The Ecliptic (41 page)

Then the provost began to eulogise. ‘I have no words of inspiration for you today,’ he called out over the breeze. ‘I had hoped that I could compose a few lines that might
capture the significance of the life that we have lost, but I have failed to do so, and I feel some shame about that. Yesterday, we had a great young talent in our midst, and today we’ve
buried him. Nothing I say can match the depth of our sorrow. That such a tragedy should happen on my watch as provost is a regret I will take to my own grave.’ He paused here, rucking the
ground with his cane.

Every last guest at Portmantle was standing on the south-eastern bluff with their eyes towards the sea. The provost had angled himself to address the whole crowd, but we knew his speech was
meant only for the four of us. There was a reverential distance in his tone, a suggestion of apology. ‘Nothing good can be salvaged from a day as dark as this,’ he went on, ‘but
there is—it only strikes me now, in fact—there
is
a lesson to be taken from it.’

He was sermonising from a mound of shingly soil and wore a long black overcoat that shimmied in the wind. The short-termers were huddled in a crescent alongside him, but we stood further back:
MacKinney with her arm around me, Quickman squatting to ruffle the fur on Nazar’s chest, and Pettifer hovering over them with an umbrella like some awkward hand-servant. My toes skimmed the
frill of weeds on the escarpment’s edge, and I focused on the sea washing below, until it became so metronomic I could sense each breaking wave without having to listen.

‘Because, at times like these, it is artists like you whom we consult for solace—’
Wash
. ‘The poets and writers in our libraries—’
Wash
.
‘The paintings on our walls, the music.’
Wash.
‘Death is something only art can qualify. And that is all—’
Wash.
‘—the encouragement I
can take from this unhappy mess.’
Wash.
‘Because surely all great art is made for people left behind. For those—’
Wash
. ‘—who suffer death and
cannot fathom it. And so what else is there to say, except—’
Wash.
‘To Fullerton! May he rest in peace and live on through his work.’

‘To Fullerton!’ everyone called.

‘To the boy,’ I said.

Wash.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to jump, to fall, to be devoured by the sea. It did not give me much relief to think of it, or bring me any deeper sense of understanding.

MacKinney tugged at my shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s move back from the edge, eh? The wind’s picking up.’ I was tucked inside her wing. We were flanked by pines and scrub,
but still a fair breeze swirled about our ankles, moving tiny pebbles underfoot. I stepped back. ‘That’s better. That’s it.’

The short-termers were dispersing and heading for the trees. Out on the water, Ender had already turned the boat for home. He rowed with the same tired action as before, yet he seemed to glide
much faster. ‘What are we supposed to do now?’ I said.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Gülcan’s made a special supper,’ said Pettifer. ‘Everyone’s going back up to the house.’

‘I don’t see what’s so special about any of this,’ Quickman said.

‘It’s out of the ordinary, that’s all I meant.’

‘I’ll say.’

‘They’re holding a wake,’ Mac cut in. ‘The provost’s idea.’

Quickman scruffed the dog’s head. ‘What the hell’s the point of that?’

‘Well, they’ve got to do
something
for the lad, haven’t they?’

‘They didn’t do anything for him before. No reason to start now.’ Quickman seemed to say this to the dog. She had not left his heels all afternoon, and, in turn, he had been
patting and cajoling her when she made the slightest plea. ‘They didn’t even know him. What are they going to do, stand around making up anecdotes?’

‘Knell knew him better than anyone. And if she wants to go—’

‘I don’t. Q’s right,’ I said. ‘It’s a sham. The provost couldn’t care less.’

I could still feel the boy’s wet body in my arms, a phantom ache. The day had passed with agonising slowness and I just wanted to see it out. I had spent most of the morning by the fire in
the day room, watching the fight of the flames, hoping that if I stared for long enough into the blurry heat it might tranquillise me, blank my memory. But I could not stop myself from thinking of
the duct tape on the boy’s mouth—the very stuff that I had given him—or the leather belt around his neck, the simple weave of it. He had won it from Tif in their backgammon game.
Such small details plagued me. They lured me into a trail of senseless speculations on what might have been: if the four of us had only done
x
, if I had just said
y
to the boy, if
the provost had done
z.
I was searching for logic where none existed.

At the provost’s instruction, the boy had been carried out of his lodging on a hammock made of bedsheets, Ender and Ardak providing the muscle. Quickman had stayed with me in the day room,
surveying every movement from the window, until they had taken the body too deep into the woods for us to see. Q had gone to the couch, where the dog was lying, and towelled her belly until her
hind legs kicked. There was a homely dampness in the air. ‘It’ll be all right, you know,’ he had said. ‘In a few days, we’re going to feel better.’ After a
while, Gülcan had brought in cups of hot
salep
and pastries left over from breakfast; I had drunk two cups and eaten as much as I could stomach, but Quickman had fed his own share to
the dog.

I had told him, ‘Someone’s got to let his family know. I don’t care what the provost says.’

‘And how are we supposed to do that exactly?’

‘By getting out of here.’

‘Don’t talk silly.’

‘I’ll write a letter, sneak it in the outgoing post somehow.’

‘You don’t even know if he
has
a family. You don’t even know his real name.’

‘So what are you saying, Q? Forget about him?’

I had thought, of all people, Quickman would try to reassure me.

‘There’s a bigger picture, you know,’ was his response. ‘Think about what you’re suggesting.’ He had brought the pipe out of his pocket, slotting it into his
teeth. ‘You have to remember that he did this to himself. He made his choice. That might sound very cold-hearted, but, I’m sorry, that’s just how I see it. The provost has a
point.’

‘So you’re caving in now, too. Terrific.’

‘Think about it, Knell. He’s one boy. One out of God knows how many. You’re really going to let him run this place into the ground? That isn’t what he wanted.’

My mind would not be changed as easily as Quickman’s, but I could not blame him for his second thoughts. He was the one who had found the boy in the bathtub, after all, and he had earned
the right to view things however he wished. It was the provost whom I could not forgive. There had been an eerie calmness about his behaviour that morning, in the height of our emergency. Both he
and Ardak had followed me out of the mansion, running back to the boy’s lodging; Ardak had sprinted ahead of me, but the provost had lagged behind, barely jogging, his old doctor’s bag
gripped under one arm. In the bathroom, he had genuflected at the sight of Fullerton on the tiles. He had removed a stethoscope from the bag and placed the metal cup against the boy’s chest,
allowing an empty moment to go by.

‘Anything?’ Q had asked, though he must have known the answer.

The provost had shaken his head. He had checked Fullerton’s distended eyes with a torch and closed the boy’s lids in the thoughtless way you might shut the clasps on a briefcase.
‘I’m afraid he’s gone,’ he had said. ‘We’ll have to bury him right away’ He had turned to give Ardak some instructions in Turkish.
‘Adam
ı
denize atabilir misin?’

‘Karanl
ı
k olmadan atmal
ı
y
ı
z
’ Ardak had replied, shrugging.
‘Ben
botu haz
ı
rlar
ı
m
’

‘What are you going to do with him?’ Quickman had said.

‘Well, we can’t keep him on the grounds, that’s for certain. It’s much too risky’ The provost had stuffed the instruments back inside his doctor’s bag.
‘Ardak thinks we ought to put him out to sea. I’ll have to check with the trustees, but I think that’s probably safest.’

‘You can’t just dump him in the Marmara.’

The provost had stood up, towering over me. ‘Knell, we have to be pragmatic about this.’ He had rolled his good eye downwards. ‘It wouldn’t be the first funeral
we’ve held here—people get sick, and we can’t always treat them if they refuse to go to hospital. There’s a procedure.’ He had spoken to Ardak again.
‘
Ya
ş
l
ı
adamdan yard
ı
m al
’ Then he had dusted off his hands and said to us,
‘I have to make some calls. Excuse me.’

Are you going to talk to his sponsor?’ My voice had sounded so puny. ‘His family needs to be told.’

The provost had inhaled deeply. ‘I’m not sure that’s in anyone’s best interest.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘You can’t honestly be suggesting that we go on as normal,’ Quickman had said.

The provost had slung his bag over his shoulder. ‘I know you two were friends of his. But what do you think would happen if I told his sponsor? The news is bound to leak—we
can’t control what sponsors say or do—and we’d have a thousand people banging on these gates, asking all kinds of questions. We’d be shut down before the season’s out.
I’m sorry, I won’t put the refuge in jeopardy like that, for anyone.’

Quickman had looked bewildered, even sickened, and I had thought he would share my anger towards the provost forever. ‘So what do you propose we do, sir?’ he had asked.

‘Follow procedure. That’s all there is to it.’

Ardak had called from the doorway: ‘
Bunin için ekstra ödeme gerekir beyefendi.
’

The provost had nodded back at him emphatically. Then, shuffling towards us with an air of appeasement, he had said, ‘Nobody wants it to happen this way. But it’s one of the
eventualities we all have to prepare for. You understood the risks when you both came here.’

And so, at the end of the miserable afternoon, the boy was tossed into the sea like fish guts, and I was left with a deadness in my belly, a shame that I feared might never subside. The
provost’s eulogy had rung hollow. I wished that I could have spoken in his place, but I was not invited to, and what exactly would I have said? Aside from a few personal things the boy had
shared with me—about recurring dreams, and Japanese scribblings, and listening to old records at his grandfather’s house—I had no great insight into his life. He was not someone
who deserved to be spoken about in half measures.

The dour sky was darkening still. I held on to the crook of Mac’s elbow and she steered us off the escarpment. The mansion surfaced above the treeline: what an ugly grey hulk it was in the
drizzle, what a mangy old dump. Nazar scurried by us, bounding through the scrub. ‘I guess it’s feeding time,’ Pettifer said from behind. ‘At least some of us are thinking
clearly, eh?’

‘Shut up, Tif,’ Mac said.

‘Just trying to raise a smile.’

We were only yards from the clearing where my mushrooms grew—they were just beyond the coppice to my left, and my chest tightened at the thought of them.

As we came through the pines, I saw the provost waiting in the mulch by the studio huts. I did not want to speak to him, but he was loitering in an official way, as though he had some form
awaiting a signature. Nazar ran to him, circled his feet, sniffing. He was without an umbrella. ‘Go around him,’ I told Mac.

‘You sure?’

She tried to veer away, but he moved to intercept us. ‘Can you spare a moment?’ he said. ‘Both of you.’

Tif and Quickman were just a few strides behind.

‘What’s going on over at the house right now?’ Q asked.

‘I’ve asked Gülcan to make her special
köfte
,’ the provost replied, ‘in honour of the boy. You don’t have to join us if you aren’t feeling
up to it. It’s been a very long day.’

‘His appetite’s taken a hit,’ Tif said. ‘But I’m keen.’

‘As you wish.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘Well, if I might borrow the ladies for a moment?’

‘They’re not ours to lend,’ said Quickman.

‘It’s all right,’ I said.

They left us alone, and Nazar hurried after.

The provost waited for them to be out of earshot. He folded his arms. ‘You know, I was beginning to wonder if the trustees really understand how this place functions. But, in your case,
MacKinney, they’ve proven me wrong.’

‘I’m not following you, sir.’

‘It seems our appeals have been heard, after all. They’re going to let you stay.’

‘Are you serious? Oh, that’s—oh, my goodness, thank you,’ she said.

‘I’m just glad they came to their senses.’ He scraped the mulch off his shoe. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of cancelling tonight’s reading. Hope you don’t
mind.’

‘We would’ve cancelled it anyway,’ Mac said. ‘Given the circumstances. But, really, sir—thank you.’

‘I knew you’d understand.’

‘Can I keep the same room?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ He peered towards the mansion. ‘Unless you’d prefer to change. I wouldn’t want to hold you there against your will.’

‘No, no, I’m happy where I am.’ She managed to quell the jubilation in her voice, but it seeped out onto her face, tugging at the corners of her mouth, mottling her skin.
‘This is going to make all the difference to my work, sir—I can’t tell you. It won’t be long before I’ve finished it.’

‘I have no doubt you’ll use the time productively.’ The provost reached for his pocket watch, shielding it as he flicked it open. ‘You haven’t said anything, Knell.
I thought you’d be grateful for a bit of good news today.’

After the pitiless way he had dispatched Fullerton, I could only feel sceptical. It seemed that this sudden backpedalling was intended to placate us—to quiet any impulsions we might have
had to scream the boy’s name from the mansion roof, or, in Mac’s case, to confess what she had witnessed to her friends back on the mainland. ‘I’m pleased Mac gets to
stay,’ I said. ‘If that’s what you need to hear.’