Let The Dead Lie by Malla Nunn

Author:Malla Nunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Washington Square Press
Published: 2010-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

A pain that could not be cured by morphine or any other drug pressed against Emmanuel’s skull. The sergeant major’s voice would come soon, spitting and swearing. Expect pain. Accept pain. Peace comes after the fight, not before. He decided to surrender to the voice of the sergeant major.

“When you’re ready,” he said, “I’ll listen.”

The voice remained silent.

A light shone from the front window of Sister Anne’s flat. Her father had been wheeled in for the night. The plan of attack was simple. He would enter the bedroom via the back window and catch Anne and Joe by surprise. If the window was locked, he’d kick down the front door and try his luck. Emmanuel threw the Walther PPK into the Buick’s glove box. Introduce a gun, and a simple plan split into a dozen new scenarios that mostly involved blood and a free ride in the back of a caged police van.

The wind had picked up and brought with it the smells of diesel and salt. Jolly’s little sister emerged from the building and sat on the top step with her baby doll wrapped in a rag quilt. The night settled around her, and strands of hair lifted from her shoulders in the wind. Emmanuel locked the Buick, climbed the stairs and sat down next to the girl. The aroma of fried onions drifted from the hallway.

“It’s late. What are you doing out here?” he said.

“Baby can’t sleep. It’s too quiet inside and she likes to watch the lighthouse blinking.”

The intermittent flash of yellow from the Bluff lighthouse danced across the harbor but didn’t reach the shore.

“Do you remember who I am?” Emmanuel said.

“You’re a policeman.” She rocked the baby doll back and forth in the cradle of her arms.

“That’s right. I talked to you the other day,” he said. “Do you know the girl Anne who lives above you?”

“Ja. Anne has kittens.”

“Have you seen her tonight?”

“She took her pa inside. He was coughing.”

“Is she at home, do you think?”

Susannah lifted the doll to a shoulder and stroked its spine with a tenderness that forced Emmanuel to look away. Old memories resurfaced. A fresh grave marked by a baby’s rattle instead of a cross. Women crouched in the rubble with their children held close even though their own bodies were no protection against bombs or bullets. He’d seen prams ushered through decimated towns by hollow-eyed females dressed in tatters. In war, women protected life as though it were a tiny flame in the wind.

“She’s fixing a stew for Joe,” Susannah said. “He’s got a big head, like Punch and Judy.”

“Joe? Are you sure?”

She reached into the folds of the rag quilt and withdrew a coin. “Joe gave me a penny when he came through the backyard. He said I must buy sweets with it.”

“Was Anne waiting for him?”

“Ja. She let him into her window and then she asked my ma for some onions.” Susannah pulled a second coin from the dirty bundle. “Anne gave me this one. If any of the police come, I must run and tell her quick.

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