The Knowledgeables chapter seven

[etienneflyte]

Chapter Seven

The Guilty Party

I won't bore you with the preparations for our Christmas-In-November party. After the early morning farm chores, during which Etienne vanished for a walk because she was on holiday and refused to work, Jen and I set up tables and cleaned the old brick barbecue. The three of us slung a tarp over the hills hoist and dragged out an old bath we were using as a horse trough and cleaned it to fill with ice and use as an esky. Mum cooked and set up holly-themed plastic plates and serviettes, and then pulled out our strings of old Christmas tree lights which we strung over the hills hoist and the nearby garage. There was no chance of rain - which was good because a short circuit from our jury-rigged lights would take out the whole town's electricity supply.

Etienne returned from her walk looking much more cheerful than when she left, but a frown crossed her face when she saw the size of our preparations were bigger than Ben Hur's wedding. Perhaps she hadn't realised just how many people were coming - the town, pretty much. I decided to get her away from the house and badgered her into a drive to Tallangatta for a supply run. As I expected, she brightened at the prospect of taking the Volvo for a spin and before long we had returned with bags of ice, soft drinks, and slabs of beer in the boot. Boxes of cherries, mangoes, rock melons, bananas and strawberries crammed the back seat.

Surprisingly, we arrived in one piece. I made the mistake of showing Flyte the back way along the quiet twisting roads which she took as permission to fling the car around as if we were on a private track. When I commented that I hoped she knew what she was doing she simply told me she had taken lessons. People teach you to drive like that?

The first guests arrived around twelve-thirty, loaded with food and drink and dressed in gaudy festive red-and-green t-shirts, hats and tinsel. Cousins. Like most of my relatives, they were between five and six feet high, the women shorter and plumper than the men who were generally leaner and browner until they developed that middle-aged spread. They were a jovial bunch as a whole, happy to get together at any excuse. I remember when Dad died we seemed to have armies of relatives and townsfolk dropping by to help for months afterwards; first with the funeral, then the wake and then the farm chores until we were back on our feet. It was always a comfort to me to know Mum was amongst them. She would always be taken care of.

My family were given matching white, red and green t-shirts with pictures of holly, penguins, snowmen and reindeer - all those things we associate with the northern hemisphere Christmas traditions that we don't have in Australia. We were even given one for Etienne, our guest, who had vanished off to her room at the first sign of company. I promised I would bring her out and have her wearing her present instead of her usual shirt and tie.

When I entered our room Flyte was reclining on her bed leaning against the headboard, studying something in her hand. She barely glanced up at me.

'Party time,' I said, and threw her new t-shirt at her.

She grimaced and touched the shirt with a finger as if she expected it to be slimy.

'Don't worry, bad taste isn't infectious. Put it on and make my day.'

'No.'

'It's hot outside. No air conditioning.'

'No.'

'We're all wearing them. See? Be part of the crowd.'

'No.'

'Get into the festive spirit.'

'No.'

'If you at least try to look like you're enjoying this and you don't embarrass me I'll be more inclined to leave for Amsterdam sooner.'

She sighed, defeated. 'Yes.' Placing what she was holding on her bedside table she stood and gave me a twirl signal. She was not one for changing in front of others, and neither was I, so I turned and looked at the object instead.

It fit into my hand neatly and heavily. It was a small, black bottle with a gilded stopper. On both sides was an intricate carving of two Chinese dragons set to bite two paler inlaid circles. There was something simple about it and yet ornate, and I kind of liked the way it felt nestling in my palm. 'What's this?'

'A carved ink stone Chinese snuff bottle depicting two dragons chasing flaming pearls.' She rattled this off as easily as she had detailed the Volvo's statistics.

'What's it for?'

'Snuff, originally. Now for the beauty. And the uniqueness. Even if the same craftsman decided to produce more than one, there are always differences. Each piece is inimitable and irreplaceable, a mixture of design, artisan skill and surrendering somewhat to the whims of the material used.' She came up behind me and took it from my hand, giving it a quick glance to make sure I hadn't damaged the baby, I guess. 'I'm a collector.'

'Oh. Is it old?'

'It is Imperial Guangzhou, 1790. A good year for artisans.'

I shrugged. I had a cousin who collected Elvis Presley memorabilia, and I never understood that either. 'I'll take your word for it. Nice shirt.'

She stuffed the snuff bottle into her trouser pocket and crossed her arms defensively. Her shirt was white but the front was emblazoned with reindeer dressed in scarves building a dancing snowman underneath a holly bower. Red and green and lots of glitter and sequins - it was a cheap t-shirt but the look was priceless. I still chuckle at a photo I have that someone took that day of Flyte in her t-shirt looking morose, and the joke never grows old.

I patted her shoulder. 'Try and enjoy yourself. It's not so bad. I'm sure your family Christmases are just the same.'

'My family are dead,' she said, matter-of-factly.

I couldn't answer that. I mouthed an, 'Oh', and pulled my foot from my mouth then led her out into the growing number of revellers milling around the clothes line.

I took my time and introduced everyone individually to Flyte and vice-versa. By the expressions on some of their faces I knew Mum had had a bit of a word to them already which made things more uncomfortable than usual. Flyte had switched on her niceness and politeness, effusive to the point of nausea in some cases.

I felt like I was the only one who saw through the refined accent and big words and realised she was mocking and sarcastic as she patronised and insulted, but was it purely to antagonise me? Some sort of pay back because I forced her into attending the party to make me go to Amsterdam? Or just as retribution for having to wear that shirt? Actually, now I know it was both and neither. That was simply how she enjoyed herself; by being nasty. My reactions were just the icing on her cake. You want an example? I have many that made my day. I'm so grateful for Chronicler and my verbatim memory for conversations.

I led Flyte over to my cousin Trisha, a large woman at over two hundred kilograms, who occupied one of the bench seats all by herself. A lovely lady in her late thirties with three young kids. Flyte stared as if she had never encountered someone obese before - and perhaps she had not.

'My God,' Flyte said, then gave her winning smile, stretching out a hand to shake. 'No, please don't stand. Too much like hard work.'

I gave her a warning glare. 'This is Trisha. Trish, this is Etienne. She's from England.'

Trisha shook her hand and Etienne barely shielded an expression of disdain. 'How are you... Trish?'

'I'm pretty good,' she grinned, 'but I can't wait for lunch.'

'Awww, I bet you can,' Etienne muttered with a gracious smile.

I poked her in the ribs and whispered, 'Play nice.'

'So you're English?' Trisha asked.

'From England, so English, yes.'

'You live in London?'

'No.'

'So you're not English?'

'Well, I'm more British, really.'

Trish blinked, confused. 'I thought you were English.'

'My, this is fun.'

'And what do you do, Etienne?' For a moment Trish was mortified, but she corrected herself and that made everything all right. 'I don't mean with Tracey. Whatever you do together is your business and I'm okay with that. I mean, what do you do for a living?'

'As little as possible. And you?'

'I'm a housewife now. I just want to have lots and lots and lots of kids.'

'My God.'

I grabbed Flyte by the elbow and tried to steer her away. 'Come on. I'll introduce you to some of the others so you can spread the joy that is Etienne.'

She planted herself, defiantly refusing to budge. 'But I like Trish.'

'You're here all weekend?' Trisha asked.

'I wouldn't dream of going anywhere more interesting.'

'Great. My mum's made roast pork and we've got the snags on the barbie, and Emma's made a fruit cake and lamingtons. I brought a salad.'

Flyte chuckled. 'Go figure.'

I tried harder to move Flyte away without looking too much like I was but she was having fun and, for reasons I cannot fathom, Trish seemed fascinated by the newcomer so unlike anyone she had ever met in Tangamballa. 'I hope you'll enjoy you're stay with us.'

'So far, so good.'

'I don't get to eat at many of these family get-togethers. I'm kind of on a diet.' She whispered this last part and I grimaced, knowing this was not a secret to confide to Etienne. Things were going to get uglier.

'No!' Flyte appeared astonished. 'Why on earth is that?'

'I'm a bit big.'

'I hadn't noticed. I thought you were just fat.'

'Oh, no, I'm not fat-'

'Oh, yes you are.'

'Oh, no, I've always been large.'

'Because you eat like a Hoover.'

'No, I really don't eat that much.'

'Come on, who are you kidding? It's simple maths - you eat too much and do too little exercise. That's why you're as big as a house.'

I managed to dig my heels in and get enough leverage to yank Flyte away. That was enough as far as I was concerned. Trish was big but she had always been good to me when she baby sat me and Jen. I had to protect her. 'Sorry, Trish. Gotta talk to Etienne for a sec.'

Trisha shrugged and waved a hand. I think she thought Flyte was nice but not very smart about the nature of weight gain. 'See you later, Etienne.'

I dragged Flyte out of sight around the back of the water tank before I exploded. 'How dare you come here and insult my family and friends!'

'Oh, come on. They don't realise what I'm saying most of the time, and the rest of the time they seem to think I'm speaking in some strange foreign language that obviously can't mean the same as Australian.'

'You don't have to test their boundary of understanding by making everything you say so close to an insult - especially when I know it really is!'

'Perhaps you are the one misinterpreting me?'

'I don't think so. You're not really a very nice person.'

'So I've been told. Which doesn't mean it's true, just that I've heard it before.'

I sighed and leaned against the cool rippled iron. I was tired and needed sleep and peace. 'Etienne, must you be so malicious? It's Christmas time. I don't need this angst. I just want to enjoy being with my family and friends one more time before I go.'

'And are you enjoying being with them?'

'If you would just go along with being nice-'

'Are you?' She leaned against the tank beside me, and for a moment she was being nice.

'Not really. All they talk about is local stuff and each other and the lack of rain and what's on telly, and most of them are happy to never set foot in a town bigger than Wodonga. They talk slow they think slow... and I hate myself for thinking all this because I sound like I'm being conceited and they're all idiots, and they're not. I hate it! I'm trying to deny it but... I don't fit in here and I never have. I care about them all, I do, and they're lovely people, but I'm not part of their lives.'

'And they are not part of yours.'

I kicked a rock under my foot. How could I answer that truthfully without being an arse? Perhaps it was inevitable - maybe that's why Flyte was an arse. Perhaps it was an integral part of being a Knowledgeable. All I knew then was that it was true. 'You're right.'

If you want to take home a lesson from this, here it is: never admit that Etienne is right about something. Flyte bounced from the tank, full of beans and eager to get back to the party. 'Time to go socialise, I think. Someone made a spotted dick pudding in my honour and I do so like a good stodgy British dessert. I'm prepared to tell the maker that it is the best I have ever eaten.'

'Wow, talk about mood swings. All right, but just take it easy on my folks, will you? It must be like shooting fish in a barrel for you.'

She smirked and gave a nod, then turned to go. It was a hot day and we were all sweating, but it was only then with her t-shirt slightly stuck to her back that I noticed a pattern beneath the semi-transparent fabric. I thought it was lacy underwear for a moment then I realised it was a tattoo of some description; fine lines and swirls that took up her entire back. I was too astonished to stop myself from speaking. 'You've got a tattoo.'

She seemed to think it irrelevant. 'Yes.'

'I hadn't expected that.'

'I'm full of surprises.'

We stepped around the tank to join the party and all the guests turned to us and cheered and whooped and someone yelled out; 'The happy couple!' Flyte laughed. I went as red as the festive baubles decorating my t-shirt and decided then that I would leave Tangamballa the following day.

The festivities lingered on into the evening. The odd Christmas barney occurred as usual when there is too much alcohol and too many people. The afternoon chores were taken care of by the mass of males so the feeding and moving of the goats and chickens were done in half the time. The women set about cleaning the outside tables and trestles, the kitchen, lounge and veranda, then served coffee and tea with scones and biscuits. Like we hadn't eaten enough at this point. Eventually people tidied up the rubbish into big orange garbage bags or tossed it on the smouldering barbecue fire, and those sober enough drove home those that weren't.

Flyte remained congenial and even helped do the dishes, although she couldn't understand why we didn't own a dishwasher. Trisha's youngest son, Simon, hung around Etienne as the rest of the crowd dispersed. Admittedly, for a ten-year-old he was pretty obnoxious and got away with blue murder because he was the only boy in his family amongst two girls.

'I wanna piece of cake,' he yelled at Flyte.

She tried to be gentle. 'What's the magic word?'

'Now.'

'Dear boy. Come here a moment.' She led him over to the doorway and spoke to him softly while we made more tea and arranged slices of fruit cake on a plate. I felt her use the Knowledge and a few minutes later they separated. Simon was subdued and no longer stayed near Flyte, while she seemed content to drink tea and indulge in cake.

I pulled her aside and whispered. 'What did you say to him?'

'Nothing. We're firm friends now. I have a way with children. It's frightening.'

'What did you say?'

'I told Simon that the reason his daddy drinks and argues with his mother was because Simon was such a rude and naughty boy, and that's why they're getting a divorce.'

I couldn't believe it. Actually, I could. 'No! You didn't - oh, you bloody did! Are they?'

'They might. They are considering.'

'You are a bitch.'

'Quite.'

'You really don't care, do you?'

'I really don't.'

Mum came over, reluctant to break into our private conversation. 'Are you both coming into the lounge? We're taking the cake in there.'

'Yes,' I said, but I was staring coldly at Flyte who was meeting my eyes with a smile. 'I should tell you we are leaving tomorrow, Mum. Back to Melbourne to pack and then on to Amsterdam.'

'Already?' She sounded hurt.

I hardened my heart against it. Better a little hurt now than have Flyte and I inflict more hurt on the rest of them by staying. What a nasty bunch we Knowledgeables are. 'I'm afraid so.'

'Is it something I said?'

'It's not you, Mum, it's me.'

Flyte grinned at my trite answer. 'And me.'

'Come along, Etienne. Let's get some cake and then pack so we can have a jolly nightmare and leave tomorrow morning.'

Flyte took Mum by the arm, all sweetness, and they strolled into the lounge together. 'Thanks so much for having us here, Mrs. Anderson. It really has been lovely. I promise I shall take care of Tracey...'

It was cold in the kitchen on my own but, to be honest, it was where I wanted to be.

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Our journey back to Melbourne the following day was all business. It had been a bit of a teary farewell from my family and I promised I would write them. I asked Flyte for our new address so they could write to me but she declined. She asked if I had a friend or relative not in the local area who could forward letters on to us so that no one in town knew the address in Amsterdam. The precaution seemed unnecessary like many of the others she had instructed me in. However, I had a cousin I liked a lot who had moved to the coast with her husband to set up a retaining wall business. 'Mollymook,' I said. 'I have a cousin Lindy at Mollymook who would do.'

We set off mid-morning and headed straight down the Hume. The car smelled of mangoes still but I didn't find that unpleasant. We exchanged little friendly conversation on the drive but we did talk Knowledge. Flyte gave me tips on locking away information, shielding it from others, and although it took a great deal of effort to get it feeling right in my head by the time we passed through Euroa I had got it down pat.

'Ha ha,' I said, 'Now you will never know my middle name, Etienne Gerard!'

'It's Mona.'

'Oh crap. You already looked it up.'

'I did.'

'That's prying!'

'You were not one of us then, Tracey. You were fair game. I told you.'

'That gives you an advantage over me. You know stuff about me because I couldn't block it before you could pry. But I never had the chance to do the same with you.'

'Hardly an advantage,' she yawned. 'Moaner.'

'Hmmph. You could at least tell me how to use my Chronicler Gift. It's all hit and miss with me.'

'That's your business, Tracey.' The topic seemed to bore her. We had drifted away from Knowledge.

'When I touched you the other day I saw a flash of a vision. I assume it was the past. You and the NightBringer in South Yarra.'

'You saw us?'

'It was like I was there. It was all around me like a 3-d snapshot. I could feel it and see it, but it was out of focus and disjointed, floating and sketchy in places. You were pushing him.' I paused then asked. 'Is that what happened?'

Flyte gave a small shrug. 'Something like that.'

'You said when I touched you that you had been thinking about it - so perhaps I can tune in on past events that occurred to someone else if I touch them and they think about it.'

'It's a good theory. Sounds like the way a Gift would work. Touch is important in a lot of abilities.'

'Like NightBringer.'

'Indeed.'

'Which is why you wear gloves a lot.'

Flyte stared at me.

'And why you don't shake hands if you can help it or touch people or let them touch you.'

She glanced at the road and then back at me.

'No, I didn't ask the Knowledge.' I tapped my forehead. 'I'm not stupid, though.'

'Indeed.' Flyte shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.

'So, what did the NightBringer say to you?'

'Pretty much what he said to you. He wanted to know what he was and what he could do, so I told him - in the most impolite terms I could conjure up. This displeased him and he made a grab for my wrist. He got me above the glove but I pushed him away. I thought he had too little contact to tag me but I was wrong. Now every time I sleep he turns up in my dream and tries to drown me.'

I snorted. 'You and water.'

'We can endure a little longer. We should be able to leave by tomorrow or the day after. Once we're off the ground he'll lose our trail.'

'You reckon I can pack everything in a day?'

'Leave it. Hire removalists and have them send it all to your family or charity. You can always buy more. Just pack the things you really cannot leave behind. Nothing else matters. Things are just... things. Nothing to get attached to.'

'Except for Chinese snuff bottles, of course.'

'Of course.'

'And except for Dr. Parker. You know I won't go anywhere until I've found him a loving home.'

Flyte's lips tightened. 'I don't quite know how to tell you this.'

'What?'

'The day we left your cat went missing from the neighbour's house. He was knocked down by a car and killed.'

The news hit me hard. 'How do you... when? Where? Why didn't you tell me earlier?'

'It would have made your holiday miserable. I was asking the Knowledge if your house was still unknown to the Penrith Hunter-Seekers, which it is, and I picked up on your cat. Sorry.'

And she did truly seem sorry, which convinced me at the time. Strangely, losing Dr. Parker made me far more emotional than leaving behind my family. I loved that big ball of fur and his unconditional love in return. Now I really had nothing to stay for.

We drove on in silence till we reached my house. As we unpacked my neighbour came to tell me the awful news and that she had buried Dr. Parker in my garden under the yellow rose bush - that was what I would have done, too. I was grateful.

Etienne had agreed to stay at my house for the convenience as she helped to arrange our tickets, finances, breaking my lease and my removals. Yes, a lot of money really does make everything work smoothly and quickly. At least I already had a passport, so that was something, but I get the feeling if I hadn't that problem would have been speedily - and dubiously - overcome. When it came to sorting out what to bring and what to leave I found there was surprisingly little I wanted to keep. Some photos. A couple of knick-knacks. Nothing else that mattered that couldn't be easily replaced. Flyte was right - things were just things.

That evening we ordered a souvlaki each from Lamby's down the road and Flyte showed me how my finances would be organised and with which banks and brokers. She had contacted some of them and transferred funds already through her accountant embezzlers, Escher and Templeton Banks. I brought out three shoe boxes of stuff and a stack of books about two foot high; that was all of my life that I wanted to keep. That was me. How miserable it looked. How small.

She made us tea before bed and gave me a plate of biscuits. 'Cheer up, Tracey. You're about to embark on a new life. Travel to distant lands and meet some interesting people. Broaden your horizons.'

'I suppose so.'

'Your life will never be the same again.'

'In a good way or bad?' I was only half joking. 'I mean, now I have Hunter-Seekers after me and the stupid NightBringer, and probably other races will want to annoy me too. There's all these crappy security precautions you want me to stick to so I can't give my family my direct address or answer the phone like I used to... it doesn't seem the pay-off is worth the effort.'

'It is,' she assured me. 'And besides, you have no choice.'

'Yeah, I knew you'd say that.'

'You'll feel better tomorrow, Tracey, after a good night's sleep interrupted by a terrifying nightmare.'

'That does not make me feel better.'

'How about we ask the Knowledge for the NightBringer's phone number and we set your mobile phone to call him every fifteen minutes so he can't get to sleep?'

I smiled at the thought but said no. I didn't want him having my number.

'Or I could ring the police from the phone box down the street and tell them to raid his house because of a suspected drug deal going down?'

This was far more tempting. I would hate to say we both ran to the flats and made a prank call to the police and tied up their valuable time on a wild goose chase, because I would never condone such behaviour, but I did sleep well that night.

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