Ever Dundas - Goblin

Red Queen wanders through, jumps up on the counter and meows at me. I scoop her up and hold her, swaying together.

‘She’d bring me coffee and her freshly baked banana cake – that wis the good shit, I’m telling ye. And I helped her too, taking old man Monty – that wis her dog before Mahler – for walks when she had to stay in with her wife.’

‘I couldn’t have managed without you, Ben,’ I say, listening to Red Queen’s purring.

‘Dinnae get soppy on me, old lady.’

I smile and look over at him. He winks, raising his mug to me.

I put Red Queen down and scoop some food into a bowl for her. I sit back at the table and Ben shifts round in his chair, stares at Tim, and says, ‘So, what’s yer story, lizard man?’

‘He’s not a lizard,’ I say, ‘he’s a Fish Boy.’

‘Not anymore,’ says Tim.

‘They’re some tattoos,’ says Ben. ‘Got them all over?’

Tim nods and says, ‘Goblin and I would get tattoos in every city we stopped in.’

‘What circus tricks did ye do?’

‘I was “Fish Boy, Wonder of the Deep” in Freaks and Wonders. I’d swim in a tank and show people my webbed fingers as Goblin told my story.’

‘She’s a good storyteller, our G.’

‘That she is.’

‘How long did ye work together?’

‘Until we split up.’

‘Ye were a couple?’

‘We were.’

‘I thought ye were a lezza, old lady.’

Tim and I laugh and Ben says, ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing,’ I say.

‘So did ye turn lezza after him?’ says Ben. ‘No offence,’ he says to Tim.

I laugh and shake my head.

‘I’m not gay,’ I say, stroking Mahler’s ear. ‘Or straight.’

‘Bi then?’

I shrug and say, ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe? What kinda answer is that?’

‘What does it matter what I am?’

Ben looks at me for a moment then says, ‘Dunno, old lady. I guess it doesn’t.’

Red Queen slinks over to me and jumps on my lap. Ben feeds Sam a biscuit under the table and says, ‘So how long were ye in the circus?’

‘I left in sixty-seven. I went to live in Venice.’

‘Why’d ye leave?’

I say nothing and stare down at Red Queen, stroking her head, her eyes half-closed in contentment.

‘She was seduced by Venice,’ says Tim.

‘I’ve never been to Venice,’ says Ben.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, ‘but full of tourists. All the residents are being driven out.’

‘Aye, it’s getting that way in Edinburgh.’

I nod and say, ‘I’m going to take Mahler for a walk.’

‘Sure, old lady.’

‘You alright?’ asks Tim.

‘I’m fine.’

‘I was going to rustle up some pasta.’

‘Sounds good. I won’t be long.’

I take Red Queen off my lap and place her on my chair. Turning to Ben I say, ‘Do you want me to take Sam?’

‘Aye. Thanks, old lady.’

As I walk down the hall with Mahler and Sam I hear Ben say, ‘So what wis old G like when she wis young?’

Venice, 1967

I didn’t watch the performance. I didn’t see anyone else from the circus. Tim had arranged a lease on an apartment for me and the first few days I stayed inside. He’d gone to the market to stock up on food for me, so I managed. On the third day, he came to see me.

‘You haven’t been out? At all?’

‘No.’

‘This beautiful city, and you’ve been cooped up here. What did prison do to you?’

‘It isn’t that.’

‘Angelina came by. She said you weren’t in.’

‘I was in. I heard her.’

‘So why didn’t you—’

‘I don’t want to see them. That life is gone.’

‘Goblin, we love you.’

‘I can’t face them. I can’t go out until the circus is gone.’

‘Are you going to be alright?’

‘You don’t need to worry.’

‘But I do.’

‘I know you do. I’m fine.’

‘You’ll go out when we’re gone? You promise me?’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing the city.’

‘You’ll love it, G. I know it.’

He hugged me.

‘You’ll keep in touch, won’t you? You’ll write?’

‘I will. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’

‘I want you to be happy. You’ll be okay, won’t you?’

‘You don’t need to worry.’

We kissed and he was gone, the circus was gone, and the next day was the start of my new life.

The sky was light blue, the sun was blinding. I wandered the labyrinthian streets without a map, getting lost, reaching dead ends, doubling back. I weaved my way through the city, finding myself in wide open squares and busy thoroughfares. I sat outside cafés, sipping coffee and listening to the lively gabble of tourists and the rapid-fire Venetian dialect of the locals. Continuing my walk, I wandered down dark narrow streets that led to small canals that were hidden from the sun. Only minutes away from the bustle and noise, I was enveloped in the mystery of dark, crumbling buildings and the gentle lapping of water.

I stopped for lunch at a café hidden down one of these narrow streets, before making my way to San Marco. The mid afternoon sun scorched the square as it heaved with tourists. I joined the long queue to the Campanile. From the top of the tower I could see right across the jumbled rooftops of the city and out across the lagoon to the other islands. Seeing the city from above, it felt even more impossible, vulnerable to the sea that surrounded it.

After the Campanile I bought a map and made my way through the streets to the vaporetto stop that serviced Burano. I sat at the back of the vaporetto and looked across to San Michele, the cemetery island. I watched Venice recede, listening to the sound of the engine and the churned-up water.

I wandered through the streets of Burano, admiring the brightly coloured houses, petting the many cats. I bought a lace bookmark to send to Tim. I watched the sunset over the lagoon; the boats bobbing past, the birds dipping and diving for fish. I thought of Cornwall and the story I told to Angel about the kraken who reached up for the sun, pulling it down, swallowing it whole, nursing the warmth in its belly before spewing it up in the morning. I watched the sun disappear and sought warmth for my own belly; a glass of wine, a hot meal.

I found a restaurant full of rowdy locals. I took a table outside, enjoying a simple seafood dish for dinner. Each table had a candle and I watched the warm light dance on their faces. The group burst into song off and on, little fragments.

I knew if I was to stay here I’d need to learn Italian, but I was happy in my ignorance – no small talk, nothing expected of me. I was silent, observing. This was the first time I’d ever been alone, properly settled and alone. When I travelled to Cornwall I had Monsta. In Cornwall I had Monsta and Corporal Pig and Angel. On the journey to London I had CP. When ma disappeared I had a family of animals.

I was afraid, as I sat there listening to the locals. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to be truly alone, but I knew that I wouldn’t be alone for long.

I said, ‘I am alone and I am home,’ raising my glass to no one, to the locals, to the island, to Venice, to the moon that was creeping up above the buildings. All those years of travelling, all those years on the road, I never thought I could feel at home in one place, but here it was; these people I couldn’t understand, this magical crumbling land that was sinking into the sea. I couldn’t imagine belonging anywhere else. I knew if that’s how I felt, then David would too. If he’d been travelling the world by sea and found Venice I knew he couldn’t leave. He had to be here and I would find him.

On the vaporetto journey back to my apartment, I watched the moonlight shimmer across the black lagoon and I thought of David, lying on his bed, dreaming of escape, dreaming of the sea. I thought of the creatures beneath those waves – fish monsters, mermaids, krakens, sunken treasure.