Akilina: Out of the Woods Read online

  The first step off the trail. She took it.

  And fell, headlong down a steep hillside, tumbling, rolling, moving. And the thing was, the bruises and thorns didn’t hurt as much as the staying over long, as the following the wrong guide. She was off. She was begun.

  The rain stopped as quickly as it had begun. In some more civilized place, the end of rain might have left silence in its wake, but here in the woods it did not: when she stopped falling, the first thing Halley noticed was the incessant, battering noise.

  The woods aren’t like people think, she reflected, trying to catch her breath. There’s no silence in the woods, no peace.

  All around her were whispers, chattering, the thick rustle of insects burrowing under piles of dried-out leaves. An orange and black millipede moved its legs on a nearby tree – Halley imagined even this tiny movement was adding to the chaotic noise that surrounded her. It strummed itself higher up the tree, its bright skin in sharp contrast to the grey of the tree trunk. Bird calls resounded, high pitched screeching that shocked her senses. Each call was different, as if there were no two birds alike in these entire woods. Water roared over rocks in a hidden riverbed, terrible in its power.

  Without warning, a black snake slid out from the surrounding undergrowth, slipping quickly in front of her. It was so fast that she didn’t see its head, only the length of its long black back, skimming over the dirt. It didn’t pause, and her startled scream lasted exactly as long as it took for the snake to slide its length by her, and move off into the undergrowth.

  Her scream had been unearthly – it was not so much a scream as a subtle unraveling of her voice. She felt a cold sweat begin: she had not expected snakes in these woods. There were no snakes anywhere near where they lived. She’d never seen a snake move so fast. To what far away place had Fernando brought her?

  She imagined snakes all around her, poised, ready to strike. Curling her body in, she sat on her haunches and tried to keep her limbs close. A scrambling sound next to her made her jump, made her think snake! but when she focused on the spot where the sound had come from, she saw only a crow, picking its way carefully in the scrub. It was a glossy, cool-looking thing, its eyes piercing as they darted about.

  Near the crow, she noticed her pack. It must have been dragged off during the roll down the hillside. She must retrieve it. But she stared at the pack without moving, thinking only of how very far away it seemed. Even this small distance was insurmountable; it was impossible to imagine traversing the whole forest alone. Hardening her belly, she stood up, and took an un-steady step forward. The crow, seeing the movement, let loose a shriek that filled the forest. It took wing.

  Halley’s hands were trembling as she grabbed the backpack and sat back down quickly, under a tall, thin tree. She hugged the pack into her belly, as the enormity of what she had done began to sink in.

  She was alone. She was deep in the woods, possibly lost, and was not even sure why she was here. The baby she’d come to save was completely silent, and this left a strangely filling emptiness. Was Fernando right? Had she just made up the baby? Or was it simply too late to save her? This last thought stunned her. She sensed the loss of an irretrievable treasure, like a fire that burned a lifetime’s worth of family photographs.

  A sharp crackle of leaves snapped Halley from her reverie – the snake had made a lunge towards the crow! Without thinking, Halley screamed “NO!” and it was only Halley’s loud shout that allowed the bird to flutter away, leaving the snake with a mouthful of long, black tail feathers. After she screamed the word she was confused – why would she care whether the snake ate the crow? Why would she care enough to try to prevent it?

  A sudden picture formed in Halley’s mind, as if in answer. It was a picture of her, stretched out still and motionless – pale as skim milk. She shivered violently. As if it were her own death she had foreseen. As if her shout had been to save herself. Bile rose in her throat, choking her, and she was desperate to get up and move, run away.

  She was afraid to get up though, and not just because of the snake; she was afraid of herself. If she got up at this moment, her treacherous limbs would follow Fernando right out of the woods, right back to him. It’s so much easier to follow him, even if it’s down the wrong path, even after all the pain. To stop herself, she made a quick bargain; she would not leave this spot until she was sure she could force herself not to turn back.

  In her self-imposed stillness, she sat and fingered the weathered canvas of her backpack, staring at its blackness. Fernando had given her the bag two years ago. “Your bag is the wrong kind,” he’d said. Said it kindly enough, this was true, and only after first asking whether he could “tell her something personal”. She’d been honoured by the question, had gone warm at the word “personal”. She’d had no idea.

  Each time she’d picked up this “gift” of Fernando’s she’d had a feeling of ineptness. She had carried her old bag for years – had it been “wrong” all that time? Had everyone known but her?

  The chill in the air brought her back to the present. Unzipping the backpack, she pulled out her long-sleeved t-shirt. It was still damp with sweat but it would have to do. She shrugged it on, and tied the windbreaker around her waist. The action engaged her mind, and she was able to think about what to do next. She must figure out her whereabouts, she knew, before she moved away from her last known position.

  Feeling around inside the pack, she let her fingers explore the familiar objects: food, sealed in plastic bags; water canteen; slim sunglass case; insect spray. She shoved the objects around, growing more and more uneasy. Where was it? Where was the map? She picked the backpack up and peered inside, looking for the familiar green and grey shading. I’m just panicking. It’s got to be there. I put it in myself. Taking out the objects one by one, she laid them in the space between her knees. When the bag was empty, she sat for a long time, staring at the contents spread before her. No map. She thought of her compass in the small zip compartment in the front of the bag but she knew even before she looked – it too was gone. In her mind’s eye, she watched Fernando at the back of their car earlier that day, rearranging the packs. He took them out. He took out my map and compass. She imagined what he had said to himself, “Sparrow won’t need this. I’m going to lead.”

  “Goddamn him!”

  With a sudden, unexpected fury she threw the black backpack from her, watching it fall in a long arch, hearing the quick crack of leaves and branches when it landed. It was a reckless thing to do, but she was so sick of how the backpack made her feel, sick of the subtle message of her incompetence that it carried. It was the same message signalled by Fernando’s removal of her map and compass, and it was infuriating. It was just like him, deciding for her what she needed.

  The combat trousers had lots of pockets; they would hold everything she had to carry. The insect spray and sunglass case would fit nicely in the left side pocket, and the canteen could be strapped over her back. She ate the apple and the cheese from the food supply, and tucked the sealed zip-lock bag with energy bars and dried fruit and nuts into her right side pocket. The absence of the backpack on her shoulders was agreeable; it allowed her chest to lift and her shoulders to move down and back. She rolled her shoulders around, enjoying the feeling.

  It was when she lifted her gaze again to the broader landscape that the truth came back, and it was like someone had punched her in the stomach. The woods were so vast. The aftertaste of the cheese on her tongue turned rancid. She’d never been here before – she didn’t even know where she was. How could she find her way alone, without her map and compass?

  She swallowed; there was more to it than that.

  How could she go on, without Fernando? Her breath caught in her throat. His going sat there in her belly, and the apple she’d eaten turned to a heavy stone of grief that left room for nothing else. When he’d walked off, he had taken the solidity of her core with him and replaced it with this unbearable, hollowing weight.

  She le
aned back against the thin tree and dropped her head into her arms. Her grief overflowed, pouring from her in wracking sobs. The pain made her whole body shake and was vast enough to fill the entire forest. It was the pain of letting him go, but it was also the harder to bear pain of taking herself back.

  As she sat sobbing, a strange burning sensation began to move through her body. A condemning light was blazing into all her darkest places. Moving inside her; then intruding into her, slipping into crevices she had long closed off, had forgotten were there. Without Fernando to hide behind, she was fully exposed to herself, and she couldn’t bear what she saw. Clenching her jaw, she made tight fists of her hands, her fingernails digging her palms.

  Goddammit! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. I want to make it stop and make it better and I want to go back to him and I know I can’t because he doesn’t even really exist not the way I want him to but it hurts so and I’m so afraid and it’s so dark here and so dark inside and so not-quiet and the snake and what do I do next and…

  She sucked at the air, and her body shook. The leaves in the smaller branches of the tree shook with her, crackling and rustling, as if absorbing the force of her distress.

  The crow hopped back, unnoticed. In its beak, tightly, it held a small scrap of paper. Old, worn, the writing on it faded, but still legible. It dropped the bit of paper next to Halley, and hopped backwards, head cocked to one side.

  When Halley finally lifted her head, her neck felt stiff and tight. Her whole body hurt. Inside her felt empty, scoured out. It took a few moments for the forest floor to come back into focus, and when it did, she stared numbly at a single black feather. She picked it up and turned it over and over, running her forefinger along its edge, feeling the soft serrations. It was comforting. She tucked the black feather into an inner pocket, zipping it for safe-keeping.

  When she looked back at the forest floor, she noticed a graying piece of paper. She picked it up. It was faded, hard to read. She studied it carefully.

  You will be all right

  She just had time to decipher it when a sudden wind lifted the bit of paper high into the air, and carried it away.

  Getting to her feet, Halley let the words settle into her. You will be all right. In them, she felt a breath of hope. Brushing the leaves off her chest and arms, she took a deep breath, and gently moved her limbs about. While they were stiff and probably bruised from her fall, nothing was broken. That was something anyway.

  With courage she did not feel, she began to walk. If the baby was here, she was going to find it. It would be near a trail. That was all she had to go on. But first, she had to find a trail.

  Trance fought to stay still. What luck! He could hardly believe it. She had come here to begin again, of all places. Here! He allowed himself a quiet smile. Save the baby; as if she could. She couldn’t even save herself.

  He pictured the car underwater. All their lives depended on her. And he knew she’d never do it, never save them. She’d not done one heroic thing in her entire life.

  Oh, she would die. They would all die. He would see to that. But first, he would have a little fun with her.

  Finding the trail was simpler than she expected. After the first few hesitant steps, it became obvious, and she wondered what she’d been worried about. Leaves crunched gently under her feet, dusty brown, vibrant red, orange as warm as a campfire. The different colors were a wonder. Walking with Fernando, they had all been brown. She had never taken the time to look before.

  A line of ants moved across the path, and she stopped to watch. They were carrying food over their heads to their nest in a tiny ant convoy. Careful not to crush them under her heavy boots, she stepped over. It was so easy not to do harm. All it required was paying attention.

  Soon the going became effortless, and she made quick progress. Without the weight of the backpack, her step had more of a bounce, and her arms swung freely. The air was still, and she felt an unexpected sense of peace. She stopped and slowly removed her long-sleeved t-shirt, breathing deeply, taking her time to tie it around her waist on top of the windbreaker. She smiled to herself and resumed walking.

  I like not having to look at Fernando’s back all the time. I never realized how much he blocked the view. The trees look like they’re lifting their arms to encourage me. It’s like walking inside a cathedral.

  Near her legs, there was a sudden crackle in the bushes, followed by the appearance of a large bird in full flight. Halley jumped. Through a clearing in the trees, the bird flew to the wide sky above. That was an eagle. It weaved in the sky until it disappeared from view. She continued on.

  A few moments later, the trail took a sharp turn to the right, and began to track steeply downhill. The gradient made her speed increase, first to a faster walk, and then – as she was reminded of the joy of speed – she increased the speed herself to a spirited run. It was not a fleeing sort of run; it was a run of celebration. The exhilaration of running downhill! There it was, in the sound of her feet on the loose leaves, in the sweat that formed on her brow and arms. The world flew by in a fast-moving blur, and the ground slid effortlessly beneath her. She skirted rocks covered with green moss, not slowing her pace, but moving side to side like a Billy-goat down the steep slope.

  The downhill ended abruptly, and she slid to a halt. A set of rough-hewn stone steps led upwards. With the back of her hand, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. The steps were steep and large – she’d have to stretch her legs to climb them. It looked like they carried on to the top of the hill. She began to climb, the muscles in her thighs burning. Fifteen minutes later, she came to a lookout, where she stopped to catch her breath, hands on her knees, panting. Sweat ran down the groove in her back. The view was masked by thick cloud. On a clear day, I’d be able to see exactly where I am, or at least where the forest ends. She made her way across the lookout. The trail continued down the other side of the hill. It was steeper, and she loved the bounding down, leaping from one leg to another, keeping her footing, keeping her balance.

  When she reached the bottom, she kept running, following the path through the trees. The ground was studded with small rocks, which were the perfect footing for pushing off, and she augmented her run with a few extra leaps and bounds. As well as rocks, underfoot were pine needles. The scent reminded her of Christmas.

  Further on, the trail became grooved, as if water flowed down the center of this trail in rainy times. Halley stayed on her toes, one foot on either side of the upraised edges of the groove, adjusting to slight variations in the terrain. It was like dancing at speed with an agile partner, a meditation in motion. Her breath came fast, but she moved with assurance, with an underlying sense of knowing that this sprint through the woods would take her exactly where she needed to go.

  The waterfalls that crossed the trail came as a surprise. Gushing down the hillsides, they made the footing more treacherous. She slowed her stride, until finally coming to a halt on a stone bridge with worn wooden railings, where she stopped, breathing hard, to observe one of the more dramatic waterfalls. The outside edges of the falls were bounded by large, black rock, furred with green and yellow lichen. Bushes and small shrubs held on as far as they dared. At the inner face of the waterfall, where the water roared down thickly, only weedy grass could survive, growing tightly in rock crevices, hanging long and lush and rebellious in the abundance of fast-flowing water. Halley imagined climbing up the waterfall, feeling the cool flow of the water against her skin, using the bushes and rock to pull herself up. Her eyes moved downward to explore the river bed at the base of the falls. “Butterflies…” she whispered, in surprise.

  Hovering over or resting upon the rocks, were a multitude of butterflies, their wings the blue of sapphire. They were outlined by the finest of black lines, as if drawn in at the last moment with the thinnest brush of a very careful artist. This black edging gave them just the slightest bit of substance, for their blue seemed ethereal and holy. Grouped together as they were, they made the world seem ab
undantly full of butterflies. Gossamer-winged. The river lent a slight, wispy fog to the air. Halley stood and watched the butterflies, her brow suddenly furrowed with concentration.

  “Butterflies! Butterflies!” she was shouting. She was four, and her voice had the enthusiasm and volume of someone new to the wonders of the world. “I’ve never seen so many butterflies in my whole life!”

  Her father smiled as he raised a finger for quiet. “Shhh – you’ll scare them off. These are called Ceylon Blue Glassy Tigers.” He paused, as if for emphasis. “They’re a very special butterfly.”

  Her daddy knew everything! All about plants and all about some strange place called Asia, and even how to climb the rocks that surrounded their mountain home. She knew this because of the thrilling bedtime stories he told her, all about his adventures.

  And now it seemed he knew about butterflies too. He held her small hand tightly in his large one, and she felt very safe, and very, very loved.

  Halley – the grown-up Halley – was shaking: her parents were dead. Their memories were carefully tucked away, like a cherished wedding dress preserved in tissue paper. As if they would crumble if taken out and held, turn to dust in her fingers. The memories of how much they had loved her were tucked away so tightly that she could no longer feel the strength of their love. Or, more importantly in her view, the pain of their deaths’.

  The butterflies made her miss her father with a sudden, wrenching ache. Grief soared through her, flaming and searing. Her arms wrapped around her of their own accord.

  I still don’t understand death. I could never really believe I wouldn’t see them again. Speak to them again. The finality of that silence between us unfathomable. Unbearable.

  She watched the butterflies, and rubbed the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hand.