The Fall of Tartarus (14 page)

Later
I held onto her, loath to let her go, as I felt the drug take hold and drag me
into unconsciousness. In my dreams I was flying through the stratosphere, with
Leah by my side.

When
I came to my senses, perhaps hours later, I was quite alone. I cried out in
despair as it came to me that our tryst had been nothing but a dream. Though
how, I asked myself, could something so traumatic and
memorable
be no
more than hallucination? I struggled into a sitting position, then squirmed
through the tunnel entrance and into the light of the stars.

Leah
was sitting on the branch, her knees drawn up to her chest, watching me with a
sleepy smile on her face. I was aware of my nakedness, of Leah’s, as I knelt on
the branch before her. I was speechless, sick with apprehension and emotions I
had never experienced until then. I reached out, and before I knew it I was
holding her and - an indication of my confusion - sobbing against her shoulder.

She
ran a hand through my hair, then drew back her head to look at me, and wiped
the tears from my cheeks with her fingertips.

‘I
didn’t know . . .’ I began, but couldn’t finish. I wanted to say that I didn’t
know she cared.

Leah
smiled and shook her head. ‘Always liked you, Joe. You just never realised.’

‘But
... but Hulse?’

She
whispered, ‘What about him, Joe?’

She
reached out, took my hand, and drew me back into the dream-sac.

We
were inseparable, after that. Every day from dawn to dusk, and beyond, we spent
in each other’s company. She would call at my house as dawn touched the sky,
and my mother would find me and say, with a knowing pleased smile, ‘Your little
friend’s here, Joe.’

We
made love, but mostly we talked. I got to know her, and her me. My infatuation
with her matured as I came to understand the person that Leah was; I grew to
love her, to love her faults and inconsistencies as well as her attributes, her
humour and consideration.

I
once asked her about Hulse.

‘What
did you see in him, Leah? Why did you like him?’

‘Was
silly and stupid and vain,’ she replied with her usual lazy honesty. ‘He was
older and strong and he showed an interest in me, and he was the first, and . .
. oh, just wanted to be seen with him.’ She smiled at me. ‘Then, came to see
what he was really like, how cruel he was. Then you paid him back, made him
seem just
this
big—’ she pressed together her thumb and forefinger. ‘And
it wasn’t, like,
can’t
be seen with him now - it was just,
don’t
want anything more to do with this creep.’

During
that first magical week, I forever expected Hulse to show himself, to disrupt
our idyll with threats of violence, or, worse, with violence itself. But he
stayed away, and the six of us continued as if the incident beside the lake had
never happened. We spent the mornings in the tree, playing games and talking
and laughing, and then, with silent consent, we drifted away two by two and
made love during the long, hot afternoons. Evenings, we met again and ate
packed meals as the sun set and the moons sailed over the lake. We must have
gone for walks from time to time, or swam in the lake, but if so I cannot recall
these occasions. I remember only the hollow-tree, and the dream-sac, and Leah’s
gentle, lazy laughter as we joked and traded secrets.

Hulse’s
return to the fold was neither as dramatic or threatening as I had feared. We
were gathered on the platform one quiet evening, watching the sun go down, when
sounds echoing up through the tree indicated company. All eyes were turned to
the crevice as Hulse, showing not the slightest sign of embarrassment or
injured pride, emerged bearing bottles of wine.

I
should have guessed that someone with Hulse’s vanity would have ulterior
motives in rejoining our group. After depositing the wine, he turned to the
crevice and held out his hand. From the trunk emerged a girl - no, a woman -
several years our senior. She wore a long dress quite unsuited to the
conditions, cosmetics in the latest style, and a smile that was as insincere as
it was patronising. Hulse introduced her as Susanna, opened the wine and
offered a toast. ‘To old friendships,’ he said. ‘May they continue for ever.’

We
accommodated the reprobate in our group, made his superior girlfriend as
welcome as we were able, and drank until the stars came out. Hulse was affable
to me, as if our altercation was forgotten, and neutrally polite to Leah. She
regarded him through slitted eyes and, though pleasant enough in his company,
confided to me in private that she would never trust him until his last breath.

The
following weeks passed in pleasant days spent in the tree or enjoying barbecues
beside the lake. I never spoke with Hulse about his lie concerning the dare,
and he for his part never stooped to his old barbs or bullying tactics. While I
could not claim that we became friends, I was willing to forget old enmities,
and we got along reasonably well. Even Susanna, the daughter of a rich
businessman from Baudelaire, became one of the group. She exchanged her dress
for more suitable clothing, dispensed with make-up and joined in with our
juvenile games and jokes. Hulse seemed devoted to her; they too made their
excuses, disappeared in the afternoon. I never had any reason to suspect that
he was merely using her to his own ends.

There
was a solar flare that summer, a great gout of flame that exploded from the
bloated sun and illuminated the sky for a full week. We took to camping on the
platform at night, watching the spectacular gold and magenta aurora flicker
from horizon to horizon. For a month after the flare the temperature climbed
day by day; the land was parched and seared, and the authorities declared
Mallarme province a total fire ban area. We sunbathed beside the lake and went
without our barbecues.

Later
that summer Leah and I spent long days alone together, wandering through the
hills, staying at rest-houses and hostels - playing, in other words, at being
grown up. We spent evenings alone in the high meadows, watching the tiny shapes
of the flying Messengers as they went about their business. It seemed
inconceivable that the summer might end. I knew that in a month we would return
to our respective schools, but a month was a long time, and anyway there would
be all the years in the future that we would be able spend together. I was
young, and in love, and it was entirely forgivable that I should give no
thought to the possibility that we might ever be parted.

Fifty
years . . .

As
I sat with my back against the rearing hollow-tree, staring out across the
sun-drenched lake, it seemed impossible that half a century had elapsed since
those innocent children played and loved in the branches high above. If I
listened hard enough, I convinced myself that I could hear their laughter, far
away.

Tragedy,
in retrospect, always seems so terribly arbitrary and accidental - the
culminating consequence of so many smaller incidents and occurrences that we
are as powerless to prevent at the time as we are after the event. How often
down the years had I looked back and tried to discern, in vain, some obvious
signal or pointer as to what was about to happen?

The
prelude to the finale came when Leah asked me about my encounter with Zur-zellian.
We lay side by side on our stomachs, our chins hooked over the lips of the
fungus, and stared down at the lake. The others had not yet arrived.

Leah
lodged her chin on her fist and said, ‘Tell me ‘bout the Zillion again, Joe.’

I
laughed and recounted the meeting. I must have gone over the events of the day
a hundred times with her. She seemed fascinated with the story, and when I said
as much she just gave the laziest of her smiles and drawled, ‘Might never have
come to love you, Joe, but for the alien.’

She
quizzed me about its coloration, the sound of its voice. She asked me what it
had said, and seemed dissatisfied that I had not thought to ask it more about
itself.

I
dropped a twig over the edge, watched it fall for ages before hitting the water
and creating an ever widening concentric ripple.

‘Look,’
I said at last, having made my decision, ‘why don’t we go over to the island
and I’ll introduce you to Zur-zellian.’

She
lifted her face from her fist and stared at me. ‘You would?’

‘Why
not? He’s an old friend, after all. Zur-zellian, meet Miss Leah Reverdy. Leah,
meet Mr Zur-zellian, the resident on the island for two hundred years.’

She
laughed. ‘We can go today? This afternoon?’

I
had prepared myself for a lazy day in the tree. ‘How about tomorrow afternoon?’
I suggested. ‘We can pick salafex pods and paddle over, okay?’

She
hugged me. ‘Wonderful,’ she said. ‘Look forward to that.’

The
others arrived, shortly after that. It was Susanna’s last day in Verlaine, as
she was leaving for Baudelaire with her father in the morning. Hulse brought
wine and a hamper and threw a farewell party. I recall little of the actual
event, except that I felt a vague uneasiness. With Susanna around, Hulse had
been tolerable, even - though I’m loath to admit it - friendly. I wondered what
might happen when Susanna left. Would Hulse still seek our company, try to win
Leah back? As if to confirm my fears, I caught him sneaking glances at her when
he thought I wasn’t looking. Evidently, Leah noticed his attention, too. Later
that afternoon, she pulled me to my feet in front of Hulse and suggested out
loud that I take her to a dream-sac.

The
following afternoon Leah called for me and we walked hand in hand to the lake.
I climbed a salafex tree and threw two great seed pods down to her. We stripped
to our shorts and kicked off our shoes, then waded into the water, clutching
the pods which we used as floats. Now that the time had come for Leah to meet
the alien, I could sense that she was as apprehensive as she was excited. Even I
felt a tingle of nervousness as we set off from the shore and swam leisurely in
the direction of the island.

With
the rise in temperature since the solar flare, the water of the lake had
warmed. With the seed pod to keep me afloat, this crossing was a luxury
compared to the last. We took our time and arrived at the island within fifteen
minutes. I held Leah’s hand as we stood on the beach, staring up at the grassy
knoll as if expecting the alien to appear at any second. Exhibiting a bravery I
would not have felt if I were alone, I squeezed Leah’s hand and led her up the
beach to the centre of the island. The grass was tinder-dry and yellowed,
rustling against our feet as we walked up the knoll.

Perhaps
alerted by the sound of our footsteps, the alien appeared at the entrance to
his subterranean lair - a circular hollow for all the world like a rabbit
burrow, though larger. At the sight of his broad, green face in the shadows,
his golden eyes staring out like beacons, Leah started and jumped back,
clutching my hand. I reassured her that it was okay, and waved in greeting to
Zur-zellian.

He
emerged from the burrow, his arm outstretched in a repeat of the greeting we
had exchanged weeks before. We sat down, Leah kneeling cautiously by my side,
the alien bending into his familiar, wide-kneed crouch.

I
made the introduction. ‘This is Leah,’ I said, ‘my friend.’

Hesitantly,
she reached out and touched fingertips with the alien. ‘Welcome to my island,
Leah,’ he said in his slow, bubbling voice.

‘Joe
. . . Joe told me about meeting you,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Wanted to meet you,
ask you questions, if you don’t mind?’

He
turned his hand in a gesture that might have indicated acceptance. ‘I will
answer what I can.’

Leah
turned to me and smiled.

She
shrugged and stared wide-eyed at the alien. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘where to begin . .
. ?’ She paused, then spoke with exaggerated care, pronouncing each word
separately. ‘Of course: where do you come from, which planet?’

Zur-zellian
blinked. ‘From Zanthar, the small planet of a small sun beyond the star cluster
you humans know as the Nilakantha Stardrift.’

‘Joe
said you’ve been here two hundred years,’ she went on. ‘But why Tartarus? Why
did you come here?’

‘Because
... I had to go somewhere. Tartarus was quiet, secluded. At that time, there
was no community beside the lake. I needed to be alone to meditate, and the
island was perfect.’

‘Meditate
. . .’ Leah said, savouring the word. ‘Are you a philosopher?’

The
alien blinked. ‘I am what humans would call a monk.’

Leah
turned to me and made an exaggerated, drop-jawed expression of surprise. She
returned her attention to Zur-zellian. ‘A monk? Do you believe in a God?’ We
had discussed this between ourselves over the weeks, usually after making love
in the evenings and staring up at the stars. Leah had confidently proclaimed
herself an atheist, and I, having never really given the matter much thought,
agreed that I was, too.

The
alien replied, ‘I believe in gods, in many gods. Over the years I have come to
know them.’

‘You
have?’ Leah goggled. ‘You came to Tartarus to meet the gods?’