Gypsy in Amber

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Roman said.

  Howie’s head snapped around. ‘Another trick?’

  ‘Poison, another old Gypsy talent, remember? Some mushrooms I picked up during our outing. I dropped them in their soup. It’ll hit them all if they try standing, a little later if they stay still, but all of them. They should get to a doctor as fast as they can.’

  Isabelle stood up. She took one step before she gasped and sat down, holding her stomach. She tried cursing Roman and couldn’t do that, either. Howie snatched Rosalind off the ground with one hand. He jammed the sword in her hand and pushed her toward Roman. She collapsed near the fire. Howie ranted, going back and forth, kicking and threatening them. At last he gave up and stood in the middle of them, furious.

  ‘The doctor,’ Roman repeated. ‘Unless you want three more bodies to dispose of. Now that could get tricky.’

  Howie pulled Hillary to her feet. Roman hadn’t given her any of the mushrooms, and she wasn’t sick, not physically at least.

  ‘You do it,’ Howie yelled in her face. ‘He knows too much.’

  ‘He always did.’ She refused the sword and turned away to the figures on the ground. ‘They’re dying.’

  A sound that was nothing less than a growl came from Howie’s throat. He pushed her away and grabbed the nearest retching body. Roman stayed as still as he could. Howie was going to take them to the boat. He wouldn’t row them across, but he would be gone from the camp for a minute or two. Even with a dead goat on his back that would be enough time to get away.

  Howie watched him, reading his mind.

  ‘It looks like I’ll have to do it again all by myself. When I’m finished, when I . . . you and the goat are going to look like Siamese twins.’ Rosalind hung from one hand, and he picked up the idol with the other. ‘And if you want someone to keep you company until I get back, here’s your goddamn Kali.’

  He threw the heavy idol as easily as a beanbag. Roman tried to turn to make the goat catch the burden of the blow. He didn’t succeed. The idol smashed into his ribs, and he rocked, finally falling forward with the goat on top of him.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the moon, cruelly cut by leaves. The moon began contracting, first to the size of a silver dollar, then a quarter and then a dime. There was no air in his lungs, and none was coming in. Dude was supposed to be good luck, he was sure of it.

  On the other hand, he thought as the moon disappeared, there were always exceptions.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Did you really poison them?’

  ‘Enough to make them sick.’

  Hillary had rolled him on his side so that the goat’s weight was off him. A draft of air poured into his lungs. Hillary’s face was as faraway as the moon.

  ‘Where are the others?’ He was gasping so hard he doubted that she understood him.

  ‘We took them to the boat. I ran back while Howie was putting them in.’

  He stared up at her because everything else but the fire and the moon was dark. She thought the startling eyes could see more, and she began pleading with him.

  ‘Please don’t kill Howie. You’ve got to promise you won’t. I still love him.’

  ‘Kill him? I . . .’ There was something comical about her asking favors from a half-blind man lying on the ground tied to the corpse of a goat. The silent laughs scratched his ribs.

  ‘He’s coming back?’

  ‘Right now. But you’ve got to promise that you won’t do to him what you did to the others.’

  ‘Get them out of the way. So they wouldn’t have to make a choice, choose.’ He wasn’t making sense, and he struggled to get hold of his tongue. He couldn’t afford to lose her.

  ‘Promise?’

  Promise? Everyone wanted him to make promises as if he had some power over the way things happened, him tied to Dany and Celie and a poor goat that was worse off than himself only by a matter of minutes. He fought the conspiracy of his ribs and temple and lurched up to his knees. The goat’s hooves dangled in all directions like a bagpipe. Every time he moved the carcass sagged in a new place trying to drag him down.

  ‘Help me, Hillary, for God’s sake.’

  She looked at him dumbly. He swore and repeated the plea in English. ‘It’s a promise,’ he added.

  Even standing bent over with Hillary supporting him, he was dizzied by the height. He really was Kaliban now, half man and half animal. He spread his legs cautiously, expecting them to fail.

  ‘Untie me.’

  She seemed to notice his predicament for the first time. He almost collapsed as she fumbled with the rope.

  ‘Would the sword help?’ she asked.

  ‘The sword?’ He never thought Howie would leave the bhowani with them. ‘Of course. Where is it?’

  ‘On the other side of the fire.’ It lay in full view only twenty feet away, reflecting the fire like a crescent-shaped mirror.

  ‘Quick, get it.’

  Hillary hesitated, mildly curious why he hadn’t seen it, and in that moment he heard Howie returning – not Howie returning because Howie moved silently but the unnatural vacuum of sound that precedes any predator. The katydids were the last to hush, and when they did, Roman pulled Hillary back.

  ‘Forget it. Hold my hand and get into the woods, fast,’ he whispered.

  Her slim white hand took his brown one and obediently led him away from the fire into the woods. Once among the trees he was totally blind. They were still within her sight of the camp when he abruptly knelt and pulled her down.

  Howie stood at the edge of the camp directly opposite them. He was so motionless it was hard to believe that he hadn’t been there all the time. When he moved, it was in long, unhurried strides to the fire, and he slowly looked around in a circle. Then he saw the sword. His eyes scanned the camp once more, and he noted the absence of the goat and the rope. He picked the sword up and laughed so loud Roman thought he could only be feet away. Hillary watched from the grass like a fawn.

  ‘I know you can hear me,’ Howie yelled. ‘I know you’re right here. You ran so scared you even forgot the sword, you know. You might have had a chance if you took the sword.

  ‘Hillary, you made a bad mistake. I don’t know how you think I’m going to take this, your betraying me like this. I’m not happy, you know that. Anyway, two of you are going to be a lot easier to find than one. The three of you, pardon me.’

  He laughed again.

  ‘Can you see me? I bet you can.’ He turned quickly and relaxed again. ‘Hey, antique dealer, have you got any more tricks or did you run out? How’s the bat eye working? A few words in Romany? No?’

  Hillary started sobbing. Roman squeezed her arm until his fingers ached.

  ‘Okay, play hard to get. It’s all the same to me. But I think you’d like to see what I have in store for you two.’ He walked past the fire toward them. For an instant Hillary thought he saw them, but he bent to pick up the idol. He walked back to the fire with it.

  ‘Gypsy, you watching? You too, Hillary. This is what I’m going to do with you.’ He held the idol out with one hand and brought the sword down with the other. The idol was made of hardwood, but the blade sank an inch through its chest and necklace. He pulled the sword out and dropped the idol. He attacked its head, slicing off the tusks and tongue and then, when it was on its back, began hacking away at its neck. The more he worked, the more furious he became, so that when the idol was covered with gashes, his face was dripping with sweat. He wasn’t satisfied until there was nothing recognizable left of the idol, no hands or breasts or legs, and then he stood exhausted with his hands hanging down, his face ash white, and stared at his victim. He picked up the decapitated head.

  ‘What is he doing?’ Roman whispered.

  ‘He put the head in the fire, and he’s still hitting it,’ Hillary said. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to a five-year-old in a distant room.

  Howie slashed away until the fire and the head were indistinguishable, and then he went on cutting
at the flames and slapping the broad head of the sword down so that there was less and less of the campfire all the time. At last there were only a few embers left, and he tracked them down, smothering them with the sword until they were all dead and, blow by blow, he had faded into the surrounding dark.

  ‘Coming to get you.’

  They huddled as near the ground as they could get. Roman’s ear was on the ground, but he couldn’t hear a step. A cool breeze smoothed the grass around them, making them stand out as hillocks.

  Howie would be on them now if he’d taken the right direction, and he had excellent night vision. No sword came down. The first insect began talking again. Roman took his hand off Hillary’s arm. He wasn’t surprised how cramped and sweaty his palm was.

  ‘What do we do now?’ she asked.

  His map of the island was incomplete. The camp was on the eastern side, and he knew the land between it and the water. He knew the southern shore and an area between it and the island’s high point to the west. They’d been through the pine forest and the woods to the house, but Howie had been very careful to lead them back to the camp by the shore trail. The center woods, the birch groves leading to the swamp, the swamp itself and most of the shore running from east to north to west were terra incognita.

  ‘How well do you know the island?’

  ‘Not well. I’ve been sick the last few days. I’m okay at night.’

  ‘Have you been to the swamp?’

  ‘We picked some berries there.’ The timbre was coming back to her voice as she talked. ‘It’s deep.’

  ‘We have to find some place to rest and get this off my back. Can you think of some place I didn’t go today?’ The swamp was out. Stumbling through it blind with no hands was just saving Howie work.

  ‘No. We stayed in camp mostly. Howie was the one who went out and got food.’

  Roman closed his eyes to think. Having them open and seeing nothing was worse. They couldn’t talk where they were for long, and when they moved, it had to be someplace in particular. Wanderers made noise. The south shore was the most logical path, and that, he was sure, was where Howie was waiting. They needed time as badly as Howie needed to finish quickly and make his escape. It was a long swim back to the bus.

  ‘Hillary, do you know Polaris?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Can you see it?’

  He felt her lean away. ‘It’s that way. North.’

  They started off, Hillary following the star through the trees. She moved confidently leading Roman by his shirt. It hadn’t sunk into her that he couldn’t see, and he knew it. Occasionally a tree would hit the goat and shake him; but the ground was level, and he kept his footing. Only once, they heard Howie calling out. He sounded so far away their spirits were lifted.

  The ground became rougher, and Roman’s feet scuffed against sharp rocks. A tall nettle reached his face and left minute red lines. Isadore might be at the festival; he might even meet the boat as it arrived. Roman forced the picture from his mind because it was wishing, not thinking. He tried pushing away guilt for the trick with the egg. That wasn’t as easy. Hillary would have been safer hunting him than running with him, and now that he’d deceived her he would have to go on doing so. She was operating on lies.

  ‘Look, isn’t it beautiful,’ she said. They’d stopped. He heard the lapping of water and the amplified music of the kids traveling over the lake.

  ‘See the Bear. And that’s Cassiopeia on the other side.’

  Hillary looked up. Where Cassiopeia should have been was white cloud. She nodded happily.

  ‘See if you can find a sharp stone,’ Roman said. He sank down and pretended to search the ground. Howie would have given up the south shore by now. Roman was sure that if he could get his arms free from his sides, he’d be able to breathe normally. The moon passed between clouds and gave him an encouraging moment of sight.

  ‘How’s this?’

  Roman told her to put it in his hand. He ran his thumb over the edge. It was glass.

  ‘Great. Go ahead, cut the rope.’

  He leaned over and presented the bound goat. The ropes tugged his chest as she began sawing. It wouldn’t take long for the glass to slice through. He listened to the whine of the mosquitoes busying themselves around the carcass. The short hairs on the back of his neck stood up; then all the hairs down his spine were erect.

  ‘Hillary, are there any big rocks in the water?’ She said there were, as calmly as if they were discussing a landscape. ‘We have to get in the water. Don’t make any splashes. Get behind the rocks and hide.’

  She immediately headed for the water without waiting for him. He managed to get hold of her belt with one hand and followed. The water rose to his knees and then his chest as she led him in. His face felt colder. The water’s buoyancy made it easier for him to carry the goat and practically impossible for him to hide.

  ‘How big are they?’

  ‘Big enough.’

  There wasn’t time to argue. The lake bottom fell away, and they were treading water. He lost his grip on her and regained it. A rock hit his chest, and he shouldered his way around it.

  ‘See, here we are,’ she said.

  He trod as fast as he could. The goat, like an oversized hump, kept forcing his face into the water. He angled his hands up from his sides as much as he could and found a hold on the rock. When his shoe discovered a projection to rest on, he hugged the rough side of the rock as if he could get into it. Hillary was as composed as a sleepwalker.

  They waited in the water for ten minutes while the chill settled into their bodies. Then, before he could tell Hillary they were going back, a white birch moved in the bright moonlight from the other trees and onto the beach. It carried a shining branch over the spot where Hillary had tried to cut the ropes. As the white shape glided back and forth, Roman saw she had taken them only twenty yards into the water. The struggle to the rocks had felt like a mile when they’d hardly moved at all.

  He remembered the ground when he’d pretended to search for a stone, a film of sand over rocks and hard soil. If there was more sand, the tracks into the water would be unmistakable. The apparition never turned to the water. It simply retreated and, bent over with the brilliant arm in front, dissolved back into the trees.

  They waited another ten minutes and came ashore. Roman spit out the water he hadn’t swallowed in the struggle back. The goat was twice as heavy as before. The ropes were tighter. Hillary hugged herself and shivered. Her dank hair hung over her shoulders, and her shirt was pressed over her breasts and belly.

  ‘That was close. I’m amazed he didn’t see us.’

  ‘Us? You don’t have to worry,’ Hillary said, ‘you’re invisible.’ She wasn’t kidding. Roman’s teeth chattered.

  ‘Have you still got the glass? He won’t be back for a while.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I lost it in the water.’

  The goat wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she pulled. Finally, they started moving again only to stop and take off shoes that squished on the ground. She laced her sneakers neatly together and hung them over her neck to dry. In bare feet, they crept back into the woods, the girl leading what was at first sight a helpless beast of burden.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘The Bear is about five inches over the trees,’ Hillary said sleepily.

  ‘Fine. Just three more hours until daylight,’ Roman said.

  ‘Can I go back to sleep?’

  ‘No, you’d better stay awake now.’

  The moonlight was bright and constant. The clouds were gone, and they wouldn’t be back until dawn. Roman and Hillary were on the eastern fringe of the pine forest overlooking a meadow that ran to the woods in the center of the island. They’d been there for an hour watching Howie move below. He was searching the island in a circular patrol that was tightening around the high ground. Each sweep was shorter. In the beginning there had been a fifteen-minute space between his appearances. It was down to about every five minutes.
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  Roman leaned forward. The rope was hooked over a stub on the tree, taking some of the weight off him. They’d never come as close again to freeing him from the goat as they had on the beach, but altogether they’d been very lucky. Twice Howie had passed within inches of them, once in the birch stand when he’d suddenly manifested again and once in the woods below. He was a smart tracker. All of his screaming had been in the first hours of the hunt, and he’d been patiently silent since. From Hillary’s description, he stopped and took careful surveys each time he came by. He’d know if there was something different about a tree or whether a bush had exactly the same outline.

  Roman had him pegged now. The pure whiteness had thrown him off just as the idol’s blackness had confused the others. Howie was Priculics. During the day, Priculics was a beautiful young man. At night he was a huge black dog that killed and devoured anything he met. He’d hunted Faust, and now he was hunting them, padding through the woods on all fours with his beautiful shining teeth.

  ‘Roman.’

  He shook his head. He’d fallen asleep. It was the strain of trying to see when he could barely make out the blur of trees.

  ‘Roman, it must be wonderful being a Gypsy.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You don’t have to be scared of anything. I’ve been afraid all my life. With you, nothing can happen.’

  ‘Shhh.’

  The white form slipped by sixty feet away. It was moving faster now. Howie’s patience was wearing thin. When he was gone, Roman and Hillary moved up to the next line of trees. Moving over the meadow, they’d be too easy to spot. Anyway, Roman liked to know where Howie was.

  The search area was localizing around the knoll. On the other side of it the pine forest ended in a cul-de-sac where it fell off to the lower woods. Roman decided that they would move in the direction of the knoll one more time, and then they would have to make a break for it back toward the shore.

  ‘They’re all asleep,’ Hillary said. The far shore was completely dark; the kids had tucked themselves in. Roman wondered idly whether Isadore was wandering around the blankets. ‘It’s so peaceful, like the end of the world,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean destruction. I mean as if their world ended over there and we had this island right off the edge.’