The Child

Short Story: The Child by Frances Gaudiano

Each farm was its own nation, complete with its own people. And those people had their rules and customs - what they ate for Sunday dinner, if they went to chapel or not. The women had their regular costume as did the men. They even spoke their own language, in words veiled with generations of meaning.

Stepping in as an outsider, I felt the fog close around me, shutting me off from the rest of the world. I could no longer see the main road where I had left my car, only the house before me. Stone piled upon stone made the two-story structure into a stronghold. The wind could not get in. Could the people inside get out? Did they want to?

I knocked on the door, feeling the moisture beading on the wooden planks. My knuckles came away wet. There was no answer to the dull thuds I left on the damp wood. I heard a dog bark to my right. The sound wasn’t coming from the house but an outbuilding, another pile of stones blurred in the mist. I heard but could not see a different door creak open and then feet crunching on gravel. Another bark from the dog this time louder, closer.

Suddenly a man was standing beside me in work-stained overalls. The smell of sweat and silage drifted off of him. I took a step back as the dog moved forward, its cold nose investigating my legs.

“What is it?” The voice came out gravelly through years of unfiltered cigarettes. I leaned forward to catch the words, afraid I’d have to ask him to repeat himself. I lifted my briefcase, using it as a shield against my chest and also an explanation.

“I’m here about the child.”

He rubbed a bristled chin. The dog had given up his inspection and now settled down next to the man. It cocked its head to one side, pondering as the man was.

“Well now.” He stopped as if that was his answer and looked out over the fields. Then after a time he shrugged. “She be out there somewhere I guess.”

I turned to look in the direction where he was gazing. The fields were covered in a thick grey blanket. I had a sense there was something green underneath but it was impossible to make out any colour with surety. The thought of a child wandering in that shroud made me shiver.

“She’s out there? Alone?”

The man shrugged again.

“But she’s only five or six years old.”

“Is she that?” He picked his nose in contemplation.

“Don’t you know?” My voice was rising. We are told to stay calm. Interviews proceed better if the investigator is not threatening.

“I’ll send the dog after her. Some time he can find her.” He made a gesture at the dog and garbled a direction. The beast set off with intent, crouching low, ears forward but moving at speed.

“You may as well come in. It may be a while.” He yanked open the front door to the house.

I’d seen worse homes – places where faeces were on the floor, piles of refuse with rats scurrying in the corners. The smell would make your nostrils burn and your eyes water. I’m told that it’s the acid in urine that causes the irritation. This house wasn’t clean by any standard but I didn’t feel a need to cover my face with a handkerchief. The table was scrubbed perhaps a week or two ago and although there were dirty plates and cups on it, none of them displayed mould. The floor was clear of litter though it hadn’t seen a mop in months. The overall odour was of fried food - chips and chops from what I could tell but no offensive scents hung in the air. I could see that there was a man’s winter coat hung on a peg. There were no signs that a child lived here.

“Are you Tabitha’s sole guardian?” I asked as I sat down on the offered chair. Grime had sunk into the wood but as it was imbedded it shouldn’t destroy my suit.

The man had gone to the sink and was filling a kettle. I hoped he did not offer me a cup of tea. It would be rude to refuse but I didn’t take refreshment on calls. Hygiene standards can be low. He took his time putting the kettle onto boil and then reached into a cupboard where he pulled out two mugs.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” I informed him. He ignored me and threw a bag of tea into each mug. Shuffling over to an ancient refrigerator with a rusting door, he pulled out a milk bottle, sniffed it and then plunked it on the table. The kettle had whistled by then so he filled both mugs and brought them to the table as well.

“If you don’t want it, the little one will have a cuppa when she comes in. Mind you, she’ll complain if there’s no sugar.” He stood up again and rummaged in a cupboard, coming back with a packet of sugar. He set it down in front of him. “She be very fond of sugar.”

I had my briefcase open and my forms out by then. Pen poised, I asked him again if he was the sole guardian.

“Guardian?” He rolled the word around in his mouth and seemed to decide it was unsavoury.

“Her caretaker?”

He frowned at me, clearly puzzled. I would have to remove the child if he was not mentally competent.

“She don’t need caretaking. She mind herself.”

“I’m sorry sir, but a child of this age needs a great deal of care. Right now, I am concerned that she is wandering around outdoors in this weather.”

“She go where she will. I don’t control her.”

“But you are the adult. You must control her. You must feed her and clothe her and ensure that she attends school regularly.”

He started to laugh. He went on until tears came out of his eyes and he swept them off his cheeks with his palms, deeply lined with dirt I noted. There was also soil caked under his fingernails. I bet the child had worms if she was living with a man who couldn’t even wash his hands properly.

He took a gulp of his tea and leaned back in his chair, an inappropriate smile on his face. “I told her not to mess with that school business. She were curious though.”

I put my pen down, forcefully I must admit. “Attending school is a legal requirement.”

“Not for the likes of her,” his head shook back and forth in a slow rhythm.

This was getting out of my remit. Perhaps. I would have to call the police in. Certainly, the child would need to be removed and promptly.

There was a single bark and then the sound of the dog’s nails scratching at the door and another sound, like water dancing over stones or coins jingling in your pocket. The man stood, using a hand on the table to press himself into a standing position. The damp climate in this area was dreadful for older people’s joints. I wondered how he managed to maintain the farm on his own. He made his way to the door, lifting it as he pulled it towards him to account for the warp. The dog shot in, darting to the range where he curled up next to its warmth. It was followed by the child.

She didn’t so much walk as dance, her heels never touching the floor. Her arms were held out to the side and they drifted up and down like wings. She wasn’t wearing much, a few shreds of some gossamer fabric in pastel shades. It looked like a fairy costume that had seen better days. Her thin legs were exposed to the thigh and I could see that her skin was nut brown and streaked with mud. There were no shoes of any description.

As she approached, I got a look at her face. Deep brown eyes that were smiling along with her mouth. Her teeth were white and even. At least she did not need dental care. A tumble of brown curls descended from her head onto her shoulders, leaves and grass caught between the curls. As she reached the table, she grabbed the mug in front of me and then the packet of sugar. Pouring a good half of the bag into the tea, she let out a trill of laughter and then began to drink.

“I told you she be fond of the sugar.” The man was smiling at the girl as if she were the sun. I don’t think I had ever seen anyone so happy. It made me feel both jealous and angry.

“Hello Tabitha,” I said in the voice I use for children.

She raised her eyebrows at me but did not stop drinking. It made my teeth hurt to watch her swallow the sugar grit. Finally, she put the cup down and searched me with her eyes. She did not cower like some abused children and her gaze was alert, not vacant. In summation, she did not have the demeanour of a neglected child.

She turned to the man. “Who is this person?”

The man shrugged again, his default gesture. “He never said. I suppose he be someone from the government. He started talking about laws.”

“I’m Mr. Eagle, Tabitha. I’m here to make sure you are being taken care of properly.”

“Is that so?” She smiled at me. “Why, thank you. And are you making sure that Merlin is being taken care of properly as well?” She had excellent diction for a child so young.

“Merlin?” It was my turn to be confused.

“She call me that,” the man explained. “It’s her wee joke.”

“Do you mean the wizard in the King Arthur Tales?” I asked the child. Even I felt a bit nauseated by the saccharine tone in my voice. But that is how you speak to children.

The look she gave me could only be described as condescending. “Who else?”

It was hard to imagine the man reading her stories. He seemed barely literate. Perhaps there was another adult about the place. “Did Mr Merlin read you those stories Tabitha?”

“I’m bored with that name. I used it yesterday and the day before and once or twice last week as well.” She made a sweeping gesture with one arm, almost as if it were a wing. “Now I shall be Isadora.”

Sighing, I made a note with my pen.

“Are you writing it down?” She was at my elbow, peering at my forms. “Show me what it looks like."

I pointed to where I had written the name. “If you went to school every day you would learn to read and write. Wouldn’t you like to do that Tab, I mean Isadora?”

Her face lost its sparkle; the mouth drew down and her brow furrowed. Then she patted my arm. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

Leaning forward I put my hand on her shoulder. We aren’t supposed to touch the children but the shift from light to dark in a matter of seconds disturbed me. “What do I need to understand?”

She stepped away from me. With a glance at the man, she spun on the spot and then vanished. Disappeared. Gone.

“What?” I rubbed my eyes. Standing up I moved to the place on the floor where she had stood only a moment ago. It was empty. Not a trace.

The man chuckled, “You never seen a piskie leave before?”

Author’s note: A piskie is a type of fairy found in Cornwall, in southwest England.