Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Andydid not analyse why not, or why he now spent time with Heavy, walking about, orsitting in the playing fields – when vacated – even sometimes going to see anafternoon movie, or watching one at the flat when Sara was out. (Andy stolethese films, of course, from Video Rodeo, or one of the other hire placesround about. He would have had to steal most of them, as most were over-18,dark adult horror, psychology, or – if very seldom – rather limpingly mildporn. But, once seen, and usually only once, he would thieve-them-back,reintroducing them into the relevant shop, either in exactly the right spot, orelse somewhere unmatched, as if some browser had picked them up and then putthem back wrongly. Somehow the security cameras never seemed to catch him out.But they were always going wrong, those things. Only now and then he did retaina movie, and then he would never view it again. There were even so by now exceptionsto his steal-only-worthless (to him) articles. A habit he knew that later, ifever he had any proper cash, he could break).

AlthoughHeavy came to the flat then, sometimes, he never did this if Sara were to behome. On the couple of occasions he found she already was, Heavy simply slopedaway inside a couple of minutes. “Who was that?” Sara had asked Andy initially, crinklingher eyes and brows and mouth which, for a moment made her, hethought, appear like a stranger and completely ugly. “What,” Sara uglily added,“are you doing with such an ugly funny-looking lump? He must weigh aboutsixteen stones –”

“Eighteen,”said Andy. This was not a fact.

“Well,”had said Sara, “there we are, then.” And she gave her hysterical giggle.

Andywas not offended, he thought, by Sara’s take on Heavy. It was the normal one,the popular one. It hadbeen his, before. He thought of his father then, for half a minute, big andoverweight, faceless with hatred, smashing Sara against the walls of the otherearliest flats.

WhileHeavy though did come into Andy’s home when Sara was absent, Andy was neverinvited to Heavy’s domicile, whatever or wherever it was. Nor did Andy ever tryto find out, let alone gain access. Some time after, it came to Andy that hedid not even know who Heavy lived with. His mother was dead; that had beenestablished by the staff at the Potters Road Primary, even if Heavy alwaysreferred to her as if she were not dead, indeed, often suggested, by reference,he had recently spoken to her: I asked my moth-ah about that, or Moth-ah told me there are black swans, and a brownkind too– after somebody on the bus the previous day had been talking about swans,(white). Andy had very little interest in Heavy’s home life. As very little inhis own.

ButHeavy, what he said, his – frankly non-human, even un-earthly – perception ofvirtually all things – “See, that blackbird is flying up to the moon” – “Thatred glass in the church window is from where they spit the comm-onion wine” –alerted, almost fascinated Andy. He nolonger thought of these verbal overflows as errors, or signals of mentalretardation. Heavy was like – what was it? – some oracle or prophet from someweird past history. What he said made sense some other way, or was a sign of things that couldnot happen, happening – some place orother. Somehow or other. An alternate reality. Or, they only made Andy laugh.He liked them. Why not?

Heavy’sphysical being too had changed for Andy.

Nolonger did he regard Heavy as a monstrosity. Heavy had his own inexplicablecoordination. He did notblunder or shamble. It was... not like that. And here and there too, as if ablurred curtain were lifted between them, as when Heavy rose up from the bully’spush, or leapt to save the little black dog, you could see there was to hismovements a kind of purest animal adjustment. Leopard, panther, mammoth. Andsurely, he was indestructible? Attack and livid mechanical danger had notseemed able to hurt him. While his mad Old Testament prophet mind, rich in itsown panorama, never yielded to the would-be ruination of external threats ordeeds.

Andydid not wonder if his own view-point ever became tinted by any of Heavy’s. Andydid not stick a definition on what, years in the future, he recognised as Heavy’sjoi de vivre.

Andynever considered either if he loved Heavy, as it was possible to love someoneasexually yet deeply – as one might love a wonderful father, or mother – as Heavyhimself seemed to love his own mother, her death an utter irrelevance.

Andythought, but did not think. Which was surely how one survived.

WhenAndy located Heavy, he was standing by the ‘lake’ in the park, watching theshining green ducks move over the dark green polished surface, and showing hishabitual duck-approval.

“Ifyou could wish for something,” said Andy, “what would it be?”

Heavyapparently pondered.

“Anoransh,” said Heavy, truthfully.

Andyburst out laughing. All the strain and bewilderment, vague spurts of what mightbe excitement, or sheer misgiving, left clinging to him from the eveningbefore, sprayed off and dissolved, for the moment harmless, in the air.

“Therewas this guy called Sunderland,” said Andy eventually.

“Underland,”said Heavy.

“Sunderland.”

“Sununder land,” said Heavy. The prophet had proclaimed a secret clue?

ButAndy went on, telling Heavy in a rush not common to him, about the interview.About the College.

“It’snot in London. Some dump in the country. But I’ll be a – boarder. Only theygive you your own room – it sounds... all right...”

Heavywatched him, nodding once.

“Idon’t know if I want to go. I don’t know if it’s good – or fucking shit. Only I’dget away from her,” (he meant, of course, Sara), “it sounds – OK. Perhaps. I’llpiss off out if it isn’t.” Andy turned to the lake. He did not know what hethought. He did not want to go. Felt they might force him. Was too anxious to go – or torefuse –

Theystood there, he and Heavy, about three feet apart, watching the ducks whoseheads, Heavy had formerly explained, were the colour of “Jait” or “Coriantaleafs.”

“Hesaid, Sunderland, if I didn’t go I’d wish I had. He said what did I wishfor?”