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Authors: Stephen Curran
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faces caught in the light from the hallway within. A gentleman reached out and took Elise's hand.
Once they were inside I strode down the street and hid myself in a narrow space between two adjacent buildings, from where I could see the plain black door. Faint light was visible behind the curtained windows across the thoroughfare. The iron gate had been closed.
It was in this alleyway that I lived for the coming days.
A Vigil
WHEN I woke it appeared to be morning. The fog had thinned and one or two factory workers were moving about. I had been sleeping on my feet - something to which I had quickly grown accustomed - my shoulder propped against the alley wall and brick dust on my disarranged coat. Attempting to straighten myself I was forced to sit on the ground, having lost strength in my legs. With my uninjured hand I wiped the dust away and rested my head on the loose water pipe running down the side of the building. It was early enough for most people to still be in bed.
I was angry I had allowed myself to drift into unconsciousness for what must have been at least an hour. It had been my wish to dispense with sleep altogether but my body betrayed me and made it impossible. The best I could do was nap as sparingly and as lightly as possible. Because of my night terrors I had been living on precious little rest for months now, so I felt confident I could survive on four hours a day. I divided my sleep into segments, as best I could. Twenty minutes every two hours. This duration seemed ideal, long enough to provide quietus but too short for anything but the shallowest slumber. It was my hope that any significant noises – the red door opening, the sound of Elise's voice – would pull me back into wakefulness. Was it possible the young nanny had left the house while I was insensible? An undisciplined moment may have caused me to squander my last chance to see her. My stomach turning at this notion I pulled myself to my feet, striking a pose that suggested alertness in the hope of encouraging it. I could not allow myself to be so reckless.
It is impossible to give an accurate account of my extended stay in the alleyway. Whether I was there for a week, or two weeks, or simply a matter of days, I cannot say. No memory of this period is certain and my recollection has no sequence, as if it all happened at once. Despite the inhospitable conditions it was not an entirely unhappy time. I found some pleasure in the protracted nature of the task, the feat of endurance. I was unburdened by society, my only concern being the continuation of the watch. I existed in a strange place, beyond ordinary human concerns, where the only markers were the occasional need to eat, sleep and excrete.
For much of the time I gave no thought to food. I even believed I could survive without it, finding my nourishment from sunlight alone. Sometimes, however, I became so gripped by hunger my whole body shook. I saw everything in double, fluctuating colours floated before my eyes and a terrifying pain tore through my belly. I retched but was unable to vomit, convinced I was dying. These pangs, though, never failed to pass and my vigilance returned.
I did not go completely without sustenance. The small amount of money I had on my person was enough to purchase a pot of jam and two loaves of bread on my first morning, from a small grocer at the end of the road. Having no knife to use I tore pieces off the loaves and spread the jam using the fingers of my good hand. The first portions were eaten quickly but later I learnt to ration them, consuming only a bite or two at a time. Once the bread had been finished I ate the jam on its own, scooping it from the bottom of the jar and getting blackberry seeds lodged uncomfortably beneath my fingernails. My body stopped producing stools. I urinated thickly and odorously behind the pipe.
All this time I thought about the man who had answered the door to the two women. Even though I had not seen his face
Once they were inside I strode down the street and hid myself in a narrow space between two adjacent buildings, from where I could see the plain black door. Faint light was visible behind the curtained windows across the thoroughfare. The iron gate had been closed.
It was in this alleyway that I lived for the coming days.
A Vigil
WHEN I woke it appeared to be morning. The fog had thinned and one or two factory workers were moving about. I had been sleeping on my feet - something to which I had quickly grown accustomed - my shoulder propped against the alley wall and brick dust on my disarranged coat. Attempting to straighten myself I was forced to sit on the ground, having lost strength in my legs. With my uninjured hand I wiped the dust away and rested my head on the loose water pipe running down the side of the building. It was early enough for most people to still be in bed.
I was angry I had allowed myself to drift into unconsciousness for what must have been at least an hour. It had been my wish to dispense with sleep altogether but my body betrayed me and made it impossible. The best I could do was nap as sparingly and as lightly as possible. Because of my night terrors I had been living on precious little rest for months now, so I felt confident I could survive on four hours a day. I divided my sleep into segments, as best I could. Twenty minutes every two hours. This duration seemed ideal, long enough to provide quietus but too short for anything but the shallowest slumber. It was my hope that any significant noises – the red door opening, the sound of Elise's voice – would pull me back into wakefulness. Was it possible the young nanny had left the house while I was insensible? An undisciplined moment may have caused me to squander my last chance to see her. My stomach turning at this notion I pulled myself to my feet, striking a pose that suggested alertness in the hope of encouraging it. I could not allow myself to be so reckless.
It is impossible to give an accurate account of my extended stay in the alleyway. Whether I was there for a week, or two weeks, or simply a matter of days, I cannot say. No memory of this period is certain and my recollection has no sequence, as if it all happened at once. Despite the inhospitable conditions it was not an entirely unhappy time. I found some pleasure in the protracted nature of the task, the feat of endurance. I was unburdened by society, my only concern being the continuation of the watch. I existed in a strange place, beyond ordinary human concerns, where the only markers were the occasional need to eat, sleep and excrete.
For much of the time I gave no thought to food. I even believed I could survive without it, finding my nourishment from sunlight alone. Sometimes, however, I became so gripped by hunger my whole body shook. I saw everything in double, fluctuating colours floated before my eyes and a terrifying pain tore through my belly. I retched but was unable to vomit, convinced I was dying. These pangs, though, never failed to pass and my vigilance returned.
I did not go completely without sustenance. The small amount of money I had on my person was enough to purchase a pot of jam and two loaves of bread on my first morning, from a small grocer at the end of the road. Having no knife to use I tore pieces off the loaves and spread the jam using the fingers of my good hand. The first portions were eaten quickly but later I learnt to ration them, consuming only a bite or two at a time. Once the bread had been finished I ate the jam on its own, scooping it from the bottom of the jar and getting blackberry seeds lodged uncomfortably beneath my fingernails. My body stopped producing stools. I urinated thickly and odorously behind the pipe.
All this time I thought about the man who had answered the door to the two women. Even though I had not seen his face
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