The Five Gates of Hell (30 page)

He parked two hundred yards from the precipice and let her walk the rest. She reached the edge and stood still for a long time, only her skirt fluttering, and the ends of her hair. It was obvious she'd never been before. Later she told him that she was surprised he'd found the place, grateful that he'd taken her. It said something about
what he felt for her. It said something that she knew he'd never put in words.

The sun set in front of her. It seemed too bright that evening, almost chemical. A sulphurous yellow, the blue of gas. He went and opened the trunk. Lifted a sheet out and sent it billowing through the air. Watched it drift down, settle on the ground. Dusk made the white cotton glow.

‘What's that for?' She stood ten yards away, her chin tucked into her shoulder.

He knelt down on the sheet. ‘I thought we could fuck on it.'

‘But it's my time.'

He liked the way she said that. ‘I know it's your time. That's why I brought the sheet.'

‘Don't you mind?'

‘Why should I mind?'

‘Some people think it's disgusting.'

‘Whose blood is it?'

Her forehead puckered. One finger curled into her broken tooth. It was as if she really didn't know the answer.

‘It's your blood,' he said, ‘isn't it?'

She was grinning now, and once she'd grinned, of course, she had to let him. She was too intrigued not to.

It wasn't actually called Blood Rock, that was just their private name for it, because it was there that Jed made his confession. About what excited him most. He'd timed that first drive with such care. It occurred exactly four weeks after the frogs. He'd been counting the days.

The summer passed. Every month they drove up into the hills, their sheet folded neatly in the trunk, their lust, by contrast, scarcely containable. One evening in August – it was their fourth night in a row; her blood kept flowing that month – he turned to her and saw an expression on her face that he didn't recognise. It was like wonder, and he couldn't guess the root of it.

‘You know the weird thing?' she said. ‘The weird thing is, you take my pain away.'

She told him how she used to dread her time. There'd be one night every month when somebody took a knife to the softest part of her. She'd twist and turn, she'd fold herself double, she'd cry out. Nothing helped, not even aspirins. It just had to be gone through. Since she'd met him, though, it didn't happen any more. It was because he fucked her at the beginning of her blood, she said. It was like he loosened
her inside. Her look of wonder deepened. It was like they were made for each other, she said, wasn't it?

He was sitting on the edge of the sheet now. In the valley below the power station was lit up like a tangle of pearls, like some romantic gift.

‘I wish I could give you that,' he said.

She saw where he was looking, and laughed and kissed his face.

Soon afterwards he left the Wang (though Zervos tried to tempt him to stay by offering him an extra, wait for it,
thirty-five
cents an hour!) and started working days at the ice-cream parlour on Main Street which belonged, coincidentally, to Celia's uncle (or maybe not so coincidentally since, in a town like Adam's Creek, population 2,200, most people ended up being related sooner or later). It was a move that sealed him in Mrs O'Neill's affections: he now brought her free ice-cream as well as the traditional Rocky Road.

One morning in October he was wiping the counter down when he heard a motorbike approaching. He thought nothing of it at the time. Two of the power-station boys had bikes. They held races out by the railway tracks on Saturdays. But he looked up all the same and saw the bike pass by, the rider wearing an unfamiliar black helmet and black leathers, the motorbike low-slung, bulging, making a noise that made him think of someone beating cream in a bowl with a wooden spoon.

Five minutes later the door jangled and the man in the helmet and the leathers walked in. He looked at the card on the counter. It said WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF 45 FLAVOURS.

‘Give me all 45,' he said. ‘Large cone.'

Jed smiled. Mitch took off his helmet. There were streaks of vanilla in his hair.

‘You're getting old, Mitch,' Jed said.

‘Is that a nice way to greet someone who's ridden three thousand miles to see you?'

‘You wouldn't ride three thousand miles to see anyone,' Jed said. ‘That's what I always liked about you.' He vaulted over the counter and wrapped his arms round Mitch. They didn't reach. He smelled the dust and oil of three thousand miles on Mitch's jacket. He spoke into the smell. ‘It's good to see you.'

Mitch sat down on one of the fancy white chairs with the scrolls on the back and the dainty feet. ‘I was doing a trip, coast to coast. Thought I'd call in.'

After work Jed took Mitch to the hotel for a drink. He introduced Mitch to Wayne and Linda. ‘He's an old friend of mine,' Jed said. ‘Haven't seen him for years.'

‘I heard you come in,' Wayne said. ‘Sounded like a jet plane'd landed on the street.'

Mitch nodded. ‘It's not built to go that slow. Place to hear it is on the highway. Sounds real sweet out there. Sounds like sugar being poured in a dish.'

The door slammed open and Celia walked in. She was wearing her short fluttery pink skirt with the flowers on and her denim jacket and a pair of pink hightops.

‘Hey, missie,' Wayne said. ‘Why don't you bust right through the wall next time.' He looked at Mitch and Jed, and shrugged.

Celia walked right over. She gave Jed a slow wink and then leaned back against the bar, the points of her elbows resting on the old brass rail. ‘Who's this, Jed?'

‘This is Mitch,' he told her. ‘He's an old friend.' He turned to Mitch. ‘This here's Celia.'

Mitch's chin dipped an inch and then lifted again. ‘Pleased to meet you, Celia. How would you like to come for a ride?'

Celia just looked at him, running her tongue back and forward through that chip in her teeth, then she looked at Jed. ‘You say he's a friend of yours?'

‘Yes, he is.'

Celia looked at Mitch again. ‘What kind of bike've you got?'

Mitch smiled. ‘Harley.'

‘What the hell.' She pushed away from the bar and linked her arm through Mitch's. ‘Let's see what it does.'

Jed played pool in the back with one of the power-station boys. He was just losing for the third time when Celia walked back in, Mitch behind her. She looked as if the wind had blown everything except sheer joy clean out of her head.

‘Oh Jed.' She was still breathless and there was air in her words. ‘We went right out to the Blue Lagoon. We did a century on the power-station road.' She put an arm round him and kissed his neck. The buttons on her denim jacket were cold. She smelt of speed, cool dust, high blood. She broke away from him again. ‘Can I get you a drink, Mitch?'

Mitch smiled. ‘Beer.'

‘You, Jed?'

‘The same.'

Mitch sat down at the small round table in the corner. Jed leaned his cue against the wall and joined him.

‘You better get a bike, Jed.'

‘Looks that way.'

‘So how long you been here now? Five years?'

‘Close enough.'

‘How much've you told them?'

‘Nothing.'

‘They don't know anything about you?'

‘All they know is stuff I made up.'

Celia was returning with the beer, three glasses in between her hands, her tongue wedged in that chip in her teeth.

Mitch watched her. ‘Not even her?'

Celia put two of the beers on the table, then she stood back, knuckles of her right hand on her hip, and said she had to go and talk to someone.

Jed waited until she'd left and then he said, ‘Not even her.' He swallowed some beer. ‘You seen Sharon?'

‘I seen her.'

‘How is she?'

‘She's fine. She married some guy.'

Jed nodded. ‘I sent two cards, one to you and one to her. That's all the remembering I've done. And telling, even less than that.'

Mitch turned his beer can on the table, made a few new rings. Then he said, ‘I heard a story that might interest you.'

Jed lifted his head.

‘You remember Vasco?'

‘Of course,' Jed said. Fear suddenly. It had come from nowhere, out of a long silence, like something fired from a gun.

‘I did a tattoo for him. One of those tombstones he always has, you know. Only this time it covered half his back.'

‘What was the name on it?'

‘Francis.'

Jed looked down into his drink. ‘Where is he now?'

‘Two days after I did the tattoo they found him on a street in Los Ilusiones. It was sometime after midnight. He was all curled up in the gutter, naked. No sign of his clothes. It was in the papers. They took him to that private clinic, the one in the hills. Far as I know, he's still there.'

Jed sipped his beer. It tasted sharp and frothy. He could see Vasco on the street, fourteen years old, face like a guitar. It's not my time.

‘Seems a parcel was delivered to his house on Christmas Eve. To be more specific, a box was delivered. Seems his brother's head was inside it.' Mitch glanced at Jed. ‘Kind of an interesting Christmas present.'

When Jed didn't say anything, Mitch went on. ‘And here's the really interesting part. Seems the box was delivered by none other than Mr Neville Creed. In person.'

Jed could see it. A ring on the doorbell and Maria's tights hiss their way across the hall. A postman's standing on the doorstep. ‘Special delivery, ma'am.' Maria's never seen this postman before, but it's not so strange, they always take new people on at Christmas. She signs for the parcel. ‘Happy Christmas, ma'am,' the postman says and, as he steps back into the darkness, she notices he's wearing gloves. If anything's strange, that is. Because it isn't cold. Not cold at all.

Jed shivered. He was imagining what happened next. Christmas morning. The tree's all lit up. It's the moment everyone's been waiting for. It's time to open the presents –

A sudden explosion of glass made him jump. One of the power-station boys had knocked a table over on his way to the bathroom. Drinks everywhere.

‘Creed had Vasco's brother killed,' Mitch said, ‘and then he delivered the head himself. What do you think?'

Jed picked up his glass and swirled the last inch of beer around. ‘I wouldn't say anything about it if I was you.'

‘I'm not saying anything about it. I'm just telling you.'

‘How did you hear?'

‘I've got a couple of friends from the old days, they're vultures now. One night I was down in a bar on V Street and their tongues got loose.' Mitch looked up at Jed. ‘Why? You think it's just talk?'

‘No,' Jed said, ‘I think it's true.'

Mitch said nothing.

‘I worked for Creed,' Jed went on. ‘I watched him. Driving someone, you get to do a lot of that. Stuff like what you're talking about, it's a game for him. It's entertainment.' He saw that face again, he heard the voice. ‘You know what he told me once? He told me there are no borders.'

‘If you knew all that,' Mitch said, ‘how come you worked for him?'

Jed just stared at him across the top of his glass.

‘Yeah, I know,' Mitch said. ‘Stupid question.'

Wayne came over. ‘You boys are getting mighty serious.'

Mitch laughed and drained his glass. ‘Give me another beer, Wayne. Then we'll see who's serious.'

Mitch left the next morning at dawn. They walked to the edge of town and shook hands. The sun lifted over the hills and threw their shadows across the road.

Mitch took a last look round. ‘You know what I like about out here? The air's clean.'

Jed didn't say anything.

Mitch swung his leg across the bike, braced his foot on the kickstart, and pushed down hard. The engine fired.

Jed squinted into the low yellow sun. ‘Safe trip, Mitch.'

Mitch nodded. ‘Be well.' He fitted his goggles over his eyes. ‘Sell lots of ice-cream.'

The back tyre mimed a shallow S, then the bike straightened up, began to shrink. The rasp and snap of the engine bounced against the walls of the houses behind him, tumbled over the rocks and dust beyond. There were gaps as Mitch eased his wrist back on the throttle. Then one long hum that slowly faded, became part of the silence.

When Jed turned round, he saw Celia standing on the road. She was dressed in nothing but her cotton nightgown and her cardigan. Her feet were bare. He knew what she'd done. She'd crept out through her bedroom window, but she'd left half a dozen coarse blonde hairs behind her, flickering on the damaged flyscreen wire, like evidence.

‘He's gone,' she said.

He nodded.

‘I liked him.' She tipped one ear to the road, listening to the last of Mitch. The hem of her nightgown stirred. ‘Now he's really gone.' She moved her toes in the orange dust at the edge of the road. ‘He didn't stay long, did he?'

‘Why would he stay?'

‘I don't know.' She scratched her ribs through a tear in the cotton. ‘Why did you?'

He stuck his hands in his pockets. Then took one hand out again and picked at his neck. The sun prickled on his skin. Those early rays could feel like insect legs.

After Mitch came through, things were never quite the same. It was as if Mitch had left the freezer door ajar. There was the distant drone of an alarm and things began to thaw.

Celia stole into his room one day while he was out at work. When
he came home he found her peering into the well of his top hat. He took it away from her.

‘Moon Beach,' she said. Her eyes were wide as new horizons.

He heard the voices of the power-station boys on the street below. They always got drunk at the Commercial Hotel when their shift was over. He wanted Celia to leave. She pulled the blankets back instead and took off all her clothes.