Читать книгу The Complete Ingo Chronicles: Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept - Helen Dunmore - Страница 23

“Where are we now, Faro?” I ask. We’re swimming lazily side by side, our bodies wrapped in the warmth of a slow current that’s taking us northwards. I’m back in Ingo. Safe. It doesn’t seem strange any more, or dangerous. Everything has a familiar feeling about it, as if part of me has always lived here.

“We won’t go too far this time. We might dap off the current westward,” Faro says. “There’s land there, another country of Air People, and then beyond there’s the Great Ocean.”

I can see it in my mind as if I’m reading a map. The ocean off our part of Cornwall is the Atlantic, then north-westward there’s Ireland. West of Ireland the Atlantic spreads out again for thousands of miles, until you reach America.

Dad taught me about the oceans long before I studied geography at school. He drew a map of the oceans for me on the firm white sand of the cove, with a pointed stick. He said we’d sail them all one day. The Pacific, the Atlantic, the Indian Ocean, the Arctic and the Antarctic Ocean. The five oceans of the world, Dad said.

I loved the sound of their names. I believed Dad when he said we would sail them all one day. Dad said Conor and I could come out of school for a year, and we’d all go travelling.

Mum said, “Don’t put that stuff into her head, Mathew. Where’s the money coming from for us to sail the five oceans? We can barely pay the phone bill.” But I knew Mum was wrong. She was always worrying about bills, but they got paid in the end. If we wanted to sail the world, the money would come from somewhere.

“Are you talking about the Atlantic when you say the Great Ocean, Faro?” I ask now. “Is the first land Ireland, and then there’s the Atlantic again, and then America?”

Faro shrugs and his eyes sparkle wickedly.

“The Atlantic? Sorry, Sapphire. Never heard of it.”

“You’re swimming in it right now this minute, Faro!”

Faro spreads his fingers and lets the water spill through them.

“I can’t seem to see the word Atlantic here anywhere,” he murmurs, pretending to search. He flips on to his back and stares upwards. His tail flicks lazily, glistening in the deep green underwater light. “No, nothing’s written on the surface either. Maybe the words washed off?”

“Don’t be dumb, Faro, things like sea and sky don’t have words printed right through them, like sticks of rock.”

“Then how do you know this is the Atlantic?”

“Well, it just is.”

“Not to me, it isn’t.”

“It’s called the Atlantic on every map I’ve ever seen,” I say firmly. Why can’t Faro ever admit that he’s wrong?

“Only people who don’t know where they are need maps,” answers Faro smugly.

“You’d get lost quick enough on land.”

“Maybe. But who wants to go on land?”

“You did. That’s where I first met you, on that rock.”

“Ah, but then I had a reason.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you one day. When you can speak full Mer.”

I never argue when people say things like that. It only makes them more annoying. Changing the subject works much better.

“I suppose it doesn’t have to be called the Atlantic,” I say. “It’s what we call it, that’s all. It’s got to have a name. The Great Ocean doesn’t mean much. All the oceans are great, so you wouldn’t be able to tell which one you were talking about. Is that really what you call it?”

“It’s a name, that’s all,” shrugs Faro. “We don’t carry maps around with writing on them, and everything with a name label on it. What do you think happens when the Atlantic meets the Pacific, Sapphire? Is there a thick black line on the sea?”

“You do know their names! I knew you did.”

“I know all about your maps and your writing. You think I’m ignorant as a fish, don’t you? Living in the sea, playing all day long, never thinking about anything, no car, no credit card—”

“Hey, do you really know about cars and credit cards? How do you know?”

“I listen,” says Faro modestly. “It’s surprising what you can hear when people are swimming or sunbathing or out in their boats. They talk a lot about their credit cards. Anyway, to go back to the subject, fish aren’t ignorant. I’ve told you before that they share their memories. The memory doesn’t die when a fish dies. It stays in the shoal. And because the memories are shared they get stronger.”

“Do you do that, Faro?”

“What? Die?”

“No. Share your memories like that.”

Faro sculls gently with his hands against the draw of the current. A frill of tiny bubbles bursts around his fingers.

“In a way. We share what we know,” he says at last. “We don’t keep our knowledge to ourselves, as if it’s money we want to keep safe in a purse.” His smile flashes at me triumphantly. You see! I know all about ‘money’ and ‘purses’. The smile vanishes and he’s serious again. “We have separate memories but sometimes they run in and out of us. I can touch Elvira’s memory sometimes.”

“Can you touch mine?” I ask suddenly, surprising myself.

Faro rolls towards me. We are face to face, with the same current holding us both. The inside of the current is so calm and still that it’s only when I look sideways and see the fish flashing by that I know how fast we’re travelling.

“I don’t know,” he says.” Let’s try.”

“What do I have to do?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know how it happens with Elvira and me. It just happens.”

I wait, tense and hopeful, while Faro stares into my face.

“No, it’s not working. You’re stopping me.”

“I can’t be stopping you. I’m not doing anything.”

“You are. You’re like a sea anemone when it feels a shadow on it. You’ve shut up tight. I can’t feel your mind at all.”

Part of me is a bit pleased at this. I’m stronger than Faro. He can’t break into my mind like a burglar. But another part feels sad. I will never belong with the Mer if I can’t share what they share. And it must be good to share memories – not be alone with them, hurt or frightened or not knowing what to do.

I think of what sea anemones look like in rock pools, with their soft open fronds waving through the warm water, exploring it. Soft, delicate fronds, purple and brown and red. Conor and I used to sit for hours by the pools, not letting our shadow fall over them, waiting until the crabs and baby dogfish grew confident and scuttled out from the weeds, and the sea anemones slowly unfurled like dark red flowers in a sea garden…

“You’re with your brother,” says Faro. “You’re watching the flowers. You’re very happy…”

“Faro, you did it! You saw what I was remembering!”

“We did it,” says Faro. “I didn’t know Air People and Mer could touch each other’s memories.”

“But we did,” I say triumphantly.

“Maybe there’s more Mer in you than I knew,” Faro goes on thoughtfully. “Elvira and I used to watch those hollows in the rocks for hours, just like you. When I touched what you were thinking, it was like touching my own memory. We learned how hermit crabs find their shells, how a male sea horse cares for his babies, where to find sugar kelp and strawberry anemones.”

“Only you were underwater, and we were on the shore. But we were doing it at the very same time, maybe.”

“Maybe. But you know, Sapphire, you’re not the first Air Person I’ve met. Or even the first I’ve talked to. I know more than you think. I know all about books as well. Why are you smiling like that?”

“It’s nothing.” I can’t tell Faro how funny he looked, so proud of himself for knowing this perfectly ordinary word.

“You’re laughing at me.” Faro narrows his eyes.

“I’m not. It was just the way you said ‘books’. Like they were something out of a fairy story. Don’t the Mer have any books?”

“Why should we? I told you, we don’t need writing. If something is worth keeping, you can keep it in your mind. We don’t copy Air things. We have our own life.”

“It’s strange, Faro, that’s exactly the opposite of what humans do. They copy everything. I mean, we copy everything. That’s how we get our ideas. I mean, that’s how aeroplanes got invented, because people looked at birds and wanted to fly like them, and tried to work out how they did it. They were trying to copy birds for hundreds of years before they worked it out. And I suppose we copied fish when we built submarines—”

“But why did you want to fly?” interrupts Faro, with real curiosity. “You don’t need to. Flying’s for birds. What good is flying if you’ve got legs to walk?”

“Yes, but – if you see someone doing something, don’t you want to do it too?”

“No,” says Faro. “But you do, because you’re human. That’s what makes humans so dangerous. They want everything. They aren’t satisfied with what they are. They want to be everything else as well.”

“But how do you know what you are, until you’ve tried to be lots of other things?”

“I know what I am,” says Faro. He closes his eyes, resting on his back and letting the current do the work. “I don’t need to try to be anything else.”

My legs look strange beside the strong, dark, glistening curve of Faro’s tail. They look thin and feeble and forked. Almost ugly. I remember how Faro called me ‘cleft’. I’ve never ever thought my legs were ugly before, but here under the sea they don’t look nearly as good as a tail. One flick of Faro’s tail can take him farther and faster than any swimming I can do.

“Look how well you’re doing now, Sapphire,” says Faro, opening his eyes. “I don’t have to hold your wrist at all.”

It’s true. I think back to that first journey into Faro’s country, and how afraid I was. How much it hurt to go into Ingo then. I thought I would die if Faro moved a metre away from me. It felt as if the salt water would rush into my throat and smother me. But now I don’t even think about breathing. Faro doesn’t have to tell me I’m safe, because I know it all through my body. Every cell of me knows that the sea is full of oxygen and it’s streaming into my blood without my needing to breathe air. I am safe, in Ingo.

I squint down at my legs and wonder what it would be like if they joined together and the join fused and the skin grew strong and thick and dark, like seal skin. I wouldn’t be able to walk any longer, up in the Air. Walking would hurt, and I’d have to drag myself over the stones. But I would be completely at home here in Ingo. How would a tail look on me? How would it feel? For a second the pressure of the current seems to grow stronger, grasping my legs and pushing them together, as if they were truly joined.

Like this, I think. If my legs fused into a tail it would feel a bit like this. And then I’d be—

Faro is humming a song and I know every word:

I wish I was away in Ingo

Far across the briny sea,

Sailing over deepest water…

“Faro, how do you know that song?” I ask cautiously. I don’t want Faro to guess how important the song is to me.

“I must have heard it somewhere,” says Faro lightly. But I can tell from his face that he’s hiding something. There’s a glint in his eye, teasing, daring me to ask more.

“I think you do know where you heard it, Faro. Who sang it to you?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Try. Please.”

Faro looks thoughtful, but after a while he repeats, “No, it’s gone. I can’t remember.”

I abandon caution. “You can! You’ve got to tell me!”

“Have I?” He flips over and turns to face me. “Why should the Mer tell you anything, Sapphire? Do you know what Air People do to us Mer?”

His eyes glower, his expression is fierce. The Faro I thought I knew has vanished from his face. I shrink back.

“I’ll tell you what you do. You send ships with nets that scrape every living thing from the ocean floor. You crush the coral and destroy the secret places where life begins. Our gardens that we lay and watch are ruined. You rip up the life of Ingo and you don’t even want it once you’ve wrecked it. You throw most of it away. You trap dolphins in your nets until they drown. You hunt for whales. You slash the fin off a shark and leave it to flounder in its own blood. You pour dirt into Ingo from pipes. You choke us with oil and cover the seabirds’ feathers with filth until they can’t swim or fly.

“You teach gulls to feast on rubbish instead of fish, until they’re full of disease. And anyway you’ve taken the fish for yourselves. You steal our shore places and fill them with buildings so that Ingo can’t breathe. You would build on the sea if you could, wouldn’t you? You’d catch the Mer and take us away and put us in glass tanks in circuses. Don’t ask me how I know, Sapphire. I understand what the gulls say, remember? Gulls go everywhere. They see everything. They tell us what they see. You humans want everything to belong to Air, not to Ingo. But Ingo is strong. Stronger than you know.”

“But Faro, I don’t! I didn’t! I didn’t do any of that! I’ve never—”

His face relaxes, just a little. He seems to see me again. Me, Sapphire, instead of an enemy he hates.

“I’ve never tried to hurt you,” I say. It sounds pathetic, even to me. The things Faro says strike heavy in my heart, and I know that they are true. I’ve heard of dolphins drowning in tuna nets, and tankers releasing thousands of tonnes of oil into the sea. I’ve seen seabirds on TV, coated with oil and struggling in the water until they die. And layers of dead, gaping fish on the tide line. What would it be like if oil swilled out of a tanker now, and coated our lips and our tongues and burned our eyes? Would it kill us too? Yes, it would cover us and we would choke to death.

“You think you haven’t done anything to us,” says Faro, more quietly. “But you’re still part of Air, Sapphire.”

“No, I’m not! I’m—” I break off because Faro is watching me so intently. Why? What is he waiting for? There’s a pressure in my mind, as if someone else’s thoughts are beating against mine.

“Faro, don’t!”

“Don’t what? I’m not doing anything.” He looks surprised.

“Aren’t you trying – you know, to see my memories?”

“No. Why do you say that?”

“It’s as if there’s something else inside my mind. It’s pressing on me. It wants to come out. I can feel it but I can’t quite tell what it is.”

“Ah,” says Faro. His breath comes out in a long sigh. “I know that feeling. Haven’t you had it before? Don’t you really know what it is?”

“No.”

“It’s you. It’s yourself. But it’s another part of you, a hidden part that you don’t know about.”

“That sounds crazy.”

“No, it’s not crazy. But it’s… difficult. Don’t think about it now, Sapphire. Think about something else.”

“Faro,” I try to speak calmly and quietly. “That song you sang. Have you ever heard of my father?”

“Yes,” says Faro immediately. He’s still watching me closely. “You mean Mathew Trewhella.”

He knows my father’s name. Or did I tell him? I can’t remember.

“How do you know his name?”

“I told you. We hear things. We know a lot about humans when they live close to us. He was always out in his boat.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

There’s a pause, and then Faro says, “Yes.”

“When?”

“I can’t remember. Not long ago.”

But time for Faro isn’t the same as human time. Not long ago could be months – or years—

“Where was it?”

But Faro shakes his head. “No. It’s gone.”

“But it’s important, Faro! You must try to remember.”

“I can’t. It’s gone.”

“Is there anyone, anyone at all who you think would know what happened to him? Anyone here in Ingo, I mean?”

Faro shakes his head. A ripple of movement runs through his body and down into his tail. Faro says no with his whole body, not just his voice. His hair sways like fronds of seaweed.

“Leave it, Sapphire,” he says. “I’ve nothing to tell you. I saw him in his boat once, that’s all. Let’s get out of this current and go back south. I want to feel the sun.”

Even though questions burn in my mind, I have to let them go. But I won’t forget them. If Faro can’t give me the answers, I’ll search until I find someone who can.

We slip out of the current like eels. Outside it, the sea is cold. How far are we from home?

“Not very far,” says Faro. “That was a slow current. We’ll catch a faster one back.”

We swim through the cold dark sea. We’re in mid-water, Faro says, which means we are between the sea bed and the surface. The water is so deep I can’t see the bottom.

“If we were up on the surface, we wouldn’t be able to see land,” says Faro. “Keep your eyes open. Now, Sapphire, see that current there? That’s the one we want.”

It’s a cold current this time, and it settles itself around us like an icy, prickling glove. But when I’m in Ingo, I feel the cold but it doesn’t hurt me. My blood is changing, Faro says. It’s slowing down and becoming like his.

“Hold on!” shouts Faro suddenly. “This current is wild.”

He’s right. It’s like the roughest rollercoaster in the world. I make a grab for Faro even though I know I don’t need him any more. But the current’s too strong and it tears our hands apart and sends me swooping and tumbling over and over as it rushes me south.

I hate it and I love it. If it goes on for one more minute I’ll die, but at the same time I want it never to end.

“Pull OUT, Sapphire!” Faro’s yelling. “Now!”

We burst out into warm, still water. The icy current is gone, racing south without us.

“Time to feel the sun,” says Faro.

Feeling the sun doesn’t mean going up into the Air. It means sunbathing a couple of metres below the surface, in the brightest water. Faro takes my wrist. We rise together, towards the shining surface. Faro knows something about Dad, I think. I’ll find out. I won’t let Faro know that I’m still searching. I’ll keep it secret.

“Let’s have a sleep,” says Faro.

We close our eyes. I’m tired from the current pummelling me all over. Water rushes gently in my ears. Faro’s right, it’s good to feel the sun. All my worries are slipping away from me. I stretch out my arms and legs to the delicious warmth, and let myself rock and drift on the swell of the water. I will find Dad. But now I’m away in Ingo… far, far away, in a garden of seaweed and sea anemones.

Memories flood into my head. A boy and a girl, side by side, peering into the depths where blue and silver fish flick from rock to rock like electric darts. The boy has dark hair, like Conor. I can’t see his face. But where his legs should be there is thick, glistening sealskin. I try to move my legs and feel the powerful flick of my own strong tail and I shoot upwards through the water laughing as my brother chases me—

It’s the cold shadow passing over me that wakes me. I open my eyes at once with a feeling of panic, and stare up through the water. The surface is black. Something is directly above me, blocking out the light. A shark. Fear whips though me. No. It’s not alive. The dark shape is solid and dead-looking. Man-made. Not something of Ingo, but something of Air. How do I know that?

A boat, I think. It’s a boat, but I’m seeing it from upside down and it looks quite different. That’s why I didn’t know what it was. I’m looking straight up through the water at its hull. The boat is about the size of a fishing boat. I can see the rudder and the propeller. A small boat that wouldn’t hurt me even if it passed right over me. But the engine isn’t running. The boat is drifting silently.

And then it happens. A face looms over the side of the boat. A face and shoulders, part of a body in a blue shirt. Someone looks down, staring deep into the sea where I am. The face is distorted by Air. It wobbles. But upside down and distorted as it is, I can see it. It’s a man’s face. And if I can see him…

That’s when it happens. The eyes look down and catch sight of me. The face goes still with shock. The man stares and stares as if he can’t believe that what he sees can possibly be real.

With a shock, I know what he sees, and why he can’t believe it. He sees a girl, deep under the water, looking back at him. We meet each other’s eyes. He sees me and I see him. It’s a long moment and even through Air and water I recognise the frozen disbelief in his face. It can’t be real. A girl sunbathing way below the surface. A girl with her eyes open, who doesn’t need to breathe like Air People. Not a drowned girl but one who is alive, and looking back at him. A mermaid. I think I see the word form on his lips. And as his mouth opens to cry out and tell someone else on the boat to get a net and catch me and take me away and put me in a glass tank in a freak circus—

I dive.

I dive with hot terror pulsing through me. Down, down, down, into the deepest water, where the Mer can live but Air People can’t follow them. And in that moment for the first time I understand why Faro hates and fears divers. They are Air People who can put air on their backs and come where only the Mer should be. That man in the blue shirt can’t follow me. But a diver in a wetsuit with air on his back could have swum down after me and caught me. Faro’s right. Divers are dangerous.

I see that face again, staring down into mine. Shocked and disbelieving but something else too. Recognising. I know that I know the face, but whose is it? My memory is full of Ingo. Too much else is crowded out. I struggle to remember who that man could be… where I’ve seen him before…

No, don’t struggle, Sapphire, I tell myself. You’re safe in Ingo. The deep water rocks me gently. Yes, Faro’s right, my blood is becoming like his. I put my finger on my wrist and feel how slow the pulse beats there. Faro says—

But where’s Faro gone? Why am I alone?