Lyrebird Read online

  ‘But – you have to go to your parents’ house.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll have to take her with me. She won’t go with you to Dublin,’ he mutters, trying to slot her shopping bags and suitcase into the boot among their recording equipment.

  He waits for Bo to tell him no way, this is ridiculous, she is not allowing her boyfriend to travel with a young, beautiful strange woman to his family party, but instead when he looks up, she’s grinning broadly.

  ‘Laura,’ she calls, holding two thumbs up. ‘This is the best news. The best.’

  8

  ‘Snow White!’ Bo announces, slamming her beer bottle down on the table in the hotel bar, more loudly than she’d intended.

  Rachel laughs. Solomon shakes his head and reaches for the bowl of peanuts.

  ‘Seriously, she’s like a real-life Snow White,’ she says excitedly. ‘I could definitely pitch that. Lives in the forest, sings to the fucking animals.’

  Solomon and Rachel can’t help but laugh at that, and at Bo’s intensity. Bo’s tipsy, her eyes are shining, her cheeks are rosy as they discuss plans for the documentary. Instead of going home, Bo managed to talk Rachel into staying for two more days. They’ll stay at the hotel in Gougane Barra for two nights, film during the day at the cottage, go their separate ways for the weekend, return to Cork on Sunday night. She can’t help herself and her excitement is contagious, both Solomon and Rachel find it impossible to say no. Laura is upstairs in her bedroom, a connecting room to theirs, which they’d filmed her entering. Bo had filmed everything. Laura’s first baby-steps into the big bad world, not that there had been anything dramatic to capture. Laura hadn’t been raised by wolves, she knew how to handle herself. Everything remained inside of her, contained. Rachel captured Laura sitting in the car, for the first time in ten years, the cottage disappearing in the background behind the bat house. Laura didn’t look back, though she mimicked the engine starting up. When Laura left the Toolin property her face never changed. She quietly, slowly absorbed everything around her; it was calming to watch, as hypnotic as watching a new born baby. And while everything seemed locked inside of her, her sounds seeped out and revealed a little about her.

  ‘I feel like we have a child,’ Bo had joked to Solomon, about the connecting room, before shuddering.

  ‘If Laura is Snow White, who is the evil witch who locked her up?’ Rachel asks.

  ‘Her grandmother,’ Solomon replies, his tongue feeling loose. Considering he’d been falling asleep all day, he’s wide awake now. ‘But not evil. If anything, well-intentioned.’

  ‘All evil people think they’re well-intentioned in some shape or form,’ Bo says. ‘Manson thought his murders would precipitate the apocalyptic race war … What about Rapunzel?’

  ‘What about Mowgli?’ Rachel jokes.

  Bo ignores her. ‘Trapped in a cottage, on the top of a mountain, cut off from the world. And she has long blonde hair and is beautiful,’ she adds. ‘Not that it should make a difference, but it does and we all know it.’ She points a finger in both Solomon and Rachel’s faces to prevent them from objecting, not that they were going to.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re going for Disney movies,’ Rachel says. ‘Is it a commercial thing?’

  ‘Because this feels fairytale-like. Laura has that ethereal feel, other-worldly, don’t you think?’

  Of course Solomon agrees, he’s felt that all along and perhaps he was wrong, foolish even, to think that he was the only one who was affected by Laura.

  ‘She talks to animals and birds,’ Bo offers. ‘That’s quite Disney.’

  ‘De Niro talked to the mirror,’ Rachel suggests. ‘Shirley Valentine to the wall.’

  ‘Not quite the same thing,’ Bo smiles.

  ‘She doesn’t talk to them, she imitates them,’ Solomon explains. ‘There’s a difference.’

  ‘The imitator. The imitatress.’

  ‘Gendered titles, from a feminist such as yourself. You should be ashamed,’ Rachel teases, signalling the barman for another round.

  ‘Echoes of Laura.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Rachel says. ‘For True Movies.’

  ‘She mimics,’ Solomon says, thinking aloud. ‘She repeats things that she hasn’t heard before, a few times, until she gets it right. Maybe it’s to understand them. She makes distressed sounds when she feels endangered, like the barking, growling, car alarm sounds when we first met her. She associates those sounds with danger or defence.’

  They’re both hanging on to his analysis.

  ‘Interesting,’ Rachel nods along. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a language to it.’

  ‘Hadn’t you?’ Solomon asks. It had seemed clear to him. The sounds were all different. Sympathetic when whimpering with Mossie, defensive, on the attack when she was surrounded. Mimicking Solomon’s throat-clearing when she recognises when he’s uncomfortable or generally an uncomfortable situation. The sounds make sense to him. Entirely peculiar, but there seems to be a pattern to them.

  ‘Laura’s Language,’ Bo says, continuing her search for a title.

  ‘So she’s a mimic,’ Rachel says. ‘Laura the Mimic.’

  ‘That’s deep,’ Bo laughs.

  ‘She doesn’t mimic actions or movements. Just sounds,’ Solomon says.

  They both think about it.

  ‘I mean she’s not on all fours, growling like a dog, or running around the room and flapping her arms like a bird. She repeats sounds.’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘Our friend the anthropologist,’ Rachel says raising her new pint towards him.

  ‘Anthropologist, now that’s a good idea,’ Bo says, reaching for her pen and paper. ‘We need to speak to one of them about her.’

  ‘There’s a bird somewhere, that imitates sounds,’ Solomon says, not listening to the two of them. ‘I saw it on a nature programme a while ago.’ He thinks hard, mind foggy from the jet lag and now alcohol.

  ‘A parrot?’ Rachel offers.

  Bo giggles.

  ‘No.’

  ‘A budgie.’

  ‘No, it imitates all sounds. Humans, machines, other birds, I saw it on a documentary.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Bo reaches for her phone. ‘Bird that imitates sounds.’

  She searches for a moment. Suddenly her phone starts playing loudly and as the customers turn to her again, she quickly apologises and lowers the volume.

  ‘Sorry. This is it.’

  They huddle around to watch a two-minute clip of David Attenborough and a bird that mimics the sounds of other birds, a chainsaw, a mobile phone, the shutter of a camera.

  ‘That’s exactly like Laura,’ Rachel says, prodding the screen with her greasy salty peanut finger.

  ‘It’s called a lyrebird,’ Bo says, deep in thought. ‘Laura the Lyrebird.’

  ‘The Lyrebird,’ Rachel says.

  ‘No,’ Solomon shakes his head. ‘Just Lyrebird.’

  ‘Love it,’ Bo grins. ‘That’s it. Congratulations, Solomon, your first title!’

  Elated, they call it a night at midnight and return to their bedrooms.

  ‘I thought you were tired,’ Bo smiles as Solomon nuzzles into her neck, as she opens the door with a keycard. She misses a few times, her aim off. ‘You’re like a vampire, coming alive at night,’ she giggles.

  He nibbles at her neck, which reminds him of a bat, which reminds him of the bat house, which reminds him of Laura, who is in the room next door, which knocks him off course, which makes him loosen his grip on Bo. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice as she finally gets the key in the door and pushes it open.

  ‘I wonder if she’s awake,’ Bo whispers.

  Laura close to his mind, Solomon pulls Bo close to him, kisses her.

  ‘Wait,’ Bo whispers. ‘Let me listen.’

  She pulls away and moves to the connecting door to Laura’s room. She pushes her ear to the door and while she listens, Solomon starts undressing her.

  ‘Sol,’ she laughs. ‘I’m trying to do research!’ />
  He pulls her underwear from her foot and throws it over his shoulder. He starts at her ankle and kisses his way up her leg, licking the inside of her thigh.

  ‘Never mind,’ Bo gives up on her research and turns her back to the door.

  In bed, Bo lets out moans of delight.

  Solomon pulls her down to him, to kiss her, and as their lips lock, he hears the sounds of pleasure again. Bo’s sounds. But they’re not coming from Bo, they’re coming from the connecting door. They both freeze.

  Bo looks at Solomon. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispers.

  Solomon looks at the connecting door. The light from the bathroom is illuminating the otherwise dark room. Though the door on their side is still closed, Laura must have opened her own connecting door and is listening at their door.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Bo repeats, getting off Solomon and pulling the bedclothes around her protectively.

  ‘She can’t see you,’ he says.

  ‘Sssh.’

  Solomon’s heart pounds, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Even if Laura can’t see them, he’s sure she can hear them.

  ‘I don’t care, that’s sick.’

  ‘It’s not sick.’

  ‘For fuck sake, Solomon,’ she hisses, disgusted with him.

  They listen out but there’s no further sound.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she hisses, watching him get out of bed.

  He goes to the connecting door and pushes his ear to the cold wood. He imagines Laura right on the other side, doing the same thing. Her first night away from her cottage, perhaps they were wrong to leave her alone for a few hours. He hopes she’s okay.

  ‘Well?’ she asks, as he gets back into bed.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What if she’s nuts, Sol?’ she whispers.

  ‘She’s not nuts.’

  ‘Like crazy psycho-killer nuts.’

  ‘She’s not.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I don’t … it was your idea to bring her here.’

  ‘That’s helpful.’

  He sighs. ‘Can’t we at least finish?’

  ‘No. That’s freaked me right out.’

  Solomon sighs, rests his arms behind his head and stares, feeling wide awake, at the ceiling. Bo lies on top of him, her leg across his body, so he can’t even finish himself off, while she sleeps. Fully awake now, and unsatisfied.

  He throws the covers off and moves so that Bo will get off him.

  ‘If you’re going to wank in the toilet, you better be quiet or the Lyrebird will be repeating your every sound for the next two weeks on camera,’ Bo warns, sleepily.

  He rolls his eyes and gets back into bed, the mood completely killed.

  At some stage he falls asleep listening to the sound of Laura listening to him.

  9

  Solomon wakes in the morning to an empty bed. The connecting door is open a fraction. He sits up and gets his bearings. He hears Bo’s voice drifting out to him. Gentle but organisational.

  ‘Joe has agreed that we can have access to the cottage for today so that we can film you there. We can see you go about your day, what you do, how you live, that kind of thing. And then I’ll ask you a few questions about how you see the future, what you’d like to do with your life. So maybe think about those kinds of things.’

  Silence.

  ‘Do you have these answers now?’

  Silence.

  Solomon gets out of bed and pads naked across the room to the door. He peeks through the crack in the door and sees them, Laura sitting on the bed, the back of Bo’s head.

  ‘Okay, that’s okay, you don’t have to answer my questions now. But you do understand what we’re planning?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘We’ll film today and tomorrow, break for the weekend, and then return on Monday. Is that okay with you?’

  ‘I’m going to be with Solomon in Galway at the weekend.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Awkward silence.

  ‘Last night, Laura …’

  Silence.

  Solomon closes his eyes and cringes, wishing Bo would just let it go. It was the first night in ten years that Laura had slept in a different bed, a different room. Everything was different. Bo’s sounds had been new for Laura, mimicking them was her way of understanding, that was all, he wishes Bo could get that and leave it.

  ‘Em, last night I heard you make a sound. While I was in bed.’

  Laura makes the sound again, an exact replica of Bo’s pleasured moans, as if she had recorded it and was playing it from her voice box.

  Solomon bites his lip, tries not to laugh.

  ‘Yes. That.’ Bo is mortified.

  ‘You want that in your film?’

  Solomon peeks through the crack again, to get a look at Laura, he noticed the change in the tone of her voice. It’s playful. She’s playing with Bo. Bo, on the other hand, misses it.

  ‘No!’ she says, laughing nervously. ‘You see that, what you heard, was private, a private moment between me and …’ Bo pauses, not wanting to mention Solomon.

  ‘Sol,’ Laura says, repeating the name exactly as Bo does. It’s Bo’s voice coming from Laura’s mouth.

  ‘Jesus. Yes.’

  ‘Solomon’s your boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Solomon swallows, his heart pounding once again.

  ‘Is that … okay?’ Bo asks.

  ‘Okay for who?’

  ‘For you. Okay with you,’ Bo replies, confused.

  Laura clears her throat awkwardly but it’s not her sound, it’s Solomon’s. She looks quickly in the direction of the door and he realises she knows he’s been listening. He smiles and walks away, to the shower.

  They spend Thursday filming Laura’s home. After realising that, under observation, Laura had a tendency to freeze up and look at the camera, lost, Bo has come up with a plan to film her making vegetable soup. This is something that Laura is comfortable with. At first she is wary of their presence, self-conscious of their eyes and camera on her. Then, as she gets lost in what she’s doing, she visibly relaxes. They stay back, trying not to be intrusive, though as unnatural as three people with recording equipment in a forest are. She mimics their sounds less as she moves around.

  She tends to her fruit-and-vegetable patch, she forages for herbs; wild garlic is plentiful along the streams and shady areas, she picks the larger leaves and flower heads that have blossomed.

  She doesn’t speak very much, sometimes hardly at all. Bo asks her to describe what she’s found in the ground but then she stops, deciding that this is going to be one of those documentaries, much like The Toolin Twins, where their audio will have to be added to the visuals at a later date, when answers can come from direct questions. Laura is no narrator but she does mimic the bird-calls; the birds seem puzzled, or at least convinced by her authenticity from afar, and reply to her.

  Bo is buzzing, this much is obvious. They all are. They work together as silently as possible, respecting Laura’s need for that. Between filming, their chat is kept to a minimum, basic communication. Hand gestures, a word here and there. It is possibly the quietest day of Solomon’s life, not just because he’s had to stay quiet – he’s used to that – but most of his days are spent listening to others. Despite filming on the same mountain as The Toolin Twins, there is a distinct difference between the feel, sounds and rhythms. What they’ve got here is a completely different documentary. This is lyrical, musical, even magical. The images of Laura working her way through the forest, her white-blonde hair and calm disposition, are stunning, unearthly. It brings Solomon back to that first moment he saw her, how she’d quite literally taken his breath away. He could watch her all day. He could listen to her all day. He does. And with her sound pack clipped on her clothes, the microphone on her T-shirt, he can practically hear every breath and heartbeat. Yet when he looks at her, when their eyes meet, there’s nothing dainty about her. She’s strong. She’s firm. Th
at mind of hers is solid.

  Laura stands up from the forest floor and stretches her back. She looks up at the sky, breathes in and, as if remembering the crew are there, she turns around and lifts the basket into the air.

  ‘What did you get?’ Bo asks, delighted Laura is ready for conversation.

  ‘Wild garlic, it’s good for flavouring soups. Also good for coughs and the chest. I use it for a wild garlic, onion and potato soup. I’ve got mushrooms …’ She runs her long fingers over the array of mushrooms.

  ‘How do you know these are safe?’

  Laura laughs, her laugh is older than she appears. She makes a vomiting sound, one so real it plays with Rachel’s gag reflex, yet she doesn’t seem to notice her sound, it’s as if a memory for her has come alive through her own sound, as an image would flash in somebody else’s mind.

  ‘Trial and error for the first few years,’ Laura explains, then runs her hands over the food in the basket. ‘These are pig nuts, also known as fairy potatoes. They’re good roasted. Alexanders, they’re like celery. Nettles, gorse blossom for blossom jelly and garlic mustard. It’s a wild member of the cabbage family, good for marinating meat. I like this because you can eat all parts of the plant, roots, leaves, flowers and seeds. The root makes tasty garlic mustard root vinegar.’

  ‘Okay, great, thanks.’ Bo smiles happily.

  Inside the cottage, she opens her cupboards to show them her collection of food that has been pickled, dried and canned. She preserves the fruits and vegetables that don’t grow in the winter, when her diet would otherwise grow monotonous. That’s when she really relies on what Tom gives her. Gave her. She pauses, checks herself, before continuing. She is confident, proud of her work on her food and she is happy to talk about it. Her sentences are short and limited, of course, but for her, to offer any information unprompted is a sign of her confidence, which grows throughout the filming day.

  She makes her soup that she then offers to them to taste. Bo politely sips a spoonful. Solomon and Rachel finish their bowls.