The Half Life of Joshua Jones, page 19
I was taken aback. ‘What, here?’ I looked around at the grimy bunk beds.
‘Outside in the moonlight.’
‘But what about your leg?’
She shrugged as if to say she didn’t care.
‘You’re kidding, right?’ I said.
‘Don’t you want to?’
‘Of course I do but you’re not feeling well … ’
‘Please. Carry me.’
She held out her arms and I picked her up. It was a balmy warm night. I carried her across the car park and into a field where I lay her down under the stars. Each star a black hole in the making, a celestial body waiting to implode and explore its own soul. Angela took hold of my arm and pulled me towards her.
‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.
Our mouths came together. Inside the kiss was loss beyond compare. The kind of loss one feels before the real loss has even happened. My heart was cracking into a million pieces. There is no word for the nostalgia we feel before something is lost, no word for the longing we feel for a person who is still present, no word for the regret we feel for things beyond our control. No word for the loss before loss. I was losing Angela. The sun would never rise again. I read it in her kiss.
‘You turn me inside out,’ I said.
We undressed each other and let the tiger moon bathe our naked bodies as we explored each other for the first time. A tawny owl hooted in the distance, while something small ferreted around the undergrowth nearer by. I treated her with infinite care. I was as gentle as a man can be. I never pushed her beyond where she wanted to go. I tried not to put weight on her broken leg. All this I say in my defence. When at last I entered her, she whispered, ‘Now we belong to each other,’ and began to cry. We made love incredibly slowly. The focus was intense. We teetered on the precipice of a dizzying climax and then I felt her body spasm and tighten. For the first time in my life I felt at one.
Suddenly her neck stiffened and her top lip contorted bizarrely as if she had been caught by an invisible fishing hook. She exhaled a long deep sigh, the muscles in her face slackened and her mouth dropped open.
‘Angela? Angela?’
There was no movement in her chest, no rise and fall, no intake of air. Her eyes were staring at me, unblinkingly.
My mind began to fragment.
‘Angela! Wake up, for Christ’s sake, wake up.’
CHAPTER 23
I tried to shake her awake but I knew she was dead. I recoiled in horror. I had no idea what to do. My thoughts went into overdrive. Should I run? Should I call the police? It would be manslaughter at the very least; life imprisonment. I could see how it must look from the outside. I would be treated as a stalker, a psychopath, a rapist, a murderer. No one would believe anything I had to say, but what had I done wrong? I had brought a sleeping angel back to life, I had followed her wishes; she didn’t want to go back to hospital, she had wanted to die in my arms, to be born again inside me. This was how she wanted it to be. I couldn’t understand how I had got myself into this situation. Events were unfolding so quickly I couldn’t get a handle on them. In the back of my mind I wondered if I wasn’t going mad. When Sheryl left me I had imagined people coming out of the wall in my old flat. Subsequently I had met the strangest of characters in the strangest of places. Perhaps I really was insane. My thoughts passed to my mother and how she would take the news. It would devastate her all over again. I didn’t think she would ever recover.
I can’t explain what happened next. All I remember is that I began to scrabble around in the grass, digging into the soil furiously with my hands. I threw clod after clod over her corpse until she was covered from head to toe with earth and my fingers ached with the effort. From the long grass I yanked out fronds of bracken and heather to decorate the mound. Then I ran to the bushes and tore off the wiry green branches, oblivious to the thorns and sharp twigs that scraped my skin. From the trees I tore off loose limbs and strips of dry bark and piled them all on the pyre. I was a man possessed, my nails were ripped and blood trickled from scratches on my arms and legs. Then without thinking of the consequences I ran back towards the club. I was still naked. The lights were on in the common room and I could hear the sound of distant voices. Through the window I could see the administrator. I had run out of time. The kind man who smelt of death had come to claim me.
There was nobody in the kitchen when I burst through the door, looking for matches and something flammable. I’m not sure that it would have made any difference to me if there had been, for I had turned feral with grief. The authoritative voice of the administrator drifted down the corridor. He must have been telling them about all the terrible things I had done, because he was saying that I had completely lost my mind, and that unfortunately there was no way back for me. Now more than ever, I was convinced he was from the secret service, for why were there no police involved in this manhunt? It was as if they had been deliberately kept away. Mikey and Angela must have been involved in something far murkier than I could ever know. What was he after? Perhaps he had been waiting for Angela to wake up. Perhaps he wanted to question her. Again I wondered why he wanted the box and what secrets it kept, but now was not the time to speculate.
I found some brandy and firelighters and, armed with a box of matches, I fled the building. I poured the alcohol on the pyre, brought a match to the firelighters and threw them on top. I picked up Angela’s new dress, held it to my nose for one last lungful of scent then tore it into strips. These I added to the growing flames before gathering up Arjuna’s clothes which had served me so well and flinging them on to the pyre. I fell to my knees and blackened my body with soil and dirt. I had become Shiva, the God of destruction and transformation and for maybe a minute I prayed to all the Gods I didn’t believe in.
Now I had to escape. I didn’t have time to watch her burn. The administrator, or whoever he was, had me cornered. I had to get away and there was only one place to go. There was nothing to lose. The pull of the cave was stronger than ever. I had unfinished business there. My thoughts flew through the tunnels to the sump where my father lay. I was sure I could find my way back, if only I could get in.
I went to the car and picked up my dad’s helmet, the old cave survey and the potbellied troll my father had given me. I saw the little wooden box where I had left it in the drinks holder between the seats. I snatched it up. I was sure that if I left it on show in the car my pursuer would find it. I sprinted to the changing block and put on the wetsuit that Arthur had lent me; it was clammy and damp. I pulled on a caving suit over the top, zipped it up and slipped my feet back into my soaking wellies. I kissed my dad’s helmet for good luck and put it on my head; a perfect fit. I found a lamp on a shelf, flicked it on and off to check it was working, packed the survey and the troll into a waterproof bag that I found hanging on the door and set off towards the valley. When I looked back I could see the flicker of flames beginning to emerge over the bushes on the far side of the building. I heard voices; the administrator and a few others were spilling out of the club and running towards the fire. No one looked down the valley in my direction. With our clothes burning and the stench of flesh they might assume we were both dead.
I hardly noticed the distant rumble of thunder and the unanticipated spots of rain that were beginning to fall as I ran down the valley towards the entrance of the cave. I was far more interested in getting away than in the vagaries of the Welsh weather. The official entrance was locked so I climbed over the fence on to the farmer’s land where the 1946 entrance was situated. I found it in a clearing not far away, encircled by protective black and yellow police tape. The hole was much smaller than the one Arthur and Gerry had taken me down, but at least there was no door. I attached the lamp to my dad’s helmet, flicked it on and crawled in. After twenty metres of crawling I found myself at the metal ladder under the new entrance. I walked, as if pulled by some all-pervading force, back along the tunnel until I found the streamway. I retraced the route we had taken earlier but as I waded resolutely through the water I completely forgot about the hidden potholes and suddenly fell headlong into a deep pool. My knee crashed into the scaffold bar and before I knew it I was completely under water. A jet of icy liquid filled my wetsuit. I managed to grab hold of the bar and pull myself along it until I reached the edge. The lamp flickered. I dragged myself out of the hole. My boots were heavy with water; I took them off and emptied them out. The lamp flickered again and abruptly gave up the ghost. I was plunged into blackness. A black so profound and complete it filled me with terror. I fumbled for the helmet, yanked it off and shook it.
Nothing.
I felt for the battery pack and bashed it with my hand. The lamp sparked back into life. I set off once more, taking greater care with my footing. It was a relief to leave the streamway and take the tunnel to Boulder Chamber. I arrived at Dip Sump hungry, tired and soaked to the skin.
I slumped down and listened to the sound of water plinking on the stone. The cave was alive with drips and plops that echoed off the walls. A rainbow of emotion breached my heart. My father was everywhere. I may have been in a giant underground network of passages and tunnels but there was nowhere to hide. I had reached the epicentre of everything. Ripples danced over the water. Their shadows undulated on the walls high above me. I felt like a fish breathing under the ocean. There was a tingling charge in the air. A battalion of goosebumps stood to attention on my damp arms and legs.
As my listening sharpened in the silence, I was convinced I could hear voices in a distant cavern. Was someone else in the cave? Had they sent a search party or was it Smith and my dad sharing a joke?
I stared into the sump. I wondered how much of my father was down there; ground-down bones, teeth, skull. A floodgate unlocked inside me and I began to cry. I cried for Angela and I cried for the twenty-five years of not crying.
The distant voices babbled away. My lamp flickered again and then died. I shook it and bashed it but this time the lamp would not be beaten into submission. I don’t think I had ever experienced a blackness so black. It made no difference if my eyes were open or closed. My tears turned to blind fear. No one knew I was in the cave. I stood up and stretched out my arms and felt for the wall. I took a few steps. There was no way I would be able to find my way out of here.
‘Hello!’ I shouted.
No response.
‘Is anyone there?’
Nothing.
‘HELP!’
I remembered that Rabbi Feldenberg had once told us the story of a man lost in the forest. For days and weeks he wandered in a panic, desperately trying to find his way out. Eventually he came across an old woman sitting on a tree stump. The man was overjoyed to see her. ‘Please help me get out of this forest, I’ve been lost for thirty days.’ The old woman began to laugh and laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’ said the man. ‘Thirty days!’ chuckled the woman. ‘I’ve been lost for thirty years!’ The man’s mouth dropped open. ‘So you can’t show me the path that leads out of here?’ ‘No,’ she replied, ‘but I can show you a thousand paths that lead nowhere.’
The Rabbi said it was the curse of those without faith to constantly seek meaning but never find it. I have never known what to believe. I have never known what I stood for. How long can a man strive before he is eaten by his own pointlessness?
I sat down again. My heart was thrashing frantically against my ribs like a bird trapped inside a house. I tried to keep calm. Best to wait, I told myself. Someone was bound to come down the next day; some expedition, a university club, a couple of members. Someone. It was a busy cave. I didn’t care if I got arrested, I just wanted to get out of there. Gerry said the best thing to do if you got into trouble was to find dry ground and wait for rescue. They had a system whereby, if you were not back by the time you said you would be back, they would wait one hour and then send out a search party. Everyone who went into the cave wrote their name on to a notice board in the club with their planned return time. I hadn’t put my name on the list. No one had any reason to look for me – at least not until they realised I hadn’t burned with Angela. Then maybe someone would notice that their wetsuit was missing and put two and two together. But how long would that take? And, oh my goodness, I was so far underground. Parts of the cave were two hundred million years old. Gerry said it was formed when the land which is now Great Britain was on the equator and Wales was connected to the Appalachian Mountains, now the backbone of New York State. The bedding rock I was sitting on was once part of a desert.
The cave had time. All the time in the world. It was the keeper of time. I was a millionth of a blink. A fossil waiting to happen. A secret that would never be told. My insignificance could not be more profound.
I was cold. So very cold. I lay back and waited. Time lost all sense. After a while I could not tell if I had been waiting ten minutes or several hours. I closed my eyes, though it made no difference.
Hello, Dad, I’m here.
CHAPTER 24
Stare long enough at a wall and the ghosts will crawl out. So now there were two of us waiting. Dad and me. Three with Smith. Four if you included the flame-haired troll in my bag. What were we waiting for? To be found? To find ourselves, perhaps?
I had reached that point of singularity, the very soul of everything, the ultimate energy source from which there could be no return. This was the very lowest place I could be. On the other side, through some worm hole I had yet to discover, a new universe beckoned. Maybe Smith and my dad already knew something about this other place. If ever I were to survive this ordeal, nothing would ever be the same again.
‘Dad!’ I spoke out loud. ‘Help me. Get me out of here.’
I waited for a reply but there was only the constant drip drip of water and the distant burbling echo of the streamway.
I felt as if I had been in the belly of Ogof Ffynnon Ddu for a small eternity. I was shivering helplessly, my mind was drifting and I suddenly became concerned with the very real possibility of my own death. It was time to let go of all I had been and abandon myself to my inevitable fate. Finger by finger I symbolically released my grip on life and, as I watched it float away, an apparition emerged from the blackness. It was my father dressed in his caving suit. I didn’t know what was real any more or if I had lost my mind, but why should I care? Only the insane can dispense with the stultifying predictability of a linear existence and wander freely through time. Only the insane can transcend earthly bonds to raid heaven and conjure the dead. Madness was my friend. I would happily forego a hundred lives and ironclad sanity to see my dad again.
He towered over me. I had no memory of ever being taller than his waist; always my bear hug giant, my bucking horse, my monster. I gazed hungrily into his eyes and stretched out my arms as high as they could go. ‘Please, Daddy, please carry me. I’m so tired’.
He scooped me off the ground and brought me into his chest. I wrapped my arms and legs around him and nuzzled my face into his neck. He kissed my forehead and enveloped me in his powerful frame. I ached for his love.
‘Josh,’ he whispered.
My name sounded so reassuring on his lips.
‘I miss you, Dad.’
He held me for a long time, speaking soundlessly into my heart. Beautiful words, comforting words that oozed through my veins like honey. He spoke of pride and love and I understood, at last, that he hadn’t deserted me, that he had always been with me and always would be.
I remembered the box in my pocket and took it out. When I was very little I would collect beautiful things like malachite and moonstones, or acorns, buttercups and rose petals from the beaches and woods I visited with my mum while we waited for my dad to surface, and I would give them to him as presents. All my tiny heart wanted was to give and give and give. He in turn would bring me fossils and stardust, which he had found deep underground. How we enjoyed these ritual exchanges.
‘Dad, I’ve got a present for you. I don’t know what it is. I found it. I think there is something trapped inside it.’
I gave him the box. He examined it carefully.
‘I think it’s time to let it out, Josh.’
He closed his mighty hand around it and there was a crack like bone snapping. The air moved sharply and we were hit by a tremendous blast of energy. I heard the sound of giant wings beating, as if a mythical creature were coming back to life.
It flapped in a frenzy around our heads before turning its attention on me. It hovered in front of my face for a second, then, with tender force, it penetrated my skull through my ears, mouth and nostrils. My scalp prickled from the inside as it forensically probed my brain, sparking every synapse and unblocking every channel before coursing down my throat, sweeping through my glands and organs, brushing away clots of stale matter and years of inner deadness. It powered through my arteries into the very cavities and ventricles of my core. There the creature found an empty hollow, fluttered a while and settled down to roost. A tingling pleasure coursed through me. Whatever this alien thing was, I knew that it was mine and that it belonged inside me.
‘It’s all right, it won’t hurt you,’ dad said.
My body relaxed and we both began to laugh, such was the feeling of liberation and relief.
At length he put me down on the rocks.
‘It’s time to go, Josh. Go back to Mum. She needs you.’
‘I love you, Dad.’
‘Me too, son.’ He ruffled my hair one last time and disappeared back into the sump.
All was still.
I waited.
I was a heartbeat from death. The noise in my head seemed to burn itself out and, hiding in the wreckage, I found a tranquillity and quiet self-belief.
With huge effort I got to my feet and opened my ears. I pictured the short section of cave that led to the Boulder Chamber and I began to walk, never committing my foot until I had felt the ground beneath it. With my arms stretched out as antennae, I listened to the dripping water and turned my face to where the draught was strongest. I heard the distant rumble of water and made my way towards it. I made friends with the darkness. I was no longer afraid. As I moved, the water in my wetsuit warmed up and I forgot the hunger in my belly. Soon I was at the streamway. I scooped up some water in my hands and drank until I felt replete. Then I stood in the river and felt the pull of the current on my feet. I turned until I felt the pressure on the back of my ankles and began to slide my feet, step by step downstream. It was more difficult walking with the current; if I was not careful it would knock me off balance. I chose not to hurry but to give each step equal concentration. Many times I dipped my foot into a deeper section but I never lost my footing; I was able to withdraw it and feel around for the calcite lips and firmer footholds. I inched along like a snail, clinging to the walls. The faint earthy smell of peat suggested that new water was filtering through the ground into the cave. It must have been raining outside. I touched the rope that led to the ‘escape route’ but decided that I would have less chance of getting lost in the streamway. The ‘escape route’ would have taken me high above the water into a system of caves which could only be navigated by inching across ropes attached to the rock wall with anchor bolts. The risk in the dark of falling from these high ropes was far greater than that of drowning in the stream. Even though the water level was beginning to rise above my knees, I continued on until I felt the metal scaffolding bar that crossed the deep potholes. In the rush of water, I imagined I could hear voices and many times called out ‘hello’ through the tunnels.
