5
They had ascended to what was probably an abandoned park but now looked just as much like a garbage dump. And, from the appearance of their more distant surroundings, it was clear that they had not made it into London Proper as Gus had hoped. They could, however, see far to the east where the enormous hulks of shining buildings marked the city center. Nearer, Nkiruka could see the familiar sight of desolate houses ringing the edges of the park, many terraced dwellings with no purpose now but to collect dust in the wake of former political history-making. Left behind and no longer considered part of the city.
London, or so Sefu had been fond of saying, was not what it used to be. A tear came to her eye at the thought – but it was not for the city. She had given up what love she once had for it long ago. There was nothing left but the will-o-wisp of memory. The only thing worth mourning for was the people who had been lost but there was no time for them either. No time for grief.
Where now?”
Her tone, perhaps overly forceful, gave Faraji a start. He stammered a moment before realizing the question was not meant for him and slumped his shoulders again in exhaustion. In response to her question, Gus inclined his head to the east in the direction of the dawning sun but maintained his usual stalwart silence. Picking their way through the rubble strewn throughout the park was not an easy task. Old rotting piles of woodscraps, thick and crumbling concrete slabs, and the long steel arms of toppled lampposts lay like the intestines of an ancient earthen titan. Twenty feet ahead of the tunnel mouth a bench had been overturned onto its face.
Where are we?” Faraji asked in a tired voice.
A park. We’re about a mile from the nearest working tube.”
What happened here?”
The question went unanswered.
We're going to hurry. There’s much farther to go and we still don’t know how far behind they are.”
They. The term was vague and horrifying. They could mean many things. It conjured up images of dark creatures from the deepest recesses of her subconscious. She knew they were not being chased by fire-breathing dragons, or serpents, or werewolves. But for some reason knowing the nature of their pursuers made them all the more frightening. Evidently she was not the only one thinking this way. She noticed Faraji making periodic glances back to the gaping mouth of the maintenance tunnel behind them. Perhaps he too was being plagued by a swarm of unwelcome memories. As if catching the boy’s thoughts out of midair, Gus lifted Jess onto his shoulders and led them off.
Upon exiting the park, they found themselves among more ruins – houses, pubs, and shops – all remnants from decades ago, some as far back as the 1930s, easily a century gone. Perhaps they were even older, but whatever their age, they’d fallen into disrepair, however close they were to the city.
The group walked for several minutes before they came to a large bridge. It was an old arch design made of brick and ornamented with stone shields and swords. The four approached it slowly; for all their haste, the wearying nature of their flight had driven them all into a sort of sleepwalker’s trance. The world around them had the vague unreality of a dream.
Faraji’s eyes were half closed when he noticed that up ahead, perched on the bridge railing, was a raven. The boy blinked repeatedly. It was not so much the sight of the bird that was bewildering, but rather its behavior. The bulky creature was hopping around in circles on its perch as if it were the intoxicated participant in some strange dance. Faraji had never seen such strange behavior in an animal. He looked up to his mother, whose eyes were also focused on the odd display. As they continued onto the bridge, the bird paused its shifty tap dance to peer over at them. In moments it had left the guardrail in favor of a lamppost overlooking the bridge and perched with its eyes fixed in an eerie stare. As they walked, it gazed at each of them in turn.
Such strange and unafraid behavior baffled Faraji. Only a few feet away now from the lamppost, he could look into its eyes. The raven met his unabashedly; the boy saw the pupils on the animal dilating, focusing and focusing like the lenses of a camera. On an impulse he slowly reached out to point at the big creature, but as his small hand drew in line with the it, the bird let out a piercing Kaw! that made Faraji jump back uneasily.
Leave it be, boy. That is a strange bird.” His mother scolded him lightly. She eyed the shiny animal suspiciously. “Let’s go.” She pulled him down the bridge.
Faraji looked back. The crow was still staring.
Father told me about crows once.”
I know what he said. I know everything he ever said. Now is not the time. Let's go.”
He said they see everything.”
I said be quiet, Faraji.”
Nkiruka pushed her son forward and they made their way over the remaining expanse of the bridge. Faraji looked down to see a stagnant river, and a thick fetor assailed his senses. He pulled his head back in disgust. His mother pulled his arm and kept propelling him forward with an anxiety he did not understand. They turned right around one hundred meters away from the bridge. Just before the group took a right turn that obscured it from view, Faraji looked back.
The bird was still watching them.
Their present course took them under the M4 carriageway. This, for Faraji, was an extraordinary sight and he marveled at the speed of the cars that rushed on their way to all their unknown destinations. He had seen cars before, of course, but the sight of them was an uncommon one in the Outskirts. His mother seemed far less interested in the sight. She and his father had always kept their family secluded, aloof from society. They had never taken him into the inner reaches of the city and, indeed, never seen fit to tell Faraji why they had chosen to live the way they did. But all that was over now, gone in a rush of events that Faraji did not understand. His family had lived apart from it for years, since before Faraji was born. The boy did not know why exactly, or through what power they had managed the near impossible feat of keeping their distance from the entrapments of London, but neither did he miss it. Having never had, one does not miss. In fact, before seeing the city this close, he’d never really wondered about any of it. Now he knew he had to ask his mother these questions. Not now perhaps, but later, and soon. In a safer place.
They traveled north under the overpass, and then to the east. For some time they had been trudging along in the midst of an intruding silence. Tired as they were – hungry, muscles aching and bodies smelling of sweat and dust – there seemed little reason to talk. The entirety of the last night’s events had viciously occupied their minds and was not about to yield any space to other thoughts. Gus’s face was still grim and haggard. Small dirt-stained tears had accumulated in the corner of Nkiruka’s eyes. Jess slept fitfully with her small head resting on her father’s shoulder. And Faraji, enthralled though he was with the sight of the motorway, felt no better.
Anon the boy saw a change in their surroundings. He had already noticed that the buildings around them were gradually growing taller. But now the changes began to amaze him. Where only a mile back the buildings had been low, squat, ancient things, full of dust and mildew and made of brick and wood, now they were taller and more imposing. One in particular held Faraji in hypnosis. It was massive even far off in the distance. Clouds clung to it needily. Windows scaled the outside, shiny as newly minted coins. It seemed to grow before the boy’s eyes as he walked and he silently marveled at its creation. He wondered what was inside.
We’re almost at the tube station, turn in here.”
A sign on the street finally indicated that they had reached Gunnersbury station. Faraji peered from side to side in an effort to catch as much of the sights as he could. There were cars. There were people. If this was what the outskirts of London looked like, Faraji desperately wanted to the see the city center. There were buildings to dwarf all other structures in the world. Gus led the way across the road in the direction of the underground sign. Faraji and Nkiruka followed in tow – she pulled at her son’s hand as he absorbed the pulsing melodrama of activity going on around them. People dashed about in small flurries. They carried large bags and wore strange ornate fashions he had never seen before. They would jump into cars and fly off sending small zephyrs into those on the side of the road. Finally, Nkiruka managed to yank Faraji across the street and they made their way behind Gus and Jess toward the entrance. As they descended the stairs, Faraji heard a noise behind him that froze him in his tracks.
The bird flew in rather loudly, flapping its wings and hawking forth a formidable screeching kaw that sounded almost machine-like. It hung in the air for a moment, and finally settled itself onto the metal arch above the underground and looked down at them. Faraji dropped his mother’s hand and peered up at it.
Let’s go, Faraji. We must go!” She hissed at him.
Faraji did not really understand but he felt her paranoia and fear and flew about, running with her as the group hastened down into the underground.
The bird had somehow assumed a preternatural status in their minds. They rushed on, followed by quizzical looks from other tube goers. Gus and Nkiruka paid little notice. Gus hurriedly bought them all travel cards and they were soon through the gates. The heat grew more and more stifling the more they ran and after several turns they reached their desired platform.
They were all breathing fast. Faraji noticed Gus’s eyes flitting nervously back the way they had come. Waiting felt agonizing. The boy turned his attention to the platform. Others, of course, had occupied it before them. To his right a young couple and an elderly woman sat on a bench. Farther down a tall man with dark glasses listened to earphones bobbing his head to the hidden rhythm.
Faraji looked to his left. Toward the corner of the platform, an old beggar sprawled up against the grungy wall in a strange pose of relaxation. He stared blankly into space as if pondering some deep unknowable truth. Beside his leg a brown tattered hat had collected only a few pieces of spare change. His hair and beard were densely overgrown and appeared soiled from a long period without washing. Although he thankfully sat too far from the old fellow to actually experience it, he was willing to wager he smelled as bad as he looked. The man’s eyes contained an inherent oddity as well. One of them was shut completely and looked to have scar tissue around it, while the other was very dark and sunken.
But it was not before long that a rough grating sound from down the tunnel signaled the arrival of the tube car, while nearby travelers began jockeying unnecessarily for positions closer to the edge of the platform. The old man stood up, his eyes now focused on the uncomfortable Faraji. As the train drew nearer, so too did the hobo. He walked with a stiff arthritic slouch that gave him an air of immense age. Faraji tugged nervously on his mother's arm. She looked down at him just as the man spoke.
You and your friends look lost. Need me to show you around?” A voice issued from the other's lips. It was neither kindly nor cruel but crackled like burning parchment. Faraji did not answer. Gus was looking in their direction. Faraji recoiled underneath his mother's protective arm. Alcohol saturated the man's breath. He did not stop talking.
The world can be a scary place when you don't know who's watching you.” He smiled a yellow and drunken glower. “And I think it would be best for you if you didn't make me find you again . . .”
Alright, just who the hell are you?” Gus shouted over the clamor of the arriving carriage. He pushed his way through the throng of commuters, now a formidable barrier between them and the old man. The car screeched to a halt. The doors opened mechanically.
I think you should come with me,” the man said. His left eye leered weirdly. “I’m a friend of a friend.”
I think you're crazy.” Gus turned to Nkiruka and Faraji. “Get on the train . . . And you, you stay away from us.”
He placed a thick hand on the man's chest and pushed him back. The old man stumbled and teetered drunkenly away, but the commotion had drawn the attention of the others. People began to stare. Momentarily the strange man regained his balance and screwed up his face in a bizarre smile. Gus's brow looked like a thunderhead.
The big Polak stepped onto the carriage as the doors shut and they began to move. Faraji stared transfixed at the old man who turned away and bent down to pick up his grimy hat and put it on. As the tube rolled and jerked away from the platform, Faraji noticed a small but haunting detail on the man. On the back of his cap, scored with dirt and years of wear but nevertheless visible, and embossed in silver were the silhouettes of two black birds with eyes open and wings outstretched.