In the Evil Day

87

…BIRMINGHAM…

He was dreaming about walking down a mountain path. There was someone ahead of him, talking to him in Greek, a boy, his cousin Dimi. And then Dimi started speaking in Afrikaans. He stopped and turned, and it wasn’t Dimi. It was his father, the lined brown adult face on a boy’s body. The sight frightened Niemand, brought him awake. He opened his eyes, blinked, his vision blurred.

For a moment, he was without memory. Then he saw the tubes in his arms and chest, tubes taped down, realised. Joy at being alive flooded him until he thought of Jess. He had sent her away, hoping that they were not watching the farmhouse, not waiting beside the lane. But even if she had got away from the farm, they would have found her. They could find anyone.

He closed his eyes and tears welled behind the lids, broke through the lashes, ran down his face, down his neck.

‘You’re crying,’ said the voice, the lilting voice. He could not believe he was hearing it. He opened his wet eyes and she was there, leaning over him, inches from him, and then she was kissing his eyes, kissing his tears, he felt her lips and he hoped he was not dreaming. Life could not be that cruel.

‘Crete,’ said Jess. ‘I’m going to take you to Crete. Get you well.’

‘Yes,’ said Niemand. ‘I love you. You can take me to Crete.’