Read Online Nyctophobia by Christopher Fowler - Free Book Online Page B

From the corner of my eye I could see a bright green lizard perched on a rock with something yellow in its mouth. The butterfly fluttered its wings feebly, and then the rest of it vanished into the lizard’s maw in a single swift movement.
    I thought that Jerardo would rise and show some deference to the new lady of the house, but nothing happened. Finally I gave in.
    ‘You must be Jerardo.’
    He turned to look at me. Cloudy blue eyes were set in a heavily lined face. The sun had drawn itself over his skin.
    ‘I’m told you’re the gardener and the handyman for the house.’
    He looked at me blankly.
    ‘My husband talked to you.’
    He continued to stare.
    ‘Do you speak English? Usted habla Ingles ?’
    Still he remained silent, watching me. I was trying to work out what to do when he opened his mouth and pointed. At the back of his throat was a waggling pink stub like a block of luncheon meat. It was clearly not a deformity; his tongue had been cut out. I tried not to look startled.
    He seized my hand and put my fingers in his mouth, so that I could feel the hot dry stump wriggle beneath my touch. I yelped and snatched my hand away, but he took it again, dragging me from the summerhouse and leading the way between rows of corn at the rear of the garden. I allowed myself to be pulled along, annoyed that Rosita had failed to warn me adequately.
    Jerardo cut across the lawn, which was segmented into four equal squares by paths of ochre sand. At the centre stood the stone sundial topped with the statue of the naked young man holding the black and white disc above his head. Releasing my hand he gestured at it, then pointed toward the house, but it was impossible to understand what he wanted me to know.
    ‘It’s very beautiful,’ I said, not knowing what else to say. He shook his head violently and pointed again to the line of shadow at the edge of the house. I stared in the direction of his raised hand, but I hadn’t brought my sunglasses outside, and couldn’t understand what he wanted me to see.
    He grabbed my hand once more and placed it on the bronze figure’s arm. The sun had heated it so that it felt almost alive. I wondered if the sun had touched Jerardo, too, and quickly removed my fingers, leaving the gardener alone in the centre of the absurdly emerald lawn, its green geometry too perfect for this harsh climate, this wild and wilful land.

 
     
    CHAPTER NINE
    The Village
     
     
    W HEN M ATEO R ETURNED I sat him in the drawing room and told him what had happened. I was surprised when he started laughing. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally, ‘I should have warned you about Jerardo. I’m used to people like him. Don’t worry, he’s not crazy, he’s just spent too many years in the sun and too much time by himself to ever develop social skills.’
    ‘What on earth happened to his tongue?’
    ‘Ah, that . You should come to the village with me next time, you’ll hear all the gossip. The story goes that when he was very young his father supported the Republican rebels and spied on his countrymen in the village. Some of the boys from the Movimiento Nacional didn’t take kindly to the idea that Jerardo’s old man was relaying their conversations to his pals in the workers’ party up in the hills, so they kidnapped the father and son. They made his father watch while they laid the boy on a table in the village square and hacked out his tongue with a can opener. The pair couldn’t stay there, so the owner of Hyperion House took them in, and Jerardo stayed on after his father died. Even now, when he drives his van in for supplies, he won’t stop for more than a minute.’
    ‘My God, how awful.’
    ‘Well, feelings ran deep about the war. It divided villages and split families apart.’
    ‘He tried to show me something but I didn’t understand.’
    ‘Just let him do his thing. If there’s anything you don’t like, tell Rosita. She’ll relay it to him. Remember, you’re the boss around