Elegy Read online

  It was Gabe who prepared Jenny for his brother’s return, and when she found Michael one morning standing by her locker, clear-eyed and back to normal, when he said a simple hello in his soft, deep voice and she heard his apology in that single word, she realised Gabe hadn’t just been keeping her safe from Casey. He’d been keeping her safe for Michael.

  ii

  Cait had told Gabe no more than was necessary, and he never questioned it, befriending the girl when she asked, protecting Michael when needed. And he did it all without resentment or demanding to know more. Gabe wasn’t one of them. He was better than that.

  But Michael was difficult. It was always hard for Cait to know how much to tell him. Sometimes he understood, sometimes he denied and sometimes he rebelled. There were so many variables. He’d never before crossed over and returned without first accepting who he was, and she feared what was to come. So, while his eyes were attuned to both worlds she revealed what she knew: of the flame and the unlit, of the beginning and the end, of their crimes and their punishment. And she lost him.

  ‘I can see things,’ he said, his voice hoarse and worn and already too old. ‘Bad things, Cait. Darkness. Cruelty. Everywhere.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You see them too.’ His relief was obvious.

  Cait shook her head. ‘No, Michael. I can’t see what you see, just as I can’t go where you go. I know because you’ve told me before.’

  He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes tight. ‘What is it? What are they?’

  ‘Evil. Greed. Fear. Hate. All the sins of the world. They’re the remnants of past lives, left behind when people die. They’ll fade as you get stronger but, for now, look inwards, inside others. Find the flame, Michael. Concentrate on that.’

  He lifted his head again and stared at the crowd around them, bodies that were warmed by the sun and fired from within. He nodded. ‘Yeah. I see them.’

  ‘What you can see is the Making,’ she said. ‘Everything that’s made is fuelled by it, until the thing is unmade and the flame is taken back.’

  ‘You mean like God?’ he asked, grasping.

  Cait smiled. ‘That’s just religion. There’s only the Making and the Unmaking.’

  ‘But you have no flame,’ he said, looking into her.

  ‘No, nor do you, Michael. You and I can’t be unmade.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘What does that mean?’

  She chose her words with care because much had been written about them, so much supposed, yet so little of it was true and even less remembered. ‘A long time ago we each made a … decision to help the world. Our motives were pure, Michael, but our actions defied the Making, so it withdrew from us and we were condemned.’

  ‘Condemned how?’ Michael asked.

  She gestured to everyone around them. ‘To remain with those we loved. To suffer mortality as they do, except our suffering doesn’t end as theirs does.’

  ‘So we won’t die?’ He frowned quickly. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘All things must die, Michael.’ Cait waited to see if he understood. It was a while before he spoke.

  ‘What did we do?’ he asked, his voice strained.

  Her smile was wan. ‘We gave gifts. Yours was light.’

  ‘Light? That’s it?’

  ‘You need to stop thinking literally. Some called it fire, but it was much more than that – illumination, understanding, the power to reason and learn, the ability to better their lot. It was the greatest of gifts, Michael, and you must never regret it.’

  ‘Why don’t I remember this? How come you remember and I don’t?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s the cruelty. You’re not able to remember. Each time you return you’re made whole again, cleansed of everything that’s gone before, and you have to start over. You have to relearn.’

  ‘Who was I?’ he asked, as he always did, and she told him, as she always had to.

  When he protested, she cut in. ‘Remember your nightmares, Michael. The eagle, and the chains.’

  ‘But that’s … that’s like a myth, right? One of those legends. I mean, it’s not real. It can’t be.’

  ‘Why not? Every story is rooted in truth, Michael. Yes, over time it’s become a myth, but the metaphors are accurate enough. You are bound here and you’re made new every time. Don’t dismiss the ancients. After all, it was your gift that allowed them to tell your story.’

  ‘But it was so long ago. No one believes that crap any more,’ he said. ‘Most people wouldn’t even know that story.’

  ‘They do. Only, they know it as something different. Everything people believe now has been taken from something else, some other much earlier belief. Adopted and adapted. We might not be known as we once were – we’re not revered any more – but our stories are still remembered by some.’ And feared, Cait thought. Misunderstood and hated. ‘It doesn’t matter that the truth has been distorted; it’s enough that people still believe in something. But one thing you have to understand, Michael, above everything else, is that you never fell. Do you hear me? You jumped. Don’t ever forget that.’

  There was a long silence, and she watched him struggle with it, sensed his horror and his confusion. When he sighed, it brought no relief.

  ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘What was your gift?’

  Cait looked across the playground, at the young people milling, talking and laughing, their thoughts full of the promise of tomorrow. She couldn’t see what they saw, or dream as they did of a bright future. She’d lost that ability long ago, when she’d given it away.

  ‘Hope,’ she said.

  One day, Michael finally asked about the word he’d spoken at the party.

  ‘Your power is a remnant of what you were,’ she replied. ‘Not even the Making could take that away. But it’s diminished, just as you are. Sometimes it never arises, other times it can be terrible. It’s always been there, inside you; that’s what you tapped into every time you did one of your tricks. But once stirred, it keeps coming, stronger and stronger, until you either accept it or are consumed. That’s what you felt that night – the key to your power. That’s why I’ve always tried to stop you using it. To give you time. To give us both time. You’ve never spoken a word before without first knowing of us – and never before crossing over.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cait said, shaking her head. ‘I can only see what’s been.’

  He was petulant. ‘What can I do? You say this thing’s diminished, but I can feel this … this energy inside, like it’s bursting to get out. And it’s so strong.’

  ‘It is strong, but you’re not. You’re walking the line between what you were and who you are, and your mortality hinders you, pulls you down. It always does. You need to learn to harness that strength. And you’re still so young.’

  ‘Really?’ he snapped. ‘According to you, I’m as old as the world.’

  ‘Older, actually,’ she replied, keeping calm. ‘But right now you’re like a child, Michael, and it will take a lifetime to learn what you need to know.’

  ‘But that’s okay, right?’ he said, not bothering to disguise his bitterness. ‘Because I have a lifetime, don’t I? Oh no, wait, I have thousands, millions maybe. Lucky me, huh?’

  Cait stared at him, trying not to let her anger show. His reaction wasn’t new but it never failed to hurt. ‘No, Michael, you don’t. Not a whole lifetime. That’s the problem. And you’re not alone in this. You’re not the only one suffering.’

  He had the grace, at least, to bow his head.

  Some days he challenged her words, other times he’d surrender to them. But he never accepted them. And as his anger grew, so did Cait’s. While he wept, she despaired.

  ‘Will I ever remember?’ he asked, the day when he imagined he didn’t need her.

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘You never have.’

  He stared at his hands, turning them over and studying them. ‘So this is our fat
e. For the rest of time.’

  ‘Until the Making is done,’ she replied.

  Standing, he looked down on her with such hatred and scorn that she flinched. ‘No,’ he said, and left Cait to find the girl.

  But country folks who live beneath

  The shadow of the steeple;

  The parson and the parson’s wife,

  And mostly married people;

  Youths green and happy in first love,

  So thankful for illusion;

  And men caught out in what the world

  Calls guilt, in first confusion;

  ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, ‘There is no God, the wicked sayeth’

  VI

  ‘You scared me,’ Jenny told him.

  ‘Yes,’ Michael replied.

  ‘And you hurt me.’

  He hung his head. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  It was the first time they’d mentioned the party since Jenny had found him standing by her locker, looking better and more like the Michael she’d first met. She hadn’t wanted to forgive him, but if her shaky reply to his simple greeting unlocked the door between them, it was his quiet composure, without any of the confidence he’d shown that first night, which had pushed it open.

  They began to sit together at lunchtime and, while he didn’t say much, Jenny knew he was content in her company. Sometimes Gabe joined them and Michael would transform. It was as though Gabe brought light enough for both of them, to push away any darkness, but there was only tension when his sister was around. The bond between Caitlin and Michael, so obvious at the start of school, had somehow broken, and Michael retreated when she approached, wrapping himself in his thoughts, not speaking again until she left. She always seemed to be alone and he never seemed to care. But Jenny knew Gabe did; he’d watch Caitlin drift away, sometimes leaving them to be with her.

  ‘I feel sorry for her,’ Jenny told Michael, surprising herself. ‘She looked after you while you were, you know, sick. I think you’re being unfair.’

  ‘Do you,’ he said. His voice was cold and his eyes burned with a black heat, almost contemptuous. Jenny didn’t mention Caitlin for a long time after that, and when she did, it wasn’t to Michael.

  But if he was that bit quieter and that bit sadder, in every other respect he was the same Michael she’d kissed, the same Michael who’d charmed her with his dark good looks and a pair of blue boots, only with one clear difference: he no longer performed illusions, no matter who asked. And the less he did, the more people talked about what he’d already done, so that even the smallest creature he’d conjured grew into some kind of fantastical monster. The story of the fight was told and retold until it resembled a deed of legend, outlandish and impossible, Michael the hero every time.

  ‘I heard fire came out of his eyes,’ one girl remarked in a hushed voice.

  ‘No, it was his mouth, like a dragon,’ said another.

  ‘Well, I heard he died and came back to life. Like Jesus,’ said someone else.

  It was as though everyone was trying to outdo each other, claiming ownership of Michael, making sense of it in their own simple way, without need for proof. When Jenny asked Gabe about it, he smiled and shrugged.

  ‘It’s not the first time. You have to understand they might not like what Michael did, or believe it – maybe they’re even scared of him – but at the end of the day they like Casey even less. It’s just a matter of degree.’

  ‘I don’t get it. Why are there no stories in the papers, no police even? If something like this happened in Melbourne, every current affairs program would be on it.’

  ‘What’s to tell? You’ve seen the video. It was a fight, plain and simple, and stuff like that happens all the time.’ Gabe’s voice had taken on an edge, and Jenny didn’t know which of them he was trying to convince.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she replied. ‘You’d think there’d be someone trying to cash in on it.’

  Gabe relaxed then and grinned. ‘A couple of years ago someone did. They went to the Advertiser with some photos and links to videos. Real stupid stuff. A reporter came out, tried to do an interview with Michael, made him out to be some kind of freak, but Jim and Barb sent them packing. Jim even got out the shotgun. After that, nothing.’ He laughed. ‘God, I remember Cait got so mad with Michael. They didn’t speak to each other for a month.’

  ‘And do they think it’s nonsense – Jim and Barb? Or do they know what Michael can do?’

  ‘When he first started with it, he used to show off a bit. You know, put on little shows and stuff? Barb loved them – even bought him one of those plastic wands and a cape for Christmas. And I reckon he might’ve kept going with it all too if it hadn’t been for Cait. She’d always leave the room every time he started, so after a while he packed it in and Barb stopped asking. Probably thought it was one of those phases kids go through.’

  ‘And Jim?’

  Gabe laughed. ‘Unless it’s got four legs or grows out of the ground, Jim’s not interested.’

  ‘But other people are,’ Jenny pointed out. ‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

  ‘It did, after the party – scared the crap out of me – but the heat’s off now and I reckon the less said, the better. For everyone.’

  Yes, agreed Jenny, not least for her. And it seemed Michael felt the same way, staying silent and resolute, so those who knew the truth followed his lead and said nothing at all. Because, at the end of the day, how did one begin to explain such a thing?

  Even Casey no longer bothered her, or she no longer bothered about him. Sometimes she’d turn around, sure he was watching her, to find no one there. Michael never seemed to notice anything, and gradually she stopped worrying.

  Though they spent time together at school, she and Michael rarely saw each other outside it, cursed by simple geography: Jenny lived in town, he was always busy at the farm, and neither of them had their driver’s licence. Sometimes he’d walk with her from school and they’d stop at the milk bar on the high street to get cold drinks, sipping them while they strolled the rest of the way to Jenny’s front door. The first time, she’d invited him inside and, while he hesitated on the verandah, Chris appeared, untidy in his school uniform and sucking on an iceblock.

  ‘Who’re you?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ said Jenny.

  Chris’s eyes widened. ‘I know you! You broke that guy’s arm. Everyone at school was talking about it. I saw the video. It was so cool.’

  ‘Go away, Chris,’ Jenny groaned.

  He turned to her and pulled a face. ‘Saw you too. You screamed.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Are you really a magician?’ he asked Michael, ignoring his sister. ‘Jason says you are, but I don’t think there’s any such thing. Not for real. It’s just tricks ’n’ stuff.’

  Michael looked at him for a moment. ‘You’re right. It is.’

  ‘I knew it! Wait till I tell Jason,’ Chris crowed, before disappearing back inside.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Jenny said to Michael.

  ‘Smart kid,’ he said, but he looked uncomfortable, as though wondering who else might be lying in wait. ‘I’d better go, okay?’

  But it wasn’t okay, and after he’d left, Jenny stormed inside to yell at Chris.

  She didn’t invite Michael in again, and he never asked to enter. He’d stop at the front gate, waiting until she’d closed the door before heading back, cutting through town and following the river to the old railway line that bordered the farm. Sometimes Gabe would wait for him at school and they’d drive back together in the ute, but Jenny suspected Michael preferred the walk because it gave him time alone.

  It was Gabe who first asked her to the farm, his suggestion both unexpected and blatant.

  ‘Come swimming with us on Sunday,’ he said. ‘At the waterhole. I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Uh, ’cause it’s going to be a scorcher?’ He grinned. ‘And because we’ll all be dead and buried before Michael gets up the g
uts to ask you.’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘I don’t know. My mum’s being a real pain. I think she’s heard about everything. I don’t want to make things worse by lying.’

  ‘So don’t. Tell her the truth.’ Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

  But it wasn’t that easy and Chris didn’t help by letting it drop over dinner that Jenny had a boyfriend.

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she cut in, but Chris didn’t care about that.

  ‘He’s really cool. Everyone reckons he’s a real magician ’cause of what they saw him do to that other kid, but I know he’s not,’ he blathered, not noticing their father’s sudden interest or their mum’s frown.

  Jenny kicked her brother hard under the table. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Ow! Whatcha do that for?’

  ‘Is this the Webster boy?’ her father asked. ‘I remember him.’

  How? she wondered. Had he seen the video and heard all the gossip? It was Short Town after all.

  ‘I’d prefer you didn’t see too much of him, Jenny.’

  ‘It’s not like that. He’s … different,’ she finished, fishing helplessly for words to describe Michael.

  Her father looked at her. ‘It’s a small town, Jenny. People talk.’

  She glared at Chris. ‘Thanks a lot, you little brat!’ Pushing her chair back, she stalked from the table.

  ‘Jenny, get back here!’ her mother called, and Jenny heard her father mutter something before she shut them out, slamming the bedroom door. It was bad enough she’d been dragged here against her will, she thought, but now she’d finally found something worthwhile in this dump of a town, they wanted to take that away too.