Heaven Eyes by David Almond Read Free Book Online Page A

there’ll just be fettling to do.”
    He smiled and sighed.
    “Aye,” he said. “A little bit of fettling.”
    “It’s Friday,” I whispered.
    He stared.
    “It’s not Tuesday that’s over. It’s Friday,” I said.
    He scratched his head. Black dust fell from it.
    “Sorry,” I said.
    He turned back the pages in his book.
    “Friday,” he whispered. “Friday over, Saturday to come. You’re befuddled, Grampa.”
    He stroked his beard.
    “Ah, well. Ah, well.”
    “Who are you?” I said.
    “Who?”
    “Where you from? Why are you here?”
    His face twisted. He tilted his head and looked at me from the corner of his eye, as if he couldn’t focus on me properly, as if I was a figment of his imagination.
    “I remember many things,” he whispered. “I remember I was all alone. I remember I did dig out Heaven Eyes one starry night from the mud of the Black Middens. Long long time ago. Long ago as she has been alive. I remember I am caretaker and always been the caretaker. But I do not remember many other things.”
    He rubbed his eyes, focused on me, wrote again.
    “You dug her out?” I said. “What do you mean, you dug her out?”
    “Grampa is the caretaker,” he said. “Grampa dug out Heaven from the Middens one starry night. This is long long time back and much in memory does fade away. Heaven Eyes is called Heaven Eyes cos she does see through all the grief and trouble in the world to the heaven that does lie beneath. There are days that come and nights that come and tides that turn. There is chocolates that are the sweetest chocolates of all.”
    He fingered the peak of the helmet on his desk. His eyes cleared for a moment and he stabbed his finger toward me.
    “No shenanigans! You hear? None of your shenanigans.”
    “No,” I said.
    He rolled his eyes and calmed again.
    “Never mind. Tomorrow will shed light,” he murmured.
    He sang again. I carefully moved Heaven’s head from my arm and I stood up.
    He watched me as I moved about the room. I touched the bones and the rusted tools. I stared down into boxes of shining pebbles. I felt the letters beneath my feet. There was a framed photograph on the wall: a young man in a uniform like Grampa’s in brilliant sunshine by the river. I leaned close. Was this the same man, years and years ago? I turned and met his eye.
    “You?” I said.
    No answer. He looked right through me.
    “Were you the caretaker, all those years ago?”
    No answer. He turned his eyes away, went back to his writing.
    There was a photograph of ships lined up on the quayside with great cranes above them, many men working on the quays in caps and overalls. There was a photograph of the greatest bridge as it was being built, the arms of the arch reaching toward each other across the water. There was a photograph of the printing works, lit by sunlight falling through the skylights, huge sheets of printed papers streaming out beneath the wings of eagles and angels.
    January, Mouse and Heaven slept. Grampa murmured, sang and wrote. I went to his shoulder and looked down at his pages. At the head was printed: SECURITY REPORT, then DATE and NAME and POSITION. He had written
Tuesday
, crossed it out, replaced it with
Friday
, and written
Grampa
and
Caretaker.
The pages were crammed with tiny writing, with drawings ofHeaven and her webbed fingers, with drawings of we three: black shapes on the Black Middens with the moon gleaming above. I saw our names recorded there: Erin, Janry and Mows.
    “We came across the river,” I whispered.
    “They crost the riva,” he whispered and wrote.
    “We came from Whitegates in St. Gabriel’s.”
    “They cum from Gaybrils.”
    “We are damaged children, but we are happy.”
    “They ar hapy hapy.”
    “I once lived with my mum. We had a little house above the river. It was our Paradise.”
    I smiled as my story appeared beneath his hand, weaving its way into the tale of Heaven Eyes, into the mysteries contained in his huge book.
    “Write it,”