Mortal Fire Page 14

  “Emma, I didn’t mean…”

  I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it tighter, desperate to make peace. I yanked my arm back, taking him by surprise and he let go. I rubbed my wrist where his fingers gripped too hard for a second too long. His eyes became round with remorse.

  “I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you – in any way.” He reached out again, trying to make amends but I flinched back.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his shoulders sagging. I didn’t dare look at him or I would cry, but whether for him or for me, I didn’t know.

  “Please, just leave.”

  He didn’t say anything and, when I looked up again, there was nothing left in the room but the overwhelming feeling of loss for a friendship barely begun.

  The sun came out from behind cloud and shone slanting across my desk. The slim brown leather volume Matthew lent me lay in its path, and I automatically moved it out of the bleaching light. Touching it, holding it, threatened to set off another wave of bewildering emotions, and I clutched it tightly to me until they subsided.

  At last I calmed enough to be able to assess the situation and, whichever way I looked at it, it was bad. First, through no real fault of my own – whatever Sam might think – I managed to hurt him and lose a friend in one fell swoop. Secondly – and for this I felt less inclined to forgive him, Sam sowed seeds of doubt on fertile ground: why would Matthew look at me with a campus of young, apparently willing women to choose from? And worse, he called into question the one thing I never doubted – Matthew’s integrity. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before that I wouldn’t be the only one to find him attractive. Would it be so very strange if he responded to other women in the way I wanted him to respond to me? But then that didn’t tally with what I knew, or at least, what I thought I knew of him. Both Siggie Gerhard and Matias referred to him as a loner – polite, but distant – and he rarely appeared with anyone else, let alone hordes of women. Then I recalled the times he helped me – none earth-shattering in itself – but there nonetheless when I needed him. Lastly, I considered his wife and the grief he all but hid from the world.

  In my heart of hearts, I knew Sam was playing mind games and I understood he did so out of jealousy rather than malice. There seemed something incomplete about him, a desire to control I had not detected before except in his persistent pursuit of me. I wondered if his wives felt suffocated by his attention, as I did. By now he probably regretted ever saying anything about Matthew, but the damage was done and I would have to find a way to mend it.

  There seemed little point in hanging around; the books still stood in their stacks on the floor and they would stay there until I had a mind to arrange them in the bookcase – whenever that might be. Taking the direct route back to my flat, I didn’t bother with caution as I passed Staahl’s department; with him out of the way for the day, there seemed little need and, given the mood I was in, he would regret running into me even if he did.

  My north-facing flat felt bare, boring and cold. I ate a handful of nuts and dried fruit looking out towards the mountains. Lit by the afternoon sun, the range rolled away in all the blazing glory of a New England fall; I longed to escape my dismal room and flee into untamed space and the mellow air of the late September day, like a lizard onto a sun-warmed rock. I took just a coat and the little book with me and headed towards the back of the college where the arboretum lay.

  Initially the path wound through a dense planting of trees interspersed with large shrubs. The further away from the college I walked, the less tamed the grounds became until they resembled the wilderness they replaced a hundred years before. The trees were taller here and more of one type – American conifers of some sort – and it was from these the night breezes sometimes carried the pine-laden scent to my room. The forest floor – thick with brown needles – formed a dense, yielding carpet, and the last warmth of the season bled the lingering fragrance of summer into the air.

  The path disappeared and I found the land rising steadily towards what I assumed would be a viewpoint. It might have been once, but the clearing on top of the hill had long since been overshadowed by trees, and the view now looked onto the softly swaying crowns with huge cones glowing like russet baubles in the rich light of the sun.

  I found a fallen trunk to rest my back and settled comfortably against it, balling my coat into a cushion and feeling the sun warm through me until it reached the cold centre of my wretchedness. I closed my eyes against the light and focused on the sounds of the woods. Although completely alone, I felt no fear, relishing the sense of liberation brought by the news of the recent arrest and Staahl’s absence. Over the years from early childhood, I found company in my own thoughts, and peace in a solitary existence. The gentle hiss of the wind through branches became a melody punctuated by the snap and rattle of pine-cones opening and ejecting their seed. Finches chipped and whistled in the tops, an occasional whirr of wings telling me they were in flight from one tree to the next. Out here, the ache of the day faded. Out here where distractions were few, I could pause, I could voice my doubts and my fears and know that they would be listened to – be answered.

  I took out Matthew’s book and let myself become engrossed. The illustrations were fairly self-explanatory – some similar to pictures in other texts; others quite new to me and it was in interpreting these that I needed his translation. But the tenet of the text became clear in the illustrations accompanying it. This represented no treatise on horror; the common misconception that torture was used solely to extract information and to punish the indicted belied the fact that in some circumstances, it had been used to temper justice with mercy in the belief that the heretic might be cured. Still, it was difficult to believe when faced with pictures such as these, but if you looked beyond the obvious, the faces of the torturers did not display pleasure or anger, but concern.

  Humanity was perverse. Humanity is perverse. There could be no excuse for what we did to each other, but part of reconciliation is in the understanding of what impels people to behave in such a way, and that is what I sought to understand. Because in understanding the causes of behaviour, it is easier to predict the actions of the future, for ignorance breeds fear; fear breeds loathing; loathing breeds persecution, and persecution is what I stared at in this little book of learning from 400 years before.

  People sometimes ask why I chose to study what I do; was I not corrupted by what I read? Did it not make me question the validity of my faith if those who used such methods also shared it? And I patiently explain that I am not interested in the modes of torture so much as what prompted those who used it. It did not contaminate me because I did not – dared not – let it touch my soul, and I continued to follow Christ as surely as those who went before me. The issue lay not in the cure but in the disease of fear that led society to think it justified in its use of torture at all.

  A crack followed by a rustle close by reminded me of my solitude. A squirrel leapt between trees, the tips swaying under its fragile weight, and disappeared into the shadow of the woods. The descending sun sapped warmth from the day, the air cooling rapidly, and I shivered into my coat, carefully closed the book, and began to retrace my steps down the slope. Darkness falls early amid the forests and woods of the world and I picked my way gingerly through the trunks, searching for the beginnings of the path that would lead me back. The wind died; silence lay among the branches and I became conscious of my breathing – shallow rasps made louder in the overwhelming hush as I raced against the setting sun.

  The automatic lights were glowing into life when I reached the covered passage that served as a short-cut between the med fac and the quad. I reached the end as the last of the lights came on, and stopped to catch my breath. The air stirred and I glanced up to catch the slightest movement at the end of the passage from which I emerged, so slight it might not have been there at all. I peered into the darkness that escaped the lights, but whatever hadn’t been there, was gone. I made my flat in record time, s
lamming the door shut on the darkness of the day.

  Chapter 8

  Cause and Effect

  I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER than to expect Elena to keep out of it.

  “I have seen Sam, and he is very upset. What did you say to him?”

  I took a deep breath. “Elena, I’m trying to have breakfast. It’s too early to do this; can’t it wait?”

  “No, it cannot and it is Tuesday and you must work. Tell me about Sam; I won’t go until you do.” She folded her arms across her chest, her mouth set and determined. My cornflakes were getting soggy.

  “Was Stalin a relative, by any chance?”

  “Not funny, Emma – I’m waiting.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Elena, it’s…” I glanced at my watch “… a quarter past seven and anyway, I thought you were supposed to be my friend,” I said, sounding a little peevish.

  “Sam is my friend too – you are both my friends and I do not like to see my friends unhappy.”

  I plonked my spoon into the bowl, sending ripples through the milk, and resigned myself to as brief a description of Monday’s encounter as I could get away with.

  “What did Sam say this time?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say; he would not talk about it and he was so… down.”

  At least he hadn’t made any scurrilous remarks I would have to explain.

  “Elena, yesterday Sam made some assumptions – jumped to conclusions – that made things… difficult.”

  “Uh? You are not making sense.” She looked bemused.

  “Sam got the wrong end of the stick about something.”

  “Yes, yes, you said that already, but why did he make conclusions, about what? I don’t understand.” She shook her head, her thick, dark hair swishing from side to side.

  “Well, for one thing, that we were on a date, with all the assumptions that go with it, when I thought I had made it clear that it was not. And… and that I like Matthew.”

  Which I do, I thought. I waited for the reaction. Elena chewed her lip for a moment, her eyes mere slits through which she contemplated me. When she answered, it was not what I expected.

  “Has Matthew asked you out on a date yet?”

  “Not exactly,” I admitted.

  “And do you think he will?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Why do you push people away, Emma?”

  “I don’t!” I said, astonished.

  “Yes, you do, you keep them… how do you say… at arm’s length. Sam likes you and you don’t give him a chance. But Matthew – what has he done? He hasn’t even asked you on a date but you throw yourself at him. And he is strange – he is not here – he is like a ghost. I think he will make you unhappy.”

  I heard every word she said, I understood what she meant, but how could I begin to explain how he made me feel? How did I tell her that all her misgivings fell on deaf ears and that, even if I wanted to, I no longer had the willpower to resist the distraction he posed and all the complications that would, no doubt, come with it.

  I stood up and went over and gave her a hug. She eyed me suspiciously at first before returning it when she recognized my unguarded sincerity.

  “Thanks for minding enough to care about me – and Sam – but it’s too late; I know what I want and it’s not Sam, and I don’t think it ever was or ever could be. He has too much history for me to deal with, too many hang-ups, Elena; too many skeletons rattling around his closet.”

  I said it with such finality that I hoped she would accept my decision. From my point of view the matter was closed. Elena shrugged, nodded her head in resignation and with that, seemed to think so too.

  I was five minutes late for class and my group lounged against the walls outside the door to my room.

  “Sorry, everyone; morning’s not my best time of the day – nor for you either, Josh, by the look of it. Heavy night last night?” He grinned blearily and pushed himself away from the wall as I unlocked my door. “Come on in and let’s get started: it’s kill or cure time.”

  Josh sidled in past me and went straight to one of the chairs and sat down, slumping inelegantly with his eyes closed. A faint sheen covered his forehead and his skin appeared grey under his olive tones. Hannah followed and started taking a folder from her bag. Leo and Holly hung back in the corridor, heads close together. Things were looking more promising there. “When you’re ready, you two.”

  Holly smiled self-consciously and they came in holding hands. I went to open the window for Josh. Only four chairs were occupied.

  “Where’s Aydin? Has anyone seen him?”

  Leo shrugged his big shoulders “Cops took him downtown for questioning,” he said, as if it were an everyday occurrence on the campus.

  As shocked by his indifference as by what he said, I stopped latching the window open and returned to stand in front of them. “The police, why?”

  “Something to do with that attack last week, I guess.”

  “You don’t think that Aydin had anything to do with that, do you?” I looked from face to face. They all avoided my eyes.

  “Why not? It isn’t as if he belongs here, is it?” Leo looked at Holly with a self-satisfied smirk and she sniggered.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I snapped. They all looked up at my change in tone.

  Leo put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, regarding me indolently.

  “Well, he’s different, isn’t he? Where he comes from, they don’t treat women in the same way as we do, right? It’s their religion,” he sneered, his lip rising unattractively in his derision.

  I looked at them aghast. “And do you all think that?”

  Holly stared at the floor while Hannah busily arranged the papers in her folder. A violent sneeze punctuated the uncomfortable silence.

  “Sorry,” Josh apologized, sniffing. “Doesn’t bother me one way or the other. Aydin seems OK to me; I’ve got nothing against the guy.”

  “I didn’t get to talk to him much,” Hannah acknowledged.

  “What about you, Holly – do you think Aydin is capable of that?” I turned to her.

  She glanced at Leo, who still looked smug; I was rapidly growing to dislike him.

  “I don’t know – he is foreign, I guess,” she ventured.

  “Well, so am I; what difference does that make?”

  “Yeah, but you’re different,” she defended herself; “you’re English.”

  “I’m British,” I corrected her. “I’m part Scottish. And as historians – let alone humans – you should have learned by now that it is precisely this sort of bigoted attitude that allowed the National Socialists to gain a foothold in Germany,” I fumed. They looked at me blankly. “Hitler?” I reminded them.

  Josh grunted and nodded. “I’m Jewish.” He sneezed again.

  “You’re Jewish, I’m British and you three are… whatever you are. I don’t know and frankly I don’t care. But don’t ever come to a tutorial with me again with that attitude.” I glared at Leo.

  “OK, OK, I get it, Professor, co-ol it.” From the leer on his face he obviously didn’t get it.

  “And don’t tell me to ‘cool it’ either; I’d like to remind you that you are this far…” and I pinched the air between my forefinger and thumb, “from me failing you. Got that?” The self-satisfied complacency dropped from his face. I breathed deeply, controlling my temper. “Now, to work. What have you brought me?”

  They each produced varying amounts of paper for me to pull apart. I gave Holly the work I had assessed the week before. My praise for it gave me a bridge to allow us to re-establish a more positive working relationship and she smiled gratefully as I handed it back with my comments. I had little to say to Leo, who was sulking – almost as little as the amount of effort he obviously hadn’t made in producing the few pages of type he’d given in. Josh, on the other hand, surprised me with brief but succinct notes that showed a thorough grasp of the subject. Hannah’s work, too, was competent – nothing startl
ing but well thought out and precise. It turned out to be a good morning’s work after all, despite the shaky start.

  After they left, I contemplated the bombsite of a room. Matias was due to collect some books Elena loaned me and I wanted to ask him how to get to the police station. I didn’t know if there was anything I could do to help Aydin, but at least I could try.

  I started to sort the books out on the shelves, the smallest at the top. Every time I moved, my watch rubbed against my sore wrist where Sam had grabbed it, so I took it off and put it on top of the bookcase while I worked. The shelves easily absorbed the books, revealing the floor under the windows for the first time in weeks. I began to feel better. I reached up for the last book on the top, my hand sweeping the polished surface for it, and brushed against something that slid off and down the back of the case. My watch. “Blow,” I said under my breath. I squinted behind the bookcase; it lay there towards the centre and just out of reach. I searched around for something to hook it with, but the days of metal coat-hangers were long gone. “Bother.” The shelves were too heavy for me to move while loaded with books, which left me with but one option. “Blast!” I said none too quietly this time.

  Unloading the shelves didn’t take as long as I expected. Once empty, I took hold of the front to slide it away from the wall. It didn’t budge. I tried again, lower down. It stayed stubbornly put. About to give up, I heard a knock at the door. I knew it would be Matias but that didn’t stop me hoping. He must have seen the disappointment on my face.

  “Everything OK?” he asked.

  “No – I’ve dropped my watch behind the bookcase,” I said, petulantly.

  He went over to examine the offending piece of furniture.

  “Whew! Very nice. I don’t remember this being here.” He stroked the lustrous surface and carved edges of the acanthus leaves. “Been shopping?”

  “No, Matthew brought it over to tidy me up.”