Submersion (18 page)

‘Do you want me to go on?’ I asked
Reuben, halting my story momentarily.

I was certain he had entered my house hoping to fill
my
head with
his
tales. But he nodded a
yes,
indicating he was happy to hear mine first.

‘Okay. It gets to the good bit soon,’ I found myself promising, like a real story-teller, like Tristan, taking dark truths and reimagining them for entertainment purposes. Suddenly conscious of myself, I paused. Was I being disrespectful to the truth, recounting it this way? After all, I wasn’t the only victim and others suffered worse. Much worse. Yet, this was my story too, and telling him was helping me. I could feel that already.

‘Please do continue,’ Reuben insisted, mistaking my sudden self-awareness for something else.

I nodded, inhaled and picked up my tale from where I’d left it…

‘I think I had been at that place for three, maybe four days when a commotion threatened to collapse the wall of fear that was keeping us all penned in.

‘There were no clocks in the great hall, so I couldn’t tell you the time. And the grey walls were windowless, so I couldn’t tell you if it was early or late in the day from the level of sunlight. It was, however, about half-way through our day, as the paperwork from the last test had been collected and the unvarying midday meal was being distributed. My memory isn’t exact, but I recall a bland bowl of something hot, bread, water and an item of fruit; not exactly torture, but definitely short of pleasant.

‘I saw what happened as my desk was at the very centre of the rows. He was in the front row. It was a simple and obvious act, and when I think back I wonder why we didn’t all just do the same, cause chaos with a synchronized revolt. But I guess that invisible barricade was sturdy and paralysing to the majority of us.

‘Not to him.

‘As the tray of food was being placed on his desk, he simply caught the corner closest to him, and flipped it. Items flew through the air amidst a flash flood of hot and cold liquid, battering and splashing the guard who was serving. In that instant, he got up and began a game of chase with the guards in the room.

‘I believe it was only ever his intention to cause mayhem, to create a momentary glimpse of what starting a revolution could feel like, and to unnerve those that were guarding us, by reminding them that, no matter how hopeless our chances of succeeding were, they weren’t slim enough to stop us altogether. You see, there was no way of simply getting out. There was one door at the back and, once the guards had filed in each morning, it was locked from the outside. So, his motivation lay in the participation, not the outcome – which could only be punishment. And it was, I’m certain, though later he denied ever being there.

‘His game played out to a soundtrack of unruly noise – the scraping of chairs, the clattering of tables pushed across, the stamp of feet and the holler of commands echoing against the walls, juxtaposed against his manic laughter. He charged around the room at sudden speed, leaping over tables, pushing other students aside as he sidestepped the guards that pursued him. One sideways move caused two of the guards to crash into each other, further delaying his capture. But they were relatively quick in seizing him and, eventually, they trapped him in the centre of the room, close to my desk, moving in with pincer-like movements. He surrendered with a wide beam on his face. He had won, it announced silently. He had shown them.

‘Then he was gone, and I didn’t see him again for years.

‘The strangest thing I remember about the incident is the silence and stillness from the rest of us throughout the commotion. Inside I felt that instinctive urge to rejoice in some way, to acknowledge his anarchic bravery. But another overriding instinct kicked in, one that instantly programmed my senses and body to remain still. To be one of the unseen. I wasn’t alone. Other than the odd, momentary turn of a head, to take a brief look, we were as uniformly bland in our appearance and behaviour as the food they served us daily…’

‘What happened to him?’ my polite, suited visitor asked me.

I smiled softly at
Reuben and shrugged.

‘I do not know. When I met him again, he
denied it was him, but I suspect it’s just something he didn’t want to talk about. Something he needed to forget.’

‘And you? What happened to you after he left?’

‘Another three weeks of more of the same, and then I was returned home. Left in a nearby street to wander back, as if I had simply run away. That’s what the authorities claimed at first. Said I must have run away and that I was a silly little girl, making up stories, afraid to tell the truth. The school, too, denied they had any involvement in what had happened to me. But it all came out eventually. With many other children abducted from their homes, all
making up stories,
it wasn’t possible to deny it in the end.

‘For a while, they tried a different tactic – asked for volunteers, claiming it was for
the greater good,
that the intelligence held within the brains of the smarter children was required by the government if we were to survive in
these days of diminishing resources.
Some parents did volunteer their children, but the numbers were not high. It turned out very few were that gullible or that patriotic. And so their program eventually came to a close.

‘But the damage had been done. And it wasn’t until years later that the authorities openly admitted the
true extent of their wrong doing. Years until they admitted exactly what they were involved in. Like everything, it eventually came up to the surface. You can’t keep something like that submerged forever. The people have been apologised to, if not compensated. And, if the extreme stories I’ve heard are true, I got off likely. Had they kept me longer, things could have been worse. I might never have made my way back to my family. I might have remained one of the missing.’

This left us quiet for a moment and I wondered if I had said too much, opened up an opportunity for him to explore my soul and preach his intended message. I noticed
Reuben check his watch, subtly pulling back the sleeves of his black jacket and white shirt, to glimpse just a slither of his timepiece.

‘Do you have to go?’ I asked him, wondering if I’d kept him too long.

He shook his head. ‘Not yet, but there’s a meeting in an hour. If you’d like…’ His voice trailed, reading my face before he’d finished. His chance to entrap me dissolving as rapidly as it had appeared. He really
was
new to this.

‘Maybe some other time,’ I offered, softening the unspoken refusal.

‘Yes, maybe,’ he uttered, filling the space.

‘I won’t be offended if you leave now?’

Reuben smiled at that, acknowledging that I’d read into his face a little, too.

‘No,’ he said, firmly, but with a light tone, as if he had decided there and then, ‘I’d like to stay and hear the end. Sounds like there’s more to tell about this man of yours?’

‘There is, Reuben,’ I admitted, taking a sip of my cooling tea, before continuing…

‘My friend appeared at my mother’s kitchen table one day, four years later. And similar to yourself, Reuben, he had been going door to door, selling his wares – only his were physical, not spiritual. He carried with him a suitcase full of pamphlets and samples. An endless range of cleaning fluids, and it was clear from the outset he had the gift of the gab, as my mother wasn’t one for inviting strangers in, let alone serving them tea and cakes. Further still, offering him a place to sleep.

‘My father was not happy at all – we knew nothing about this young man. What was his background? Why didn’t he already have a place of his own? Surely he couldn’t have a job if he didn’t have an address? But Mother simply shushed Father – she saw the lost soul in him, sensed damage that needed caressing. Saw something else in him too. See, I was one of a twin – a brother stillborn. And Mother saw her lost son in this smart young salesman who came knocking, and so Father gave in.

‘But he
kept a watchful eye. Saw the glee in my younger sister’s face and kept an eye on her too. Yet, he had watched the wrong daughter.

‘I was pregnant within a month, at just seventeen. He stayed with us until the bump began to show and I had to confess all to my father. My young man was asked to leave immediately and did as he was told. I never saw him again. Several months later, my beautiful Elinor was born. We kept the father a secret. The only living soul that knows who he is
, is my sister…’

‘And now Elinor is missing too?’ Reuben asked, as if he didn’t know, as if that wasn’t his original reason for calling on me. But I let him have that.

‘Yes. My two greatest loves. Both missing.’

‘And you’ve not seen him since? Not even a call or a letter?’

‘Not a thing,’ I confirmed and I saw from his features that I had piqued his interest again. ‘I do wonder, you know, if anything happened to him. It crossed my mind that maybe my father did something: scared him off, or worse. But I don’t really believe that. I think a cocky young man simply got himself in deeper than he meant and ran scared. But I’ve somehow remained in love with him, maybe because of Elinor.’

‘But you’ve moved on?’ Reuben questioned and tipped a nod at a jacket hanging off a hook on the kitchen door. A man’s jacket that belonged to my current beau.

‘Yes, I’ve moved on. I just haven’t entirely let go. That
coat belongs to Tristan,’ I confirmed, before adding, with a certain sense of mischief: ‘We live here in sin.’

‘And the other man?’ he asked. If he heard my previous comment, he’d chosen not to react.

‘Yes?’

‘What was his name?’

I paused, cautious for the first time in front of my new friend. I realised, at that point, just how therapeutic it had been to talk about the past. How much I had really needed it. But this was a secret, all the same - one that had already been taken to two graves. One that wasn’t shared with my daughter, or Tristan. So, there was something about answering this particular request that jarred, causing my free flow to stall.

‘I’m sorry, I’m prying too much,’ Reuben said, waving a dismissive hand as if to say
ignore me.

‘Xavier,’ I stated, like this single name was an entire confession in itself.

Just saying it flooded my senses with feelings I wanted to avoid, deny, crush, and submerge. But it also felt good, with just a small hesitation of guilt for not telling Elinor first. As soon as we were reunited, I would.

‘His name was Xavier.’ I repeated, stronger, freer, certain I was doing the right thing. ‘Xavier Riley. And you, young Reuben, are one of only six people to ever possess that fact.’

‘Your secret is safe with me.’

This brought our time together to an end.

Reuben politely rose from the table and took both our mugs over to the sink.

‘I’ll do those later,’ I told him, as he was about to rinse them both out.

‘You sure?’

I nodded, confirming.

I sensed he was trying to avoid the awkwardness of our impending goodbye. The unveiling of my story meant that we were no longer strangers, but neither were we friends. There was a sense of intimacy, but equally our connection was weak, thin. No history, so no depth.

‘May I’ll call again?’ he asked, still avoiding our farewell, still unsure of its shape and feel.

‘Yes, do, and maybe you can do the talking next time,’ I said, though I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t. Esther and Aunt Penny would have a gleeful field day if they knew I’d had a missionary round for tea – and, further, that I’d invited him to come back.

Once he’d put his protective gear back on, I walked with him down the stairs t
o the ground floor, but, as I’d only slipped on my bottom halves, saw him only as far as the last tread. A foot of dull water sloshed over my rubber boots.

‘Can you let yourself out?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer my question, but proceeded to the door. Upon opening it, he turned back.

‘You’ll see them again, I’m sure. In fact, I’m certain,’ he said, looking up and smiling.

‘I know I will,’ I replied, looking up as well, but where Reuben saw everlasting life, I saw crumbling plaster and exposed beams, held steady by those unsightly steel columns that so many of us had installed.

But I meant it, as much as he did. I couldn’t vouch for Xavier returning – but something told me that one day he would come looking for his daughter. As for Elinor, I knew she was coming back. I knew that, eventually, she would be returned to me. And the deception regarding her drowning would be exposed.

See, I knew they had taken her. Without a shadow of a doubt. I knew they were planning it from the minute they started testing the children in school again. Now they had put the pupils at St Patrick’s in classes according to intelligence, I knew it wouldn’t be long before more disappeared.

Yet, Elinor was strong like me, and a fighter – like Xavier. And I’d prepared her, too – warned her about my fears, primed her for what might happen – and told her exactly what she’d need to do to survive.

So, yes, I had no doubts that Elinor would be back – but, in the meantime, I had to endure the slow cruelty of her absence and the insufferable lies that surrounded it.

As I ascended the stairs again, a click of the front door confirmed that Reuben had left.

When Tristan came home, I didn’t tell him about Reuben’s visit. Having shared one secret that day, Reuben became its replacement. And it felt private, something just for me, so I didn’t feel guilty. I did consider telling him about Xavier, though. Did consider whether it was time to share that one, but I held back in the end. The next person to fin
d out had to be Elinor. Telling Tristan could wait.