Alastair Bruce - Wall of Days

Look at me. Why do you see nothing? Is there nothing to see?

Nothing to fear? From your Marshal? You are afraid of him. You are afraid of these people and their disregard for the past. I can see this in you. I can see fear in you. The whole town is afraid. They stay indoors because of what might happen to them if they show knowledge of me.’

I shake her. She closes her eyes. I shake her again. Her head lolls from side to side as I shake. There is a tear. I hold her face between my hands. I wipe the tear and it makes furrows in the dust from my hands, the dust on her face.

‘Go then.’ The voice, deeper, still not mine. ‘Go then.’ I shove her away.

At the entrance she turns to me. I can barely see her. A grey cloud.

She speaks softly. I strain to hear. ‘She told me you were like this. She felt everything for you: love, hate, fear. Everything. You were impossible to love unconditionally. You. You are the one who did not see. Who would not see.’

She turns away again. She floats away from me, slides into the dark.

I have no time to lose. I grab a heavy stick from the ground and make sure I have my knife on me. I run to the town hall. At the entrance to the courtyard I stop and press in to the shadows. There is a guard on the door. I will him not to see me. I walk round the circumference, still in the shadows. It works. I am almost on him when he notices me. He holds up his hands but I am already swinging and he goes down at the first blow. I run up the stairs.

At the door I am breathless. I shout, ‘Tora.’ I shout it three times. I lean in to the door, press my ear against it. And I hear an answer. One word. It is soft. Just one word. ‘Bran.’ But, this time, I know it’s her.

‘Tora.’ I barely mouth it. I have found her.

Then there is shuffling behind the door, people struggling perhaps.

I run with my shoulder at the door. It does not budge. I use my knife to try and pick the lock but nothing again. I take the stick and begin to pound the door. The blows glance off. It is far sturdier than others. It is as if something is pushing from the other side, warding off my blows. I press my ear to the wood but the noises have stopped.

‘Tora?’

Nothing.

‘I will come back. I will find an axe.’

I run downstairs, out the door. The man has disappeared.

I do not get very far. At the entrance to the courtyard there are men.

They carry spears and a rope.

My time is up.

The man I hit is amongst them. He walks up to me, holds up his hand to my neck. He takes it, gently at first, then squeezes hard. I do not flinch. He says nothing, just winks. He steps to one side and motions for me to go.

I am taken to a prison cell, the same I was kept in ten years ago.

The walls are made of stone. When the door is shut behind me it is completely black. I sit against the wall, pull my knees up to my chest. I lean my head back, open my eyes. I watch as the shapes float towards me, appearing at the corners of my vision. When I turn to them they vanish. Forming and reforming in the black light. I let them come to me and do not shut them out.

Later I am turned towards the wall. I hear the wooden shutter in the door open and Elba’s voice. ‘Bran.’

After a minute I get up and go to her.

There is silence between us. We just look at each other.

‘There is still time,’ she says.

I drop my eyes from hers. ‘Amhara.’ I do not know what I want to say. ‘Tora.’

Her voice rises a little. ‘Bran. You do not know what will happen if you go.’

I reach through the shutter and hold her face in my hand. I squeeze lightly and she leans into it this time. A figure standing back in the dark reaches for her and moves her away. I watch as the blackness swallows her. She is gone.

No one else appears. I do not sleep. They do not feed me and I drink nothing. I wait for what is coming.

The door opens almost a day later. Two soldiers take me by the arms and lead me out. The cells are at the rear of the administrative complex.

I come out of the courtyard. It is dusk.

And now they have come out. All my people have left their houses.

They line the streets, some arm in arm, some holding the hands of children. Some look at me, others at the ground. They all have blank expressions. Doors to the houses are open.

It is silent. Hundreds of people and it is quieter than it has ever been. I walk slowly onwards. The soldiers, pressing close behind me, make it clear I am heading for the gates.

I scan the crowd for faces I know. I see many. I do not see either Tora or Elba. But I catch a glimpse of Amhara. Just a glimpse. She is watching me, biting her lip. None of the people I know acknowledges me. As I walk past, the crowd closes in behind me and follows me to the gate.

I am reminded of how I felt entering the town a few days ago.

I imagined then crowds of people I could not see parting to let me through, staring at my back when I passed. Now I see them.

As I get closer to the exit I see Abel standing in the gateway, flanked by the wooden pillars. He holds out his hands to me, takes me by the arms, leans in and kisses me on both cheeks. He is saying goodbye. He says nothing. He nods his head to one of the soldiers, who pushes me forwards. We walk out of the town, Abel next to me.

‘Why?’

Abel stops. He leads me by the arm out of earshot of the soldiers.

‘Surely you know?’ He whispers.

I almost feel like laughing. Instead I ask, ‘Why did you not have me executed in the first place?’

‘It would not have been right.’

I do not say anything. It is too late. Suddenly I realise I do not want to die. And, I am afraid of going back to the island. I do not want to go back there.

‘Where are you taking me?’ I ask gruffly. Abel says nothing.

‘You mean to hang me,’ I say. ‘You mean to hang me in the orchard within sight of the hut. This much I know. You are too scared to give me my public trial, my retrial,’ I correct myself, ‘because you fear the past. You fear what cannot be undone. I appear to have bred a successor and a community of people who have become ashamed of their origins.

Face me, for I am in all of you.’ I yell this so the crowd can hear.

Abel grabs me by the shirt. He whispers, ‘All your talk of paradise, of better ways, of a once-again powerful human race, and now you want to crush it? You say we are afraid of the past but what of the future? What is it you want, Bran? Do you know?’

I do not say anything.

He laughs, ‘You caught me off-guard at first when you re-appeared.

I have some repair work to do now. I may have erred by not killing you when we first saw you climbing the mountain. But you cannot kill ghosts, at least not in the open.’

He lets me go and whispers again, ‘Make-believe. How does it feel to be make-believe.’ It is not a question. He pats me on the shoulder.

His hand lingers for a second.

He drops it and strides off towards the town.

‘Wait!’ I call out. ‘My daughter. Amhara. What have you told her about me?’

Abel stops and turns to me. ‘Your daughter knows nothing of you, Bran, and will never know anything of you. She is our future now.’ He turns again and walks off.

I watch him go. He is a way off now, walking back towards the town. Only the two soldiers accompany me.

And then I see her. There amongst the people, two rows back, lit by torches. It is her. It has to be. Someone I know so well, someone who was such a part of my life: a friend, a lover, a traitor. ‘Tora!’ I shout as loud as I can, ‘Tora!’ The faces in the sea of people stare straight at me and I know it is her. She is far off but it has to be. Are there people holding her back? I shout to her again and now I try to run. I try to run through the soldiers but they block my way. I struggle through their grasp and am clear to the town but one trips me and puts his boot into my back and I taste dust in my mouth. I wriggle almost free and am on my feet again but one of the soldiers draws back his fist with his hand gripping my throat and that is all I remember.