men yelling at each other, the gaudy bright lights of a bar behind them, the loom of a crane above them, black against huge bright stars; himself, Gavin, but only about six years old, pushing out through a gang of kids at the primary school door; a rough, dark sea crowded with ships all steaming in the same direction, the sense of tension and danger …
Each time Gavin knew what he was looking at, because the someone knew. The quarreling men had just come out of a bar in Singapore; Gavin had been coming out after his first day in a new school; the ships were a wartime convoy; and so on. And each time the moment of clarity brought with it a sudden flood of relief and hope, hope that now things would sort themselves out and that the someone could get back where he belonged, and Gavin could too. But then the roaring mist and the thuds surged back and wiped out even the memory of the moment, so that each time the same thing came again it seemed new, and brought the same relief and hope and understanding. When it was about small-Gavin coming out of school he knew that the someone was Grandad, no problem. But at the same time he knew that he, Gavin-now, was in desperate trouble but he couldn't remember what the trouble was, and for a moment he became small-Gavin and tried to lift up his arms and call out to Grandad to help him, but Gavin-nowhadn't got any arms and small-Gavin just ran forward laughing. And then the roaring mist came back and he couldn't hang on to the knowledge, and so couldn't work out that yes, the woman in the green dress was Gran, and so the boy had to be Dad when he was about twelve. He didn't even remember about the someone there in the red mist with him until another moment came.
Only one thing didn't get forgotten. Each time the mist surged up it brought with it the understanding that all this had happened before, again and again and again, and it was going to go on like that forever. And with that knowledge came an awful wave of anger and despair and utter, utter boredom. That stayed. It was worse than the way the horror and loss lingered on after the stupid stuff that had brought them was gone. Much, much worse. It was like when you bite into an apple that's had a bug in it, and there's this foul bitter, corky taste, so you spit your mouthful out, but you can't get rid of the taste, however much you rinse your mouth out.
That was the worst thing, the despair, the utter boredom, the useless, frustrated rage at what was happening to him, and was going to go on happening, no end, no one to help him, no one ever….
"Grandad," he groaned.
He had nothing to groan with. It was a groan in his mind.
It was answered in his mind.
"Boy! Gavin?"
"I'm here. Oh, Grandad!"
"Where … ? How … ? What's up, boy?"
"You … you …"
Bits of Gavin seemed to gather back into him, scraps of self flocking together, fitting themselves into place, the smell of hospital, a taste of salt like the sea, a round pale face floating in mist, huge round eyes—no human could really have eyes like that, or those whiskers….
"You had a stroke, Grandad. It was really bad. You can't move, or talk, or anything. You're in hospital. I wanted to talk to you. You couldn't hear me. I asked the selkie to help, and she did it. I … I think I'm inside you. I'm really, really scared. I want to get out."
"Ah."
Grandad didn't say anything, but now that Gavin knew he was there, he could feel him pulling the bits of himself together too. More understandings came. The thuds were the sound of Grandad's heart, and the roaring was his blood moving round his body. And now he found he could remember the moments of sense and hold on to the knowledge that the someone had been Grandad all along, they'd been snatches of Grandad's own memories all muddled up with the bad-dream stuff….
"You still there, boy? When … ?"
"It was twenty-seven days ago. We were up in your room…."
Still in the same voiceless whisper Gavin started to tell him the
Each time Gavin knew what he was looking at, because the someone knew. The quarreling men had just come out of a bar in Singapore; Gavin had been coming out after his first day in a new school; the ships were a wartime convoy; and so on. And each time the moment of clarity brought with it a sudden flood of relief and hope, hope that now things would sort themselves out and that the someone could get back where he belonged, and Gavin could too. But then the roaring mist and the thuds surged back and wiped out even the memory of the moment, so that each time the same thing came again it seemed new, and brought the same relief and hope and understanding. When it was about small-Gavin coming out of school he knew that the someone was Grandad, no problem. But at the same time he knew that he, Gavin-now, was in desperate trouble but he couldn't remember what the trouble was, and for a moment he became small-Gavin and tried to lift up his arms and call out to Grandad to help him, but Gavin-nowhadn't got any arms and small-Gavin just ran forward laughing. And then the roaring mist came back and he couldn't hang on to the knowledge, and so couldn't work out that yes, the woman in the green dress was Gran, and so the boy had to be Dad when he was about twelve. He didn't even remember about the someone there in the red mist with him until another moment came.
Only one thing didn't get forgotten. Each time the mist surged up it brought with it the understanding that all this had happened before, again and again and again, and it was going to go on like that forever. And with that knowledge came an awful wave of anger and despair and utter, utter boredom. That stayed. It was worse than the way the horror and loss lingered on after the stupid stuff that had brought them was gone. Much, much worse. It was like when you bite into an apple that's had a bug in it, and there's this foul bitter, corky taste, so you spit your mouthful out, but you can't get rid of the taste, however much you rinse your mouth out.
That was the worst thing, the despair, the utter boredom, the useless, frustrated rage at what was happening to him, and was going to go on happening, no end, no one to help him, no one ever….
"Grandad," he groaned.
He had nothing to groan with. It was a groan in his mind.
It was answered in his mind.
"Boy! Gavin?"
"I'm here. Oh, Grandad!"
"Where … ? How … ? What's up, boy?"
"You … you …"
Bits of Gavin seemed to gather back into him, scraps of self flocking together, fitting themselves into place, the smell of hospital, a taste of salt like the sea, a round pale face floating in mist, huge round eyes—no human could really have eyes like that, or those whiskers….
"You had a stroke, Grandad. It was really bad. You can't move, or talk, or anything. You're in hospital. I wanted to talk to you. You couldn't hear me. I asked the selkie to help, and she did it. I … I think I'm inside you. I'm really, really scared. I want to get out."
"Ah."
Grandad didn't say anything, but now that Gavin knew he was there, he could feel him pulling the bits of himself together too. More understandings came. The thuds were the sound of Grandad's heart, and the roaring was his blood moving round his body. And now he found he could remember the moments of sense and hold on to the knowledge that the someone had been Grandad all along, they'd been snatches of Grandad's own memories all muddled up with the bad-dream stuff….
"You still there, boy? When … ?"
"It was twenty-seven days ago. We were up in your room…."
Still in the same voiceless whisper Gavin started to tell him the
Similar Books
