Ane Riel - Resin

‘Come on!’ she called out as she ran past him. Roald forgot about Horder’s coat and followed her across the farmyard, zigzagging between the heaps. He looked back towards the parts of the house where the fire had yet to spread, but it was only a matter of time before flying sparks would reach the piles of junk and the other buildings.

It was an odd sort of fire. There was howling and hissing from the house and a deep rumble underneath it all. At the same time, thick, dark smoke crept around the building, as if guarding it. Above this scene, however, the sky was bright and blue, ignorant of the pain below. As if the drama didn’t interest it, as if it couldn’t be bothered with the smoke. It seemed simply to have withdrawn from all of it and be waiting patiently for a time when it could spread out again.

‘Wait there!’ Liv called out again, and Roald obeyed her orders instinctively. He understood that the child was in charge now. He had come to save her, but the truth was that she would be the one to get them out of here safely. He looked at the old silage harvester. Somehow, he had always believed that contraption to be the least terrifying of all agricultural machinery; it reminded him of a good-natured herbivore from the dawn of time. Now he was sure that he could never see a silage harvester as anything other than a monster ever again.

He watched her run through a door in the wooden building. It must lead to the workshop people had spoken about. He called out to her, knowing full well that she couldn’t hear him. They really had to leave. For God’s sake. He would have to go and get her.

Then suddenly she reappeared. ‘I’ve got it,’ she called out. ‘Come on.’

Roald ran as if pulled by an invisible string. She was holding something in her hand, a small clip frame, he believed, and another item, smaller and different, but he couldn’t see what it was.

She ran down towards the gravel road but stayed frighteningly close to the fire.

‘Don’t you think we had better go the other way round?’ he called out anxiously, but he continued to follow the child. She made no reply, merely beckoned him on.

‘Run to the end of the workshop and stay close to it,’ she called out now, doing so herself. He copied her and ran right behind her, with his hand on the cladding. He noticed that she was still armed. A dagger was dangling from a leather sheath in her belt, slapping lightly against her thigh.

He looked back. The fire had reached a tree near the house where flames stuck out of a small gable window like orange tongues. Some roof tiles fell on to the gravel, and without warning a huge spruce branch swept across the road with enormous force. Roald bellowed in terror as the branch passed him at chest height. It had to be a trap, and if he hadn’t followed Liv’s orders, the branch would have knocked him clean off his feet. He couldn’t get out of this place fast enough.

And so Roald nearly cried out in despair when the girl didn’t continue down the road which would lead them away but stopped at the big skip.

‘I won’t be long,’ she shouted out to him. ‘Hold this.’

She handed him a small drawing in an old frame. And an hourglass. An hourglass.

Then she ran alongside the skip and scaled a couple of boxes and a tractor tyre before reaching the furthest hatch.

‘Liv, please stop. No more… We have to get out of here.’

But she had already disappeared inside, having opened the hatch as if she had done it every day of her life. Roald stared after her, speechless, before looking nervously at the buildings.

The fire had yet to reach a section of the farmyard between the gable end of the burning house and the dark wooden workshop. The old spinning wheel leaning against the wall below the kitchen window had got a new lease of life. The wheel spun while the flames danced underneath it. The fire had also reached the pile which had had the cooker at the top. On the first floor flames were coming out of every window.

It occurred to Roald that he was staring at a home with two burning parents inside it while waiting for their young daughter to emerge from what amounted to a skip. Her whole world, everything she had ever known, was going up in flames.

None of this felt real.

He looked at the framed drawing. It was a portrait of a woman, a beautiful woman. Perhaps it was Maria? It had her mouth. He was reminded of the Mona Lisa . This drawing was signed with a discreet ‘Jens’ in the right-hand corner. Roald stuffed both the portrait and the hourglass into one of the big front pockets of his coat. Then he reached for the letter in his inside pocket and quickly unfolded it. His gaze skimmed the pages without taking anything in. It was not until the final lines that he managed to hook his attention into the text:

Initially, I would like to visit you and your family. Rekindle our relationship – that is, if you want to. Please would you write to me? Or call me, if that’s an option. I’ve listed my home address and my phone number below.

There was a PS, which he didn’t have time to read because at that moment the hatch of the skip slammed shut. He could feel the metal echo from where he was standing.

Roald folded the letter and returned it to his pocket as he watched the girl come towards him. She had a book in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. A teddy bear.

She was still a child, just a child. A brave little child, armed with a dagger and a teddy bear. And now it was his job to take care of her.

When she reached him Roald tentatively stuck out his hand to her. She stared at it for a moment. Then she tucked the teddy under her left arm, freeing one hand. It cautiously took Roald’s.

‘Can we run now?’ he asked. ‘Down to the Neck?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but we need to avoid another two traps.’

‘OK. You lead the way.’

She nodded again, and they ran.

His footsteps sounded like heavy explosions in the gravel. Hers made no sound. She ran so silently that he had to look down to see if her feet really touched the ground. She guided him away from the road and around the tall spruces, then back on to the road, then she led him right around the barrier, which they had to sidle past. Her small hand had a firm grip on his now. He felt strangely safe.

On the other side of the barrier they stopped, as if by prior agreement. As if the barrier were a protective device that could stop flames, death and tragedy. As if they were safe now.

‘Any more traps?’ Roald asked his well-informed guide.

She shook her head and stared up at her burning home. The fire had reached the workshop now. The big skip lay in front of it like a long shadow, awaiting its fate. Several of the trees were ablaze, and around them small fires were burning in the grass.

It broke Roald’s heart to imagine the girl’s feelings at the sight.

‘What’s your book about?’ he asked.

‘It’s Robin Hood ,’ she replied, looking down at it.

‘Would you like me to carry it for you?’

She nodded and gave him the book, and he found room for it in one of his coat pockets. Under his vest and the lining of his trousers he could feel the green file sticking to his stomach.

‘You shot the dog through the heart so that it wouldn’t suffer, didn’t you?’

She nodded again, and looked sadly at him.

‘It was a fine shot. And the kind thing to do. Thank you.’

Her small face lit up briefly, although the tears were streaming down her cheeks now.

‘I can understand why you’re crying,’ Roald whispered.

And then he noticed that Liv was still clutching something in the hand which had held the book.

‘Is there anything else you would like me to hold for you?’