Shamanka (37 page)

But if not, why did she have to go to the hospital? When they arrive at St Vincent's, there's some confusion at reception. Kitty asks if they have a patient registered in the name of Christa Khaan, but she's not on their books. Is this the wrong hospital, perhaps? They're about to leave when Sam realizes her mother would have used her married name and marches back up to the desk.

“Do you have a Mrs Tabuh?”

“Ah … yes.”

The receptionist puts her head to one side in the manner employed by medical staff who know something dreadful has happened but are not obliged to tell.

“Are you a relative?”

“I'm her daughter and this is Kitty, my friend.”

“I'm her gaudy one,” adds Kitty.

“My guardian,” explains Sam.

The receptionist looks at Lola curiously. “And this lady?”

Lola is sitting in a hospital wheelchair and has pulled the blanket over her head, exposing her hairy knees. Sam pulls the blanket back down.

“This is Grandma Tabuh. She's shy; she hates hospitals.”

They're led to the relatives room. The doctor will be with them shortly.

“It's bad news,” whispers Sam. “After we've come all this way.”

Kitty pats her hand. “Chin up, darling.”

She says it with unusual tenderness. There's a tremor in her voice and Sam notices that her hands are shaking. The doctor comes in. He's barely out of medical school and not used to being the bearer of bad tidings. He fixes them with what he thinks is a kind smile, but is more of a grimace – the same face Lola pulls when she's frightened.

“There's been a bit of a blunder,” he announces. “Your mum's gone walkabout.”

“Gone
walkabout
?”

He waves his hands frantically as if to erase the flippant expression. “Not that she was in any state to walk. She was lying in intensive care. I only nipped out for a quick smoke and when I came back, the bed was empty. Gone off with the fit-looking fella, I reckon. The one with the streaky hair.”

“My father!” groans Sam.

“No kidding? The porter saw him charging out of the hospital pushing a box on wheels. Oh no, don't say she was in it! I guess your dad wasn't too happy with my prognosis, but that's no reason to run off with your mother.”

“What's wrong with her?” asks Sam.

“Ah, she's pretty crook. She collapsed somewhere in the Blue Mountains. We tried every trick in the book but she slipped into a coma.”

“She was cursed!” wails Kitty.

“Ye–s,” says the doctor. “That's what your father said. At first I thought he wasn't the full squid. But actually, it's not the first time we've had a curse-case here, only usually the patient is an Aborigine. When someone's been hexed, they collapse, shrieking and writhing, then they stare aghast – like this – pointing at the spirit of the enemy…”

He does the actions, oblivious to the distress he's causing.

“The victim gets sicker and sicker. His pulse becomes imperceptible, and unless he's offered a counter charm, he's not gonna last too long…” he trails off.

“My mum will die?” whispers Sam.

“Yeah. Death is inevitable.” The doctor scratches his head. “Funny thing is, there's never any visible sign of disease after they've been cut open – it's like they've died of shock. Or it could be that when the mind has no hope, the body shuts down and commits a form of mental suicide, if you like.”

“I don't like!” Sam explodes. “Surely my mother wouldn't be influenced by a curse.”

The doctor shrugs. “I can't think of another explanation. I'm kicking myself for not calling security, you know?”

“Perhaps my father took her to another hospital and she's OK.”

The doctor shakes his head. “I doubt it. There's no way she'd have survived the trip without intubation. I'm afraid she's a dead woman.”

Kitty walks over to the window and lets out a heart-rending sob. “She's
dead
?”

“Yeah. Ah, well, we've all got to go sometime. I'm as cut up about it as you are. Jeez – you shoulda seen me blubber when my pet rat died—”

There's a clatter and a thump behind him. Kitty has crumpled to the floor. The doctor slaps his forehead in despair and panics. “Aw, cripes, not another one! In my lunchbreak too.”

He feels for her pulse and bellows for assistance. Two burly nurses charge into the room. Sam rushes to Kitty's side to help her, like she'd helped the ewe and the donkey, but the nurses steer her out of the way. No one will tell her anything.

“What's happening? Has Kitty fainted? Let me through!”

Kitty is rolled onto a stretcher and lifted onto a trolley. The doctor yells instructions. “Let's lose the party mask! Where's the oxygen? Stick this up her nose, somebody.”

They're taking her away. Sam hangs onto the trolley.

“Let me go with her…
Please
!”

They won't allow it.

“You stay here with your granny.”

Sam sits down, pale-faced and clammy. “This is not good, Lola.”

“Ooo, oo.”

Lola squeezes Sam's hand. She tries to amuse her by turning a cork from her hat into a cookie but Sam's too upset to appreciate it. An hour passes. A nurse comes back into the room.

“Your friend Kitty's been asking for you. I'm afraid she's had a heart attack.”

“Will she be all right?”

The nurse smiles weakly. “I really can't say.”

“Can I bring Grandma Tabuh to see her?”

“No,” says the nurse. “It's best if you don't because Grandma Tabuh isn't really a person, is she? She's an orang-utan. She shouldn't be here at all. It's against regulations.”

Sam pleads. “Where does it say no apes? Kitty has to see her. It'll make her better.”

The nurse bites her lip. “All-righty. I'll turn a blind eye. Just this once. Would you like to come this way?”

Sam's stomach lurches as she enters a small side ward. There's a bright floral curtain around the bed; Kitty is behind it. Sam washes her hands with pink disinfectant. Lola washes her feet. The nurse raises an eyebrow but doesn't chastise her. “Shall I leave you guys with Kitty for a bit?”

“Yes, please.”

The nurse closes the door behind her. Sam tiptoes over to the curtain, not knowing what to expect. She eases it back on its rail and stares in disbelief.

Kitty's mask is on top of a locker, the mouth-slit twisted into a smile under a long, dark wig. It's as if Kitty has slipped out of her skin and left her old self in a heap. The real Kitty lies facing the wall, her ice blonde hair trailing over her shoulders – why had she chosen to hide it?

“Kitty?”

Slowly, Kitty turns towards her. Sam claps her hands to her mouth in shock – but it isn't revulsion at seeing a face disfigured by fire. Kitty's features are perfect. She looks just like her sister Candy did when she was beautiful. Identical, in fact. But they are not twins.

“Triplets,” whispers Kitty, “Me, Candy and Christa. One guides you, two harms you … three loves you beyond the grave…”

Her head falls back on the pillow. Sam sits by her side and holds her hand. Kitty isn't some random Egyptian priestess, she's Sam's flesh and blood – her aunt. Why did it have to be a secret? Kitty shrugs feebly. “You'll see.”

Had Kitty worn the mask purely to disguise the fact that she was the eldest triplet, born three hours before Candy, at three minutes past three on the third day of the third month? Or had the mask served a double purpose? Perhaps her face really had been burnt in the fire and the holy water had miraculously healed it. Or was it all down to Father Bayu?

Kitty's too exhausted to explain. She gazes at Sam in wonder, as if she's seeing her for the first time but actually, it's the last. “My beautiful, magical knees…”

“Don't you mean niece, Aunt Kitty?”

Kitty closes her eyes.

“Aunt Kitty? Stay with us – stay with me!”

Sam begins to chant. She chants in Motu. The spell had worked for the butterfly; it wasn't the breeze. Really it wasn't.

Kitty puts her finger on Sam's lips. “Don't you dare bring me back, darling. You have to do the last bit on your own.”

How
? The doctor says her mother is dead. No one knows where her father is and there's no one left to ask on the witch doctor's list. The last name was torn away.

Kitty smiles briefly. “Follow the leatherback title, Sam.”

“What title? What do you mean?”

But Kitty doesn't answer. She has gone. Where to, I cannot say. Heaven? The Astral Temple? Maybe she's in Mexico being ferried across the river. Maybe her soul is being weighed against a feather in Egypt. Maybe she is in Nirvana.

One day, you will know and so will Sam. But right now, she's completely numb. She thought she would cry, but she can't. Kitty's body is still warm, but it's not Kitty any more. It's just a Kitty-shaped illusion, an ashra device. Empty and inanimate.

Death is the perfect disappearing trick, the best sleight of hand, the most subtle piece of misdirection. Sam stands there for a moment, trying to work out where Kitty went. She half-expects her to reappear from behind the curtain, blowing kisses to the audience. She calls out.

“How is death done?”

Indocilis privata loqui
. The magician never tells.

We breathe in and out over 21,600 times a day, but most of us only use a fraction of our lung capacity. This yoga exercise shows you how to breathe efficiently and slow down your respiratory rate, leaving you calm and relaxed

1. Lie down in complete stillness, close your eyes and become aware of your natural breath.

2. Relax into its smooth ebb and flow.

3. With each breath, say to yourself, “I'm aware that I am breathing in, I'm aware that I am breathing out.”

4. Feel the breath flowing in and out of the nose – cool when it enters, warm as it flows out.

5. Feel the breath flowing in and out at the back of the throat and down the throat.

6. Feel the breath flowing down to the chest and into your lungs, expanding and relaxing them.

7. Shift the attention to the rib cage. It expands … and it relaxes.

8. Feel the breath in your abdomen, moving up as you inhale, down as you exhale. Become aware of the whole breathing process from the nostrils to the abdomen.

9. Bring the awareness back to your whole body and open your eyes.

A
dark-haired figure in a long robe walks beside Sam down to the harbour. It's Lola, wearing Kitty's wig. Sam has no idea where they're going. She has cleared her head of the burden of her own thoughts and is waiting for something else to fill the void.

There's a forklift truck at the water's edge. Two men are loading statues into wooden crates. Once the crates are secured, they are picked up by the truck and loaded onto a ship waiting in the docks. Sam watches until the men disappear for a tea break. The tall, gangly one has left his packing knife behind. She slips it inside her blazer.

Sam climbs into an empty crate with Lola and pulls the lid down. They lie in silence, losing track of time. The men return. She holds her breath. A belt is strapped across the crate to keep it shut, then the truck shoves its metal forks underneath; the vibrations make Lola's teeth judder.

“Shh, Lola. It'll be all right.”

There's a sudden lurch as the truck lifts its cargo up into the air. Sam can see the sky through the slits in the lid. Now the crate is being lowered onto the deck of the ship. She pulls out the packing knife and starts to saw away at the leather strapping. She's struggling for air, so she concentrates on her breathing and slows down her heart rate. Pranayama. Qi gong. Relax.

There's a cry from the docks. “Curly, mate, we're one statue short of a crate. Did someone load an empty?”

Too late; the ship has already set sail across the Coral Sea to the Solomon Islands.

Who knows how long the journey takes. Time has lost all meaning for Sam. She survives by creeping out of the crate at night with Lola and stealing leftover cabbage from the galley. It's the only thing the sailors won't eat.

There's plenty of rum on board too. A tot or two would help to keep out the cold – but what if each barrel has an Aunt Candy folded up inside it, bloated and pickled like one of Professor Farthy's specimens?

Sam is going crazy trying to understand everything that's happened to her. Could the witch doctor really have twisted fate? If so, why would he allow his own grandchild to spend her childhood living with a drunken aunt? Did she have to suffer like that? Maybe she did.

If Aunt Candy had been a kind person, Sam would never have been shut in the attic and would never have discovered who her real father was. And didn't Ruby say that suffering makes you who you are? She leans against a barrel and looks at the photo inside the locket.