Boneland (7 page)

‘Meg, this is Owen. He drives the telescope and looks after all this lot.’

‘Hi, Owen.’

‘Hi, Meg.’

Meg looked about her. ‘Wow. How do you live with it?’

‘Oh, she’s only a scrap-metal rustbucket and a bit of old wire,’ said Owen. ‘And there’s never much on the telly.’

‘Mm,’ said Meg.

‘What’s today?’ said Colin.

‘Ethel,’ said Owen.

‘Mind if we look around? Is it OK to go downstairs?’

‘Feel free. There may be a few postdocs to trip over.’

‘And is Gwen still here?’

‘No. You’ll be all right. Titselina Bumsquirt went home as soon as she shut the shop.’

‘Thanks, Owen,’ said Colin.

‘Yes. Thank you very much,’ said Meg. ‘It’s a privilege to see this.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Owen.

They left the control room down a flight of stairs.

‘Ethel?’ said Meg.

‘When you work here you have to make it family, or you wouldn’t cope,’ said Colin. ‘Ethel’s a quasar so far away that the signal started out before our galaxy was fully formed.’

‘Do you always use female names? Owen called the telescope “she”.’

‘I suppose we do. I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Like anything else you can’t handle. Think about it.’

They came to a room that was a clutter of cables, looped, coiled, held with plastic ties and lengths of string; lights twinkling; the chatter of printers.

‘What’s this gubbins here?’ said Meg.

‘The main control for all the telescopes linked to us on the network,’ said Colin.

‘But some of it looks like it’s made of bits of Meccano. Why aren’t you more high-tech?’

‘There isn’t always the equipment,’ said Colin. ‘We codge as we go along. It works. Which is all that matters.’

‘Great. This is what I call science. This is real.’

‘Come and see this, then.’ He led her to a printer. Pens were moving up and down, tracing lines on graph paper. ‘Behold our Ethel. The energy that’s moving those pens has been travelling at two hundred and ninety-nine thousand seven hundred and ninety-one point eight one nine zero zero eight kilometres a second, approximately, for over twelve billion years, and the antenna of the telescope has picked it up and fed it down when we happen to arrive together from our separate existences and our origins in other stars to observe it here.’

‘The impossibility of “now”. Discuss,’ said Meg.

‘Follow me,’ said Colin.

They went on, to a bare concrete corridor fitted with bulkhead lights, the floor wet red mud, cement stalactites hanging from the gaps in the roof slabs, up more steps, and were out in the open, among girders.

‘Where’s the telescope?’ said Meg.

‘Look up.’

‘Heligoland, Dogger and Forties.’

They were at the central spot. Above them, tilted to follow Ethel, the telescope filled the sky.

‘Listen,’ said Colin.

Around them the wind played the harp of the structure. As the telescope moved on its track with the Earth’s turn, the changes of stress made their symphony from the flexing of the metal.

‘Good, isn’t it?’

‘Colin, this is one of the most moments,’ said Meg.

‘“Rustbucket scrap and a bit of old wire.”’

‘Hoh yes,’ said Meg. ‘Thank you. You don’t know how much. I’m beginning to see.’

‘My pleasure,’ said Colin.

He went to the security fence and unlocked the gate.

‘And here are the dishes.’

‘Wait on,’ said Meg. ‘I’ve got to adjust.’ She looked back at the telescope. ‘OK. What’s next?’

The parabolic dishes were nothing after the sky.

‘This is where she spoke,’ said Colin. ‘I’m afraid I’m wobbly.’

‘Let’s sit down,’ said Meg. She breathed out. And in. ‘Right. And you understand and can handle all that up there: what it is, what it means, what it implies?’

‘More or less,’ said Colin. ‘As well as any.’

‘But not these tins.’

‘Everything’s relative. What do you make of them?’

‘Shall we find out?’

They went to a dish. ‘You understand the principle?’ said Colin.

‘Near enough. Do I go to the other end?’

‘Keep your voice low,’ said Colin. ‘Whisper. And stay at the focus.’

Meg went.

‘Hi, Colin. How’s that?’

‘Spot on.’

‘Weird, isn’t it?’

‘And if someone stood in the acoustic line between they’d hear both of us, but the sound would have no direction,’ said Colin.

‘Would it internalise?’ said Meg

‘More ambient, though unnatural in space.’

‘Like another dimension?’

‘I suppose it would be.’

‘What are you going to do with the dishes you’re making?’

‘Play around with them. Listen.’

‘Listen to what?’

‘Whatever the dishes may reflect.’

‘Whatever?’

‘Yes. That’s the way to do it.’

‘Hello, Col.’

‘It’s not funny, Meg.’

‘What isn’t?’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘She can’t hear me, Col.’

‘Is it you? Is it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Please. Stay.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Don’t turn round. You know what happens when men look back.’

‘The years. The searching.’

‘Colin. This is Meg. Are you all right?’

‘Go away, Meg.’

‘I’m still here, Col. She’ll try to be rid of me. She wants me gone. But she’ll have no luck. Don’t you know who she is? Don’t you remember?’

‘What? Remember what?’

‘It’s her, Col. She’s come to get you. This time.’

‘No.’

‘Yes. But I’ll stop her.’

‘Where are you?’

‘With you, Col. I’m always with you.’

‘Where? Why can’t I see you?’

‘Ah.’

‘I must see you.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re my pearl.’

‘Yes, I’m your pearl.’

‘My pearl to a white pea.’

‘That’s a funny thing to say.’

‘But you are. Let me across.’

‘Colin. Meg here. Look round. Look at me. Look now. I’m telling you. Now.’

‘She’s hurting, Col. She’s hurting me. It hurts. Don’t let her. It hurts. Don’t look. It hurts. Col. The others. They’re coming.’

His head was blistered in noise, swamped by calling, around him, in him. He fell into the sound of cranes.

Colin hit the asphalt at the bottom of the steps and lay. He looked back. Meg was at the other dish, turned towards him. She came down and stood over him.

‘You’re only winded.’

He grabbed for air.

‘Now what was all that about?’ said Meg.

‘I’ve found her. She spoke.’

‘I bet she did. Let’s check, then. Sailor’s grip.’ Meg gave a lift to Colin and he pulled himself up to sit on a step. Meg sat by him, holding a recorder. She pressed the playback.

‘What are you going to do with the dishes you’re making? Play around with them. Listen. Listen to what? Whatever the dishes may reflect. Whatever? Yes. That’s the way to do it. It’s not funny, Meg. What isn’t? Stop it. Stop what? Is it you? Is it? Please. Stay. The years. The searching. Colin. This is Meg. Are you all right? Go away, Meg. What? Remember what? No. Where are you? Where? Why can’t I see you? I must see you. You’re my pearl. My pearl to a white pea. But you are. Let me across. Colin. Meg here. Look round. Look at me. Look now. I’m telling you. Now.’

‘That’s all.’ Meg switched off.

Colin put his hand out and she took it.

‘Oh, my God.’

Meg was silent.

‘My God.’

His grip crushed, but she did not flinch.

‘I am mad. I am mad. Aren’t I?’

‘You are not mad,’ she said. ‘Yet.’

‘I heard her.’

‘Of course you heard her. What did she say?’

‘She’s with me. Always. Always will be. She doesn’t like you. Says you’ve come to get me. She’ll stop you. What am I going to do?’

‘Don’t panic. You’ll live. But you’re not fit to be on a bike. Sit quiet. We’ll see you home.’

He held Meg’s hand; she looked at the telescope. It tracked the quasar, and the wind played.

‘Come up, love.’

He walked with her; he still held; out past the car park. There was a car waiting.

‘Now then, our Colin,’ said Bert. ‘Are you all right? Let’s be having you.’

Then he came to the age where he could not run. Pain sat in his knee, so that he stumbled, and in his arm, so that his spear did not hit. Pain sat in his back, so that he could not lift the kill and fetch it home, nor bring wood from far, so that his fire was small. He preyed upon the weak and gained no strength. He took the deer big-bellied, ripped out the fawn, leaving the hind to crows. Wolf and raven followed him. He took the farrow and fled the sow; until there was only fox to hunt. He ate nothing that drew its spirit from the cave, and his own spirit dwindled unfed. He set traps for hare.

He knew how this had been before, and the old man had fetched meat that had no song. But the old man had taught him to hunt and kill, so that he came to know the way of the beasts, and after he had taken the old man to the nooks of the dead he had stayed. The old man had taught him to free the spirits from the rock, to dance and sing and dream. Now there was no one to be taught. And no woman came.

‘I found my love in the month of June.

Risselty-rosselty, now, now, now.

I carried her home in a silver spoon.

Risselty-rosselty, hey bombossity,

Knickerty-knackerty,

Now, now, now.’

At the quarry, Colin adjusted his dishes on their mountings.

‘I lost my love in the dark of the moon.

Risselty-rosselty, now, now, now.

If she came back it would not be soon.

Risselty-rosselty, hey donny-dossity,

Knickerty-knackerty, rustical quality,

Willow tree wallowty

Now, now, now.’

He attached the focus rings.

‘There’s bread and cheese upon the shelf,

Risselty-rosselty, now, now, now.

If you want any more you can sing it yourself.

Risselty-rosselty, hey bombossity,

Knickerty-knackerty, rustical quality,

Willow tree wallowty, hey donny-dossity,

Risselty-rosselty

Now, now, now.’

Colin brought a chair and sat facing in. He put his mouth at the focus. ‘Hello, I’m here. Hello. Hello.’

It hurt to turn the stick between his palms to blow a fire heap. It hurt to follow his shoulder and to twist his head through the hill along the seam of grit. It hurt to cut the veil to set the spirits free. His hand on the blade lost its grace, and it hurt to make a beast true. Yet if he did not make it true the spirit would not be true. Beasts would go into the world unmade. Wolves would feed until there were no more, and then wolves and all would pass because they had eaten life rough-hewn. The Stone Spirit and the Bull would see that the land was wrong and dead, and there would be no eagles sent to feed the stars; the sun would not turn from death, and there would be only wanderers and the moon and Crane flying in night.

There had to be a woman that he could hold, to grow a child that he could teach, to stop the dark. But where she was he could not dream.

He climbed down into the great cave, beneath the bulls and above the shining waters, seeing nothing outside the glimmer in which he hung. He came to the Stone and sat a while, moving his thought. Then he danced and sang. He became the sounds, and was with the voices of the old, and the voices of the old were with him. His step crushed, and under him rose light, which lifted into him and flowed from bone to bone along his spine and every rib, gleamed at his fingers, filled his skull, broke through his eyes, and brought pictures to his tongue.

The light threw a shaft across the wall, and he saw a way he did not know. He followed, turning to fit the crack. The waters were near. He stretched. He touched a nipple, hard in the rock.

Colin pressed the bell.

Meg opened the door. ‘Hello, stranger. Come in.’ She led the way to the library and curled up on the chaise longue. Colin stood by the window, looking towards Beeston. ‘I got your letter,’ she said.

‘I hope it didn’t cause offence,’ said Colin.

‘Was it meant to?’

‘No. I wanted to thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘Taking me seriously. And to say that I don’t need to waste any more of your time.’

‘So why are you here?’

‘Because you’re kind—’

‘Bullshit.’

‘—and a letter isn’t the right way to say goodbye.’

‘I don’t say goodbye.’

‘There’s nothing wrong now,’ said Colin. ‘I was a mess, and you sorted me out. I’m going back to work. As soon as I’ve seen my doctor.’

‘I can’t sort anyone out, dear heart,’ said Meg. ‘But so long as you’re happy that’s all that counts.’ She picked up a magazine and opened it. ‘Have a nice day.’

‘Yes.’ Colin went to the door. ‘Meg. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He turned the handle.

‘Colin?’

‘Yes?’

‘One thing.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you smash the glass?’

Crow. Crane. Stone. Bone. Moon. Mother. Made. Blade. Bull. Blood.

‘Witch!’

‘Shush, laddie. No need to capslock. You’re all right.’ He sank in the deep leather and she held his hand. ‘What are you so scared of?’

‘You.’

‘That makes sense,’ said Meg.

He had found the woman. She was pressing to be brought. He had to free her spirit so that it could go into the world and come to him. If he cut wrong, she would not be whole, and no child could be made. The blade had to be pure, with no stain, so that it would lift the weight of the moon at its full.

He climbed back and took all the stone that he held in Ludcruck: stone that he had gathered from the torrent beds, stone that the old man had brought when young, and stone from before him; the black stone and the white. He had gone with the old man up to where the Mother lay, and they had sung and danced before her, and the old man had told the stories of the Beginning, so that the Mother would let them take her bone from the land for the getting of life.

But all this had been before, and he saw that the stones too were old now and might not hear the songs that he must sing and the stories that he must tell for the stones to learn the shaping of his hand. If he cut with a blade from tired stone the woman would be tired and her belly dry, without blood.