It's done. The relief is intense. And Jane is with me. I can feel her. Her again.
I spent the last evening with Baxter, trying to make him tell me. His study was hot, the curtains drawn. Baxter sat in his leather chair. He crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. I waited while he settled.
Right, I said. This isn't anything new. We could do this from the beginning. It's just that we've forgotten.
Forgotten what, Graham?
Listen. My grandmother knew. She put on her yellow apron and took me out into the garden. There is life after death, she said. Once you cheat Him you will have a power over Him. He took your puppy but you shouldn’t be afraid. I’ll show you and then no more nightmares.
The sky was veins of red, like paint in water. She led me outside, her yellow apron billowing. She made me put on gardening gloves. They were too big for my hands but I did as I was told. We went into the back garden.
Along the far wall, between the apple trees, was the washing line. There were five chickens hanging there, their yellow ankles were tied to the line with string. The chickens were flapping their wings and screeching. White and brown feathers were falling to the ground. And they were rocking back and forth and turning, their wings clashing. Yellow eye beads flashed at me. But it was the flapping. It was the sound of Him coming.
She told me to hold the head of the nearest. I didn't want to, but she guided me and forced the first touch. I stood below the chicken and looked up at it. And it blinked at me. Feathers fell on my face. I put my hands up and grabbed its head in a single hand clap. It hung still. It thought night had come.
And then her hands appeared above me. The blade of the garden shears slid forward and snipped the neck. I pulled the head away. It was raining feathers again but it was the blood that held my stare; one circling red eye spitting thick tears.
You see, she said. You hold its head, so it must be dead. But look at it, Graham. It's not dead, it is now? It's in the Drift.
And it was true. The wings were flapping once more, the body twisting like the others. Not life. Not death. She guided me to the next and the next until there were five heads lying on the grass and still death had not come for the first.
She smiled. Scarlet streaming down her yellow apron. Shall I let death in? she asked me. I nodded, afraid. She looked up into the last of the day. Take one, she said. And the first chicken began to weaken; its wings missed a beat. It twitched, and twitched again. Then after a few moments it was still.
You can make Him stay away? I asked her. He doesn't have to come?
If you know how to surprise Him, she said, He is afraid. He will not come until you want Him to, until you are ready..."
Come on now, Graham. Baxter put a hand on my shoulder. Steady on. I think that this business is all getting a wee bit too much for you. Your grandmother should have known better than to frighten you. Experiences like that can leave deep psychological scars.
His voice was strained. He seemed to care and that could be used. He was the one who had studied the Guinean tribes. If he cared he would tell me.
But don't you see? I said. In that part of Wales they understood. She knew about the third state. If it's a gift, then she was my grandmother and it will be in my blood. And, if it's a skill, then I will learn it. Now, tell me the Guinean correlation.
The black clock on the mantelpiece chimed once.
The correlation, he said. He picked up his glass and drank deeply. Tell me why. If you want my help then you must be honest with me.
