Dancing Stones

4: Altitude

4

Altitude

Teya decided to get an early night. She lay in bed, plugged in to her music to sooth her to sleep. When she woke the music was silent, and the room was dark.

There was something bothering her. She’d become tangled in her headphones, as if she’d been tossing in her sleep. The cords were wrapped around her neck.

A soft banging noise was coming from outside her window, or maybe from inside her head. She tried to untangle herself, but she felt the cords tightening.

There was the smell of animal, of sweat, of drains. She was hot, as if she was lying too close to a heater, and suddenly she could smell burning too. Thick smoke, pungent with herbs, scorched her mouth and nose. Was the apartment on fire?

The soft banging was growing louder, more frantic. It sounded like drums beating, and underneath it, voices, chanting.

The cords around her neck were growing harder, sharper, metal plates that pulled her backwards, pinning her to the bed by the throat.

The necklace.

She tried to scream, but no sound escaped her. She struggled harder. She couldn’t get enough air. The necklace had begun to cut into her trachea. She clawed at the thing but it only grew tighter, threatening to cut her throat in two. The flesh at her neck swelled around it, and it bit deeper, the pain excruciating.

But worse, she wanted air. Her body arched and spasmed, and the smashing of blood inside her skull was louder than any drum. Air. Air. Air. Air.

Two black holes appeared – eyes – around them a shadowy face. A woman’s face, licked by firelight. Fierce and hard and powerful. It called to her, a silent scream that filled her head until it nearly burst. And she wanted this woman, loved her, longed to obey her call without question.

‘See what I can do?’

And then it stopped.

She jumped out of bed, her hands at her n***d throat, dragging huge lungfuls of air into herself, filling every part of her body with the sweetness. And when her breathing slowed, she found herself standing in the middle of the room, staring towards the sound.

The soft banging at the window.

There it was again. A scraping, a tapping and fluttering, the same sequence over and over again. Like a huge bird beating its wings, scratching with its talons and pecking its beak against the glass.

Tap tap scrape. Tap tap scrape.

Something was trying to get at her, and it didn’t sound like pigeons.

And then it was gone.

She waited several seconds, her heart jackhammering inside her. She had to see if it had really left, otherwise she would never get back to sleep.

She inched her way towards the balcony doors. All was silent. She placed her hand on the handle. Still no sound. She turned it gingerly, opening the door one centimetre at a time. The balcony was empty.

She exhaled. She was hot, as if she’d had a fever, and so she paused there to let the night air cool her skin.

And then she saw him below her, a dark shape among the shadows. She knew who he was.

Her fear fell off her like a cloak. In a trance, she put on clothes, a coat, her shoes. She quietly opened her door and tiptoed through the apartment that was filled with dazzling moonlight. She walked down the stairs, through the little courtyard and out the main door.

The boy stood in front of her, his hair so dark it looked like it was made of the night. He silently held out his hand and she took it, and he led her up the street.

They entered the small cafe that was almost empty. It was warm and dark, haunted by a quiet Tango. They sat, and he ordered something from the waiter in Spanish.

Then he looked at her, unblinking, from across the table. She struggled to remember his name. Mateo, was it? She didn’t care. She just wanted to lean towards him, to smell his hair, to touch his smooth dusky cheek. She could almost feel his soft lips on hers. A magnetic force.

He was pulling a small battered book from his coat pocket. She saw it was a dictionary, Spanish to English. He searched through it for a minute, his brow creasing. Finally he spoke:

‘Teya…Mateo speech….you.’ He frowned, trying to find the English words. ‘You…’ He leafed quickly through the pages. ‘Teya…Mateo…. Speech now.’ Finally he threw down the book and stared at her. The look in his eyes was indescribable. They were so dark, and the darkness seemed enormous, engulfing her in their warmth, drawing her into them. He needed something from her. It was important, more important than anything, and she had to know, had to understand his need.

An abrupt clatter broke their connection. It was graphic-novel guy, the same waiter from the other night. He’d slammed down their drinks, then slouched back to the counter, watching them. He didn’t seem to like Mateo much. She called him back over.

‘You speak English, don’t you?’ she asked.

‘Oh yes. I speak it good. But why you speak with this guy?’

‘Can you translate for us?’

‘No good, this guy.’

‘Can you? Or not?’

‘Sure.’

But Mateo was frowning, shaking his head.

‘No no.’ He said something sharply in Spanish to the waiter, who scowled and sloped away.

‘Careful, pretty lady,’ said the waiter over his shoulder as he left.

Mateo turned back to her, this time reaching for her hands across the table. He said nothing, but those eyes… There was a battle raging inside her, a panic that was building hot and red, but also a craving for something, something she’d never wanted so much in her life. He leaned in and the liquid brown of his eyes seemed to grow, to envelop her, until she was swimming in their warmth.

Her lips moved, the breath inside her released in a tiny silvery thread that seemed to be pulled from her mouth. She could somehow see the word floating between them like shimmering vapour.

‘Dispinsayuway.’ It was Quechua. She had spoken Quechua.

The smile on his face bathed her in utter happiness.

Everything was okay. Everything was perfect. It was as if a dam wall had broken. Something tight and painful released as her thoughts cascaded from her lips.

‘My father taught me,’ she said in Quechua, and the words felt utterly natural and wonderful, like a song she’d loved as a child and only just remembered.

She didn’t feel like screaming, or crying, or breaking things. She was alive. She was speaking her language, and, even more amazingly, she was speaking about her father.

‘He was from Peru. My name is Teyacapan. I’m half Peruvian. But my mother is Scottish, so that’s why I’m like this.’ She lifted a burnished lock of hair off her shoulder.

‘It is strong hair. Powerful. Like rose gold.’ His voice, when he spoke Quechua, was deep and rich and flowed over her like honey. ‘Now we know who has stolen the Inca treasure.’ His smile widened. He was breath-taking.

She laughed softly, and he did too.

‘I didn’t think I wanted to speak Quechua ever again.’ She shook her head, bewildered. ‘But now… I don’t know why, it’s just coming out.’

The boy in front of her said nothing, and somehow, she kept on. She told him all about her life at home – the good bits anyway – living in Bondi, going to school in Sydney.

Mateo leaned back in his chair, smiling as if he were watching a flower grow, and she saw herself reflected in his dark eyes.

Finally, she wound down. The silence that followed was empty and calm. It suddenly occurred to Teya that she had been talking to a boy, a gorgeous boy, and she hadn’t stuttered or spilled anything or embarrassed herself. Who was this new Teya? All of a sudden, she felt playful. She wanted to dance around the room and kiss him and tease him, to flirt outrageously.

‘And you?’ she asked. ‘What’s a Peruvian boy doing in Argentina?’

‘I have some relatives here in Buenos Aires. I come every few months to sell things I make. But next year I will be studying in Lima. I have a scholarship to a very good art school. I make things, sculptures, jewellery. I paint too, but mainly I love to make things from metal, sometimes stone. It is a rare thing for a Peruvian boy to get an opportunity like this. I did not even know a life like this existed. My parents wanted me to be a doctor, or to work the land like they did. My family lived near Cusco, and they had some land until…’ There was fleeting shift in his expression, almost too fast for Teya to catch.

‘We had enough for all of us,’ he went on, his smile swiftly returning, ‘for my brothers and I, to go to a good school. So you see, we were lucky.’

‘Cusco? That’s where I’m going. With my Uncle next week. He lives there.’

‘Ah. Cusco,’ he said. ‘Be careful of the mountain sickness.’

‘What’s mountain sickness? Oh, you mean altitude?’

‘Yes. Yes, altitude.’ He was frowning slightly into his drink. ‘It is very powerful to be so high.’

‘Right.’ She laughed, awkwardly. He seemed so weird sometimes. ‘But how did you know where I was staying? You helped me that night when I was lost. How did you know where to bring me?’

‘Are you crazy? I’ve never seen a girl like you. The day you came to San Telmo with your luggage, I saw you. I waited for hours. I hope you don’t think I am strange. I saw you leave your building, and I followed. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.’

‘It’s fine.’ Was it? He’d followed her. That was strange, she supposed. But he didn’t seem remotely dangerous. A bit weird, a bit dark, but Teya liked weird and dark.

‘I saw you heading down to the ghettos,’ he said. ‘And I was worried. It gets pretty wild down there after dark.’

‘Lucky you did. I thought someone was chasing me. I probably imagined it though.’

‘Maybe it is different in your country, but here, young girls must not go alone. It is not safe.’

‘I know, I know. I won’t do it again.’

‘It is late. Perhaps you should get home?’ he said.

‘I guess.’ She didn’t want to go anywhere. She wasn’t tired, but looking out at the street she noticed a change in the light. Hours had passed without her noticing it. Funny how time seemed to stretch out forever when you were unhappy, and pass in an instant when things were going well. Time was so weird.

The waiter began roughly wiping their table even before they got up, the glasses clunking as he bumped them. He was muttering something in Spanish under his breath. Mateo slammed a few extra pesos onto the table.

They walked slowly back to the apartment. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when Mateo took her hand again, and when they reached the front door, he looked down at her with those strange, lambent eyes. Teya held her breath, and her heart began to pound. He leaned forward, and ever so softly brushed his lips against hers. It was pure electricity. She wanted to reach for him and pull him to her, but at the same time she was frozen with shock. She breathed in his warm boy smell, as he gently brushed back the hair from her face. His other hand held the back of her neck, softly, as if she were made of china. He pulled her to him, wrapping long arms around her, the warmth from his body engulfing her.

‘I must see you tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Okay.’

‘I will come for you in the morning.’

‘Okay.’ She was melting.

Once safely inside, she turned for one last look through the pane of the door, but like magic, he’d become part of the night.

Teya floated up the stairs, barely touching the floor as she slipped like a pale shadow through the apartment and back to her room.

She fell asleep almost straight away, and once again she was visited by dreams. But this time the giant bird was sheltering her under his great black wings, and when he rose up he gathered her with him and they flew, high above the mountains. They soared upwards towards a glorious stained-glass roof of stars, which shattered and fell around them in an explosion of shimmering diamonds in the night.