Читать книгу A Glasgow Trilogy - George Friel - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

The special meeting was a nervous, frightened affair. Even Savage was slightly scared. Percy spoke so long and so mournfully on the dangers and responsibilities of their position, his brooding eyes seeming to see right into their trembling souls, that he gave them all the jitters. At one point they would mostly have settled gladly for five bob if that would let them out of it, but then he spoke of the freedom before them if they were obedient and faithful, and they saw a lifetime of happiness ahead.

‘Now, to avoid any suspicion and to make sure yous are not found out,’ he said, ‘I’m only going to allow yous a little at a time, and yous’ll get it only for a particular purpose, something you want right away, and you’ll tell me what it is, otherwise you won’t get it, so that nobody’ll ever find you with a lot of money on you. Now, I can’t always be watching yous, and there’s three of you got a key to the side door and any of yous could slip down through the basement during school hours if you were willing to take the risk of being caught by the janitor, so we’ll make a gentlemen’s agreement to do it my way and never go behind my back to take any of it on your own.’

He explained a gentlemen’s agreement to them, and to begin with he limited them to the silver. It kept them from buying anything big enough to arouse comment from the gossips at the close-mouth in the tenements round about, and it kept the younger members happy enough. A couple of half-crowns was wealth to them. But he knew he was only postponing the problem of what to do about the folding money. He heard a murmuring against him in the higher ranks of the Brotherhood. Skinny supported him, but Savage was niggling and Specky was slippery.

‘Ah, but look,’ Skinny argued when Savage wanted to remove the paper money in handfuls, ‘we made a gentlemen’s agreement. You can’t break a gentlemen’s agreement, that’s the whole point about a gentlemen’s agreement, you can’t break it, that’s why Percy made us make it. Percy’s right, you know, Percy’s shrewd.’

‘To hell with Percy!’ Savage spat.

‘You’d only spoil everything any other way,’ said Specky. ‘I hate to admit it, but you’ve got to. But what he ought to do is give us more or put one of the chests aside for us and nobody else.’

‘Gentlemen’s agreement!’ cried Savage. ‘Where’s the gentlemen? Him, he’s only a janny’s son. Mind you, my old man’s a gentleman all right, he hasn’t worked for fifteen year. Us three could empty those chests in a week. We could stash it somewhere else. We’re the only ones with a key, we could slip in any time at all. Nobody would know.’

‘Percy would know,’ Specky pointed out so quickly that Savage saw he had thought of it himself already. ‘Then the rest of them would get to know and they’d start coming in through the door in the basement.’

‘And if you make it a free-for-all you’ll only get us all caught,’ Skinny complained. ‘Somebody would clype. I bet you wee Garry would go to the cops. It’s only because Percy’s took charge that he’s keeping quiet. Oh, he loves Percy! He thinks Percy’s wonderful! Take away Percy and it would be a disaster. Garry would shop us in an hour.’

‘I’m afraid that’s right,’ Specky conceded sadly. ‘You’ve got to keep the agreement, for a bit anyway. Percy’s right enough in a way. Ye canny give pound notes to folk like Pinkie and wee Noddy and Cuddy.’

‘What could they buy?’ Skinny asked earnestly. ‘If they started spending big money where could they put whatever they bought? Folk would be bound to notice. What could Noddy put in a single-end for example?’

‘Him?’ said Savage flippantly. ‘He’s that stupit he’d buy a grand piano and try and hide it under the kitchen sink. He’s real daft about music. Give him a tune he’s never heard before and he’ll play it for you right off on the mouth-organ.’

‘He’s got a super one now all right,’ Skinny remarked. ‘Made in Germany. He got one made in Germany because Percy said the Germans were the best in the world at music like the Spaniards at football.’

‘Percy patted him on the head when he said what he was going to buy with his ration and told him he was a very wise boy for putting it to a good use,’ Specky said, and shook his head at the memory.

‘Ach, the Rangers could beat them any time,’ Savage bridled.

‘Don’t talk wet,’ said Specky. ‘They never even qualified to meet Real Madrid, sure Eintracht slaughtered them.’

‘They were lucky,’ Savage said, and waved his hands in front of Specky’s face to wave the topic away. ‘A ten-bob mouth-organ’s all right for Noddy, but I want mair nor that. I want ready cash in my pocket.’

‘Aye, it would be rare,’ Skinny said.

‘Instead of this percy-monious weekly ration,’ Specky said brightly, looking round for a laugh but the word was unknown to his comrades, and he sighed at the company he had to keep.

Percy was worried. He knew what they were thinking, he could guess what they were saying. He slept badly, wondering how to control them, and the solution came to him in disturbed dreams. But he didn’t tell them he had dreamt of the solution, he told them that what he had to do was revealed to him in a dream. Maybe it was because his mother had laughed at him for comparing himself to Moses, but he had a dream about Moses and found help in it. He dreamt he was on a mountain top and the clouds were all around him and he couldn’t see anything but a grey mist that chilled him to the bone. Then suddenly the mist was gone and there was a risen sun and everything was made clear to him though he couldn’t put it into words. He went down to the plain by a winding stony path, running sure-footed like a mountain goat, full of zest for the new way of life revealed to him. He found the Brotherhood anxiously awaiting him and he raised his hand and blessed them and they were sheep and he was their shepherd, and somehow he was holding a crook in his hand though he hadn’t been holding one before.

A sheer coincidence gave substance to his vague dream. Turning the pages of the same dictionary where he had found that claviger meant a keyholder he saw the word ‘bethel’ and stopped at it because it was the name of the street where he lived. The dictionary said that bethel meant a Methodist church and came from the Hebrew Beth-El, the House of God. The discovery set him trembling with excitement, for he knew that as a poet he must believe in the magic of words, and it came to him in a flash of inspiration that El wasn’t only the God of the Hebrews, it was also in one of its forms the sign for the pound note. It was more than a coincidence to him. It had a meaning. It was a revelation, completing the revelation of his dream. The street called the House of God contained the cellar that contained the pound notes, and the pound notes were El and he was the prophet of El just as much as Moses was. He felt the burden of the elect upon him.

He intimidated the Brotherhood by the force of his will for power over them, by the nagging of his cracked voice, by the solemnity of his face. He gathered them in the cellar and spoke to them like a preacher.

‘Yous has all been poor neglected boys all your life, without a good suit to your name or a good pair of shoes, but God has a special care for the poor and underprivileged, and sometimes He reveals Himself to them, like He done to the Jews. He chose the Jews and that’s what He’s did to you, He’s chose you to get the good of this manna from Heaven to help you in the desert,’ cause you see this life is like a desert. He chose you, He didn’t choose boys from Govan or the Gorbals or Maryhill or Partick or Whiteinch, no, He chose you. Just think about that. Just think what that means. It might have been anybody and it was yous. Now that proves you are the chosen people, only you need a lawman like the Jews had Moses. Well, I’m your lawman, and you have got to do like I say or else.’

He believed they had been chosen because he believed he had been chosen, and they had to believe it too. There was a halo round his head, a vision in his eyes, authority in his voice. They were only children, he frightened them – especially when he threatened what would happen if they committed the sin of disobedience. The youngest weren’t sure if he meant they would go to hell for ever or go to jail for ever. He made them all take a new and more elaborate blood oath, and when they had taken it they had to make the sign of the El. He showed them how to do it. They drew the index finger of the right hand across the eyes from left to right, up over the brow in a loop, and down the line of the nose to the chin. Then they traced another loop to the left and came back along the jawbone and up to the right ear. The sign was completed by drawing two parallel lines across the tip of the nose and upper lip. It was the sign of the £ drawn on their face, the symbol of the god they were now to serve.

He had written the oath on a little card he held in his hand, with a bar between the phrases to keep him right as he read it out.

‘Repeat after me,’ he said, and they repeated the phrases.

‘I solemnly swear – I solemnly swear – not to reveal – not to reveal – the place of the treasure – the place of the treasure – to anybody – to anybody – and I solemnly swear – and I solemnly swear – not to speak of the treasure – not to speak of the treasure – outside this cellar – outside this cellar – nor to touch the treasure – nor to touch the treasure – without permission – without permission – of the Regent Supreme – of the Regent Supreme.’

They took the oath standing. When they knelt down he said the rest for them, making it sound more frightening than they could ever have managed in their own unguided treble.

‘And if I break this oath may the Brotherhood break the bones of my thighs. If I speak of the treasure outside the cellar let my tongue be burnt with a soldering iron, and if I touch the treasure without the Regent’s permission may the hand that commits the offence be eaten by the rats in the cellar and may my arms be paralysed, withered and shrivelled till they drop off like a dead leaf from the trees in autumn.’

He made the Clavigers take the same oath, to remind them that they were his subordinates and they too could touch the money only with his permission.

Zealous, sincere and worried, oppressed by his responsibility for them and for so much money, he never thought what he himself might do with it. He was too busy driving them far beyond a mere gentlemen’s agreement, imposing on them a religious attitude, a true piety, towards the uncounted wealth.

He was surprised how quickly and easily he got it all going the way he wanted. He declared the word ‘money’ tabu. They were never to use it to say what was in the cellar. They were to say ‘El’. He told them it was the only safe word to use. The other word would give away their secret and bring a terrible punishment. He said they would all get scabies, chickenpox, dysentery and measles if they ever used it.

Savage was just as frightened as the rest of them by Percy’s talk, but he couldn’t entirely conquer his natural flippancy, even for blood oaths, candlelight, hymn-singing and bell-ringing. Halfway through one of Percy’s early sermons on the almighty power of El he nudged Specky and whispered, giggling, ‘If you want anything, go to El!’ He chanted audibly a counting-out rhyme used by Glasgow children, an obscure rhyme from an unknown source, supposed by local antiquaries to be of Druidic origin.

El, El, Domin – El,

Eenty, teenty, figgerty – fel!

Percy heard him and was shocked. He knew there was danger to them all in irreverence. Their secret would be safe only if he could make them appreciate the sacredness of what they had found. They must be made to understand that the finding of the money imposed a great piety on them. He must bind them to an unquestioning respect for himself as the person who had first led them to the land where El had appeared to them. They must have faith. They must be made to see it was a divine revelation, and they must obey him as its medium.

He thought of expelling Savage, but he was afraid it might make him an enemy, a spiteful Ishmael who would go to the pagan world outside the cellar with a story of hidden treasure and come back with a band of freebooters to invade the sanctuary of El. The fear of it kept him awake at night, fretting. It was no joke being in charge of a crowd of children. So he spoke to Savage privately and told him it was a matter of policy to make the Brotherhood respect the holy name of El. If they didn’t, it would mean complete lawlessness and nobody would win. They would all lose everything.

‘Aye, I see fine what you’re after,’ Savage answered, and grinned with an at heist’s insolence at the gangling Regent. ‘You’re right enough. You’re a fly big bugger, aren’t you? It’s the only way to keep these stupid bastards in order. But you don’t expect me to believe all that tripe about El revealing himself to us because we’re a chosen people, now do you?’

‘Why not?’ Percy asked coldly. ‘I believe in El, why shouldn’t you? You think you’re too clever maybe? Let me tell you, there are more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horace. And just let me warn you, you’d better believe in El in front of the Brotherhood or I’ll cut you off from El altogether.’

He made them make the sign of the El at every meeting and rang the bell three times before they filed forward for their weekly allowance. Inspired by his position as their guide, philosopher and friend he made up a hymn for them to the tune of The Ash Grove, careful to work in his own name as an essential item in what he called the ‘relevation’ of El.

Down, down in our cellar, where rubbish concealed him,

When daylight is fading, we bow unto El,

And promise to follow the one who revealed him.

So sing Percy’s praises and ring out the bell.

After that they chanted with gusto to the tune of ‘Boney Was a Warrior’, ‘El is our salva-ti-on, rah, rah, rah!’ They particularly enjoyed the ‘rah, rah, rah’ bit, and Percy was thrilled to have a choir of his own even if it wasn’t just as good as the Vienna Boys’.

For nearly a month he lived more delighted with the success of converting the gang into a reverent congregation than with his lordship over the money. He was proving himself a poet at last. He was a sacred bard whose job it was to create and maintain the religious secrets of his tribe. All he bought for himself was a plush-covered copy of Shelley’s poems, and a portable typewriter to type his own poems for publication once he got them written down. Later on he could get whatever else he wanted, there was always tomorrow. Meanwhile he kept the Brotherhood in order, he accepted only reasonable demands for money, and he advised them how to spend what they asked for. Still excited with the miracle performed for them, the boys didn’t think of asking for much. Like Percy they found their satisfaction in dreaming of the future, when they could have whatever they wanted. Like him, they enjoyed the secrecy and the mystery of it, they loved the hymn-singing and the bell-ringing in candlelight, the sense of belonging to a chosen people when they made the sign of the El. It was better than going to church. They could understand it. They could see what they were asked to adore and they felt it concerned them and the real world they lived in. The Clavigers stopped murmuring and bided their time.

‘Ach he’s out of this world altogether,’ Specky said pityingly. ‘He’s round the bend. He’s carrying on like a real Holy Willie.’

‘Aye, he’s round the bend all right,’ Skinny agreed sadly. ‘Do you know I don’t think he’s touched a penny of it for himself.’

‘No, just a few fivers,’ said Savage. ‘There are nae pennies in it. Nothing so common. I bet he’s been shifting it in wads every night in the week when we’re no’ there.’

‘Oh, I don’t believe that,’ Specky said reproachfully.

‘How would we know if he wasn’t?’ Savage demanded. ‘Tell me that and tell me no more. Don’t forget it was never counted. To this day it hasna been counted. He could dae what he likes wi’ it. He could tell us in another month it was all done, and we couldn’t argue. Ye know, he had a bloody cheek making us give him back our keys. Clavigers! He likes big words. I bet ye he likes big money too.’

‘Well, after all it was him that gave them to us,’ Skinny said. ‘They were his to start with. It was him got them cut from the key his old man had.’

‘You know, I could apply my boot to my posterior,’ said Specky. ‘I should have got one cut before I gave him mine back. I should have anticipated some such manoeuvre on his behalf.’

‘You mean you didn’t expect him to do that?’ Savage asked, and grinned, his animal teeth on a victory parade.

Unable to resist showing off he thrust his hand into the back pocket of his tight studded jeans and showed them a new key.

‘I thought of it all right,’ he boasted. ‘I used the loaf. It’s time you brushed up your IQ, Specky.’

‘You can’t brush up an IQ,’ Specky tutted at him. ‘An IQ is the result of the primitive formation of your inherited characteristics from your paw and your maw. You can’t do a thing about it.’

‘Well, you could dust your brains then, couldn’t you?’ Savage retorted, shoving the key away in his back pocket again. He was content to wait. He had a key. He had the whip hand.