NOT SO LONG AGO

2

“Are you in pain?”

Erma touched her brother’s side and he made a face.

“No, I feel nothing,” he said.

“Then why are you crying?”

Adam wiped away the tear he couldn’t hold back.

“I’m not crying, it’s my sweaty eyes. I feel a little, but it’s nothing. We can leave tonight as planned.”

“Adam, if you can’t walk, it’s better if we wait a few days.”

“I can walk.”

“But if you keel over, everything will be ruined, and we’ll get the worst beating ever...”

“I won’t, Erma.”

“Better to call it off.”

“And your friend?”

The glow that shone arrogantly in Adam’s eyes finally convinced his older sister. She nodded and went back to her room. In half an hour her mother would come home. Then it would be her father’s turn, around eight o’clock, probably drunk. Erma would set the table and serve the fish soup she had prepared the day before. She had made it very thick. She was certain that with a full stomach, they slept better. Adam and she should bear the old man’s yelling and the cowardice of the old woman without flinching. Then they would clear the table, do the dishes and a little cleaning, and go to bed.

But they wouldn’t sleep.

Adam was lying on his overly soft mattress. For no reason, he held his breath, convinced that if one of his parents heard him, they would find it suspicious and look in to find out more. He already imagined his father suddenly opening the door of his room and asking him why he wasn’t sleeping. Adam would panic for sure, guilty at the outset, and his father would want to know why.

He heard a scratch on his door. Then Erma entered the room with the tiny steps of a mouse.

“Erma, is that you?”

“No, Bambino, it’s Shirley Bassey. Of course, it’s me. You ready?”

In the dim light, Adam nodded. They had repeated the plan so many times that he knew every detail of it. He leaned under his bed, taking care not to make the floorboards creak, and grabbed the strap of his backpack.

“Are you sure I can’t take at least one comic book?”

Erma frowned and didn’t answer. Tiptoeing, she took a few steps and looked around through the window. Sometimes, at night, her father would get up and go to the barn where he stored the bottles of wine he brought back from the Co-op. No light in the outbuildings. And she had just heard him snoring like a grizzly bear when she had left her room.

She and Adam had agreed that it was better to leave the house by climbing the outside wall from the first floor. The problem was simple: the stairs creaked so much that if they chose the easy way by escaping through the front door, they risked getting caught. Their mother was a light sleeper, despite the alcohol and medication, and they couldn’t risk being discovered at this hour, dressed as if they were going on a hike, a backpack on their shoulder.

Erma opened the window and passed an arm under the sill. She caught the ivy and groped until she grabbed a sturdy stalk.

“You watch me do it, Bambino, and then you do the same.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine... I’ve done the wall already.”

Erma let herself swing to the right. She put the tip of her foot on the protruding bark she guessed was beneath her, dimly lit by the moon, and then climbed the wall. One last leap and she put her boots on the ground, shamelessly crushing purple azaleas that she found vulgar.

Adam threw his bag, hanging it over the steel railing. Then he grabbed the ivy. Normally, Adam, who was only playful with his sister, but a much more timid character with the outside world, would probably have uttered Tarzan’s cry to make her laugh. He didn’t say a word and departed in silence.

Once they were face to face, Erma, panting, turned abruptly to surprise Adam who was trying to move away. Tears streamed. Again.

“What’s wrong with you? Do you still want to leave?” she asked, whispering.

“Of course, yes!”

“So... you’re in pain, right? It’s your ribs?”

A pout. Adam refrained from answering and began to walk. Erma followed him. They joined the path that led out of the property. The moon, daring, cast here and there a gloomy light, intensifying the eerie appearance of their surroundings. A simple wheelbarrow filled with hay became a kind of wild creature, lurking in a corner to better pounce on them.

Erma suddenly moved from the path. Before her brother stopped her, she picked some apples from the first trees of the modest orchard that stretched over several hundred square yards.

“Here,” she said, passing him a piece of fruit, “eat, you need to keep your strength up, and it’ll be less to carry. Besides, when you eat, you don’t talk...”

She chuckled and they left the cursed place, the lair of the beast, leaving behind the bruises, fractures, insults, and humiliations, turning their backs on their lack of future, nourishing their scorned recklessness of a tomorrow they felt had a glimpse of hope and freedom.

It was agreed that Roland should join them out of the village. Erma and Adam purposely made a detour through to the bay, down Canterbury Road where they used to play marbles with their schoolmates. Their father worked very little in these places, preferring the juicy contracts of Whitstable, with monotonous labour and exhausting oyster-farming work. A true job of conviction, and callused hands worn down on oyster shells, the main resource of the port.

The children stood in front of the sea, noses in the air, hair swept eastward by the fine summer breeze. They closed their eyes to savour the great breath of iodized air they stored in unison as if they wanted to capture a souvenir of this idyllic site, relishing the salty notes that tickled their nostrils.

They then followed Canterbury Road again, moving away from the lapping of the fishing boats stirring on the water, and to West Blean Wood.

People from here would get up at dawn to reach the port or the surrounding fields. They lived off the land and the sea. The days followed the sunrise and sunset. At midnight, no one was roaming the streets. Past midnight, only light snoring escaped from the windows left open due to the heat.

The West Blean Wood crossing was fast, passing through Thorndon Wood and Clowes Wood. Unconsciously, Erma and her brother dreaded the moment when their father would discover their absence. He would become mad with rage, would probably blame their mother for her leniency and her apathy, and would immediately come after them. The more miles between them and him, the less anxious they would be.

They finally reached the old Whitstable Harbour Branch railway line. They took their position in the middle of the tracks―known locally as the Crab and Winkle Line― which squirmed downhill towards Whitstable Harbour.

“He’s not here?” asked Adam.

Erma didn’t answer. She raised a hand to demand silence and concentrated. Except for the sound of some tree-frogs croaking in the surrounding ponds, nothing, not a sound, not a single footstep that could have indicated Roland’s presence.

Erma pointed to the darkness and the lanky silhouette of Roland in the moonlight. With his shambling approach, he looked like a stray zombie. When he was at their side, Adam was able to study him. Roland was two good heads more than him, and one more than Erma. His appearance was a permanent object of ridicule at school. But Roland had an asset, a card up his sleeve. If his size didn’t impress anyone, his reckless courage did. The gangs were afraid of this fearless beanpole who took the blows better than anyone. Besides, his natural relaxed humour and disposition spared him many jeers.

“I thought you’d been caught,” he said.

“No. But we went to the harbour.”

“Ah? To do what?”

“To say goodbye to it.”

Roland just nodded, as if grasping a hidden meaning of the confession.

The three children took stock of their respective packs. When Erma opened hers and took out three novels, Adam blushed deeply and raised his voice:

“I’m dreaming? You stopped me from taking my comics and you, you brought your books?”

“It’s not the same thing. With a novel, you travel further and longer.”

Roland found that the essential resources they had listed during the preparation for the escape were there. Matches to make fire, a pack of cigarettes, thin but warm woollen blankets, a kerosene lamp, canteens, bowls and pewter cutlery, food for the first few days... and all the money that they could steal. The essentials to provide a decent camp. Of course, when autumn announces itself, they’ll have to find somewhere to shelter. But by then, they would be far away.

“Good. And now?” asked Adam.

“Now, Bambino,” said Erma, “we’re walking.”