Читать книгу The Devil’s Highway - Gregory Norminton, Gregory Norminton - Страница 13

First come our boy Malk.

He hold the guidin stick, it bein his turn.

He hold Abans knife. The knife they take off Feo in the bad time.

Feo they slaver beat Malk so black Aban so blue one night they bled him like a porker.

Runnin ever since with the blade that done it.

Malk reckon a knife done red work cut a way for us. Stedders smell blood keep out its way an the way its people. Cant say for hoofers but they go sly an void the roads cos they gods say so.

Aban talk bout the roads. The Thirsty with its robbers. The Empty where stedders have they tolls. So many dangers on our way to West Cunny. West Cunny where the rains still fall. Where Malk Aban Efia Nathin Becca Rona Lan headin. The pastures there. Tight bellies plus an end to roamin.

Fastest ways the road, say Malk.

Walk on till wind spew up sand an grit. Becca Lan pull they hoods tight. Nathin spit. Efia look at the spit, how Momma swallow it like she swallow everythin.

On the road, say Aban, trollers see for miles.

Yeah an we see em too.

Trumpet finches bust up from the dunes. Aban put a hand on Malks arm, feel the muscles there. His bro, his mate from wayback.

Safer ways off road.

Aint nuthin but scrub an sand. What if we lose us?

Follow the sun. Least we stay hid.

I got the guidin stick.

Whats it tellin?

Malk look like he dont know.

Efia touch Malks neck. Trollers mean slavers, she say. You got pricey heads.

Malk feel Aban Efia Nathin Becca Rona Lan press eyes on him. He turn the guidin stick in his hand, feel the right grain of it, true grain that know the way an give rightness to its holder. Off roads slow, he say.

Nuthin slow like never arrivin.

The group all gree when Malk lift the guidin stick. Then Becca say she thirsty. Whole groups thirsty, say Rona, an suns gearin up for a hotten. One hour since dayup an the sands bakin, the airs meltin an carders workin up they skikishik. Lan give Becca the dregs from her jercan.

In a kayshas shade we share beetle grubs cook in last nights ashes. Nathin give up three strips of jerk he bin keepin in his belt. The stink of jerk bring flies. We sit flappin our swats. Long wait fall on us then. No thinks, just breathin. Rest our eyes on the plain, all swimmy like water tho there aint none. Watch birds hangin up high, specks turnin to wild dog, camel, blackbuck.

We cant stay here, say Malk. Grubs low an water too. How fars the nearest well?

The Winnel, say Nathin. Bout an hour. Half at night.

Stedder place, say Becca. Why risk it?

Cos we jercans empty, say Rona.

Winshams close, say Nathin. Shop there after.

Can do, say Aban. Need fresh legs if stedders catch us.

Well it is, say Malk liftin the guidin stick. Hole up an wet throats till nightfall. Then we shop at Winsham.

In parch time a waterin place show from its palms an willows. We creep in slow, lookin out for stedders. Fresh earth smells. Hoopoes in the branches. Soil between our toes cool an sucky after sand an dust. Only mud tho so long the dry an stream gone underground. In wintertime a waterin place flood again or should do. Old wintertimes leastways before the rains fail.

The Winnel have three wells. Two in use by stedders but one near us just gapin sayin, Coo-yoo, wet yer beaks here.

We run to the well our jercans ready. Nathin Aban bend they backs to lift the bucket. Soon as done the group fan out lookin for things to eat. Lan find a ditch of slime boilin with frogs. We catch the frogs, stuff em in our packs, skewer em on sharpsticks. Good eatin if we risk a fire. Not tonight tho. Best eat raw. Keep out of stedders sight. Fat up our nerves for shoppin.

Lan put a snail on her tongue an all the group laugh. Malk take out the knife an start to skin frogs. Efia watch the bodies fall at his feet like squirmy little blokes.

Our jercans full, we hole up the day in a cork grove. Far enuf from hearin but close enuf to watch. Sussin out the doins on the Winsham palisades.

When shadows spread, Aban crawl out thru scrub an grass to the gate of the sted. He look round, see women poundin grain, carryin water on they heads. Sentries dozin in a cedars shade. Others nabberin by the meetin tree. Creepin closer Aban find gaps in the fence, look at the market stalls. Suss out the grain store. Then snake an scrabble back to us.

Wassup, say Malk.

Hungers comin.

How so?

Winsham folk sellin goods an stocks. Fuelwood. Dung cakes. Nuthin blokes can sink they teef in.

Less blokes eat shit, say Lan.

What grains?

Sorghum. Maize. Meat too an cows blood.

Killin what they cant keep, say Rona.

The group turn quiet. Look into the trees so pictures in our heads stay hid. None of us as dont know the pain of hunger.

Abans first to bright up. Makes sense shop now then dunnit? Go in fast an quick.

Take what? You say theres nuthin sellin.

We aint buyin. Look they got grain stores on stilts. Keep rats an coons out give us nifty cover. Drill our way in.

Like in Whey Bitch, say Becca.

No, say Malk. This shop we get back. All on us.

What if some don’t, say Becca.

We go nifty. Not like last once.

Sez you, say Becca an Rona hug her for quiet. Malk take his eyes off Becca slow an warnin.

Boys go, say Nathin.

Balls, say Rona. You shop grain stores we scout the sted. See whats goin.

An the sentries?

Run if we can fight if we cant. Malk take up his sharpstick. On my signal, he say. Click an slick.

Slicks our movin. Clicks our speakin without words. All on us kneel in mud an black our faces.

When the sun cook like an egg on the ground, its time. Hoods down. Turbs in place. Pray patches on our clothin. Sit in our heads readyin for danger.

The sky hatch a fat moon. Nightspit on the grass an spidie threads like smoke on the ground. Cool breeze good as sleep after the blazin day.

Fires in the sted die out. Stedders go sleep in they huts. Only sentries pacin over the gate.

Now, say Malk an we move. Like Aban before we shift cross the plain to our bizness.

Malk bein strongest hoist us over. Lan Efia Rona Becca hide next a pigsty but Aban almost land on a billy, it run bleatin, bell janglin an Nathin go to split its throat but Malk stop him. Goats get spook for nuthin, he say, leave it be. Nathin nod tho his eyeballs dancin. Grains this way, say Aban an he click, Upyer.

Aban wriggle under the grain store. Down in the dark best not think on rats or spidies. Lan Efia Nathin follow with packs open an Aban use the drill. Happen the floors made of wood so he blow dust from his hands an spin till a breakthru. Nuthin here so start again. An again. Fourth time some grain come tricklin so he gouge hard with his sharpstick an out it come like steam. Aban shove fast now makin holes an everyones sweatin, the sand an sawdust in our eyes, our packs gapin yorr an gobbin up the spillin grain.

Outsight samewhile, Malk Rona Becca creepin bout the sted seein what they find tho nuthin much, all lock up for the night. Clothes dryin worth a trade. Some blokes hoe by a wall, a pair of sandals, a clutch of piggly pears. Malk Rona Becca drop when a watch pass nabberin too loud to know shoppers near.

More clicks from Aban. Lan Efia Nathin scrape clear of the grain store, packs bulgin. Malk Rona Becca scurry to join us but Lans pointin, Look, an all look at lights winkin an wavin in the huts. Lanterns movin in the darkness.

Quick!

First Becca Rona jump over an fall crump on other side. Aban next then Nathin but the crys up, the watch hollerin an lantern lights nippin at our faces. Lan hop, she skip like shes standin on hot sand an quick, shout Malk, quick, but Lan run from the chasin lights. Malk reach out but grab only the wind of her. Toss over his loot, his sharpstick, help Efia an take a run after, splinterin his fingers, warpin his nails to get over.

Other side of stockade its no use creepin. We run till our hearts bash gainst our ribs. Back to the grove. Find others, grab loot, get away from Lans cries.

Malk Efia tumble into the hidin place. Lost for thinks we say nuthin, only Beccas sobbin.

Lets go, say Nathin.

No, say Becca.

Winshams got Lan now. They learn our hideyway then come for us.

But Lan! You say we get back. All on us.

Malk say nuthin his head droppin but Aban see him look his way. Too late, Aban say. They got her now but she wont come to harm leastways not killin.

Forced hitchin, say Efia. Forced hitchin an sprogs till she die of one in her upways.

Or grindin, say Becca, till some bloke pox her.

Shes lost, say Malk. Like us if we dont shift. You on yer backs an Aban me kickin on a gibber.

Blokes voices on the plain. Lamps swingin, old church bells dangin an all Winsham up searchin for us. No time to say, Lan oh Lan, but uppin quick we check our packs an sharpsticks. Malk hand the guidin stick to Aban, nuthin sayin. Aban think before he take it but Malk push it an up it go in Abans fist.

We run cross scrub till dayup an stedders long gone back to bed.

Scaldin light an sky like a furnace door left open. Hidin in a wood of yewkas after a fire, leaves still hangin like yellow petals. Becca Rona Nathin Efia. Nathin with the guidin stick case Aban Malk dont make it back. They gone to Bad Shot to shift goods. Hopin news of the raid on Winsham dont beat em to it. Becca Rona moanin, Lan oh Lan, till it get too hot for moans an they sleep. Nathin turnin over the guidin stick praise it, stroke its carvins. Efia search for grubs an locusts tho in her head too its, Lan oh Lan. The group grieve but Efia reckon she an the group not always the same an her pains sharper an deeper cos Lan was her best her closest since they kids together in Roil Wells. How they scape the same fate. Hitchin to old blokes. Old blokes with land an plenty of kids from the wives they bust up havin em. Tho they moms say thats just The Way they aint gonna walk it. Live free together. Live on the run. All lost now an broke.

Samewhile up north, Malk Aban take booty into Bad Shot. Aban tell all this later. Later when we share whats done. Bad Shot he says a richer sted than Winsham, its walls stronger an more stedders on count of Thirsty Roads traffic an trade. Richer the sted the more talismans outsight. Bad Shots got all see-see boxes with they bust up eyes an coily tails. Heads of crits on poles. Grass dolls hangin from rusty nails. Keep out if you mean bad. Malk Aban mean good. Trade an scarper. No shoppin in Bad Shot. No riskin any lives.

Wassup, bloke at the gate say. Malk Aban stand whiles stedders frisk em an bung they snouts in our loot. Clothes, a hoe, a pair of sandals, some grain. Aban note the stedders in cammo like juntamen. Two on the ramparts holdin akays.

Hotten innit, say Malk but the stedders ignore him. One, a heavy bloke with a bust nose an face tattoos, point his cosh at him. Do you follow the Law, he say.

How so bro, say Malk.

How so you worship the Law yer maker an fear the Law yer breaker.

Oh for show, say Aban, for show.

Bad Shots a loyal sted an a christun.

We trade, say Aban, only with christun folk.

The big bloke suck his teeth lookin at em. Dont sound like hoofers, he say an gob over his shoulder. Biddy welcome.

Cheers, say Malk but he walk into the blokes cosh. Hot breath in his face an black eyes borin into him. Any grief, say the bloke, an kites ul peck out yer eyes.

Makes sense dunnit, say Aban.

The Law have eyes an see you. Send fleshflies to blow yer corse if you cross him. Malk Aban watch the cosh fall an draggin the loot they enter Bad Shot under the akays waitin muzzles.

Cheerful bloke, say Malk.

Cheerful sted, say Aban. Soon as done we best be off.

Rightyer, say Malk.

Bad Shot stink an swelt in the sun. Houses of tarp an breezeblock from the Fast Time manshuns. Stedders in white curters an jelabas. Women carryin water in bark pots. Bowleg kids young as five heave they bros an sissies on they backs. Smell of dead crits an donkey shit. Dogs skulkin for grub, cowerin gainst sticks or stones. More blokes in junta gear watchin from doorways. Aban whisper, Jorjes Army?

Malk shake his head. Long time since the junta send its army west. Boys find the market at a crossroads. Few stalls under canvas. Women pickin over dusty melons, piggly pears, roast locusts. Bunnies showin pink where they innards cut out, the bald flesh peppery with flies. Stedders eyes slide to the goods the boys carryin. Costin. Considerin. Aban find one stall got what they lookin for. What for a dewcloth, he ask the stall bloke.

What you got?

This hoe.

Bloke shake his head.

This hoe an these sandals.

Bloke or bitch?

Small bloke big bitch, say Malk an the stedder crack a smile. Got him now.

Bloke hand over a dewcloth. Know how to use it, he ask.

We know, say Malk. How bout plasters?

Some. You?

Malk Aban take out stole clothes but keep the grain hid in they packs. Stall bloke make a lemon suck face. For yer wife, say Aban. He tug out a yellow sari. Gotcha gain think Malk cos the blokes eyes bulge an, Maybe why not, he say, tryin too late to swallow his greedy look.

This for plasters an that bucket there.

Keep her smiling, say the stall bloke as he stow the sari out of sight. Where you boys from?

Whey Bitch, say Aban fast an easy. The Wen before that.

Wenners eh? Met a bloke once ran slave ships in Canny Wolf.

Dunno Canny Wolf, say Aban.

Tradin place innit. Where you headin?

Malk go shifty, look to move, but Aban play it fast. North, he say. Lookin for harvest work. No sooner the words loose than he want to catch em back cos the stall bloke frown an wall up gainst em. Best scapes forward, Aban think, an fearin a sweat on him he say, Wassup bro? North no good is it?

Dunno, say the stall bloke. Not up the Middens leastways. Word is its steds vee hoofers like when you was lads. The bloke lean close, his fat arm in his wares. Hoofers like weeds, he say. Pluck em up an they grow back all over. Cos of the Dry see an folk what grow stuff claimin land off the lifestock.

So whats new, say Malk.

Its numbers innit. Breed like rats them hoofers. Loud enuf for half Bad Shot to hear the bloke add, Ousters most on em. Not christun folk thats for show. Lose animals in the Dry an they raid a sted. Stedders wont have it an why should they? Call on Jorjes Army. Back to axes an mashtis.

Nuthin stedders cant sort out, say Aban, wantin to go. Jorjes lot ul see it right.

Rightyer but they – The stall bloke lean in again an whisper. They bring trouble an all. Looters do. Rob good folk soon as bad.

Aban Malk give no thinks to this. Seein as we headin west, fightin in the Middens no fret of ours. Fact, worse things get the better, cos stedders watchin hoofers mean less eyes for us. Aban Malk go to leave but the blokes not done. Like he want to warn the boys.

Looters bad enuf, he say. But worse follow.

Like what?

Slavers. Blokes huntin fresh meat. Bounty men.

Aban burn on a sudden hotter than the day call it. He drop his grain pack.

If theres a price, say the stall bloke, after kids whats grown up runnin –

Not our prob, say Malk.

For show for show. Still an I mean watchyer. For bounty men a lookylikes good enuf. Theres prizes on all sorts of heads. Crims on the run. Scaped slaves. You name it they lookin. Not so many blocks on bizness when wars afoot.

The boys get away fast as clever. Did the stall bloke know em? Guess they story? Fast an nabber free they barter clothes for saltmeat, rope an bundles of tarp. Grain goes for bags of sorghum an maize. Supplies better than Aban see in Winsham but here too signs of hunger. One bloke in a side streets skinnin a dog strung up by its back legs.

What yer think, say Malk as they shoulder they packs. Bout slaver talk an bounty men?

Think nuthin, say Aban. Nor say nuthin till we far from this shithouse. Silent they walk under the gate where the sentries sit, scannin the Thirsty for signs of trouble.

Crawlin thru scrub longside the Thirsty Road. Keepin low case stedder patrols or juntamen see us. Packs on our backs. Sweat drippin from our chins an guts full but brains hungerin for shade. On, keep on. Till Rona Becca crump to they knees.

Upyer, say Malk.

Upyer own, say Becca.

Crits aint stirrin, say Rona. Birds shush. Even carders restin.

Aban offer his jercan but Rona shake her head an push it back.

So Nathin Aban scout off ahead whiles Rona Becca Malk Efia rest in sharp an furzy shade. Soon Nathin Aban come back.

Got a place, say Nathin. Up the hill an not far off. No blokes about.

One bloke, say Aban. But he wont say nuthin.

Up at the ruin off the Thirsty we all look up. The corse hang from the gibber in a halo of flies. Eyes et by crows, face black like a bad fruit. Efia look at the square of bark danglin from the dead foot. She can read tho no one else can.

They hang him, she say, for startin a bush fire.

Way to go, say Nathin.

Stinks an all, say Rona. Leave him to his thinks.

Becca take Efias hand. We cant stay here, she say. Not next to that.

Best place for us, say Malk. Smell ul drive blokes elseways. Bad luck an cross a workin gibber.

Its bad luck is bad on us too, say Becca. Cant sleep the night an him rottin just outsight.

Malk pull angry at the pray patch in his cloak. Look, he say. Alla Man give em to us. Magic powers in magic words from far off. Magic an the Laws word.

So, say Becca.

So we got cover. Words keep danger off.

An we think good on the corse, say Efia, puttin a hand on Beccas neck, corse think good on us. Right?

The group all gree till Becca stop her moanin.

Into the ruin we go. Nuthin but a dusty shell, tho cooler in than out. Some keep watch while others sleep. Efia sit with Aban. She look round the room wonderin if its a Fast Time manshun. Not built for now, thats for show. In Roil Wells back when she serve in a salt merchants house, it were tall an deep an dark, it were like a net to catch the breeze. Him an his wife baskin in it like fish in water. This ruin tho made for easy livin. No breeze holes nor ducts save whats done by time an weather.

Tell me, say Efia, what you see.

Aban shrug. He watch the road all slick like a river of heat. Sand each side like a cauldron simmerin. Land curvin off in a smudge of haze.

Efia drink from her jercan an Aban from his. Share some saltmeat an beetle grubs from the yewka grove.

Beccas fraid, say Efia.

Aint she always?

Rona keep her strong but she cant carry her all the way.

Dont worry bout Becca.

You reckon its true, say Efia. Bout the patch magic?

Dont you?

Dunno. Aint what I hold to.

Its what we got.

Efia Aban sit sweatin with no more thinks between em. So begin the Numb. Waitins not the word, for waitins a doin an the Numb dont act nor want neither. Its like gettin to be a stone. Or a lizard on a rock. Head empty an heart slow. No pictures, no sayin. All shut down till the heat drop. Wait without waitin for time to start again.

Aban stand when Malk Rona join us. Malk naked, his brown skin gleamin, scars like a map of rivers cross his torso. Efia see Malk hard. Rona fix him, Malk fix her back, her eyes black an sweat on her lip, her breasts bare, Lans necklace of shells tuck between em. No word sayin Efia stir beside him, she lift her shirt an Abans risin too. Efias breasts small, the nips dark an scars in rings bout her belly nub. Malk Rona curl like cats on the floor, Rona take Malk in her gob, Malk groan oh, an Efia bare now, her dress like a pool bout her feet, her feet specky with sand, the slave brand like a half moon on her hip. Aban fix her face, shes weepin Lan, an he lift his jelaba, smell of him sheddin like a skin. Naked Aban go to Malk Rona tremblin place his hands on Ronas head, Malk groanin. Efia creep to bind Aban in her arms, her breasts gainst his back. Some time after, the room blue with shadow, an Becca come step over Rona Aban Malk Efia, step over us, see into her, she squat an the stink of her, Efias black hair tangle in Beccas red an Becca Efia Malk Rona Aban tangle blue in moonlight an now Nathin come, Becca Rona part to take him, he sink into the river of flesh, the one current drag us all one, Rona Becca Aban Efia Malk Nathin, all fuse writhin an bodies blue in moonlight an his on her an my on his an Becca Rona Nathin Aban an Malk Aban an Rona Aban oh Lan Aban Aban

Efia!

wake in belly of night, the moon set an the group flesh to flesh. No sound but the trees only. Leaf whisper Efia take at first for rain. Not rain tho. None for months now. She lie with Rona pressin gainst her, the room smellin of sweat an sleep an cum. The group smell. Becca lie curl up knees gainst her elbows, gob open, corner of her thumb restin in it. Cool at last. Cool that wont stay cos a new days heatin up already out east where the days hatch, but for now a breeze an hearin Efia shiver Aban grope for clothes, his or hers or others, he crawl with the clothes an pull em gentle cross her thigh an belly.

Aban feel to the window look out cross the black still river of the road. See the lighter body of sand each side. Star shadow of the gibber an its lonely corse. Feel the breeze on his skin. More than the corse ul ever do. Live for this. For the dark hours an the smell of night.

Light flickers in the web of trees. Like a star but not so high. Flicker again. Not one star but four or five. More than five. Like part of the nights come down to earth.

Malks beside him. Malks hand on his shoulder.

Bad Shot?

Aban shake his head. Closer, he say. Aban Malk lean half out like stoats sniffin the air, like crits peerin from a burrow. Fraid of the world an its hunger. Come, whisper Malk, an Aban follow cross sleepers into the house, up broke stairs all dusty an heaps of stuff too dark an smash to reckon. Into the room where Malk Rona Becca Nathin sleep out the hot time earlier. Aban grope in the dark but Malk know his way. To a window facin west. Still glass in this, leastways fangs of glass, the middle smash out long ago. Malk Aban look out cross the Thirsty Road, other side all the way to West Cunny. All our hopes there. An more lights strollin. Far off gainst trees a glow of flames. Mid the rain song of nearby trees they listen. Voices just. Grumblin of camels an horses cryin.

Stedders, say Aban.

Could be hoofers.

Middens too far off. More likely stedders. Or juntamen diggin in. Leastways Thirstys under watch.

Road go straight our way.

Till we get done. Load of trollers versus you me an Nathin? Walkin into bad lucks bedroom innit.

Sez you.

Full on campments Malk? Stedders in cammo an akays bout they necks? You see em in Bad Shot.

I see em.

Go low, say Aban. Cross country.

You fraid of slavers? Fraid we hang for Feo?

Fraid on lots of things Malk. Dayup soon. Best be off.

Cross scrub you reckon?

Elseways a dead way.

Livins a dead way. Only place we know we goin.

But not yet Malk.

No.

Not yet.

Malk nod. Thirsty Roads shut to us. Empty Road further souths a junta supply route.

Well before dayup the groups gone an melted into the heave.