MIDMORNING. MINA’S MOTHER BROUGHT cups of tea for us. She sat beside us on the step. She talked about the fledglings, the flowers that were bursting into bloom, the air that every day became warmer, the sun that every day was a little higher and a little warmer. She talked about the way spring made the world burst into life after months of apparent death. She told us about the goddess called Persephone, who was forced to spend half a year in the darkness deep underground. Winter happened when she was trapped inside the earth. The days shrank, they became cold and short and dark. Living things hid themselves away. Spring came when she was released and made her slow way up to the world again. The world became brighter and bolder in order to welcome her back. It began to be filled with warmth and light. The animals dared to wake, they dared to have their young. Plants dared to send out buds and shoots. Life dared to come back.
“An old myth,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “But maybe it’s a myth that’s nearly true. Look around you, Michael. Fledglings and blooms and bright sunshine. Maybe what we see around us is the whole world welcoming Persephone home.”
She rested her hand on my arm.
“They can do marvelous things, Michael. Maybe you’ll soon be welcoming your own Persephone home.”
We thought of Persephone for a while in silence. I imagined her struggling her way toward us. She squeezed through black tunnels. She took wrong turns, banged her head against the rocks. Sometimes she gave up in despair and she just lay weeping in the pitch darkness. But she struggled on. She waded through icy underground streams. She fought through bedrock and clay and iron ore and coal, through fossils of ancient creatures, the skeletons of dinosaurs, the buried remains of ancient cities. She burrowed past the tangled roots of great trees. She was torn and bleeding but she kept telling herself to move onward and upward. She told herself that soon she’d see the light of the sun again and feel the warmth of the world again.
Then Mina’s mother broke into my thoughts.
“I’ll watch the birds,” she said. “Why don’t you both go and wander for a while?”
And Mina took my hand, and led me away.
It was like walking in a dream. The houses tilted and swayed. The sun glared over the rooftops. Birds were ragged and black against the astonishing sky. The roadway glistened, a deep black pond. Invisible traffic roared and squealed.
She held my arm.
“Are you all right, Michael?” she kept asking. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
We made our way toward the DANGER door. She led me through the gate, through the long garden, through the door, into the dark and dusty interior. We went up in silence. She held my arm, like I was an old man, or an invalid.
On the final landing she told me,
“He’ll be waiting for us, Michael. He’ll be so pleased to see you again.”
She turned the handle, we went in, sunlight poured through the arched window.
We stood there staring.
He wasn’t there.
Mina ran back down through the house. I heard her feet on the bare boards, doors swinging open. I heard her calling for him.
“Skellig! Skellig! Skellig!”
I heard her coming slowly back up to me. Her face was paler than ever. There were tears shining in her eyes.
“He isn’t here,” she whispered. “He just isn’t here at all.”
We went to the window and gazed into the empty sky above the city.
I found myself falling forward. I gripped the windowsill tight. I touched my heart.
“Oh, Mina!” I said.
“What is it?”
“My heart’s stopped. Feel my heart. There’s nothing there.”
She caught her breath. She touched my chest. She called my name.
And then there was just blackness.
Chapter 39
“DON’T CALL DR. DEATH,” I MURMURED. “Don’t call Dr. Death.”
I was slumped on the floorboards. Mina was kneeling over me. She stroked my brow, whispered my name.
“Not Dr. Death,” I said again.
“No,” she said. “Not Dr. Death.”
I struggled to sit up. I leaned against the wall beneath the window.
“Touch your heart,” she said.
I did this, and I felt the beating there.
“See?” she said.
“But it’s only mine. It’s not the baby’s.”
“Oh, Michael.”
I felt my strength coming back to me. I swallowed, squeezed my eyes, tightened my fists. I felt my heart again.
“It’s only my heart, Mina. Not the baby’s. The baby’s dead.”
“You can’t know for certain,” she said.
I pulled myself to my feet.
“I think I can, Mina.”
She held me as we went out of the room and into the darkness of the house.
“Where is he?” I asked as we went down.
No answer.
“You looked everywhere?” I said.
“Yes, everywhere.”
I touched my heart again and it was still the same.
“She’s dead,” I whispered.
“But maybe she’s fine.”
“I’ll phone the hospital,” I said, but I knew I wouldn’t dare.
We went out into the spring light. As we stepped out, we saw blackbird fledglings tottering into the cover of hedges. In the lane, an unknown cat hunched behind a rubbish bin, and watched us pass with hostile eyes.
“Your dad’ll come for you soon,” said Mina. “He’ll tell you everything’s fine.”
“Don’t tell him about me,” I said. “He doesn’t need to worry about me.”
She smiled and squeezed me tight.
“Where the hell’s Skellig?” I said.
She shook her head and we walked on. Miles above us, a great heavy bird flapped across the blue.
“William Blake used to faint sometimes,” said Mina. “He said the soul was able to leap out of the body for a while, and then leap back again. He said it could be caused by great fear or enormous pain. Sometimes it was because of too much joy. It was possible to be overwhelmed by the presence of so much beauty in the world.”
We walked on. My body was heavy and awkward, like I was arthritic, like I was turning to stone.
“I think you understand that,” she said.
I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry and sour, like I’d swallowed the owls’ leavings from the windowsill.
