I REMEMBER THAT SUMMER WELL. BEGINNING WITH THE LIGHTEST TOUCH OF
PINK, THE HIDEOUS TREES HOISTED THEMSELVES AWAY FROM THE EARTH AND
HEAVENWARDS TOWARDS THE BECKONING ETHER. DROWSY, GREAT, FRIENDLY
RAINDROPS CAME FALLING FROM NOWHERE TOGETHER WITH THE SOUND OF
DRILLING FAR AWAY IN THE CAMPS. ONE AFTERNOON WHEN SCHOOL WAS OVER
YOU ARRIVED ON MY DOORSTEP DRESSED IN RED AND LAUGHING, READY FOR A
LITTLE MISADVENTURE PERHAPS. WHEN I LOOKED INTO ALL YOUR EYES I SAW
OUR HOLIDAY END WITH THAT STILL-FATEO VISIT TO ERSKINE, THE MAGICIAN,
THE EPHEMERON. HIS HOUSE WAS SAID TO BE EMPTY, HAUNTED, IT STOOD A
LITTLE APART FROM ALL THE OTHER HOUSES WITH ITS BROKEN WINDOWS AND
INNERMOST DARKNESS WHICH HAD QUITE PUT ME OFF FURTHER
INVESTIGATIONS. AND YOU, OVER THE FENCE AND AWAY ACROSS ERSKINES
GARDEN, POISONOUS LILY AND HAWTHORN TREES. NIGHT COMING ON QUICKLY,
I STUMBLE THROUGH EBSKINE'S FRONT DOOR BEHIND YOU INTO A MURKY
ROOM FILLED WITH DECAYING FURNITURE, FABRIC HANGING FROM THE BONES.
OH, AND ERSKINE WAS THERE TOO, WAITING FOR US BEHIND THE WALL, NO
DOUBT, IN THE QUIETNESS, IN THE SWEATY TWILIGHT. STICKINESS AND EARTH.
YOU'RE GOING SSSSH! ALRIGHT. AS THE NEXT DOOR CREAKS OPEN. THAT'S
WONDERFUL, YOU SAY AND STOP TO ADMIRE THE FACE IN THE MIRROR. NOT
YOURS BUT SOME TRICK OF ERSKINE'S. NO LONGER CHILDREN, WE ENTERED HIS
ROOM, DIRTY AND EMPTY. FILLED WITH THE SMELL OF THE DAMP AND THE
STORY IS THE SAME STORY... STILL. OVER AND OVER WE ATTEMPT TO LIVE
THIS OUT. ERSKINE BEGINS HIS SHOW IN THE DARK, YOU LOOK AT ME WITH
TRUST IN YOUR EYES WHICH MAKES ME MORE FRIGHTENED OF THIS NIGHT AND
ITS CONSEQUENCES. OVER AND OVER AND OVER I HOLD YOU TIGHTLY, THERE'S
MAGIC IN THIS, LEVITATION, FIRE-EATING AND VANISHING ACTS. SO HEAVILY
SAD TO GET THIS FAR... ERSKINE ADDRESSES NO ONE IN PARTICULAR AS HE
DOES HIS ROUTINE. RATS SCUTTLE BUSILY BEHIND THE WALLS, VIOLENTLY
REPRODUCING, DESPERATE RODENT GRIEF. WHITE ANTS IN THE FLOORBOARDS
MUNCH BLINDLY IN THE WOOD, FLASHING ANTENNAE INDUSTRY. SOMETHING
SCRATCHING IN THE CEILING, COZY OR TRAPPED. THEN... SPACE EXPANDS.
ERSKINE PRODUCES THIN AIR FROM HIS SLEEVE. HIS DOVES COO NERVOUSLY, HIS
AUDIENCE GASPS, HIS PRETTY ASSISTANT, ITS... YOU... HANDS HIM A
SCARF AND A GLASS OF WATER. THE DAZZLING LIGHTS, WE TUMBLE OUT OF THE
WARDROBE, ONE MOMENT KINGS AND QUEENS, ERSKINE WAVES HIS WAND, THE
BLACK SILKY CAT WITH GREEN EYES, LIKE HIS FAMILIAR ON HIS SHOULDER,
SOME PRESENCE OTHER THAN OURSELVES IN THIS ROOM, THE SMOKE OF SOME
SOUL, SOMETHING JEALOUS OF OUR LIVES, ERSKINE. OLD CIRCUS TRICK, THAT
ONE, DISTRACT 'EM AND THEN MIRACULOUSLY DISAPPEAR. BUT TO WHERE? THE
WORLD SPINS, LIT FROM WITHIN. WE, IN THIS DESERTED EMPTY HOUSE,
BUSINESSMEN SIPPING MARTINIS, WHY MUST MY PERSPECTIVE STRETCH OUT AT
TIMES LIKE THIS? ADULTERERS IN BETWEEN RED SHEETS, TADPOLES IN THE
MURK, THE BOX OF GAMES ON THE TOP SHELF IN MY MOTHERS BEDROOM,
SAND IN THE FLAT, SAILORS IN THEIR SWINGING HAMMOCKS DURING A STORM.
SLEIGHT OF HAND CREATED THIS EARTH AND ALL ELSE IS ILLUSION. WE ARE
VAPOURS, YOU AND I. ERSKINE CONJURES UP RABBITS AND ACES OF SPADES.
CRAFTY DEVIL; ARE WE ALONE OR WHAT? THE SOUNDS OF SEX IN THIS
ABANDONED HOUSE. THE UNION OF DISEMBODIED SPIRITS WRAPPED AROUND
EACH OTHER, SNAKE-LIKE. WHO DARES BE HERE IN THE SPOOKY HALF-LIGHT IN
THE REMAINS OF A BEDROOM? WHO EAVESDROPS ON THESE WRAITHS? NOT
ERSKINE IN HIS VELVET LINED CAPE AND HIS LITTLE MAGIC TROUPE. NOT YOU
WITH YOUR SMILE FROM A PHOTOGRAPH. AND CERTAINLY NOT ME WITH MY
RINGING EARS AND UNSTEADY NERVES. I WISHED, I WISH, I SHOULD HAVE
WISHED, I WILL HAVE WISHED THAT I WAS AT HOME, PEACEFULLY ENSCONCED
AT MY PLACE AT THE TABLE, KNOCKING BACK MILKY TEA AND BISCUITS MADE
BY OUR MALTESE NEIGHBOURS. INSTEAD I WILL BE HERE WITH YOU, WHO I
MIGHT AS WELL HAVE NOT MET. ERSKINE WILL BE HERE, THERE IN THE HOUSE
APART FROM THE OTHER HOUSES. THIS HAS ALL HAPPENED. YOU WHO ARE
IMAGINED, INDESCRIBABLE EVEN IN A PEOM, SOMETIME LATER. ENCHANTED,
ERSKINE COMES OVER TO YOU AND ASKS YOU YOUR NAME. "I AM THE
EPHEMERON" HE SAYS SERIOUSLY, "ALTHOUGH YOU DO NOT YET REALIZE" IT'S
SO HARD TO CONCENTRATE "I WILL NOT LET YOU SLIP AWAY, NOT LIKE THIS"
... I FLY INTO ERSKINE IN A RAGE, PUSHING BACK HIS TAPERED MAGICIAN'S
FINGERS FORCING HIM BACK ON HIS KNEES. HE CLOSES HIS EYES FOR A MOMENT
... YOU RUSH TO HIM AS HE REELS BACK AGAINST THE WALLS. I HEAR THE
POLICE SIRENS SAFELY FROM MY BED, ERSKINE HAS DONE HIS LAST AND FINAL
TRICK.

I ALWAYS KNOW WHERE TO FIND YOU... BENDING OVER THE MUD BY THE
POND, DIGGING IN THE DIRT AND THE REEDS, QUIET AFTERNOON AND ALL,
DURING THE CHILDHOOD WE SHARED, SOFT WEATHER... I BELIEVED THE
STORIES YOU TOLD. I DON'T KNOW WHETHER YOU KNOW THIS OR NOT, BUT I
WAS THE BOY WITH YOU THE NIGHT YOUR FATHER DIED... FOR THE SAKE OF
SADNESS I MUST GO ON... YES, YOU AND I, SITTING IN THE DRIVEWAY, IT
WAS AROUND EIGHT IN THE EVENING SOMETIME IN NOVEMBER, DEEP SUMMER,
THE LAST OF THE CHILDREN WERE PLAYING JUST UP THE ROAD, YOU WERE
CRYING YOUR EYES OUT, WEEPING OVER THE STILLWARM CONCRETE, I WAS
CRYING TOO, ALTHOUGH I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HAD HAPPENED. AND I'M
SORRY BUT THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I HAVE OF REACHING YOU, OF INVOKING
YOU, AND I KNOW YOU'VE READ THIS ALL BEFORE. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THE
ANSWER THEN, NOW... ITS FOREVER TOO LATE. I USED TO WALK AROUND
YOUR FRONT YARD JUST TOUCHING THINGS TO MAKE SURE THEY WERE REALLY
THERE, THOUGH I NEVER TOUCHED YOU... BETWEEN THE MUSIC DRIFTING
FROM MRS ERSKINE'S BEDROOM AND THE SMELL OF YOUR SISTER'S PERFUME, I
WAS ENMESHED IN MAGIC. OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW THAT NIGHT WITH MY
CHEST PRESSED TO THE GROUND, COUNTING THE MARBLES IN A CARDBOARD
BOX, DOWN THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE FULL OF RUSTY ENGINE PARTS AND
SPIDERS, I FOUND A DIRTY MAGAZINE AND GAWKED IN DISBELIEF AT THE
LADY'S PUBIC HAIR... THE DOGS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE WERE
BECOMING RESTLESS AND A CHRISTMAS PUDDING WAS HANGING, WRAPPED UP
IN THE RAIN. ALL THESE DETAILS I NOW RELISH, THOUGH AT THE TIME SOME
IMPATIENCE POSSESSED US BOTH, SPEEDING OUR SLOWDAYS INTO NOW. WE
WERE COLLECTING LITTLE PICTURES OR AEROPLANES OUT OF CHOCOLATE BARS,
WE WERE TORTURING BUGS IN THE GENTLE AFTERNOONS, WE WERE WALKING
OUT IN THE BUSH BEYOND THE TOWN, VISITING THE GRAVES OF PEOPLE WHO
HAD LIVED AND DIED DURING SOME SAD AND DARK PAST. WE LAY DOWN IN
THAT MORBID PLACE AND I FELT THE HEAVY SKY LAY ITS HAND ON MY THROAT
AND YOU THOUGHT ABOUT YOUR DAD AND LOOKED AWAY AMONGST THE FERNS
AND DISMAL VASES. MRS ERSKINE INVITED US IN FOR SOME CORDIAL AND CAKE
AND, FOR SOME REASON, SHE WEPT AS SHE WIPED THE DIRT FROM OUR FACES
(EVEN THEN I FELT LIKE A CHARLATAN). SHE PUT ON A RECORD WHICH FILLED
HER KITCHEN WITH THE SENSE OF TIME ALREADY PASSED... YOU TOLD HER
ABOUT YOUR NEW FATHER AND I PRETENDED TO STILL BE A CHILD. YOU HAD
SKINNED YOUR KNEE AND YOU WERE ADMIRING THE SCAB. YOU'D LEARNT TO
SWIM AND YOUR HAIR WAS STILL WET. YOU'D BEEN PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK
AND NO ONE COULD EVER FIND YOU. YOU'D MISSED SCHOOL AND SMOKED
YOUR FIRST CIGARETTE. YOU'D GONE TO THE MILK BAR AND HAD YOUR FIRST
KISS. YOU'D GONE TO A PARTY AND HAD YOUR FIRST DRINK. YOU WERE
DRIVING OFF IN A CAR TO HAVE SEX FOR THE FIRST TIME. YOU LOOK IN THE
MIRROR AND FIND YOUR FIRST GREY HAIR. I ALWAYS KNOW WHERE TO FIND
YOU.

S. KILBEY