Tidetown (44 page)

Brother Saviour moves to the front of the crowd.

‘Thank you, thank you,' he says, beckoning the crowd to a reluctant silence. ‘Please remain seated. We have one last special treat for you all.'

He waves to the children, who all run off in the direction of the kitchen.

‘While the children go to collect this special gift I will call on Professor Wells to come to the stage to say a few words.'

The professor straightens his jacket then makes his way to the front of the crowd. Accomplished as he is at public speaking, he swallows hard as he takes stock of the audience before him and the topic he must address.

‘Dear friends,' he says, finding strength in his voice. ‘This has been a perfect afternoon. An affirmation of our resilience in the face of great personal and collective tragedy. We all know the dreadful decisions imposed upon us to contain this horrific plague, and we all know that nothing could be done for those who succumbed to its ravages. I will not describe the events of recent months, for you are all too well aware of what has passed. Yet, we are the ones who have survived thus far, who have not been smitten. As you are aware our own trusted medical advisors have assured us that it is safe for us to mix with our children on an occasion such as this. All in attendance have a clean bill of health. But we cannot assume this will remain the case. We must take action. We must now look to the future for ourselves and our children. Today's event is a new beginning. A fresh start in the life of our community.'

Across the lawn, still wearing their penguin and polar bear masks, the children walk carefully, eager not to spill the drink or the single-stemmed rose that each child carries on a small wicker tray.

‘The Brothers have made a splendid drink for us to enjoy. It comes from the fruit and berries of their gardens and orchards. I will ask you to join me in a toast.'

The children busily hand out the drinks until all hold glasses in readiness.

‘This toast,' says Professor Wells, ‘is to all those good souls of Tidetown, those with us today and those who have gone to another place. The toast is also to the Brothers at the monastery, not only for their hospitality today, but for a task they accomplished for which we owe them an immeasurable debt.'

Much earlier on this day, after morning prayers, Brother Saviour spoke to the monks and explained to them that he and he alone was party to the plan that ensured the vaccine would arrive safely in Tidetown. What Brother Paul and Brother Mark thought were bottles of olive oil that they had bought at the market, did, in fact, contain the vaccine. Unbeknown to them, the letter they delivered to Dr Knowles at the Provincial Medical Office had instructed the swap. The phials stolen by the Trader and his men contained a harmless solution of mixed herbs. Professor Wells had wanted to take no chances and so enrolled Brother Saviour in his scheme. No one else knew, not even Judge Omega. That his party was ambushed was the greatest of tragedies, but also a clear justification for the subterfuge.

‘To put it plainly,' continues Professor Wells, ‘the drink you hold in your hand, and one that the children, for good measure, imbibed at lunch, has a very secret ingredient. Not a rare herb from the monastery greenhouse. No. Instead it is the vaccine that will protect us from this deadly virus that has plagued our recent past.'

There are gasps and guffaws, excited, ecstatic laughter from the crowd as the professor lifts his glass.

‘To your very good health!'

Each and every one drinks to the last drop the delicious elixir of fresh berries and fruits, and the diluted vaccine to protect body and soul.

‘And now,' says Brother Saviour, ‘let us take the roses you have been given. We will walk in procession to the cliff tops and drop them into the sea to remember our fallen loved ones and friends of our town.'

The monks, the adults and the penguin and polar bear children stand in single file on the edge of the cliff, roses in hand. They all notice the boat heading towards the harbour, but their minds and thoughts are on their kinfolk who have succumbed to the pestilence. After quiet reflection, Brother Saviour is the first to let his rose fall into the sea, followed by Professor Wells.

‘For Maria,' he says. ‘Death's vigour will wane. We looked into the abyss and we survived.'

Then others drop a rose into the void, reciting the names of loved ones who have perished in this time of huge sadness.

When all have done, the roses carried hither and thither by the ripple and wash of the tide, they turn away from the cliff to walk back to the monastery. And there, standing on the path, is Perch, a wild look in her eyes, her face a mass of weeping sores. She is dressed from head to foot in a long black dress with a hooded purple velvet cloak tied around her shoulders.‘The Archangel calls!' shouts Perch to the wind. ‘He awaits. He is close by. Closer than a breath. This is your last chance,' she yells, running down the path.

The crowd recoils as one, stepping back and closer together. Perch sees Carp amongst them. Her eyes beseech her sister to join her, to stand by her.

‘Sister …' she says, she pleads.

Carp can feel Spider's fingers gripping her hand tightly, as if offering assurance. Carp averts her eyes and then bows her head. She has nothing left to give to her twin.

I train my telescope onto land and I can see the faint outline of the houses in the harbour. The pier and quayside come into sight.

‘Deni, come and look. Here is my home. Tidetown. My home!'

I hand him the telescope.

‘I like the houses, with the little chimneys and the tiny windows,' he says as he scours the landscape. ‘And it is very green, the fields beyond and the hillsides.'

I am transfixed by the sights and contours, the shades and the nuances of landscape and skyline as our ship makes its way along the coast, past Tidetown and its harbour to the Bay of Good Hope and the monastery beyond.

We trim the sails and make a sharp turn into the deep channel that will take us to the jetty. Deni has the telescope to his eye. I watch him as he raises his point of vision, focussing on a single point on the horizon.

‘People?' he says in a questioning voice. ‘Lined up on the cliff.'

He hands me the telescope.

We are so near to home. The wind suddenly stills, the sea flattens and quietens. Through the telescope I make out the figure of a woman in a long black dress, her face covered by a hooded cloak. She runs along the edge of the cliff, flailing her arms, twisting and turning. Two or three other figures follow as if trying to corral her, to subdue her. One grabs at her, but the woman in black breaks free. She leaps: a trail of purple in her wake, like wings, like feathers. I gasp as she plummets from the cliff and then the telescope jolts: a flash of gold across the lens, of the sun, of Icarus, of Ezekiel's chariot. I focus on the sea, but the fallen woman is nowhere to be seen. No ripple on the surface, no figure emerges. It's as if nothing unusual has taken place. Back on the cliff top the crowd has reappeared, staring down at the waves, masked, as though they are attending a strange and timeless ritual.

Deni tugs at my elbow.

‘What did you see?' he asks. ‘What?'

Tying the ropes to the bollards on the jetty, all seems so hugely familiar in one way, but also as if time has expanded and fractured, shifted and altered. My mind buzzes and blurs with the sights, the sounds, the sensations. A seagull swoops low in greeting, screeches, then arcs back up towards the cliff face. Following its flight I can see the line of small children, masked and costumed, making their way down the slope to the quayside. As they get closer I make out the penguins from the polar bears. At the rear are two taller figures, adult men, each wearing elaborate headgear.

My companions stand behind me, their bags at their feet, awaiting a command, permission to step ashore on this foreign land. I notice the expressions on their faces: a mix of bemusement and awe at the prospect of this peculiar welcoming party, this new place.

Those on land shuffle forward: a bizarre company of masked birds and bears.

It is Brother Saviour who raises his arms in welcome.

‘Brother Saviour!' I yell out, waving wildly, hardly able to contain my excitement. ‘We're here! We made it!'

He waves back and smiles, that generous beguiling smile that has been fixed in my mind from the day I first set eyes on him.

‘Welcome to you, Oscar and friends. We have been expecting, indeed, anticipating your arrival. I know you have travelled a long and tiring journey to get here.'

He pauses as he realises Deni is translating his message.

‘We are taught never to be inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise. But then who is the stranger?' he continues. ‘The greeter or the greeted? We were all strangers once … as was our founding abbot, who we honour this very day. So, strangers, soon to be friends, you are most welcome indeed.'

I beckon for my comrades to leave the ship.

As the masked children come forward to lead these new friends up the gentle slope to the monastery, I roll up my sleeve to reveal the blue tiger on my arm, to acquaint him with my hometown. I smile inwardly, contented as to how events are unfolding. It is then I see Mrs April mingling in the crowd, dressed in a long, flowing, snow-white gown. She raises her hand in greeting. Such poise, such elegance. And I wave back, ready to move onwards, ready to take life as it comes. Stigir jumps up at me, licking my hands, his tail wagging from side to side. He, too, knows where we are.

I look down at the tattoo on my arm. Now, in a strange and unpredictable way, the blue tiger that I have sought so purposefully will be with me always: when I wake, when I walk, when I sleep and when I dream.

I lift the knapsack to my shoulder, step onto the gangplank and take the short walk from ship to shore.

In Search of the Blue Tiger

ISBN: 9781921924163

Trade PB 336pp

Also available as an e-book

‘… between L
ife of Pi, Under Milkwood
and Gus Kuijer's disturbing children's novel,
The Book of Everything
… The writing is subtle, connotative and composed. Its craftsmanship embraces and extends this audacious depiction of an escape from childhood.'