The Fall of Tartarus Page 10

  ‘Your turn, kid,’ he said, gesturing towards the lake.

  I began unbuttoning my shirt.

  Leah opened her pretty mouth, goggling at me like a roast spearback. Gabby scowled at Bobby, who just shrugged. It was Rona who spoke up, ‘You don’t have to do it, Joe.’ She turned on Hulse. ‘This is silly and unfair anyway!’

  But already I’d removed my shirt, kicked off my shoes and turned to face the lake. The island seemed kilometres away. There was no sign, at this distance, of its alien occupant. I took a hesitant step forward, feeling the mud squelch between my toes, then waded out through the shallow water. It was warm after the heat of the day, but it was still a shock when the water reached my crotch. I gasped and, too buoyant to walk any further, launched myself forward. The lake enveloped me and I began a hurried breast-stroke, aware that my feeble technique must have looked comical from the shore. It was then, when I had committed myself and knew that there was no turning back, that my bravado collapsed and I knew fear. I tried to channel my nervous energy into physical action, at the same time conscious that I must pace myself. I slipped into an easy rhythm, controlled my breathing and set my sights on the irregularity of the island ahead. I gained confidence the further I went, and even wondered at the thoughts of my spectators on the shore. I considered turning and waving back at them, to show that I was okay, then thought better of such hubris.

  Halfway to the island I paused and trod water, giving my tired arms a rest. So far, though strenuous, the swim had been easier than I had imagined. The water seemed to buoy me along. I realised that a good part of my fear had been that of the swim itself. Now that I had gained confidence in my ability to reach the island alive, the thought of encountering the alien no longer seemed so terrible. Before I set off again, I turned and scanned the shore. My friends were no longer seated beneath the tree; they were standing now and watching me intently. I rolled over and pushed off again, breathing easily and focussing on the knoll of greenery that rose from the flat, shimmering gold expanse.

  Perhaps five minutes later I reached the island. My spirits during the approach were lifted by the fact that I could not see the alien. The sandy crescent of the beach was deserted. It occurred to me that even if I reached the island and did not encounter the Zillion, at least I had achieved something that Hulse had been too cowardly to attempt.

  My hand struck the lake bottom as it inclined to create the island. I stumbled upright, realising only then how exhausted I was, and forced my legs step by weighted step through the shallows. The lake gave up its grip on me and, abruptly lightened, I stepped ashore and sat down on the sand. Breathing hard, I looked around. It came to me where I was, the amazing fact of my geographical relocation. I stared back towards the shore and made out, tiny beneath the towering tree, the stick figures of my friends. I raised my hand in a lazy wave, and after a delay they signalled in return.

  As the seconds elapsed I gained confidence, or perhaps it was nothing more than false bravery as I knew I was being watched by my friends. I climbed to my feet and walked around the island. It was small, and the circumnavigation took less than two minutes; other than the beach and a few rocks, it consisted of tough grass and gorse. When I passed from sight of my friends, I admit that a strange panic took me, an overwhelming need to be on the beach again. I hurried around the far side of the island, scrambling over a tumble of rocks, and breathed more easily when the familiar hollow-trees came into sight. I stood on the sand and waved across the water. I judged that I had given the Zillion sufficient time to emerge and attack me, and that I would not be shamed if I made the return crossing now.

  Then some sixth sense - thatfrisson of awareness that comes when we know we are not alone - made me turn. The Zillion had climbed from his lair and stood watching me, perhaps five metres away. I could not move: a cold paralysis gripped me. We were a tableau that might have symbolised the very first meeting between alien and human, the representatives of different races stunned by fear and suspicion.

  I had seen the alien through a telescope, of course. I was aware before the encounter of his general appearance, but at close quarters I was struck by his - its - reality, its animalness. It was bipedal, and squat, and brought to mind nothing so much as a toad, with its moss-green, reptilian skin and bulbous head. That much I had known. What was new to me was the sound of its breathing - long and laboured - and its peculiar stench, like fish that had been left out in the sun to dry.

  I would have turned and dived into the lake, but for the thought that the Zillion would be an expert swimmer and would apprehend me with ease. So, instead of fleeing, I did the very opposite. I took a hesitant step forward and held forth my hand.

  I was motivated by fear, not bravery - propelled more by the need to ingratiate myself, to abase myself before this monster, than to assume any kind of superiority. Bobby told me later that from the shore I appeared confident and composed, but the truth was that I was shaking and sick with fear.

  The alien regarded me unblinkingly for what seemed like minutes, and then made its move. I had expected either that it would turn and flee, as would most animals, or attack me: it did neither, but stepped forward, its gait infirm with what I took to be age, and matched my gesture with its own long, stringy right arm.

  I touched its ice-cold fingertips, and the next I recall I was sitting cross-legged before the Zillion who had dropped into an easy, splay-kneed squat.

  He regarded me with bulging golden eyes, and then spoke.

  His English was limited, and almost incomprehensible. ‘Your name?’

  ‘Joe, Joe Sanders,’ I replied before I could register amazement at his question.

  He touched his chest, where his oiled green skin was marked with three wide golden chevrons. ‘Zur-zellian,’ he said. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘I ... I swam across. I wanted to see the island. I won’t stay long. My friends are waiting. They’ll be wondering what happened to me. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sorry if I’m trespassing . . .’ I babbled on, a monologue born of equal parts relief and crazed disbelief.

  I spluttered to a stop. Zur-zellian blinked his great eyes, once. His voice was a low throaty rumble, and in retrospect each pronouncement reminded me of a release of air, a surge of bubbles though water. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I . . . I’m fourteen.’

  I was sure that, had I been able to read his reptilian expression, I would have seen that nostalgic wonderment common the galaxy over when oldsters regard the fact of youth.

  ‘Fourteen. I . . .’ Again, his long, double-jointed fingers touched his chest. ‘I am four hundred of your years.’

  I wondered if he was aware of my expression: it must have been exaggerated enough. ‘Four hundred years old!Four hundred?’

  ‘For two hundred, I have lived here . . .’ He gestured with both hands. ‘In . . .’ He closed his eyes, opened them again. ‘In retreat, meditating.’

  Something about his great age, the enormity of his two-century seclusion, scared me. Perhaps I felt again that I was intruding. At any rate, I made my excuses to leave. ‘It’s . . . it’s been good to talk with you,’ I said, jumping up quickly. ‘I must go now. My friends . . . they’re waiting for me.’

  He stood, slowly, and regarded me. I thought he said, ‘Come again,’ but I might have been mistaken. I backed off, sketching a hurried wave, and stumbled into the lake. I swam away from the island with irrational panic, as if, contrary to all logic, the alien might decide now to attack. As the minutes passed and I controlled my hurried strokes, I began to regret my hasty departure. I considered all the questions I should have asked him. Had he really invited me back to his island, and would I have the courage to accept his invitation?

  Halfway to the shore I paused and, treading water, looked back at the island. The beach was deserted; the meeting might have been a figment of my imagination. I continued towards the stand of hollow-trees, and my friends awaiting my return.

  Bobby, Rona and Gabby waded into the shallo
ws and hauled me out, with Leah and Satch not far behind. ‘What happened?’ Gabby squealed. ‘We saw it come from its hole. It was right behind you!’

  ‘What did it say?’ Bobby asked, awe in his expression.

  Leah gripped my arm, her small hands hot on my wet skin. ‘Thought you’d had it, didn’t we? Thought the alien’d got you, Joe.’

  I laughed and spluttered explanations, a hurried description of my meeting with the being. I told them that he was called Zur-zellian, from which the name by which we knew him must have derived, and that he had been in retreat on the island for two hundred years.

  I fielded other questions, unaccustomed to being the centre of attention, and then looked past my friends to where Hulse stood beneath the tree, glaring at me with homicide in his eyes.

  The others saw the direction of my gaze and fell silent, then moved aside as I made my way across to Hulse. I stopped before him, aware of his clenched fists, his glare. At any other time I might have been fazed, but my encounter with the alien had bestowed me with strength, not to mention a righteous anger.

  ‘You liar!’ I spat at him. ‘You filthy, cowardly liar!’ And, though I had not intended to hit him, I lashed out with my fist and surprised myself when I connected with his cheek. He lost his balance, then his footing, and went slithering down the root system and fetched up in the lake.

  A part of me felt like running, to save myself from the beating I knew I was about to receive. But I held my ground. Perhaps I realised that, even if he did beat me to a pulp now, the victory would still be mine.

  But instead of attacking me he launched himself from the lake and, pressing his fingers to his cheek, ran past me up the bank and disappeared along the lane. The others watched him, slack-jawed to a person. I was so confused I could not meet their eyes, beset with the emotions of residual rage, elation, and maybe even shame at my outburst of violence and its consequences.

  I hurried around the tree, slipped into the crevice, and climbed and climbed, corkscrewing up past our platform, past the first dream-sac that Satch had made his own, until I came to the narrow opening that gave access to the second sac.

  So much had happened in the past hour that I needed to be alone for a while. I had taken refuge in the sac at traumatic times in the past - at least, what I considered traumatic times: when Hulse’s bullying had become too much, when I interpreted Leah’s silences as personal snubs - and I’d always emerged calm and renewed.

  I crawled along the branch until I came to the great pendant polyp of the dream-sac, its entrance curling from beneath the branch like the horn of some great musical instrument, inviting animals to enter. I stripped off my sodden shorts, left them outside to dry, and squirmed naked down the narrow tunnel and into the sac. Sunlight struck through the diaphanous envelope, turning the air within a golden apricot hue. Immediately upon my entry, the sac began secreting its hallucinogenic gastric juices. The containing membranes ran with a sticky, sebaceous fluid, anointing my nakedness and filling the air with its heady, dream-inducing perfume. Smaller animals than myself would have been digested, but the only effect on humans was a sensuous, vision-filled slumber. I stretched out along the length of the sac, luxuriating in the sensation of the fluid washing over me, and closed my eyes.

  A matter of seconds seemed to pass before the hallucinogen began its work; I heard a sharp rapping sound on the branch outside the sac, followed by a small voice. ‘Joe . . .’ I heard, as if from a million miles away. ‘Joe, can I come in?’

  Sleepily aware that the sound had an external source, I opened my eyes. Leah’s head poked through the entrance, staring at me. ‘Joe,’ she smiled. ‘Coming in, okay?’

  A part of me thought that my greatest wish was coming true, while another ascribed the vision to the effect of the drug. I stared up through the entrance as Leah removed her leggings, and then her blouse, folded them neatly and piled them beside my shorts. She wore only briefs and a halter top now, blindingly white against her brown skin. With a quick glance down at me, she choreographed two swift moves - a quick twist and a bend - and was suddenly and startlingly naked. Feet first she dropped into the sac and lay beside me, looking at me with a neutral expression on her perfect face.

  Were it not for the sedative effect of the hallucinogen, I’m sure I would have had a heart attack. The confines of the sac ensured that we were pressed together, our bodies lubricated by the fluid. Leah moved on top of me, ran a hand through my hair and kissed my face perhaps a dozen times, as if experimenting. I held her to me, the feel of her small hot body enough to make me faint. I had never before been w ith a girl; in my fantasies, our liaisons had been swift and mechanical, bereft of tactile sensations, heft or pressure. What struck me then - or rather later, when I had time to dwell on what had happened - was how gloriously physical and lubricious our lovemaking was. I was ignorant of the moves to make, and could only lie in ecstasy while Leah moved, moaning, to an age-old rhythm.

  Later I held onto her, loath to let her go, as I felt the drug take hold and drag me into unconsciousness. In my dreams I was flying through the stratosphere, with Leah by my side.

  When I came to my senses, perhaps hours later, I was quite alone. I cried out in despair as it came to me that our tryst had been nothing but a dream. Though how, I asked myself, could something so traumatic and memorable be no more than hallucination? I struggled into a sitting position, then squirmed through the tunnel entrance and into the light of the stars.

  Leah was sitting on the branch, her knees drawn up to her chest, watching me with a sleepy smile on her face. I was aware of my nakedness, of Leah’s, as I knelt on the branch before her. I was speechless, sick with apprehension and emotions I had never experienced until then. I reached out, and before I knew it I was holding her and - an indication of my confusion - sobbing against her shoulder.

  She ran a hand through my hair, then drew back her head to look at me, and wiped the tears from my cheeks with her fingertips.

  ‘I didn’t know . . .’ I began, but couldn’t finish. I wanted to say that I didn’t know she cared.

  Leah smiled and shook her head. ‘Always liked you, Joe. You just never realised.’

  ‘But ... but Hulse?’

  She whispered, ‘What about him, Joe?’

  She reached out, took my hand, and drew me back into the dream-sac.

  We were inseparable, after that. Every day from dawn to dusk, and beyond, we spent in each other’s company. She would call at my house as dawn touched the sky, and my mother would find me and say, with a knowing pleased smile, ‘Your little friend’s here, Joe.’

  We made love, but mostly we talked. I got to know her, and her me. My infatuation with her matured as I came to understand the person that Leah was; I grew to love her, to love her faults and inconsistencies as well as her attributes, her humour and consideration.

  I once asked her about Hulse.

  ‘What did you see in him, Leah? Why did you like him?’

  ‘Was silly and stupid and vain,’ she replied with her usual lazy honesty. ‘He was older and strong and he showed an interest in me, and he was the first, and . . . oh, just wanted to be seen with him.’ She smiled at me. ‘Then, came to see what he was really like, how cruel he was. Then you paid him back, made him seem just this big—’ she pressed together her thumb and forefinger. ‘And it wasn’t, like, can’t be seen with him now - it was just, don’t want anything more to do with this creep.’

  During that first magical week, I forever expected Hulse to show himself, to disrupt our idyll with threats of violence, or, worse, with violence itself. But he stayed away, and the six of us continued as if the incident beside the lake had never happened. We spent the mornings in the tree, playing games and talking and laughing, and then, with silent consent, we drifted away two by two and made love during the long, hot afternoons. Evenings, we met again and ate packed meals as the sun set and the moons sailed over the lake. We must have gone for walks from time to time, or swam in the lake, but if so I
cannot recall these occasions. I remember only the hollow-tree, and the dream-sac, and Leah’s gentle, lazy laughter as we joked and traded secrets.

  Hulse’s return to the fold was neither as dramatic or threatening as I had feared. We were gathered on the platform one quiet evening, watching the sun go down, when sounds echoing up through the tree indicated company. All eyes were turned to the crevice as Hulse, showing not the slightest sign of embarrassment or injured pride, emerged bearing bottles of wine.

  I should have guessed that someone with Hulse’s vanity would have ulterior motives in rejoining our group. After depositing the wine, he turned to the crevice and held out his hand. From the trunk emerged a girl - no, a woman - several years our senior. She wore a long dress quite unsuited to the conditions, cosmetics in the latest style, and a smile that was as insincere as it was patronising. Hulse introduced her as Susanna, opened the wine and offered a toast. ‘To old friendships,’ he said. ‘May they continue for ever.’

  We accommodated the reprobate in our group, made his superior girlfriend as welcome as we were able, and drank until the stars came out. Hulse was affable to me, as if our altercation was forgotten, and neutrally polite to Leah. She regarded him through slitted eyes and, though pleasant enough in his company, confided to me in private that she would never trust him until his last breath.