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“She’s broken up with us.”
There was a long silence. Then Fat Charlie said, “Of course she has.”
“I made a kind of a sort of a mess of that part of things.” Spider sounded uncomfortable.
“But what if I explain it to her? I mean, if I tell her that I wasn’t you, that you were pretending to be me—”
“I already did. That was when she decided she didn’t want to see either of us ever again.”
“Me as well?”
“‘Fraid so.”
“Look,” said Spider’s voice in the darkness. “I really never meant to make… Well, when I came to see you, all I wanted to do was say hello. Not to. Um. I’ve pretty much completely cocked this all up, haven’t I?”
“Are you trying to say sorry?”
Silence. Then, “I guess. Maybe.”
More silence. Fat Charles said, “Well, then I’m really sorry I called the Bird Woman to get rid of you.” Not seeing Spider while they were talking made it easier, somehow.
“Yeah. Thanks. I just wish I knew how to get rid of her.”
“A feather!” said Fat Charlie.
“No, you’ve lost me.”
“You asked if she gave me anything to seal the deal. She did. She gave me a feather.”
“Where is it?”
Fat Charlie tried to remember. “I’m not sure. I had it when I woke up in Mrs. Dunwiddy’s front room. I didn’t have it when I got on the plane. I suppose that Mrs. Dunwiddy must still have it.”
The silence that met this was long and dark and unbroken. Fat Charlie began to worry that Spider had gone away, that he had been left abandoned in the darkness under the world. Eventually he said, “Are you still there?”
“Still here.”
“That’s a relief. If you abandoned me down here I don’t know how I’d get out.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
More silence.
Fat Charlie said, “What country are we in?”
“Poland, I think. Like I said, I saw a picture of it. Only they had the lights on in the photo.”
“You need to see photos of places to go to them?”
“I need to know where they are.”
It was astounding, thought Fat Charlie, how truly quiet it was in the mine. The place had its own special silence. He started to wonder about silences. Was the silence of the grave different in kind to the silence of, say, outer space?
Spider said, “I remember Mrs. Dunwiddy. She smells of violets.” People have said, “All hope has fled. We’re going to die,” with more enthusiasm.
“That’s her,” said Fat Charlie. “Small, old as the hills. Thick glasses. I suppose we’ll just have to go and get the feather from her. Then we’ll give it back to the Bird Woman. She’ll call off this nightmare.” Fat Charlie finished the last of the bottled water, carried here from the little square somewhere that wasn’t Italy. He screwed the top back onto the bottle and put the empty bottle down into the darkness, wondering if it was littering if no one was ever going to see it. “So let’s hold hands and go and see Mrs. Dunwiddy.”
Spider made a noise. The noise was not cocky. It was unsettled and unsure. In the darkness Fat Charlie imagined Spider deflating, like a bullfrog or a week-old balloon. Fat Charlie had wanted to see Spider taken down a peg; he had not wanted to hear him make a noise like a terrified six-year-old. “Hang on. You’re scared of Mrs. Dunwiddy?”
