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He laughs and gives me a light slap on the thigh. He breathes out, pulling away from me. “I suppose we’ll just leave things where they are, for now.”
I look him up and down, embarrassed. “You sure you don’t want to, um…”
“I’m a big boy, I’ll be fine. I have some computer work I need to get done for Pamphrock, so I’ll be upstairs.”
He practically darts out of the room, as though afraid of what he might do if he stays around me a second longer. I saunter into the living room and flick on the television, but when I do all I find are a ton of news reports about muggings and fights, even a few murders. With a distinct chill, I switch it off and go back into the kitchen, deciding I’ll put the rubbish out.
I tie it all up in a black bin bag and make my way to the back door. When I first step into the garden I’m almost certain I can hear somebody’s voice. It’s a male voice and whoever it is sounds like they’re chanting, or praying maybe. It ceases immediately.
I squint my eyes in the darkness, making out Ira’s large form sitting cross-legged on the grass.
“Ira, what are you still doing out here?” I ask. “It’s getting late.”
Obviously it’s kind of stupid waiting for him to answer, but I do anyway. I’m convinced it was him I heard just now.
He sits still, watching me, not breathing a word. I put the bin down for a minute and walk over to him. Standing before him, I look around the garden. It’s dead quiet out here, and I can’t see any of the neighbours about. It had to have been him I heard.
“I thought I heard someone talking,” I say casually, turning back to glance at him. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Nothing, not even a nod or a shake of his head. I’m not backing down though, so I plonk myself in front of him and cross my legs the same as his.
“It’s sort of nice out here at night – peaceful,” I say.
I might as well be talking to myself for all the response I get. Ira closes his eyes and begins breathing deeply, as though meditating. I’ve seen him doing this a few times now.
“You know,” I continue, “if you have a reason for not talking around everyone you can tell me. I promise to keep it a secret. That way you’ll have at least one person you can speak to.”
He opens his eyes then and seems to be looking at me in a speculative manner.
“Cross my heart,” I say. “I won’t breathe a word. You can trust me.”
I think I see him opening his mouth, as if about to say something, but the words never come.
“I know you can understand me. I can see it in your eyes when I look at you. I’d like to hear you speak, Ira. We’re friends, at least I think we are. When you were an animal I really loved you, you know. You were such a comfort to me.”
When I still get no reply I remain silent, resigning myself to the idea that he’s not going to speak to me tonight, even if it was him I heard before.
A couple of minutes pass. I lean my head back so that I can lie on the cool, damp grass. The feel of it soothes me.
“I don’t know how to…be like this anymore,” comes a strange, accented voice out of nowhere. It startles me and I realise that I’d closed my eyes. I open them and look at Ira.
“Please tell me that wasn’t my imagination,” I say. “You did just speak, didn’t you?”
He inclines his head, nodding
. “I did.”
I give him a completely genuine smile and sit up to face him. “I’ve never heard your accent before. Where is it from?”
“It’s Polynesian. I was born on the island of Samoa.”
“That’s far away,” I reply.
“Very far away,” says Ira, a little mournful.
“What do you mean when you say you don’t know how to be like this anymore?”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. When he does, he explains, “I don’t know how to be like a human. I spent twenty-five years confined in my animal form, voiceless, always on the outside looking in. Now that my true body has been restored I don’t know how to be in it. I feel like a stranger in my own skin.”
