Calgacos

  Chapter Twelve – Back

  Lennox’s icy skin burned with embarrassment, her face flushed scarlet.

  Kellas walked steadily towards her, his gaze locked unwaveringly on her face, on her eyes, as his voice rung in her ears and through her head.

  Don’t. He repeated.

  Lennox did not move. Her fingers were holding onto her blouse so fiercely, it could not have been ripped from her grasp.

  Didn’t you listen? Don’t you remember? I said don't show anyone, not even your friends. Kellas was talking as he moved, and within moments he was right in front of her, close enough to touch her. He raised his hands towards her while he stared unblinking, unyielding.

  Let me, he said, and she felt his hands at her neck, brushing against her throat, where all her words were caught, pulling her blouse together, fastening the buttons, one by one, moving down, slowly, tenderly.

  When the last button was slotted into place, he turned his head towards Mannik, who sat rigid, and on the edge of his seat, face lowered, looking anywhere but at Kellas and Lennox.

  ‘Leave.’ His hands were still on Lennox’s shirt, their pressure so light, so gentle, against her smooth abdomen.

  It was at that moment, as she heard Mannik’s hurried footsteps, and saw him vanish through the door without a backwards glance, Lennox realised she had exactly what she wanted. Kellas alone.

  Only now, with Mannik gone, and her buttons safely fastened, did Kellas lower his gaze to her shirt.

  His hands dropped slowly to his sides. She wanted to reach out, take his hands and place them back upon her shirt. She did not want him to fasten his buttons; she wanted him to undo them.

  'I would like to talk,’ he said.

  'And I too, Kellas.’ Saying his name felt wanton, extravagant, as if she was reaching for treasure that did not belong to her.

  He reacted instantly, stepping back, away from her.

  'I warned you not to show anyone.’ He sounded impatient, as if she were an erring child.

  'Is that what you wanted to talk about?'

  ‘Why show them your back? Why ignore my warnings?’

  'It had nothing to do with your warnings. I had to show him.'

  He regarded her cautiously.

  'Why?' he whispered.

  For the first time, she was in a position of power. She knew something he wanted to know.

  'Why should I tell you?’ she asked. ‘You tell me nothing.’

  Kellas studied her carefully. They were alone in the dimly lit common room. Above, in the heart of the castle, the aging pipes gurgled, the worn, wooden panels creaked; there were footsteps in Senior’s corridor, one floor above.

  'Sit. We will talk properly.' He gestured towards the armchairs nestled close to the fire.

  'I thought we were talking already.'

  'No.' Kellas gave a shrug. 'I'm trying but … I want to try again.'

  It was the first time she had seen Kellas admit to a weakness, and the first time he had showed an interest in her, in talking to her. She sat down. She had wanted to be with him, like this, for a long time.

  There was a moment’s silence. Lennox was happy to wait. It was Kellas who wanted to talk, and Kellas was taking his time, trying to find the right words.

  ‘You can’t expect anyone to look out for you, protect you, here…’

  ‘I don’t!’ She protested at once.

  ‘It’s survival of the fittest. So if you’ve got a weakness, hide it. Don’t flaunt it.’

  ‘I’m not flaunting it!’ She felt her temperature rising.

  ‘Then what were you doing?’

  ‘It wasn’t flaunting,’ she repeated, aggrieved. ‘I was only showing Mannik!’

  ‘One is all it takes.’

  She had no reply. Because what he said was true. She only had to tell Mannik, and then Gram would know, and then everyone.

  'Look,’ Kellas said, his voice low and earnest, ‘I am trying to help you.’

  'Why?'

  'There are many reasons.'

  'Name one.'

  'Because I feel sorry for you...'

  She rolled her eyes.

  'Because…’ he shrugged. ‘Because you need help.’

  ‘Because I’m a girl?

  It was just the same accusation she had made to Duncan. He had laughed and smiled in reply. Kellas did neither. Instead he grimaced. It made her think of her father.

  ‘No! It’s because I remember being like you,' he admitted. 'Young, without friends, without help, and left here to sink or swim. Too young, everyone said, but no one lifted a finger to help me. They were all waiting for me to fail. And I…

  He stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I, too, have a...a mark.'

  ‘What? Not like mine?’

  It was impossible. He was surreally handsome, so much beyond what he should be. He could not have a mark as hideous as hers.

  'No. I am … older, so it is different.'

  'How? Show me.’

  'No.'

  She blushed. His refusal was absolute, and unabashed, like a parent to a child.

  'The very first thing Dr Gnarle said to me, when he saw my mark, was show no one,’ Kellas explained. 'Some things are personal, and this is one. You don’t share your fears, your shames, the things you can’t do, the things you don’t want to do. Everyone keeps secrets. Everyone has a secret self.'

  'You looked at my mark.'

  He had done more than look. Again he reminded her of her father, with him too there had always been double standards, secrets, and rules without explanations.

  'I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked.'

  'You touched me.'

  His fair face darkened with chagrin. He picked up a stoker, and viciously poked the fire.

  ‘I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘No.’

  It was not fair. He, who was so perfect, had seen the very worst part of her.

  ‘No, not if you won’t show me your mark.’ She stood up. ‘When you are ready to show me your mark, come and find me...'

  She tore her eyes from his downturned face and left; he did not try to stop her.

  She went straight in search of Mannik. She ran up to the dorms, and waited outside the boys’ room, checking to make sure there was no one else around. Then, without knocking, she turned the handle and slipped inside.

  Henry was asleep. She saw his face, squashed into his pillow first. Rick and Connel were in bed as well, but propped up on their elbows playing cards for matchsticks. Mannik was sat up in bed, buried behind a book so large, it looked heavier than him.

  'Mannik,' she hissed. Connel looked up. So did Mannik.

  'Come,' she beckoned, and then slipped back outside the door before Connel could say anything.

  Moments later, Mannik joined her outside.

  'What is it?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were busy… with Kellas.’

  She ignored this. She didn’t want to talk about Kellas with anyone.

  ‘Come.'

  She led him back into her room. It was cold, the hearth grey, the room lit only by the moonlight.

  'We were interrupted,’ she told him as she lit an oil lamp.

  This time she turned away before she undid her buttons.

  This time she hid her beauty.

  While Mannik watched, she slipped her buttons loose, and dropped her blouse to the floor. Then time stood still as Mannik stared in amazement at the colossal birthmark that covered her entire back, a birthmark raised like enflamed skin, but riven with swellings, deep folds, and creases; there were patches where the skin was near black, and others where it was a blood red.

  Mannik was stared, mute. It was, in truth, grotesque, and he did not know what to say, or do.

  For Lennox, the mounting silence confirmed her own greatest fear. She stood, a chill creeping up her bare flesh, until she could bare it no more.

  'Leave me,' she cried.

  She waited for his footsteps, for the shutting of the door, t
hen flung herself into bed, and yanked on her nightshirt, tears falling from her eyes. It was as bad as she had always feared it was. She was cursed, and hideous, that was the truth. Her face meant nothing.