The Vanishing Act (10 page)

The rain tapped softly on the roof, and the barn smelled of candle wax. No Name sat alert on a chair next to Priest.

I was standing at the side of the stage, waiting for Mama’s cue. And when she whispered, ‘We are ready, Minou,’ I pulled the curtain.

Boxman was wearing his top hat, and Mama a dress that shimmered and sparkled like gold. They both stood still, gazing straight ahead, and looked just like one of Mama’s paintings. Over a stool next to them lay a large piece of red silk. Then Boxman moved. He approached the stool, picked up the silk and went back to Mama. I walked across the stage and removed the stool. Everyone was quiet. Bukowski’s shoes clicked loud against the floor.

Boxman held the bundle of silk. He looked at
Mama, who nodded, and then he lifted his arms in a rapid movement. The silk unfurled in front of Mama, hiding her. Then, just as quickly, he pulled the silk back.

Mama was gone.

Papa leaned forward in his chair, and Priest stood up so abruptly that No Name growled.

Boxman took a deep breath, and then, with the same swift arm movement, he flashed the silk again. It billowed in the air, and when it fell, Mama was standing in the very same spot she had been before.

Papa and Priest roared. They cheered, they clapped and when Mama, Boxman and I held hands and bowed, Papa stamped his feet on the ground making a great wall of noise. Afterwards he told me that it is a tradition to stamp your feet if you enjoy a performance.

Priest was flushed. ‘What a miracle,’ he said. ‘What an astonishing thing to have been sawn in half and vanish, yet still,’ he threw out his arms in exclamation, ‘be so beautiful.’

Then he remembered the tulips and threw them at Mama, hitting her on the arm.

‘But where did you get these, dear Priest?’ She
laughed and wasn’t mad at all. ‘And in the middle of winter.’

Priest beamed and looked pleased with himself, ‘Oh I have my ways, I have my ways,’ he said.

P
apa appeared in the kitchen, white-faced under the fur hat, as I finished Mama’s song.

‘But what are you doing, Minou?’

‘I am making everything feel better, Papa.’

Papa noticed the cold fireplace and the night sky.

‘I am sorry, my girl,’ he said, and went straight to the kitchen bench, getting out fish, potatoes and an old cabbage. Then he walked into the yard, leaving the door open, and soon after I heard the sound of his axe.

Snow had built up along the doorstep, and Papa almost slipped over when he returned with his arms full of firewood. He knelt in front of the fireplace and arranged the kindling, then the bigger logs. When
the flames began to wheeze and crackle, Papa got to his feet and brushed his pants. He stared sorrowfully at the tiny blaze. It seemed as if he had forgotten that I was there. The fire flickered, and Papa said, ‘I can’t find the truth. Your mama would be so disappointed in me.’

‘Mama doesn’t like the truth,’ I said in a firm voice. ‘She likes blue boxes and flying carpets.’

Papa looked confused. ‘Flying carpets? Are you sure, Minou? She never mentioned anything about flying carpets.’

‘Boxman says that flying carpets are her most favourite thing in the whole world, Papa. He knows a lot about Mama.’

‘Right,’ said Papa and cleared his throat. Then he bent down to push a piece of wood closer to the fire. With his back to me, he said, ‘You better get dressed, Minou. Dinner will be ready soon.’ He glanced out the window. ‘The snow is deep. You will have to walk carefully.’

I set out for the church with the notebook tucked under my arm and a steaming plate of fish in each hand. Snow crunched under my feet and the moon had appeared over the water, low and full, even though night was still to fall.

Priest opened the church door wearing his violet robe and two of the scarves I had knitted him. He looked feverishly pale, but greeted me cheerfully. ‘So lovely of you to come,’ he said and sniffled. ‘And you have brought fish, I see. Come in, come in.’

Two picnic blankets were spread next to the altar with cheeses, wine, candles and a pile of origami paper.

‘Sit down, dear Minou,’ he said, gesturing towards the blanket.

‘Are you sick, Priest?’ I sat down and put my notebook and the plates on the picnic blanket.

‘I am a bit under the weather, but,’ he looked affectionately at the cross, ‘we were just having fun, God and I. There is never a dull moment, Minou, when you are with God.’ He blew his nose in a large handkerchief.

‘What happens if you spill on your robe?’ I asked.

‘God will make sure that doesn’t happen.’

But later when Priest spilled wine right down the front of his robe, he exclaimed contentedly, ‘God is reminding me of an exquisite spread.’

Priest pointed at the cheeses and told me their names. There were camembert, brie, blue vein and then one that smelled very bad.

‘It is called The Old Cheese,’ said Priest, and smiled at my expression. ‘Yes, I was frightened too, Minou. It took me three months before I dared taste it, but it’s worth it. Eating it is like spinning fast, arms stretched out wide. It is so old it has started crying. Look,’ he said, and held it up for me to see the small tears that covered it. ‘Theodora liked cheeses too.’ Priest blew his nose again.

‘Did she like the smelly one?

‘I am not sure, Minou. But she was a woman of great courage, and she never shied away from interesting experiences. And she did like the smell of many things: the salt, the bricks, her philosophy books and her goat. It’s strange,’ Priest continued, ‘I have started to smell oranges everywhere. It’s like your mama is baking again.’ He sniffled and reached for his origami paper. ‘She loved my oven. She always asked for my pretzel recipe. I kept saying no, but I am sorry now of course.’ He looked at me apologetically.

‘She is coming back, Priest,’ I said matter of factly. ‘But you can give the recipe to me if you want.’

I thought that being able to make pretzels might be useful. I could bake some for No Name and he could wear them around his neck. And if I got really good I could make them into hoops.

Priest looked uncertain. ‘I will think about it, dear Minou, I will think about it.’ He swiftly changed the subject. ‘Did you know, Minou, that priests write to me from all over the world? They want this posting because of the oven.’ Priest beamed. ‘I didn’t realise how many men of God there are who like baking. One day I will show you the photographs.’

‘Of them?’ I asked.

‘No, no, Minou, of their cakes, of course,’ said Priest, reaching for his handkerchief.

Once I told Priest that Mama’s baking had failed yet again and that No Name was busy eating the leftovers of her orange cake. He left the church without a word, and strode towards our house, ending up in front of Mama’s closed bedroom door. She was crying and wouldn’t let him in, but Priest didn’t seem to mind. ‘Come and see me at church on Sunday,’ he shouted happily. ‘Bring your recipe book. Under God’s roof, and with my industrial oven, nothing can go wrong. You have seen my pretzels.’

Mama kept sobbing, but Priest wasn’t deterred. ‘I am preparing a special sermon this week. Join us; the more the merrier.’

Priest had been preaching Genesis for a long
time. Some parts had even turned into song. It was nice to know the words, and No Name and I would sing along. But I thought it would be exciting if Priest talked about something else.

The following Sunday, however, the sermon was the same, and Mama arrived just as No Name and I were saying goodbye to Priest. She was wearing a bright pink apron and was carrying her black recipe book.

She embraced Priest with vigour and laughed. ‘So this is where my rescuer lives.’

Priest blushed. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘God is the true rescuer. With a little help from my industrial oven, of course.’

I wasn’t allowed to stay.

‘I have to concentrate, Minou,’ said Mama. ‘I feel it might happen today.’

By late afternoon Papa started pacing the kitchen floor and No Name appeared on the doorstep looking hopeful.

I was just about to boil water for coffee, when we heard Mama outside. We rushed to the door and there she was, singing with gusto, carrying a nice-looking cake decorated with a silver candle.

‘Shoo,’ she said to No Name when she passed
him at the doorstep. ‘Shoo, you silly dog.’

‘What’s the candle for?’ I asked.

‘To celebrate. Priest gave it to me, the dear man.’ Mama laughed. ‘I think it’s the oven, but he is convinced that God has a part in it too. This one really did turn out right.’

Papa later told her how magnificent she had looked, walking towards the house, carrying the cake. ‘You looked like a queen,’ he declared, ‘like Theodora.’

But Mama didn’t like that. ‘I look nothing like Theodora.’

‘You looked stately,’ Papa faltered, ‘that’s what I meant.’

‘I was happy, that’s all,’ she said.

‘You looked very, very happy, and beautiful too,’ said Papa.

And Mama kissed him on the cheek.

I couldn’t tell if the cake was any different from Mama’s earlier efforts, but I ate slowly and tried to imagine what she might have felt, eating the same cake before the island, before she found Papa. And I wondered if there had been cakes in the war and whether her family had used an industrial oven just like Priest’s.

Priest sneezed again, and his violet robes trembled. The church was getting colder and darker, and his nose was running.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a piece of cheese?’ he asked.

I shook my head. The Old Cheese smelled terrible. ‘How come you wanted to be a priest and not a baker?’ I asked.

‘I was longing.’

‘What for?’

‘God, Minou. We are all longing for God, even though we might think we long for something else.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, pretzels, or a horse.’ He looked at me with a kind smile.

Logically I wasn’t convinced. But it was hard to think philosophical thoughts while Priest’s nose kept running.

The candles flickered and the cold crept through the picnic blanket. I wished I had put on an extra jumper.

‘How do you keep warm at night?’ I asked, thinking of priest’s room upstairs next to the cold church bell, and his bed beneath the open window.

‘With Theodora’s bearskins, of course, but
Minou, you mustn’t change the subject.’ Priest blew his nose. ‘We all long for God. But,’ he reached for an origami sheet, ‘it was easier when the Earth was flat.’

‘What do you mean, Priest?’

‘When it was flat you could only long for God in one direction. Now people look up and all they see is Galileo’s stars. And when they look at the stars they forget about longing, and start counting constellations instead. They get confused.’

The talk of stars must have reminded Priest that it was night because he jumped to his feet with amazing speed.

‘Minou,’ he said, already out of breath as he ran towards the kitchen, ‘could you climb upstairs and turn on the lights. And ring the bell. Just once, I think I need to hear it.’

I swiftly climbed the three flights of stairs and reached the small rectangular room. Moonlight fell across Priest’s bed and the large copper bell. Above the bed was a framed photo. It showed Priest on a podium next to a short man with strong-looking arms, who I guessed might be Hoshami. They were both smiling at the camera. Next to the photo was a gold frame with a picture of Mother Mary, pretty
in a blue dress, with a white dove in the palm of her hand.

I looked out through the window. The light from the moon illuminated the island and I could see our house with its snow-covered roof and the many ravens perched, black and motionless, along the rooftop. There was light in the kitchen and in Papa’s study. I stretched over the windowsill and looked into Boxman’s yard. No Name wasn’t there. But Boxman was out shovelling snow in his cape. There was already a huge pile next to the open barn door. His shovel clunked, again and again, against snow and rocks.

And then I saw Mama.

Her long red hair, her pale face.

For a moment it seemed as if she looked my way.

‘Mama,’ I called out, ‘Mama.’ My voice echoed eerily in the bell.

But Mama didn’t hear me. She turned and walked into Boxman’s barn. I stood still and looked at the barn door for several minutes, straining, trying not to blink. But Mama didn’t come back out.

I edged around the bell, and climbed down the stairs as quick as I could. Then I ran towards the entrance, past Priest and his picnic blankets.

‘I have to go, Priest,’ I called out, as I pulled
at the large church door.

‘But wait, Minou. Your notebook.’ Priest joined me at the open door and handed me the book. ‘Will you be all right walking home alone?’

On cue No Name appeared, wading through the snow towards us.

‘Oh, you’ve got No Name. That’s wonderful, Minou. Then goodnight, dear ones,’ he said and closed the church door behind us.

I started to run. No Name tried to follow, but struggled in the snow, sinking deeper and deeper until he stopped with a howl. I turned around, picked him up, and ran on. I ran fast. Faster than the afternoon Papa had timed me. But this time Papa wasn’t watching. No Name whimpered in my arms, and my stomach felt hot and my hair itchy. This wasn’t how I had planned it. My jumper hadn’t been washed for quite some time and I wished I was wearing a dress and had brushed my hair. But Papa didn’t care much for clean clothes and neither did I. My story wasn’t finished and my drawings were incomplete. And if Mama had already seen the dead boy, then she would have shown Boxman. And Boxman could make up stories much better than mine.

‘Shh,’ I said to No Name, trying not to slide
in the snow. ‘We are almost there.’

We heard the sound of Boxman’s shovel before we reached the yard. No Name jumped out of my arms and staggered ahead of me towards the sound.

‘Oh there he is,’ Boxman called out when he saw us. ‘I was about to go looking for him.’ He picked up No Name and patted him.

I was inside the barn before Boxman had time to say anything else.

La Luna’s blue box sat silently on the worktable. On a bale of hay stood a cup and saucer, half full of tea. Two of the apothecary’s desk drawers, labelled ‘Sugar’, and ‘Gifts for Unexpected Occasions’, were open.

But the barn was empty. Mama wasn’t there.

I lifted the lid of the finished box, but already knew that there would be nothing but air inside. I suddenly felt very tired.

‘It’s almost finished.’ Boxman came up behind me.

‘Why did you make her vanish?’ I asked, but even as I said it, I knew she hadn’t been there.

Boxman was quiet for a moment. ‘Did you see your mama?’

I didn’t answer.

He put an arm around me. ‘It’s because you miss her.’

I shrugged off his arm. ‘Why do you have to make everything disappear?’

We all helped clean up at the end of the performance. The barn smelled deliciously of hay and candle wax. Boxman asked me to snuff the candles, while Priest collected pillows and Papa stacked the chairs.

‘The pretzels are lovely, aren’t they?’ said Priest, crunching away, without noticing that no one else had touched them. ‘I am very pleased with this batch.’

No Name was back in his cardigan, asleep. And neither Priest’s unsuccessful attempts to feed him a pretzel, nor the two grey rabbits that hopped past, managed to wake him.

Boxman removed the spotlight from the ceiling, while Mama got changed behind the curtain. I was still wearing Bukowski’s shoes and was getting good at walking in them.

After Papa finished stacking the chairs along the wall, he asked Priest, who was pacing near the door and peering anxiously into the rainy night, if he would like some company on the walk home. Priest
looked gratefully at Papa, then thanked Boxman for a delightful evening.

Papa blew Mama a kiss, and said, ‘Come home soon, I will make coffee for us.’ Priest waved from the doorway, and we all shouted ‘Goodbye, goodbye.’

‘No,’ I heard Papa say on the way out, ‘I don’t think she hurt herself. She has been practising. Yes. For many weeks.’ And then from across the yard, ‘The church does indeed look beautiful with all the light. Easy to find even in the rain.’