Nicola Barker - Wide Open

I dreamed that I was lying on a table and I couldn’t move my body. But you were there in the dream and you squeezed my hand. Did I mention that before?

At dawn I left the shack. It was all aglow outside. And the mist. The vapour seemed to coalesce. It formed such tantalizing shapes only a few yards in front of me. I saw a thin, pale creature and he beckoned to me. I followed him, mutely .

The ground was swampy. Then we reached some fields. And the crop? Was it coffee? There was a path that was established and then the path merged with the jungle again. The sun was rising and I saw the vapour disappearing. Into nothing. Evaporating .

I almost panicked. I was surrounded by trees. They were tall and it was too dark and the sun poked through their branches only very occasionally. It was damp. I was shivering. I tried to find glimpses of light so that I could warm myself in them. I stood in one particular patch for a long, long while. My bones were aching. I looked up into the sun’s eye, squinting .

The sun winked at me. For one second. It really winked at me. And in that second I saw that in the tree directly above, swinging from its canopy, like a giant bat, a black sloth, something, was a man. All I could see from below were his big, dark boots. Like a soldier’s, or a policeman’s. Giant boots .

The branch was creaking. But it was a good, strong branch. A proper, powerful branch. It had been carefully selected. The sun stopped her winking, began her shining, and then he was all fuzzed out and gone again .

I was not sad, Ronny. No, not at all. In fact I felt like singing. I skipped and I ran and I grabbed hold of that tree’s wide waist like she was my dancing partner. I found knots and juts and bits of bark. I held on. I waltzed and I rumba’d. My knees began bleeding. My palms. But I scaled her .

Soon I was above him. I looked down. He was balding. You know I never even noticed that before? He was balding. On top. And he still wore his camera. I took out my knife and I cut it free from his neck (how else to remove it? ).

There was something poking whitely from his front pocket. Money? I reached down. It was so far 11 stretched and I stretched. My arm touched his face and his nose and his cheek. All cold. Finally I reached it. A piece of paper, neatly folded. I opened it. On one side, the receipt from a magazine for an article he’d written. On the other? Three words. Three little words, in capitals, Ronny .

I FOUND HIM .

Found .

Found?

I would have cut Louis down, but those three little words almost finished me. So instead I left him hanging there in his big, bad boots for the whole hungry jungle to feed upon .

I found him .

Where were you, Ronny? Why did you bring me to this dark place? I called your name. I called it all the way back to that little black shack. Where were you? Why won’t you let me go? Let me go! Stop squeezing! The touch of your hand in mine almost saved me .

Your touch almost saved me .

But I didn’t want saving. It was the last thing I wanted .

Oh why oh why won’t you just LISTEN, Ronny? M .

♦

All was silent. Connie looked around her. She was tiny. The maize was thick and it surrounded her. It was wet and everything feit much darker than it should have been. Like coal, but without the glittering. At first there had been a path but now the path was nowhere. Her hands were hurting. Something was cutting. She looked down. The keys.

She tried to walk but horrible stalks blocked her way at each turn. She began crying. I’m such a girl! I’m such a fucking girl! I don’t believe this. I’m such a stupid fucking girl!

She heard a noise and struggled to avoid it. But the maize blocked her. She ran into it wildly, imagining all kinds of horrors. The teeth, the tusks, the fiery eyes. All that hide, all those ridges, all that roughness! She was soaking and howling. She was hysterical. She’d gone and left the car after all her promises! Her face was whipped and her hair was full of bits of stalk and husk and cob.

“Stop that. Keep still. What’s wrong with you?”

She could barely hear his voice over her own gurgling.

“I won’t hurt you. Stop crying.”

She put out her hands. “I can’t see anything. I can’t feel. I think I’m dead!”

“No. It’s dark. You have hair in your eyes. You’re soaking.”

She felt someone touching her fringe.

“Stop cringing.” He sounded angry.

“It’s still too dark,” she said.

“There are no stars tonight. No moon. Only clouds.”

Connie blinked a few times.

“Show me your hands,” she demanded.

Something flapped whitely in front of her. She reached out her own hands and touched him. His skin was so soft. His hands were warm.

“How did you find me here?”

“I was passing. I saw the car. I heard you crying.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know.”

She held on to his hand. “You’re out of breath.”

“I’ve been running.”

He was still struggling to breathe.

“You seem taller than before.”

He said nothing. She smiled. “Your hand’s all warm.”

“Let’s get back to the car.”

Jim turned and led her through the maize. It was actually no distance at all. Five or six measly steps and they were standing on the road again. She could almost see him properly now. She sniffed, slightly abashed. “One of the boars escaped from the farm. Sara was going to contact the police but I persuaded her not to…” She stared into his face. He was trying not to look at her. He was wheezing.

“Perhaps she should have called them,” he managed finally.

“I was thinking about you,” Connie said softly, then grimaced at how this sounded before adding, “and I was thinking about Ronny.”

She squeezed his hand.

“And I was thinking about my father and his money and the connection…” She paused. “I felt as though I needed to understand something about his connection with Ronny. And I swear I didn’t ever want to know what it was that Ronny did. I wouldn’t judge him. I just needed to understand my father’s…” she didn’t want to utter that same word again, so she chose another word. “My father’s death. His death.”

Jim remained silent. He was breathing through his nose again. His mouth was closed tightly. She stared at him. “What’s the matter?”

He frowned. “Don’t squeeze my hand like that.”

She squeezed his hand again.

“I don’t know why it is,” she said, “but I keep doing all the wrong things around you.”

“You’re hurting .”

From the intense tone of his voice she knew that he didn’t mean his fingers. She was bemused.

“I’m not hurting anyone. I only want to clear things up. I only want to help. I want…”

The weight Jim had felt before, on the beach, on the road, had almost lifted, but it was not gone. Now it simply hovered above him like two great disembodied black wings.

“We don’t want helping. We don’t need saving. Just leave us.”

He tried to pull his hand away, but she held on fast. He watched, fascinated, as the yank of his arm transmitted through to her arm, jerked into her shoulder socket and then pulled her one step closer to him. She was so small. He shuddered.

“I won’t hurt you.”

She was whispering. Staring up at him and looking so open. She was a mess. Her face was scratched and streaming. He stared at her, like he couldn’t understand what it was that she wanted.

“The moon’s shining again,” she said, “and I can see everything.”