“An island in a lake.”
“We wanted you to understand that your lovely house would be spared. You needed to know that.”
“But why should I stay above the water? Why should I be all that is left?”
There was no answer to this.
But the recluse changed tack. He said, “The last people who came here brought whiskey.”
“Sorry,” Teal said. “And I’m sorry that we forgot to mention the cow straight off.”
There was no response. Long minutes went by, then Teal cautiously flexed his knees. A crack of light opened between the lid and sides of the box. The recluse had got up and wandered away.
Teal strained against the lid. He didn’t beat on it. That would be too noisy. He pushed and pushed. Then he subsided and rested for a short while.
While he was resting the lock crackled and came open, and the lid was raised.
Teal flung his arm up over his eyes. Then he surged forth into the light, dazed and stumbling.
The recluse backed away from him. Teal straightened and looked into the madman’s face. It was stiff and sober. The man’s eyes were flat and lifeless, a too-shiny gray, like pencil lead, or hematite.
The recluse put a finger to his lips and pointed to the door of the room. Teal hurried out of the room, and then out of the house.
It was sunny outdoors, and bees were weaving through the lavender and roses. Teal turned back to find the recluse standing right behind him. Teal shied away, then muttered, “Sorry,” again.
The recluse opened his mouth, but all that came out was birdsong, and for a moment Teal thought he glimpsed a cool dawn light in the back of that wet cave of a mouth.
He turned and fled.
He was on the first terrace down when he heard fleet footsteps coming after him. He looked back and saw Zarene giving chase, running barefoot through the tomato vines.
Teal sobbed, and ran faster. He was on the steps down to the next terrace when he blundered into a man who was on his way up.
“Whoa!” the man said, and caught him.
Zarene came up behind Teal, but didn’t take hold of him.
“Are you chasing this fellow, Ghislain?” said the newcomer.
“He’s not supposed to leave. I didn’t let him out.”
“Out of where, Ghislain?”
“Never you mind. The house is conspiring against me now.”
“Hmmmm,” said the newcomer. He glanced at Teal and patted him gently on the shoulder. “Your friend is down in the guesthouse. He wanted to come up with me, but we thought he should stay out of the sun. He’s had a bit too much sun.” Then, “I’m Cyrus Zarene.”
Cyrus Zarene was a middle-aged man in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a straw hat. A Zarene farmer.
“He did let me go,” Teal said—it seemed necessary to make this clear. He added, “I don’t want to cause any trouble between you.”
“I didn’t let him go!” Ghislain insisted. He looked exasperated.
Teal peered into Cyrus’s face and assured him, “He opened the window seat, put his finger to his lips, and pointed my way off the property.”
“Window seat?” said Cyrus Zarene.
Ghislain said, “These men like to tell stories where they’re special and singled out.”
“Spared, you mean,” said Cyrus Zarene.
Ghislain looked interested. “Is that it? I was beginning to worry that all those years spent watching movies had them thinking they were playing the main part in a movie.”
Cyrus Zarene stiffened with anger. “You tell a lie, then you think you can make me believe that other people are lying because everyone around you has altered, and has a bad attitude et cetera…”
“No one is around me,” Ghislain said. “You have your et cetera, Cyrus, but I only have my past.”
Nothing happened for a time. Two white butterflies passed between the Zarenes, their flight inscribing some invisible musical score. Then Ghislain said, “All the books in my library are out of date. How am I supposed to know what people are like now?”
“I’d give you a radio if you had electricity,” Cyrus said.
“I can arrange electricity.”
“And how would you do that?”
Ghislain shrugged one shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Okay—so—I’ll swap you Mr. Teal for a radio.”
“And what would you do with Mr. Teal anyway?”
Ghislain’s face softened. “Get him to show me what’s inside him.”
Teal imagined the recluse pulling out his entrails and reading them for signs, like the old Romans. Perhaps that’s what he’d been doing with the poor cow.
Cyrus took Teal by the arm and led him away down the steps. Teal looked back, but the recluse was still standing where they’d left him.
Before they entered the forest Cyrus Zarene said to Teal, “The only thing I need to know is inside you is an understanding: that the Zarene family are best left alone.”
“I hear you,” said Teal.
Copyright (C) 2013 by Elizabeth Knox
Art copyright (C) 2013 by Pascal Campion
eISBN 978-1-4668-4610-4
Elizabeth Knox, A Visit to the House on Terminal Hill
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