The Testimony of Taliesin Jones (77 page)

By the tim
e
Hoop has coronated Taliesin's foot for the tenth tim
e
the bus is in
Cwmglum and the three boys leave th
e
chewing gum seats and cloudy bus behind
.

'
I f
eel
sick,' Taliesin
says.

'
T hat's called a high,' Hoop The Lingo-Knowing
Smoke Blower sa
ys.
Taliesin sits on the
pavement and lets himself float back down by breathing the cold air deeply. I
am here not there
.

The
y
set off up the hill towards the bungalow
.
The steep pitch of
Billy Evans' roof reminds Taliesin of the lean of the
g
ravestones in the
chapel yard. It is made from slate and looks almost too heavy for the walls,
like an outsized hat cover
ing
a small thin head
.
A single magpie rests on the elderberry tree in front of
the bungalow and then flies across the ro
of,
over the smokeless chimney.

'Pinch me,' Hoop demands
.
'Morning Mr Magpie, how's your wife?' he
adds
.
He
waits to see if a second Magpie will join the single bird and cancel the sorrow
that the solitary bird prophesies, but no other bird comes.

'That's bad luck,' he says. Taliesin looks for movement
through the wine-dark windows of the house and can see a faint light coming
'
from one of the rooms
towards the back. This half light and lack of life within the house is eerie.
It is stiller than it should be. The silence is sly.

'He could be out,' Taliesin says
.

They
ring the bell and wait. They ring again and look at each other. Luc says he can
hear voices and he presses an ear
t
o
th
e
l
etter fla
p. Th
e
d
oor o
pens wh
en
h
e
l
eans o
n
it.
A
s
th
ey
m
ove i
nto th
e
h
ouse t
hey
ca
n h
ear
th
at
th
e vo
ices
a
re
woo
dy, m
ale voices
.
T
hey m
ove o
n int
o
th
e o
pen l
ounge a
nd
t
he v
oices
b
ecome
l
ouder a
nd r
ecognizable a
r
adio vo
ices. B
illy's s
moking
a
nd pr
aying c
hair h
as
it
s c
ushions pu
ffed
up
a
nd th
e
tr
avelling
ru
g fo
lded n
eatly over
it
s
h
ead
r
est.
In
t
he kit
chen
th
ere a
re
so
me un
washed
p
ans i
n th
e si
nk
a
nd
a tea
b
ag
bl
ocks
th
e
plu
g
.
T
he v
oices
d
iscuss w
hy
c
rime
is o
n th
e
in
crease
.
A
t
th
e o
pposite
e
nd
o
f th
e
l
ounge,
a d
oor
i
s
h
alf o
pen
a
nd
a
li
ght
i
s on in
th
e
r
oom.
Th
ey
w
alk
to
wards
th
e
li
ght,
t
reading
qu
iet as
b
urglars.

'B
illy?'
T
aliesin whispe
rs
.

Thr
ough
t
he gap
i
n t
he d
oor
T
aliesin ca
n
see a figure
l
ying s
till
o
n
t
he b
ed
li
ke a
Ru
ssian
p
resident
l
ying in state
.
H
e
i
s
full
y
dr
essed, as if goi
ng to
c
hapel or a w
edding, wi
th p
olished s
hoes
a
nd
a w
ilting flo
wer
in the butt
on
h
ole.
Th
e
h
ands a
re l
ightly
cl
asped o
n
a
bl
ack
b
ook
whi
ch
b
alances
up
on
th
e s
mall m
ound of
hi
s s
tomach. Th
e
hi
gh
m
attress o
f th
e
b
ed c
reates
a ca
tafalque f
or
th
e
b
ody,
raisin
g
i
t
u
p
h
igh.
E
ven
in th
is sa
llow l
ight
th
e
p
allor o
f t
he
fac
e
is
a
bl
oodless
blu
e
.

Ta
liesin
is
n
o
di
fferent fro
m
o
ther bo
ys
of hi
s age,
h
e
h
as see
n
sco
res
o
f d
ead peo
ple: m
en w
ith arr
ows i
n th
eir
b
acks a
nd h
oles i
n th
eir
h
eads,
mut
ilated
di
saster v
ictims b
eing p
ut int
o
b
ags, w
omen b
eing
murd
ered
in
s
howers. Th
e
tel
evision
h
as
di
splayed a
ri
ch
a
ssortment
of d
ead
.
Like oth
er
b
oys
h
e
h
as s
imulated d
eath
in B
est
Man
's
Fall
,
killed Indi
ans a
nd
s
hot C
owboys.
H
e
h
as
r
ead a
bout d
eath,
imagin
ed
d
eath a
nd f
eigned
d
eath.
Bu
t
r
eal
D
eath
h
as a
lways been
s
omething th
at
h
appens
t
o
p
eople
h
e
d
oesn't k
now
.
H
e's
not
see
n
a rea
l d
ead
bod
y,
until no
w.

Th
e
bo
ys ca
n
see t
hat th
e
bod
y
i
s
a d
ead
one and th
ey
k
eep
a
res
pectful
di
stance.
Th
e
b
ed
i
s
full
y
made
,
th
e
h
ands a
re unn
aturally s
till,
t
here
is
no
s
low
r
ise
of th
e c
hest.
T
hey kn
ow
th
at
it i
s
d
ead a
nd
ye
t
s
till the
y
w
ait,
half
ex
pecting
th
e bo
dy to m
ove a
nd say som
ething
to th
em
and m
ake
f
ools o
f th
eir eyes.
F
or so
me tim
e a
n
i
nstinctive r
everence
k
eeps
th
em fro
m t
aking a
cl
oser
look
.
Th
e
bod
y
i
s some
how m
ore elo
qu
ent a
nd
w
ise than any liv
ing
thin
g;
it humbl
es
th
em
t
o
th
e so
les
o
f th
eir
f
eet.
When Lu
c s
peaks hi
s voice
i
s s
hockingly
vi
brant
.

'
What's
t
hat
s
mell?' he
as
ks.

Th
ere is a s
weet perfume
; a
l
ow a
nd dull
o
dour wh
ich
i
s
n
either
r
epulsive
nor attr
active
.
It sm
ells
l
ike so
mething
o
n th
e
turn
,
it
's
a v
ery
livin
g
sm
ell.
Thi
s s
mell i
s
probably wh
at t
hey
ca
ll th
e s
mell of d
eath,
T
aliesin
think
s
.
H
e sees
th
e hands.
H
e wa
lks tow
ards
the b
ody
n
ow,
br
eaking
i
ts s
pell.
T
here
wi
ll b
e
n
o
n
eed
t
o
put
a
mirror
over
th
e mo
uth t
o see if t
he
faintes
t br
eath ca
n steam
i
t up
,
and th
ere wo
n't b
e a
pul
se i
n th
e b
lue h
and.
The
s
mell
a
nd th
e dea
d
ca
lm
a
re
a
ll
t
he p
ostmortem
n
eeded.
But th
ere
i
s
on
e
l
ast
r
ite
to p
erform.
H
e
t
ake
s
th
e
h
and,
rec
oiling s
lightly fr
om
it
s o
therness -it i
sn't
li
ving a
t
a
ll; it ha
s
n
o wa
rmth
a
nd n
o
purp
ose.
It i
s s
hocking t
o
r
emember
th
at
thi
s
h
and
on
ce e
nhanced lif
e.
H
e
h
olds
th
e co
ld thing th
ere a
nd pin
ches
th
e s
kin
o
n th
e
b
ack of
th
e
h
and.
Th
e
Skin Cl
ock s
tays pin
ched, a
ll it
s
el
asticity gone
. I
t is
l
ate
in the lif
e.
It h
as s
topped.