the clear sky was filled with millions of twinkling stars.

  She turned to face the messy remains of the evening in the sink. The fresh air had revived her completely and she sorted the washing up and clearing with enthusiasm so in fifteen minutes it was all done and as she closed the window she noticed the subtle scent of the flowers Monique had brought perfuming the air. She quickly transformed her couch into her bed and slipped out of her clothes and slid naked into the clean sheets.

  Sleep didn't come easily, indeed she now felt more awake than she had for the latter part of the evening. Her mind was far away from her valley and her ruins and the legends. She knew she would not be dreaming of Cathars or monks or the inquisition tonight. But she also was sure that the nightmares would be equally real and terrifying though for every time she closed her eyes she was in Hampstead on a Thursday afternoon and although now many years ago it seemed closer than the events of yesterday.

  3

  Mary tossed and turned on her bed in the deep silence of the dark mountain village night. Every time she closed her eyes she was back in Hampstead. It was an old house with four steps up to the front door. At one time in the distant past it must have been grand but now, the plaster stucco was cracked and falling off and the door was badly needing a coat of paint. But it was home and although draughty in winter, she had made the rooms they used comfortable. It was in an area that was slowly becoming one of the most fashionable addresses in this part of London.

  It was just before five in the afternoon. She remembered that most clearly. She had been out to visit the local shops for about a couple of hours, collecting some groceries for supper on her way home. She knew she had only been out for under a two hours as she had switched off the three o'clock news bulletin as she left the house. It was the end of October and it was already quite dark. Most of the day had been overcast and wet and it had been raining all afternoon. That was the reason she had left to go shopping until late afternoon. She had kept looking out of the kitchen window in the hope that the rain would soon stop but instead of getting wet...

  The house had been in darkness. That was surprising as James said he would be in early. As she inserted her key in the lock she remembered thinking it strange that the double lock wasn't on. It wasn't like her to forget to turn the key twice. Many houses in the area had been burgled but as she had left in rather a hurry she had perhaps forgotten. The hallway was always a cold space as it was lit by the street lamps shining through the coloured glass door panels. She hurried straight through to the kitchen before she reached for a light switch. It was then that she first realised that all was not as it should be. As the fluorescent tubes flickered on she noticed that there was a bottle on the table. It was a whisky bottle. It was in the centre of the scrubbed pine surface. The top was off and it was half-empty.

  She sniffed and noticed the fresh smell of liquor filling the air. The room was empty or was it? She sensed something and turned. Behind her, in the far corner, a figure was sitting staring straight at her. He was holding an empty tumbler in his hand. At first glance Mary thought it was a stranger but as she turned to face the unknown her eyes focused she saw it was James. His face was greatly altered. It wasn't just his expression. All his features including his eyes and the shape of his mouth were changed. His expression could best be described as something between a scowl and a frown spiced with pure naked hatred.

  "So you're home" came a guttural mutter, All the normal musical qualities of his normally light voice had disappeared.

  "What are you doing drinking at this time of day? And whisky too?" was all she could think of asking. She was so shocked. She had never, in all their time together, seen him drunk. She didn't even know that he liked whisky. She had only seen him take a glass of wine on social occasions.

  "Bloody cow, always nagging at me, Can't I even have a drink without you starting?"

  "Come on now James, is there something the matter?"

  "Whadda you think!?"

  "I don't know what to think."

  "You think you are so much better than me you superior bitch." He spat the word bitch at her and a spray of saliva flew across the room with the venom of the word.

  "What is the matter" she exclaimed at the top of her voice. "You kiss me goodbye this morning, heading off for some meeting or other just like any other day. Than I come in at five and find you like this. What has happened?"

  "Nothing has happened. I just woke up that is all. Woke up to the realisation that I don't believe in anything any more. I don't believe in you or in me or in my work or what I'm doing here."

  "I don't understand! What are you saying? What has prompted all this?"

  "If only you could see inside me. You'd know what's been happening for a long time. How the me inside has been despising what
the me outside has been doing. How the me inside has been bursting with hatred at everything the outer me has had to do. The interminable being nice to people. The strain of having to be a public nice guy. The strain of having to believe professionally so many unbelievable things or risk loosing everything: job, prospects, and house. Inner me has been protesting for a long time. But always the outer me has taken control and said, keep in your place. Get ye behind me Satan. But today something happened, I decided it was time to change so inner me and outer me decided to swap over. It is time for inner me to be visible to the outside world and the Mr Niceguy who has been on the outside can learn what it is like to be imprisoned inside an alien life form."

  Mary walked forward and slipped her raincoat off and hang it over the back of the kitchen chair in front of her. He stood up and came round to the opposite side to the table to her. He reached out for the whisky bottle and sloshed another generous measure into his glass with a careless, jerky movement.

  "I think you've had enough of that. It won't help."

  "Oh this helps all right. This is the great liberator. This is the liquid that has finally set me free. It has released me from my cell and you want to push me back inside. You want to make me a prisoner again. You've never really liked me have you. In fact I would go so far to say you hate me. You always have done. You regard me with contempt."

  Mary made as if to protest but he over-ruled her interruption. His eyes seemed now to be glowing with fire.

  "I know you've never liked me. You were repulsed from the first night of our married life. You never liked the physical side of our marriage as you call it but I'd say you don't just like sex. And you are barren. In olden days a barren wife would be a good excuse for divorce. You've never liked me. Well I can tell you I've never liked you either. I've lived with you for all these years, but always the real me, the me inside has hated you. Every time you did something wrong, or hurt me with one of your silly actions I've stored it up inside. I've got a great long list written by the real me when I was inside the old me, of all the things that are wrong with you. The inside me used to tell the outer me get her to change those awful glasses, get her to change the way she does her hair, stop her seeing that awful friend of hers. But Mr Niceguy, the outer me wouldn't want to hurt your feelings and would translate these messages so gently that you laughed at them. Yes, you laughed them off. And every time you laughed the real me, the inside me, put another mark against your name in my register of your faults and wrongs."

  "I married you for your body, do you realise that. I liked the golden flow of your beautiful, long blonde hair. That, believe it or not is something the inner me and the outer me both agree on. We both like your hair, But your body. We both used to agree that you had a very nice body. But recently we have been debating what's gone wrong. Inner me is convinced you've let yourself go. There are wrinkles where there were none. There are stretch marks on your stomach though God only knows why - you are starting to get fat. Your boobs were once spectacular but they are now beginning to sag. So we came to a conclusion. Inner me and outer me agreed that something had to be done."

  Mary was shocked and opened her mouth to protest but didn't know what to say. So much abuse, so much hatred bottled up for so long, festering and now this poisonous venom released all at once. It was overwhelming, overpowering, and perhaps worse of all it was so completely unexpected. It was as if the whole of the years of married life together had meant nothing to him. That is not how she had thought of the time. They surely couldn't be talking about the same relationship. There had been good times.

  "James" she whimpered, close to tears "It isn't all bad. We have had happy times, fulfilling times, good times together..." But he wasn't really listening to her.

  "Perhaps that's what you can see" he replied quickly "But I only recall a long nightmare as long as we go back together. It shows how little you respect me or like me. You refuse to take me seriously when I start being truthful with you for what might be the first time. Do you think I don't care. Of course I care. Of course I care so much about you that is why I have to tell you these things. And if you cared for me you would listen dutifully and put into practice the sound advice I am now going to give you."

  The quality of his voice had now changed. It was no longer so emphatic and strained yet even in the softer tone it was still unnaturally forceful.

  "I've saved myself by getting rid of the old me. The inner me has got out and the old soft bugger will never see the light of day again. But just as I have healed myself and things are so much clearer now. I want you too to benefit from this healing. I want to you to get rid of the hatred that hurts me and become dutiful and respectful. I want you to tell me how much you love me and how much you will continue to care for me."

  "I don't hate you." she stammered. "We may not have got every thing right over the past ten years but I certainly don't hate you. And I can't understand how you can hate me so much."

  "Ah but you are wrong. I don't hate all of you. I just hate the part of you that hates me. The bit of you that has turned against me. The part of you that would rather go out with your friend Pauline on trips to the shops rather than make my tea. The part of you that has let you body go to ruin and start to grow old. The part of you that doesn't dress as smartly as I would have expected. The part of you that still has silly ambitions about being a historian rather than concentrating on being a good wife and producing children to carry on the family line. That is the part of you that argues with me and tries to frustrate my plans. The part of you that is nothing but pure evil."

  He was getting excited again and his crescendo ended in silence. He then whispered.

  "You know what I am going to do. I am going to help you. I am going to help you by getting rid of all the evil. Just as you cut away the bad part of an apple and discard it I am going to help you cut away all this diseased and putrid part from your life. And how you will thank me for it. You are going to be so grateful."

  He turned his back to her and fumbled on the kitchen worktop out of her sight. When he turned to face her he was holding a carving knife in his hand.

  "I must be like a surgeon and cut away all the diseased parts and give the rest a chance to grow healthy again." He changed metaphor in mid phrase "Just as I might prune the rose bushes, if we had any. Cut away the dead and diseased wood to give the new wood a chance to flower and grow all the more strongly. That's what Jesus said. Cut out all the bad branches and burn them on the fire so that the good will bear even more fruit. See my ex-boss agrees with me!"

  He moved a step towards her brandishing the knife like a cutlass. The light from the street lamps in the widow shone behind his head and in Mary's eyes, concentrating so hard on only him he became the silhouette of a terrifying childhood ogre. She stood, rooted to the spot, not really believing this was happening to her.

  "Cut out all the badness, cut it all away. Let the girl I like grow and blossom beautifully"

  "Put the knife down James," she said, trying to remain calm. That was how people talked on films when confronted with crazed killers. Talk sense in to him. Stand your ground. Stare him in the eye and meet his gaze and don't let him know that you are scared. He won't hurt me. We've shared a bed together for all these years. Perhaps we are not that close now but we have been in the past and we can be again in the future. Put the knife down James. Think what you are doing."

  "I am thinking. I am thinking more clearly that I've ever thought before. I see it all now. And this really is the answer." There was a cold logic in his tone. He had now moved round the table towards her and she suddenly realised she was within reach of his blade. He lunged and she screamed. The blade caught the sleeve of her shirt ripped easily through the cotton and drew blood from the shoulder to the elbow. The knife had a top quality French blade. It had been a wedding present from a chef friend who had told them on the wedding day that a chef's reputation was made by his knives.

  She continued screaming and as she did so she grabbed
for her string shopping bag that she had put down on the table. Perhaps she half thought she would swing it at him as a weapon. But she was too numb with shock to fight and the instinct to flee was more powerful. She turned her back to him and made for the door swinging the bag over her shoulder as she turned. The bag missed James but landed at his feet. It was an awkward shape full of vegetables and packets of biscuits and it caused him to stumble momentarily as he again lashed out with the knife. She felt a touch on her shoulder blade and felt the point move down her back until it reached her bra strap and then it stopped and seemed to dig in. She was moving away from him and she thought it didn't go deep. It was all happening so fast - so much action in so few seconds.

  The momentary stumble as the combined effects of the half bottle of whisky and the full string bag at his feet gave Mary the few vital seconds to get across the hallway and open the front door and out on the steps and street before he was into the hallway. He was moving uncertainly, lurching from wall to wall as he seemed to need support.

  The street seemed to be empty as she looked around for help. Just across the street a man and woman were getting out of their latest model silver sporty hatch back and climbing the steps towards their front door.