fugitive – three good words

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 5

Ariane found Father Claireborne seated in the kitchen with a glass and a pitcher of cool water, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. John was right, humid as it was getting now, rain would pour soon, hopefully very soon. All tracks would run cold then. Ariane still felt that would be a good thing. Sitting down across of the Father, she asked all the same.

‘Father?’

‘Yes, Ariane, is something the matter?’ he asked, drinking more water.

‘When I came back from the market with Katie just now, we met Officer Turlington.’

‘Mr. Turlington?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked behind her. ‘What was he doing on the Hunting Trail?’

‘He was with a search party,’ Ariane said, still looking at the Father who now listened with interest. ‘He said that there is a convict on the loose, and that he is dangerous.’

‘And you think he has come here?’ Father Turlington asked, frowning.

‘What?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now sitting down next to her daughter. ‘Would such a man dare?’

‘Those who once defy the laws of man rarely find self-restraint when necessitated to break them again.’

‘What do you mean, Father?’ Ariane asked, suddenly feeling she had betrayed more than she wanted. She could already see that feral body hanging from the gallows, grunting and growling until it was still.

‘I have a hard time believing our mischievous neighbours would go so far as to break into this house, especially if they know it so well,’ Father Claireborne said, smiling a little. ‘It made little sense to me, you see, why they should break the window. Theft of pastries and boiled sweets, I can understand, but this now seemed too crafty. If you say there is a criminal on the loose, hounded by Officer Turlington and his men, it could very well be the man found this house peaceful enough to break in and take what nourishment he needed.’

‘Are you certain, Father?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now visibly concerned.

‘I am sure he cannot stop at a market-booth for victuals,’ Father answered, drinking from his glass once more.

‘So there could be a dangerous criminal in the house and we do not know it?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned, now clearly anxious. ‘Ariane, I do not want you to leave this room, no, even leave my side until we know that he is captured.’

‘Ah, Mrs. Bellamy, I would not go that far to detain the young for a sinner’s sake,’ Father Clariborne smiled. ‘I am certain the man has already disappeared, escaped to a safer hiding place where he would not be so soon detected.’

‘But if he’s dangerous, Father,’ Mrs Bellamy said gravely. ‘I would not want my daughter wandering down the Hunting Trail with some fiend escaped from the gallows at her heel.’

‘Mrs. Bellamy, you sound quite gothic,’ Father Claireborne smiled, but it did not last long. ‘It may not be so wrong to notify the Commission, however. We could go together and report as one. They will quite likely return and search the house, and I am sure the moment the convict sees the red jackets, he will run as fast as his life is dear to him.’

In less than fifteen minutes, Father Claireborne, Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane were all three walking towards the officer’s station, the chaplain nodding benevolently at every face he knew and saw. In the station, sand-stoned and cool compared to the humid heat of the empty court before it, the report was made, and a small troop of guards dispatched to search the chaplain’s house, all seven men armed with pistols and rifles and looking very grim.

Ariane said nothing and watched, feeling she had signed the death sentence for the man-thing. It had not looked dangerous. Ferocious yes, and very obviously starved, but not something one would hang by a rope and wait till it twitched and turned to death. And yet she had to wait until the inspection was done, furthered by Officer Turlington, who by some form of communication had found out that Father Claireborne’s house was to be searched, and thus came with his dangerous dogs and rifled men. Officer Turlington had them search the house again, from the rafters to the cellars, but nothing was found, though the dogs barked as if they had seen the very devil.

An hour had passed by the time Officer Turlington emerged from the house. Half the neighbourhood had come to see, but it was all for naught. Officer Turlington looked furious, as if not finding this man was a personal insult, though he was civil to Father Claireborne as always.

‘And who is this man?’ the Father asked after Officer Turlington had given his negative report.

‘Someone we have been wanting to capture for some time. Finally, by the help of a deserter, we could secure him, but alas –’ Officer Turlington pressed his lips together and tried not to get redder than he already was.

‘A deserter you say? Is the man a soldier?’

‘Pah!’ the Officer barked bitterly. ‘He’s as much a soldier as a devil is a saint, Father.’

‘What is he then?’

‘A pirate, sir, and one of the worst these waters have seen for the past twenty years.’

‘A pirate?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned. ‘Why not say a murderer and be done with it?’

‘That is the point, Mrs. Bellamy,’ Officer Turlington said grimly, ‘as far as we know, the man has never murdered with his own hand, but his men have done much destruction in the same vein. We cannot stop them from scavenging and torching ships, but since we captured him, all these devilish enterprises have stopped at sea. It is heavenly quiet, but God forbid the man be joined with his men. Then the cobra’s head would be rejoined with the body, and the snake will bite again, slithering out of sight after poisoning half the country!’

Officer Turlington looked ready to burst with rage. Father Claireborne layed a quiet hand on his shoulder and asked him to join him in the house for some fresh cider. Father Claireborne could not affront Mrs. Bellamy with ale yet, she did not approve of drinking alcohol before sundown if it had to be drunk at all. Officer Turlington agreed and the two men proceeded, closely followed by Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane, who did not like to stay in the small court, surrounded by all those wild-looking men of the search party. Some were giving her looks she didn’t like, and so was glad to know herself on the other side of the closed house door.

Not long after, Tenny walked into the kitchen asking if it was all right now to hang the linens, there was still a good deal of sun before the weather broke. Ariane was sent out to help the washing woman, which she did in silence, listening to Tenny talk about what it meant to have a criminal in these parts, and how dangerous such men were, and now it was said it was a pirate, scavenging fiends that would burn in hell for all eternity, murderers and oath-breakers in whose presence no living soul was safe.

Ariane listened and helped spread the white sheets across the lines, thinking of how the man-thing had eaten out of her hand like a starved animal. She tried to think how that could command men to an extent that made Officer Turlington look as if he would explode. She could not see it. He was still hardly human to her, more a thing and beast than anything with reason, even though he stood upright and had the build of a grown man. He maybe had the look and the limbs, but definitely not the smell nor the articulation, she had never seen anything so dirty.

With Mrs. Bellamy’s Christian ways of cleanliness and the fact that Father Claireborne adhered to them without question, Ariane had no patience with dirt either, and could not tolerate anything that would smudge her dress or linens, which made her monthly indisposition quite a trial where a catastrophe always seemed close at hand. That she should think of such things now, but with the white sheets, wide as sails before her, billowing in the usual sea-breeze coming up from the near coast, she could only think of those bright red stains she abhorred, as they betrayed not only carelessness, but something about her Ariane could as yet not fully accept, though it was a part of her these six years. She did not know why it happened, and saw it as due punishment after the Fall, for it was Eve who ate the first fruit and thus her descendants would be constantly reminded of her trespassing, for why else would God allow such a thing to take place at such pagan times, always when the moon waxed and her mood plummeted… no, she should rather think of something else.

Right then Ariane’s eyes fell on her own dress, where she saw those stains made by the tomato juice that had spilled and sprayed onto the white skirts, which she had tried her best to clean out, but it would not do without some soap and she would not change again, her mother never liked that. They were mere shadows now, and only visible to the eye who knew they were there, but she knew, and so saw them clearly. They were further reminders of what was out there, running away from Officer Turlington and his search party with their rifles and horrible dogs. How long would he survive? She could not imagine that so many men would not finally succeed in finding one who had to ambush innocent girls for tomatoes.

Well, she would see. Officer Turlington would hardly curtail his triumph once the man, if he was one, was recaptured. And then he would be hanged at the gallows, the dead body swaying in the ocean breeze. Ariane picked up the next linen and spread it across the line, hardly hearing what else Tenny was saying. Looking at the pure white of the cloth, she thought of those faded eyes that seemed to have no colour and wondered for a moment if the man-thing was maybe blind. But for something blind he moved very fast, and she did not think blind eyes could issue commands to be silent. It was a command, there was nothing pleading, nothing soft in that first look, his dirty finger pressed against grimy lips. How dirty he was, the complete opposite to this dream of white. Ariane traced a hand across the white plane, her hand and arm starkly dark against it, every finger clearly seen. He did not curl from her hand as sometimes happened on market days, he did not hesitate to touch, but feral as he was, he probably hardly saw her, just grabbed what held the food he wanted and ate as an animal for he was hungry like one.

Stepping away, Ariane picked up the next linen and continued her work, trying her best to listen to Tenny, but hardly finding patience for what the washing woman was saying, it was all about terrible deeds, murderous pirates, and other horrors Ariane didn’t want to think of. She looked to the sky, saw the silver in the white clouds tumbling to mountains above, and thought of the few hours that were left before the heavens opened and let out all the rain. With the sun so hot, and the air so sticky, the sheets would have dried to an untainted white until then. Everyone would rush inside once the rain poured, everyone except the man-thing running away from Officer Turlington and his awful men and dogs. Hopefully, when the rain finally fell, it would not only sweep away the tracks, but cover the feral creature and wash away all its dirt as well.

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 2

tomato (1) Neither Ariane nor Katie moved until the group of men was well out of sight and sound. They did not release each other’s hands until Ariane saw she dropped one of the tomatoes. She whispered ‘Oh no’, she knew how much her mother disliked wasting food, and now the red fruit lay bruised on the gravelly ground. She crouched down quickly to pick it up, ants could be quick on the Hunting Trail.

As she bent down to pick the fallen fruit, Ariane gazed into the surrounding greenery in passing and saw two eyes. They were looking back at her. Ariane stopped, startled. She opened her mouth to speak, but the eyes became a face with a finger pressed against its lips. The eyes did not ask, they commanded silence. The insistence was so clear, it was equal to Father Clairborne’s piercing looks when he turned to the whisperers in the pews. Ariane did as she was told. She picked up the fallen tomato and straightened, Katie was already tugging on her arm to walk on. Ariane couldn’t help a last look over her shoulder as they walked. ‘What is it?’ Katie asked impatiently. ‘Are they coming back?’ Ariane shook her head, ‘No, I was just making sure I didn’t lose more, you know how Mama always counts’. Katie smiled ruefully, she knew of Mrs Bellamy’s strictness. ‘We should go, Ria,’ she said, tugging at Ariane to hurry. ‘Officer Turlington looked very serious.’ Ariane looked into the greenery once more. There was nothing. She must have seen wrong.

The two girls walked on, quicker than before, even running a little, their smooth calves kicking up the muslin of their white skirts, their young sandal-clad feet quick on the bright trail. They finally reached the chaplain’s house and the pathway to the Freeman’s farm where their ways had to part. Katie did not stop to say good-bye, she said a quick ‘Please tell Father Clairborne I’ll come tomorrow!’ and ran. In a matter of heartbeats, Katie was out of sight, beyond the wooden gate of the Freeman’s farm. Ariane turned to her own destination, her heart still quick in its beat. She must have seen wrong.

There was a small copse she had to pass before she reached the compound’s back gate, only a few feet to walk, but right then those twenty-five steps seemed like miles and miles, lined with greenery on one side as they were, and a picket fence on the other. It was a tall fence, painted white by her own and Father Clairborne’s hands. The Father never shied from using his hands, he saw such work as honouring the Lord on High for giving him such strength and health for so long. The picket fence was a bright contrast to the dark gloom on the other side of the small path, the wildness and green seemingly constrained by an invisible wall from encroaching further.

Ariane hurried to the gate, still holding the broken tomato in her hand, the cord of her woven bag, heavy with fresh vegetables, cutting into her shoulder. Seven, ten, twelve… Ariane began to feel relief, she was about to reach the latch when, with horrible suddenness, something jumped out of the green, grabbed her wrist – and something burst with wetness in her hand. There was no time to scream, her heart skipped several beats. Staring, transfixed, Ariane tried to understand. The wildest, dirtiest man she had ever seen was on his knees before her, eating the fallen tomato out of her hand, not even waiting to release it from her grip, but eating past her fingers like an animal until that was not enough and he pried her fingers open and ate on until the entire fruit is gone.

Ariane just watched, too shocked to move, to even try to stop what was happening. She felt the eerie tickling sensation she always had when one of the Freeman’s dogs licked her hand like her mother detested. She could not laugh now, however. Nor could she remove her hand when she had enough, for she did try, yet every tug was met with a growl or grunt of some kind, the grip on her wrist unrelenting. In those moments of shocked silence, the creature before her seemed more thing than man to Ariane, more beast than human. He had not seen water for days, if not weeks, and smelled accordingly. What was once a shirt was now rags, the pantaloons torn ragged things ripped at the knees showing scarred and bare feet, horribly dirty. She could not see much of the face, what she could see was just dirt and grime, but there was hair, a whole thatch of it, much like a crow’s nest, though crusted with dirt and littered with twigs and leaves and other things she did not care to inspect further.

All this took place in what felt like three claps of a hand. The tomato was eaten in rapid speed and the thing, the man, lunged for her bag full of vegetables. Ariane turned it away, ‘No, you can’t have that,’ and was fixed with feral eyes, bloodshot and wild, almost mad, and for a moment Ariane was certain the thing would bite her. Instead, it grabbed the bag in lightning speed, yanking it off Ariane’s shoulder violently, but Ariane refused to let it go, she could not return home with nothing. There were heartbeats of confusion, and suddenly her arm was grabbed and wrenched behind her back so painfully, Ariane let everything go in a sharp cry of pain. ‘Ariane! Viens!’ came suddenly, blessedly close, from the garden. ‘Don’t idle, child, the Master will not wait all day for his dinner!’

In flash Ariane’s arm was freed. There was movement, quick, and a rustle of greenery. Ariane turned around and saw that the small path was empty of mad, violent creatures, her bag and half its contents scattered on the dusty ground. Right then Mrs. Bellamy opened the gate, holding a carving knife and a plucked chicken. She stood large and matronly at the picket fence, looking sternly at her daughter, ‘Ariane, what is this? Why are the vegetables on the ground?’ ‘I – fell,’ was all Ariane could say and hastily picked up everything, though she was careful to leave one tomato and a carrot, gingerly pushing both into the greenery with her heel. Then she quickly followed her mother past the gate and into the safety of the compound, her breath finally returning when she heard the latch click into place.

Ariane could hardly follow her duties. Cutting and stirring, helping her mother prepare Father Claireborne’s roast chicken dinner, Ariane could only think of the thing-man that was in the green, and what Officer Turlington said, that there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. She thought of how she struggled with the thing, and how she could have been murdered if he was truly that dangerous. It did look mad. Or rather, like someone lost in the forests for so long he knew nothing of language or civilization. Father Clairborne had spoken of such people, poor souls so lost to mankind, they hardly found their way back again once returned to safety. She had only heard grunts and growls from the thing. Standing at the kitchen window as she was, cleaning carrots and cutting tomatoes, Ariane could not help look out towards the herb garden, the picket fence, the gate. She tried to see if anything moved there, but there was nothing, just the usual view, a broad green lawn with a sanded pathway curving through it like a smooth river, and Father Claireborne’s herb garden at the far end, with the orange and lemon trees at the back.

It was a quiet compound, peaceful, it was what Ariane knew as her home. And yet, looking out, it no longer exuded peace but was simply the last frontier to the mystery and danger beyond. It is out there, the man-thing, and who knew, maybe Officer Turlington and those dangerous dogs and rifled men already found him. Ariane felt a tinge of pity, a soft prick of sadness beneath her ribs. She knew what happened when escaped convicts were captured. They were hung at the gallows in less than a week. She continued cutting the cucumbers and tomatoes her mother wanted for the salad Father Clairborne called ‘Greek’, he had known a man from Athens in his seminar, a man whose sister apparently made miracles with fresh foods. Father Clairborne’s voice always acquired a particular kind of softness when he spoke of his Greek friend’s sister. Ariane often wondered if her mother was aware of this change when the Father talked of that particular lady. It did not change the fact that beyond the picket fence, that creature was in the green. He has nothing to eat. Ariane could still feel the heat and wetness of his hungry mouth, the sharpness of those feral teeth as he ate the tomato right out of her hand.

How hungry must one be to not even take it, but eat it right out of her hand? Ariane stopped cutting cucumbers and looked at her hand, dark as the caramel her mother made for the special dinners, and light as toffeed cream on the other, in the rainy season almost white. Ariane had always wondered why this was so, what trick of nature and providence it was that gave her such promising hands on one side and then diverted it all with the back. On the other hand, Father Claireborne often said the Lord made all by design, and since the Lord was all Wisdom and Benevolence, He had to have put some thinking into it, and so Ariane let it be. Yet she could not get rid of the sensation of that man-thing eating out of her hand, so hungry like a starved dog who was ready to bite her if she did not release her bag. Did he get the tomato, the carrot? Did he see them, pick them, before some bird or insect found them? Ants were everywhere on the Hunting Trail, one had to be careful. Ariane looked out, but there was nothing to be seen except the usual peaceful garden, her mother working busily behind her, asking her to hurry, Master had guests waiting, one of the magistrates had come to talk about some business again.