Emily Taylor - The Apprentice

  10.

  Emily awoke before dawn. In her dreams she was being pursued by slimeballs. Even when she stretched and got up they were still there, chasing her along the beach, trying to get her. It seemed that there was always something out to get her; at home it was the bullies, in the desert it was Gamel, in Khartoum it was Abdullah, here it was the slimeballs.

  Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she shuffled out to her favourite spot on the sofa and plonked herself down next to Negrita, who snarled and lashed out with a paw, scratching her hand.

  ‘Ouch! You ‘orrible beast!’ she cursed.

  Feeling in her pocket, she twiddled absent-mindedly with the ping-pong ball sized black hole then remembered the warnings about getting sucked in.

  ‘The day of my funeral, the perfect day to dice with death,’ she said to Negrita and pulled out the black hole. Against the neon-tube like glow of the white rings it looked jet black. Inspecting it closely, she could see little red and orange swirls of lava flowing on its surface.

  ‘I wonder,’ she said, opening the cage. ‘Do you want to go free?’

  The black hole moved half way out and hovered there moving a little from side to side as if testing the air. Feeling satisfied, it moved out about half a metre then bolted back in as a wave sloshed on the shore.

  A few moments later, it came out again and, hovering about a metre off the ground, moved down the steps and across the grass towards the beach. Its faint glow was just about lost sight, when Negrita jumped off the sofa, bounded across the lawn and launched herself into mid-air, her paws swinging at the black hole.

  ‘No, no!’ cried Emily.

  The black hole dodged to the left and down low to the ground. Negrita pounced again. The black hole taunted her, hovering just out of her reach as it slowly moved back towards Emily. Negrita snarled and breathed fire and it shot back to the safety of the antimatter cage.

  ‘Come out,’ said Emily, cupping her hand in front of the cage.

  The black hole moved slowly out. ‘You’re safe with me,’ she said softly.

  It slowly settled into Emily’s hand. It just sat there, hot and cold, heavy and light, all at the same time. It didn’t suck Emily in and squish her to nothingness; it just sat there.

  ‘What shall we call you then? You should be Negrita but she’s already here. Enzo, that’s what I’ll call you, Enzo the black hole.’

  Emily closed her hand but Enzo squirmed out and back into his cage. Emily closed the white ring cage and slipped it back into her pocket.

  ‘Enzo, the timid black hole,’ she said. ‘You’ll be safe in there.’

  Emily watched the sky lighten in the east and the sun rise up out of the sea.

  Zeus arrived for a late breakfast, ‘Same as yesterday please. Go easy on the beans; I’m getting middle age spread!’

  ‘Middle aged spread!’ said Emily. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Earth years? About eight thousand. I want to start taking things easier, to spend some time on my asteroid. That’s why I need an assistant.’

  ‘It sounds more like an apprentice.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Will I live forever too?’

  ‘We don’t live forever and wouldn’t want to. We just live about a hundred times longer than you teroids. We’re made of tough, hardwearing cells!’

  ‘Tell me first. Will I live forever?’

  ‘You can decide. Do you want to live long or short?’

  ‘Seems an odd question to ask on the day of my funeral; long, no short, no long, no...I can’t decide. I want to grow old with my friends. Can I decide later?’

  ‘Of course you can.

  They had breakfast and sat on the sofa enjoying the morning

  ‘It’s almost time for your funeral,’ said Zeus. ‘Would you like a hot chocolate? Normally I offer people a whiskey but you look a bit young.’

  ‘Are there other people up here?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll visit them sometime. I keep the interesting ones, it’s like a hobby.’

  ‘Interesting, like not boring?’

  ‘Interesting, like leaders, scientists, philosophers, musicians, artists, bad guys, the inventor of the vacuum cleaner, Edison, Ghandi, all people who were, I should say still are, exceptional in their field.’

  ‘Interesting, is that why you kept me, because I’m interesting?’ asked Emily, feeling a little peeved.

  ‘No, I saved you because you have spirit and you dream.’

  ‘Thanks for saving me. I like it up here.’

  ‘It’s been my pleasure, it’s lovely to have your company,’ he said, with a sparkle in his green-brown eyes.

  ‘Please could I just a wee splash of whiskey in the hot chocolate?’ said Emily. ‘It doesn’t taste too bad, does it?’

  Emily wondered what to wear. What do you wear to your own funeral? She decided on the black Emma Peel outfit because everyone would be sad. She changed and brushed her hair until she felt suitably tidy. She’d never been to a funeral before, let alone her own. When she went back outside, there were two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate waiting on a little table in front of the sofa.

  ‘The table’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘I should have thought of getting one.’

  ‘It’s fully adjustable,’ said God proudly, putting his hand flat on the top and pulling it up until it was a dinner table, then pushing it back down again. ‘I invented it. Having watched teroids for years, their tables are never quite the right size or height. Now look; the flexitable! Just think of what table you need and push or pull it in the right direction.

  ‘It might make me rich one day,’ he added, with a smile.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Emily, holding up her mug. ‘To death,’ she said, clunking it against Zeus’s and taking a long slurp.

  The whiskey burned its way down her throat. ‘Bwwa, bwa, bwa, bwaaa,’ she said, shaking her head like a cat, then spitting out the vile brew. ‘Phew that’s got a bite to it. I always wondered why people do that when they drink strong whiskey.’

  ‘I’ll get you another one, without the whiskey!’ said Zeus.

  ‘So how do we watch Earth? How do we go to my funeral? Do we go up to the sentry moon?’

  ‘The slugs will be tuned in for sure, but we’ll watch from here,’ he said, clicking his fingers.

  Ping!

  A telescope appeared next to them. It was about the size of a large fridge, except round, not square, and was mounted on a base with pivot points about half way up its height so it could move around in all directions. It looked a bit like the reflecting telescope Emily’s class saw the rings of Saturn through on their visit to the observatory, but she couldn’t see where the eye piece was.

  ‘Where do I look?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘You don’t look, you see,’ said Zeus. ‘Wormhole technology, using antimatter rings. The zinodes are amazing. They laugh, they work, they joke, they party, they make babies, they flitter though life as if they’ve never had a serious thought in their bony little heads, then...Voila! They’ve invented a wormoscopic refractor or Worm as it’s known. It makes high resonance radar look positively Stone Age. The slugs don’t like worms so they call it a voyeurscope.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Emily sarcastically. ‘I don’t see where to look.’

  A girl is allowed to get a little fraught on a day like this.

  ‘You don’t look, you see,’ repeated Zeus, sounding very convincing.

  Emily walked around the Worm; it was white and gleamed in the bright sunlight. She pulled Zeus’s flexitable across and made it tall then climbed up and peered down into the device. It was like looking into infinity, mirrors reflecting on mirrors, reflecting on mirrors into the distance.

  ‘Move your head,’ said Zeus. ‘You’re blocking my view. It’s a bit of a grey day isn’t it?’

  ‘Grey day? I’m missing my funeral. I’ll go and see Castor.’

  ‘Wait, wait,’ said Zeus. ‘Have another sip in your hot toddy.’

  Emily took a
long gorge. It burned its way down her throat, warmed her stomach and makes her feet go all light and fluttery. ‘Bwa, bwa, bwaaaaaa,’ she said, giving an involuntary shudder.

  ‘Not mine, yours!’ laughed Zeus.

  Emily had a sip of hers to try and wash petrol taste away. It was like the time she was helping her dad siphon fuel from her nanna’s car and she swallowed some. It tasted disgusting and every time she burped the taste came back.

  ‘Now sit on the sofa,’ said Zeus firmly, ‘Relax. Think of home. Think of your funeral and who’s going to be there. Drift away, relax, drift away.’ His lovely voice sent Emily tumbling off into her dreams. With the sunshine and hot whiskey warming her body; she relaxed and spun off into another world.

  It was drizzling in Sheffield. The grey hills faded into the misty distance. Emily could feel the dampness and cool raindrops on her cheeks. A fresh west wind blew, rustling the spring leaves and sending big drops showering down on the crowd that had gathered in the graveyard. It was grey, the weather was grey, the houses were grey, the hills were grey, and people’s moods were grey. Everything was grey apart from a few young children. Their clothes, their happiness, their spirit and joy of life, stood out as splashes of colour against the grey canvas of the graveyard.

  In her mind’s eye Emily flew around, circling like a hawk above the scene. Sad, grey people filled the graveyard. Discreetly tucked out of sight behind a row of trees, TV cameras were set up of rickety towers, black cables snaking away to vans with big dishes pointing skywards from their roofs. Behind them a cordon of policemen, tall and business-like in their riot gear were being shoved back and forth as they fought to stand their ground against a crowd of jostling demonstrators.

  ‘American Killers’, ‘Obama Murderer’, ‘Killer Christians,’ shouted the demonstrators, their bright banners and flags flapping like giant speech bubbles in the biting breeze.

  Emily glided back around towards the graveyard, flying lower as cloud and mist blocked her view. A long black car arrived and a small, varnished coffin was carried towards the hole in the ground where the grey people stood. Her dad, Uncle John, Mr Wright, Emily’s school teacher, and Mr Black from next door, were the pall bearers. They were sad. So sad, that it made Emily cry. As a tear ran down her cheek, Emily’s dad turned and looked straight at her.

  Does he know that I’m here?

  He looked older, greyer. Still handsome, but he’d aged, there were lines on his face, and what hair hadn’t fallen out had turned grey.

  Oops! That’s my doing!

  Through his sadness, Emily could sense his pride in her. He was so proud that it brought a smile back to her face. The coffin was placed next to the waiting hole. Her mum was there; very pregnant and so, so sad. Despite the tears that flowed down her mum’s pale face, mixing with the drizzle and dripping from her chin, Emily could feel happiness that a new baby was coming. Out with one, in with another, it would make the house happy again when she was gone.

  Emily landed and stood next to the grave.

  Danny and Julie were happily playing around everyone’s shoes. Covered with mud, they threw clods of dirt into the hole and chased worms. Julie ate one.

  Gross!

  Emily hardly recognised Annie at first. She looked terrible. She’d become tubby and her face was pale and spotty, her dark hair unkempt and matted. She was sadder and lonelier than anyone else and Emily could sense her feeling of relief as the sky sympathised with her, sending down sheets of rain from the low, black clouds. She was happy to be cold, wet and miserable. A vicar said a few words and everyone joined him in prayer.

  Emily’s dad stood up to speak but was just too sad. He folded up his speech and put it back in his pocket. Her mum squeezed his hand and he said, ‘We’ll miss her.’

  The coffin was solemnly lowered into the waiting hole, raindrops running off it in rivulets. As soon as it was down, a brass band started up and a tall, wide, black woman sung You are my sunshine. She was powerful; solemn, yet bright and cheerful. Her voice changed the mood. Colour came back into the people, into the trees and the landscape. A policeman tapped his foot in time and hummed along, the vicar opened his mouth wide and sung, the crowd joined in, the TV crews sung, the protesters stopped their ra-raing and joined in, all caught up in the moment.

  A ray of sunshine broke through the cloud, lighting up the singer and forming a double rainbow.

  ‘Zeus!’ scolded Emily, trying to sound angry.

  ‘Sorry! I can’t help it, I love an occasion!’

  Emily found herself singing along and was sure she heard Zeus’s rich voice as well.

  As soon as the last note was sung, the ray of sunlight stopped and a strong gust of wind swept over the hills, snatching away hats and umbrellas and clearing the clouds from the sky. As Emily’s grave was filled with wet dirt, the wind dropped and the scene was silent and still, bathed in bright spring sunlight. After the last muddy clod was shovelled into place, there was a gentle rustling of leaves and a small williwaw swept through the graveyard ripping blossoms and fresh leaves off the trees. Then it was gone, leaving a column of pink and white petals raining down on Emily’s grave.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Emily. ‘But aren’t you going a bit far?’

  ‘Shhhh,’ said Zeus. ‘Sniff, sniff, I haven’t been so moved for ages.’

  Emily’s mum and dad and all the people left the graveyard, streaming back down the hill towards the grey houses.

  Emily was just about to leave when a couple of Tuareg, nomads from the Sahara, came out from under the trees and stood in the petals by the grave. One was tall and slightly rounded and the other young and skinny, but that was all she could make out. They wore dark indigo tents and had long scarves wrapped around their faces hiding everything but their eyes.

  Even before she even saw their eyes Emily knew it was Saleem and Zula.

  Zula spoke a few words in Tamasheq, ‘Emily, my heart will always be with you,’ and placed a little posy of white daisies on the grave; the same daisies that grew on the grassy slopes of the graveyard. His eyes were heavy with tears. Leaving a trail of sandal prints in the mud, they left the grave and walked back into the trees, Saleem’s arm around his son’s shoulders.

  Blowing in from the west, clouds covered the sky again and light drizzle started to fall.

  Returning to her sofa on Camillo, Emily sat in the sunshine and cried.

  She’d thought it would be a bit of a laugh being at her own funeral. It wasn’t.

  Giving Emily a wink, Zeus said, ‘That Azulay, he likes you,’ and with a click of his fingers was gone.