at the door of the clinic. He waved. She waved back.
As the pirogue rounded the point into the next bay, Vincent did not feel his usual elation on arriving home. He had grown fond of the place very quickly. After a day at the hospital, he was more than delighted for the peace of the empty house, the jetty, fishing on his own. The pink and white house wavered and fractured, reflected in the yellow and lilac water. But because Vincent anticipated his meeting with Theo, the house appeared sinister, holding the boy’s presence. There was no sign of him or Beatrice.
As they drew close to the jetty, a figure looked out of the upstairs window, quickly vanishing, then reappearing on the verandah downstairs. Vincent waved. But Theo stood and stared without response, then disappeared.
‘Okay man, see you tomorrow.’
‘Watch yourself, Doc. You sure you don’t want me to stay?’ Jonah had picked up Vincent’s anxiety about the boy.
‘No, Jonah. Is fine.’
The two men waved goodbye. Vincent pushed the pirogue away from the jetty.
Theo was not on the verandah, or in the drawing room. The kitchen was cleared from the night before. The wares, pots and pans washed. There was no Beatrice either. ‘Beatrice.’ There was silence. The house was dead quiet.
The stairs creaked as they always did when he climbed to the bedrooms. Theo’s bedroom was empty. Vincent went into his own room and found that the bed had been made. The dressing table had been tidied. The floors had been swept. ‘Theo!’ he called again. ‘Theo!’ There was no reply.
As Vincent descended the stairs, he heard a creak, which was not one of the usual creaks, the music of the house, the tune it playedas he walked about on the pitch pine floors, its expansions in the heat of the day and the contractions in the cool of evening.
As he stood listening, the sea breeze banged the bathroom window. It unhooked the latch on the kitchen door and entered. It got wild. He had to dash about closing the windows which faced the sea. The waves rose and rushed the small beach at the side of the jetty, sucked back out by the tide.
A percussion of pots and pans falling off the shelves in the kitchen alarmed him. Loose sheets of galvanise banged on the roof. The wind whistled through cracks in doors and windows.
Vincent called, ‘Theo,’ and listened again to the particular creak near him. It came from under the stairs. When he opened the door, it was dark and smelt of mildew. Vincent could not see anything unusual, at first. But when he bent down, to look into the furthest recesses under the slope of the stairs, he discovered the crouching boy in the gloom. He was bare backed and wore only his short khaki pants. He crouched with his back to Vincent, his head between his legs.
‘Theo. Come, boy. You don’t want to be sitting in here, alone.’ The boy did not move. Vincent touched his bare back and read the same story he had read earlier. ‘Come Theo, I can’t leave you here. Let’s go out and catch some nice sea breeze. What about fishing? We could go on the jetty and fish.’
Theo did not speak, but he allowed the doctor to coax him out of his hiding place into the glare of the verandah, into the astonishment of the setting sun. The wind had died down.
Why had the boy been hiding, when only a moment before he had seen him on the verandah? He wanted the doctor to come and find him, a small child’s hide and seek.
That evening Vincent and Theo fished together from the end of the jetty, but the fish were not biting. They only got two
crapeau
fish. They threw them back into the water. But, with a last try, Theo landed a small red fish. As he unhooked his catch, Vincent thought he saw a smile, not quite, but a flicker in the glow of the kerosene lamp.
Vincent made hot cocoa for them both. They went to bed earlyafter fried fish and bake. Sleep seemed the best way out of their wordless communications. The windows at the front of the house facing the bay let in
As the pirogue rounded the point into the next bay, Vincent did not feel his usual elation on arriving home. He had grown fond of the place very quickly. After a day at the hospital, he was more than delighted for the peace of the empty house, the jetty, fishing on his own. The pink and white house wavered and fractured, reflected in the yellow and lilac water. But because Vincent anticipated his meeting with Theo, the house appeared sinister, holding the boy’s presence. There was no sign of him or Beatrice.
As they drew close to the jetty, a figure looked out of the upstairs window, quickly vanishing, then reappearing on the verandah downstairs. Vincent waved. But Theo stood and stared without response, then disappeared.
‘Okay man, see you tomorrow.’
‘Watch yourself, Doc. You sure you don’t want me to stay?’ Jonah had picked up Vincent’s anxiety about the boy.
‘No, Jonah. Is fine.’
The two men waved goodbye. Vincent pushed the pirogue away from the jetty.
Theo was not on the verandah, or in the drawing room. The kitchen was cleared from the night before. The wares, pots and pans washed. There was no Beatrice either. ‘Beatrice.’ There was silence. The house was dead quiet.
The stairs creaked as they always did when he climbed to the bedrooms. Theo’s bedroom was empty. Vincent went into his own room and found that the bed had been made. The dressing table had been tidied. The floors had been swept. ‘Theo!’ he called again. ‘Theo!’ There was no reply.
As Vincent descended the stairs, he heard a creak, which was not one of the usual creaks, the music of the house, the tune it playedas he walked about on the pitch pine floors, its expansions in the heat of the day and the contractions in the cool of evening.
As he stood listening, the sea breeze banged the bathroom window. It unhooked the latch on the kitchen door and entered. It got wild. He had to dash about closing the windows which faced the sea. The waves rose and rushed the small beach at the side of the jetty, sucked back out by the tide.
A percussion of pots and pans falling off the shelves in the kitchen alarmed him. Loose sheets of galvanise banged on the roof. The wind whistled through cracks in doors and windows.
Vincent called, ‘Theo,’ and listened again to the particular creak near him. It came from under the stairs. When he opened the door, it was dark and smelt of mildew. Vincent could not see anything unusual, at first. But when he bent down, to look into the furthest recesses under the slope of the stairs, he discovered the crouching boy in the gloom. He was bare backed and wore only his short khaki pants. He crouched with his back to Vincent, his head between his legs.
‘Theo. Come, boy. You don’t want to be sitting in here, alone.’ The boy did not move. Vincent touched his bare back and read the same story he had read earlier. ‘Come Theo, I can’t leave you here. Let’s go out and catch some nice sea breeze. What about fishing? We could go on the jetty and fish.’
Theo did not speak, but he allowed the doctor to coax him out of his hiding place into the glare of the verandah, into the astonishment of the setting sun. The wind had died down.
Why had the boy been hiding, when only a moment before he had seen him on the verandah? He wanted the doctor to come and find him, a small child’s hide and seek.
That evening Vincent and Theo fished together from the end of the jetty, but the fish were not biting. They only got two
crapeau
fish. They threw them back into the water. But, with a last try, Theo landed a small red fish. As he unhooked his catch, Vincent thought he saw a smile, not quite, but a flicker in the glow of the kerosene lamp.
Vincent made hot cocoa for them both. They went to bed earlyafter fried fish and bake. Sleep seemed the best way out of their wordless communications. The windows at the front of the house facing the bay let in
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