Part 14 (1/2)

The automatic writing persisted into Kitty's teens. Mrs Jones took her to a neurologist, a psychologist, and finally, a psychiatrist, who suggested (as Bart Hayfue had) that Kitty had a split personality. He prescribed drugs, but Mrs Jones wouldn't have it; apart from periods of scribbling in a trance, Kitty was normal. Her antics upset n.o.body, so they left her to it, hoping she'd grow out of it, like acne.

She didn't though; she made frequent visits to the British Museum where she learnt to read hieroglyphics properly. The curator was amazed at how quickly she picked it up, but, as Kitty tells Sam, ”I wasn't learning a new language, I was remembering my old one.” Sam can hardly dismiss this. Hadn't she picked up the witch doctor's notebook, chanted in Motu and understood every word?

Let's return to the present. Lola is hanging her monkey out to dry on the rigging. Kitty is emptying the soapy water. Sam is reflecting on Kitty's story and is prompted to ask: ”But where does the automatic writing come from?”

According to Kitty, this universe contains psychic ether which stores information from the past, present and the future. Our ancestors could access it using natural energies that we have lost touch with.

”You haven't lost touch with the spirits though have you, Kitty?”

Kitty wipes her hands on her long, dark hair and falls to her knees. ”They've abandoned me!”

She'd tried to contact them. She tried when she thought Sam had died in the fire; she'd asked the spirits if the baby's soul was at peace. But they hadn't replied.

”That's because I wasn't dead!” says Sam. ”Ask them where my parents are ... please?”

Kitty shakes her head. ”If nothing happens, you'll think I'm a fraud. You'll be disappointed and cry.”

”The last time I cried was over a b.u.t.terfly,” says Sam. ”And that was a waste of tears because it was the start of something good, so I don't cry any more.”

”You shouldn't hold back your tears,” says Kitty. ”They might set the magic in motion. Tears are strong stuff. They're full of comicals.”

”Chemicals? Then I'll save them for a special occasion.”

There's a pause and Sam is about to ask ”What is magic?” but she surprises herself and asks a far more personal question. ”Kitty, may I see your face?”

Kitty doesn't let her mask slip but her ears move up a notch, suggesting that her real eyebrows are raised in horror. She runs below deck and battens down the hatches. Sam feels bad for asking. ”Was I rude, Lola? I didn't mean to be. Only I'm sure Kitty's hiding something from me.” She calls through the hatch. ”Kitty, come back. I'm sorry. You don't have to show me your face.”

”I don't have a face. It melted in the fire.”

Sam calls to her again. ”It can't be worse than Aunt Candy's. She wears a mask made from powder and lipstick, but I can see straight through it. Her real face looks like an unmade bed. Kitty, at least you have lovely hair!”

Flattery gets her nowhere; Kitty stays where she is for the rest of the day. Sam a.s.sumes she's gone to sleep, so, to pa.s.s the time, she practises making sailor's knots with Lola. By late afternoon the was.h.i.+ng has dried. Lola fetches it down and folds it, then forages for foliage to build a new nest at the top of the mast. Sam climbs after her and they curl up together in the bowl of leaves and fall asleep.

Sam dreams again. She sees John Tabuh wheeling his magic box through a vast desert. He's being stalked by a sphinx, which steers him into an oasis. In the middle of the oasis, there's a man sitting cross-legged on a mat under a yellow stripy umbrella between two stone crocodiles. He holds a ball in his palm. In front of him are three cups; one red, one green, one black. He says to John Tabuh, ”Oh, young magician (for I know you are a magician), watch as I place this ball under one of these cups. Now I will move the cups. If you can guess which one the ball is under, you may keep it; put it in your mouth, it will slake your thirst. If you guess wrong, one of my crocodiles will eat you and the other will eat your wife (for I know she's inside the box!).”

John Tabuh knows the cup and ball trick but, for some reason, he chooses the wrong cup and Sam, who also knows the trick shouts, ”No, Daddy!” in her sleep.

Down below, someone is calling ”Sam! Saaaam!” It's Kitty; she has come out of hiding. She's waving a piece of paper covered in hieroglyphics, which, loosely translated, say that they must visit a cross-legged man who sits in the shadow of the sphinx. It seems that the spirits have broken their silence.

Sam must go to Egypt.

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Egypt is a big place. You could search your entire lifetime for a man sitting under a stripy umbrella and never find him. Ah, but say you're in possession of the witch doctor's notebook; all you have to do is study the list of names and, if you have the gift, your eyes will be drawn to his portrait, complete with stone crocodiles. He's called Yerba Hufat and he lives in the Black Desert.