I fell into sleep and woke above to 6 and 9 sixandnineoftheeighth Hiroshima nine Nagasaki six atom bomb six and nine and gone. I woke above to VJ Day and I was glad. V for victory and the end of an era.
I dug out Monsta from under my bed. Dead things can’t die but Monsta was inert; bits of old worms, worn bear body, plastic doll foot, dried up crow foot, stiff pigeon wings and a shrew head with eyes closed to me. I’d stopped feeding Monsta, stopped needing Monsta. Now Monsta was gone.
I made my way through the city, through the pockets of VJ Day celebrations. I went to Kensal Green Cemetery and dug a small hole above where Devil lay. I wrapped Monsta in a blanket, said a lizard prayer – Holy, Holy, Holy – and down Monsta went with Devil and the camera.
I was fifteen years old when Monsta was buried and I was glad. It was the end of a childhood born blue.
Chapter 10
London, 13 October 2011
Detective Curtis has everything spread out on the table. Evidence tags hang from each item. I pick up the camera and examine it.
‘It still works,’ he says.
I lay it down and lift Monsta’s shrew head.
‘What is all this?’ he asks, gesturing to Monsta’s remains. ‘Voodoo?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Tell me.’
‘He was my friend, after Devil died.’
‘Voodoo and devils, huh?’
‘He was my dog.’
‘Devil?’
‘It’s from the comic strip, The Phantom. My aunt would send them to my brother and I read them all.’
‘What happened to your dog?’
‘He died.’
‘Did he end up here?’
He brings out the photo.
‘No. He was shot. I buried him in Kensal Green. These are his bones.’
‘Who shot him?’
I pick up a photo of Devil. Detective Curtis leans back in his chair, considering me. I know what he’s thinking; is it too soon to bring out the photograph? He makes a huffing noise as he pulls it out and places it in front of me. It’s the first time I’ve seen it.
‘Is this anything to do with your devil dog and the voodoo?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Not really.’
‘Either it is or it isn’t.’
‘Have you ever been to the sea, Detective?’
He sighs. I stare down at the photograph.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Before we go any further, I have to warn you that there’s going to be some press interest in this. For now, if they approach you, the only thing you can talk about is the dead pets. Okay? That’s all. If I was you, I’d avoid the tabloids completely and don’t say a word about devil dogs or voodoo.’
‘My lips are sealed, Detective. As they have been for seventy-two years.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Who lives in the past, Detective?’
‘Did you take these photographs?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you buried the camera. Why did you do that?’
‘Who wouldn’t?’
‘How old were you when you took this?’
‘Nine.’
We both look at the photograph.
‘It turned out well. The light was fading.’
He nods.
‘You’re a storyteller, aren’t you, Goblin?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want you to tell me the story of this photograph. Of all of these photographs.’
He spreads them out across the table, but he keeps the focus on the one in front of me.
‘Let’s start with names. Who are they?’
‘I don’t know, Detective.’
‘Who is this?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know who any of them are.’
‘Who’s responsible for this, Goblin? Don’t you want them brought to justice?’
‘I’m responsible,’ I say.
He sighs.
‘I was born blue,’ I say. ‘I could have died. Could’ve, should’ve.’
‘Give me their names.’
‘There is no justice. There can never be justice. It’s too late.’
‘Where was this? Where did you take the photograph?’
‘I don’t remember, Detective. It was a long time ago.’
He looks at me, taps his pen on the edge of the table and stands up. He leaves the room and I stare at the photos, a few minutes passing before he returns.
‘You know who this is, don’t you, Goblin?’
I look at the man standing in the doorway next to Detective Curtis. He rubs his grey beard nervously before taking off his cap to reveal a balding head. I was about to say no, no I don’t know him, when he smiles tentatively. I know that smile, I know those eyes. He sits down in front of me.
‘Yes, Detective,’ I say, looking at Mac. ‘I know who this is.’
‘You can catch up. I’m sure you both have a lot to talk about.’
He closes the door, leaving us sitting in silence.
‘The detective said you were in the circus.’
‘Yes.’
‘Makes sense. How long?’
‘Several years. I retired in Venice, where I wrote articles, busked, ran history tours. You?’
‘Teacher. Not as exciting as you.’
‘A teacher is good.’
Mac looks at the photos, spreading them out, pinning one down with his finger.
‘I pretended it never happened. But I had nightmares about it,’ he says. ‘For years.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘No?’
‘No. Only dreams of the sea.’
‘I heard you came back, you know. From evacuation. I knew you were back in the city when I came home, but I couldn’t face you. We moved away, shortly after. We moved.’
‘You took this,’ I say, holding up the photo of me standing in front of the mound of animal corpses.
‘I threw up. When I saw it in the paper, I threw up.’
‘Then you went to the police.’
‘Not straight away. I looked them up first,’ he says, drumming his fingers on the photo. ‘Do you know they’re war heroes?’
‘I found out.’
‘It was then I picked up the phone,’ he says.
‘What good is it now?’ I say.
‘I couldn’t take this to my grave.’
‘Why not? It’s where it belongs. Buried.’
‘You don’t believe that.’
‘They’re going to exhume the body,’ I say.
‘You think it’s there?’
‘Where else would it be?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Mac says. ‘If you want me to.’
‘You think it will stop the nightmares.’
Gathering up all the photos, he piles them on top of one another, burying the one depicting what we were going to unearth. He looks up at me.
‘Tell me about the circus. What did you do?’
‘I was a clown. And I helped look after the animals.’
He smiles. ‘Of course.’
UK, 1950 – 1961
I know how it felt for them; like disappearing into another world. Greeted at the entrance by the guardians of the realm, ushered in to the sound of music, enveloped by an intoxicating medley of scents, surrounded by laughter and yells as they jostled for space and made their way down the aisles, finding their seats. I’d peer out at them, looking at the faces of the children, remembering my first experience of the circus with Pigeon. Now I was one of them. I was a clown, a fantasy, a freak.