The Adjacent (50 page)

‘He said he will make her disappear in some way.’

‘Does that bother you? He’s not going to run away with her.’

‘I don’t think so. But yes, I’m not sure why, but it does make me nervous I might lose her.’

‘But he’s an illusionist, isn’t he? Nothing he does is real. That’s the way magicians work.’

‘Yes, I suppose.’

I was still keeping a watch on the door, far away beyond the perimeter of the park, but it remained closed. I was looking covertly, but while I sat there with Gerred Huun I was thinking that already it was more from habit than from any real need to keep watch. I was defending Ruddebet, accounting for the relationship with the magician, almost accepting as fact what in reality I had never been able to understand. Perhaps until now. I had been alone too long, my quest to find Tomak was too one-sided. I had never confided in anyone before, but now, when the chance arose, I found that the role had unexpectedly reversed and Ruddebet’s father was confiding in me about his own fears. It strengthened me, gave me a distance from myself.

‘Maybe they are merely rehearsing, as you’ve been told,’ I said. ‘You said he showed you the apparatus once.’

‘Yes. But you’ve seen them together. You know how they behave. He is obviously infatuated with her.’

‘And she with him. That wouldn’t change the fact that they are working together. Is he paying her what he promised, when it began?’

‘Ruddebet told me he was.’

‘Magicians normally rehearse in secret, don’t they?’

Later we parted, suddenly rather awkward with each other, as if we had opened up too much, in a non-Prachoit way. We had both exposed something of our inner fears, Gerred Huun more than I, but our meeting was a revelation to us both. I saw Tomak, or Thom, differently, understood Ruddebet more, even realized that my own behaviour had been extreme and unwarranted. I was ashamed of myself. I said none of this to Gerred, as I now knew him, but perhaps
he had noticed a change in me, even during the time we were sitting on that shady hill looking down at the door, locked against us.

For me it was closure, a freeing from my own compulsive behaviour. I returned to my car, drove straight home.

That evening I made enquiries of the airfield where my plane was impounded, trying to find out what I was required to do for the aircraft to be released, how long it would be before I could fly again.

A FEW DAYS LATER GERRED HUUN MAILED ME A TICKET FOR A
show at
Il-Palazz.
Thom the Thaumaturge had succeeded in obtaining a booking. A programme of magic was announced, to commence the following weekend.

Such was the transformation in my feelings that when I opened the envelope and saw what was inside I wondered briefly if I should bother to visit the show at all. Gerred enclosed a publicity handbill describing in vague but enthusiastic terms the marvels that were about to be performed.

Gerred had also written a note to me:
I shall be going to every performance during the week, but I thought you would like a ticket to the final show.

I was to spend much of the week of the performances trying to establish the condition of my impounded aircraft, in particular finding out if it was still airworthy, or at least might be considered so. It had performed perfectly on the flight out, but for most of a year it had been lying unused. By now it would require a thorough technical check-up. It was still under official seal, meaning I was not allowed to go to the hangar where it was being kept.

A new difficulty had arisen without my knowledge, while I was obsessing over the man I thought was Tomak. Because of what was perceived to be my lack of interest in the plane, some bureaucrat in the Seigniory had ruled that because it appeared to be a warplane, albeit of an unidentifiable type, it was in breach of the island’s neutrality and must therefore be seized. In practical terms, it meant that the plane was still in the same hangar, but was now buried under one more layer of obstructive officialdom. I had to prove that the aircraft was properly mine. Once I had done so I would then have to attend a formal neutrality hearing in court to explain what I was doing bringing a warplane into Prachoit airspace.

The only documents I had with me were my original written orders for the flight – after much argument these proved to be sufficient to establish the fact the plane was properly mine, but the neutrality hearing still hung over me.

However, matters started to improve in small ways. Unexpectedly, the people at the airfield forwarded to me a letter from another seigniorial department confirming that the plane had been inspected and was judged to be airworthy. That seemed positive at first, but when I looked more closely I saw that the letter was dated not long after I arrived on the island. I knew I should need a more up-to-date airworthiness certificate before I would be allowed to take off. The letter gave me the contact details for a second official inspection, so I set that in train immediately. The plane was almost new, and apart from early proving flights at the factory the only flight undertaken by the aircraft was my own long one to Prachous. I had made sure after I landed that the lubricants, cooling and hydraulic fluids were all drained, so these would have to be replaced, and the engine and the control surfaces would need to be inspected.

In preparation, I requested that the engine should be serviced and tested, and that the main fuel tanks as well as the auxiliaries should be filled with 100-octane aviation spirit.

I was concerned that the aircraft had been declared a warplane. Although basically a fighter design, the plane was essentially a long-range high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft so it had no armaments. There was, though, a valuable camera positioned in its belly. The camera was of no use to me but I did not want to be responsible for it if someone removed it. I had to assume that in the absence of any guns it was the powerful camera that made the officials realize it was a warplane.

I had let several months drift by without paying too much attention to the problem of my plane, but all that was changing quickly. I suddenly wanted to leave Prachous as soon as possible. I had convinced myself that the man I saw with Ruddebet was not Tomak. The island held nothing more for me and it was time to leave. I had lived the unnervingly calm and comfortable Prachoit life long enough. I had no idea if the war that drove me and Tomak apart was even still going on, but I wanted to return home.

While I made the practical preparations to take possession of my plane once again, I also started to look for someone who could move into my house, perhaps take over my car, keep the garden. I also had to dispose of the personal possessions I would not be able to take
with me. Gradually, I was reducing my involvement in Prachoit life.

There was still the evening at the theatre, a performance of stage magic by the man who looked so uncannily like Tomak. I was curious about this, more so as the week went by. I was hearing that the show was excellent, the illusionist performing inexplicable marvels with great skill. It’s possible that if Gerred Huun had not sent me the ticket I might have left Beathurn without going to the theatre, but that was not how things turned out. I thought it would be one last chance to watch the man whose existence had taunted me for so long, and who had driven me to the brink of a kind of madness. I decided not to make my flight home until after the performance.

THE THEATRE WAS FULL FOR THE SHOW – LIVE MAGIC WAS A
novelty in Beathurn. Because I worked for this theatre I had grown to love it, so I was thrilled to see the number of people thronging the foyer, the bar, the staircases, the corridors. I knew that the ticket sales had enabled the management committee to order replacements for some of the outdated technical equipment still in use, and that the manager was talking about redecorating the auditorium during the months of the quiet season. A pit orchestra had been hired for this show. The auditorium was alive with the audience’s excitement and anticipation when I went in. The band was already tuning up.

After I was seated, Gerred Huun hurried in and took the place next to mine. We greeted each other in a friendly way.

‘I’m pleased you could be here for this, Mellanya,’ he said.

‘Thank you for sending me the ticket.’

‘I think you’ll enjoy the show. I have no doubt seen it too many times this week, but I still enjoy what Ruddebet and the magician are doing. I can’t imagine how he manages those tricks. Every night his act is slightly different, but each time I’m left amazed by it.’

Not long after that the orchestra started the overture, the curtains opened and the stage filled with dancers and singers. I settled down to watch. After the dance routine a comedian opened the show, introducing each of the acts in turn. His jokes were unfunny and loud, and he went on far too long. At one point he tunelessly sang a song. Next to me, Gerred was enjoying himself, laughing noisily at every joke. When a group of singers came on later, he hummed along with the tunes – when an acrobat juggled
plates and knives, Gerred cheered with enthusiasm.

Around us, the rest of the audience appeared to be enjoying the acts every bit as much as Gerred, to judge by the laughter and clapping. I sank low in my seat, waiting for the magician.

He was billed to appear twice: a short act to close the first half of the show, then the finale. The other acts in the first half felt as they were going to run forever. Even though most of the turns were noisy with music or singing or acts of physical exertion, and made attempts to provide a spectacle, I felt uninvolved and started to drift mentally, thinking about how much I wanted to depart from this island, return to my own life.

I was worrying about the flight I intended to take as soon as I could: would the plane still be safe to fly? How would I navigate? How could I obtain an accurate weather forecast before I departed? And what about this neutrality hearing in court? I did not like the sound of that, knowing what the Prachoit authorities could be like about real or imagined breaches of their neutrality. Assuming I could take off without too much trouble or interference, and could make the flight safely, what conditions might I return to if the war was still going on? It frightened me to think like that, but it was now obvious that I could not stay on Prachous much longer. I bitterly regretted the time I had spent, and wasted, searching for Tomak. I also regretted what it had done to me, the way I acted. I felt I had betrayed myself, even that I had betrayed the trusting and loving relationship I once had with Tomak. I realized now that my quest was largely caused by denial: when I heard the news about the army officers and the massacre, I had simply not allowed myself to believe that Tomak was probably among them.

Time to put an end to all this.

Musing, I missed the announcement of Thom the Thaumaturge’s act. He was on the stage almost before I realized it was him. He was heavily made up and was wearing a voluminous costume, brightly coloured and made of shiny material. A bandanna was wound around his head, partly covering one side of his face.

I watched with fascination as he swiftly performed a few card tricks, then brought on a wheeled cabinet with curtained sides. It was possible to see beneath it, and when Thom walked around to the back of the cabinet his body was visible to the audience between the narrow legs of the apparatus. Indeed, he then opened the curtains at the rear, span the cabinet around so that we could see inside, and opened the curtain which was now at the back, revealing the
whole of the interior. He leapt up into the cabinet, crawled through, and stood beside it. With swift movements he then spun the cabinet around again, snatching the curtains closed once more as they went past. The whole cabinet was still rotating as the curtains billowed out from inside and Ruddebet appeared.

She leapt down on to the stage. She was dressed in a costume of glittering sequins, which flashed and shone in the spotlight. She bowed deeply, and ran into the wings while the applause still rang out. Beside me, Gerred was on his feet, clapping his hands above his head.

Thom next performed a few acrobatic tricks while cleverly riding a unicycle. Then Ruddebet returned. This time she was wearing a different costume: a voluminous dress, with flounces and wide sleeves. Thom dragged a large wicker basket to the centre of the stage, and helped Ruddebet insinuate herself inside it. The dress made this difficult, as it billowed up around her, seeming to fill the entire space, but in the end she was contained inside and Thom placed a lid on top. He plunged several long and apparently razor-sharp scimitars into the basket through small apertures at the front and back, and at each side, culminating with a long broadsword, thrust down through the lid. He turned the basket around so that we could see how the blades ran through every part of it. Swiftly he removed each of the swords, throwing them aside with thrilling clattering noises. We were in no doubt of the sturdy manufacture of the blades. As the last one came out, Ruddebet pushed up the lid from inside, and gracefully stepped out on to the stage. Not only was she completely unharmed but she was wearing a totally different dress.

Gerred was on his feet again as she took her bow, and this time many other members of the audience stood up too.

The curtain came down, and now it was the interval.

As soon as I could I left the auditorium. The antiquated cooling system could barely cope with the presence of so many people on a warm evening, and it was a relief to move out to the small balcony at the rear of the building. This overlooked the car park and afforded a glimpse of the sea. Lights were sparkling on the dark ocean. In the town, towards the port, I could see many people out and about, the nightly promenadá, the leisurely stroll through the wide and brightly illuminated boulevards where the restaurants and night clubs were situated. It was another hot night but the sea breeze made it more bearable than staying inside.

I was trying not to see Gerred during the break but he followed
me out. He pushed past the people on the balcony behind me and handed me a glass of cold beer. I was in fact grateful for it and I drank it in two deep draughts. We stood side by side, looking down at the closely parked vehicles below. Gerred was trying to tell me about the variations Thom and Ruddebet had worked on the basket trick during the week: a different dress, flaming torches instead of swords, and so on, and also how horrified he was at first to see his daughter apparently placed in such peril, but how proud of her he had become when he saw the professionalism of the act.