Читать книгу Wrecker - Noel O’Reilly - Страница 12

3

The very next day I was down on the strand, raking at the tide wrack with the poorer sort of women, those forced to scavenge, just as the gulls do. A ragged line of us stretched out across the strand in the swirling haze. The work was slow, my collar stiff with sweat, my scalp itching in the close heat. With an aching back and arms, I twisted the heavy sea blooms around the end of my pole, then hoisted it and shook the seaweed onto the pile, ready for the squire’s farms up on the headland. Clouds of lazy flies hovered over the seaweed, which grew more rank as it dried.

At last the mist lifted and the sun came out. I pushed my damp hair from my brow with my forearm and looked about me. Two women were approaching, black shapes against the light. As they drew nearer, I saw it was Loveday Skewes and Betsy Stoddern, both in nice, clean frocks. They had come to gloat at us poor working women.

‘Here be trouble,’ said Tegen, at my side.

The pair of them passed the spot where we laboured. ‘Some people has no shame,’ said that big ox Betsy. ‘Showing her face abroad after stealing another woman’s man.’

Tegen gave me a look to make me keep my mouth shut.

‘Never mind, I don’t want him now,’ said Loveday. ‘Spoilt goods.’ She gathered her shawl round her with a peevish shrug.

Betsy wasn’t ready to let it rest. ‘Her sort only ever look out for themselves.’

I wasn’t going to let that pass. ‘It be One and All in this village, don’t it, ladies?’ I said, digging the pole into the seaweed and twisting it fiercely. ‘But some get a better share than others, I seem. There’s a reason why some in this village has whacks of money and others be scat.’

‘There’s none that’s poor that don’t deserve to be,’ said Loveday.

I shook the weed off the pole so that it landed right at their feet. ‘If you could see yourself, Loveday,’ I said. ‘Puffed up like a bladder of lard.’ Tegen took my arm and tried to pull me away from them.

‘That carrot-topped varmint have shown her colours again today,’ said Betsy.

‘No father to take her in hand, that’s why,’ said Loveday, as they wandered towards the eastern end of the beach.

‘Keep your pert sayings to yourselves,’ I muttered to myself when they were gone.

‘You shouldn’t rise to it,’ said Tegen. ‘Hold your temper. Of late, you be like a river fit to burst its banks. I swear you enjoy vexing people.’ She stooped to gather driftwood.

‘So you want to keep me in my place, as well?’

‘You know I always take your side, Mary,’ she said. A strand of frizzy, red hair fell across her face.

‘I do know it,’ I answered. And to show I meant well, I went over and looped the loose lock of hair behind her ear, and hugged her.

Someone signalled to touch pipe. I didn’t want to sit with the other women and feel their silence so full of meaning, so I went down to the crab pools, and ate my crust and cheese alone. The sea stretched to the ends of the earth and I foresaw an empty future ahead of me, an endless round of packing pilchards, of laundry and baking days. When I’d finished eating, I slipped behind a big boulder where I couldn’t be spied upon and hoisted up my skirts. I pressed my bare ass against the cold stone and let the earth’s slow heartbeat throb through my flesh for a long moment. It would bring me luck. Seeing a sharp stone by my feet, I took it up and gouged a limpet from the rock and split it open. What a pang it always gave me when the sea juices spilled over my tongue.

I walked across the shingle to where the wash rolled forward in rapid shelves. The water was icy around my ankles and the foam rushed past me up the beach, sucking sand from under my toes. It was as though the land was moving towards the sea and not the other way round. I remembered the feeling from my childhood, but instead of the old giddy enchantment, I feared the outhaul would pull me into the ocean’s depths.

From out in the water there was a groan, a seal perhaps. I opened my eyes and could make out a shape bobbing on the waves no more than thirty feet away. But it was only a barrel, perhaps one from the ship that had struck the rocks so recently. Something made me keep an eye on the barrel, though. A new current got under it and set it turning slowly, until I saw a dark shape show against the side. Something was strapped to the tub – no, someone, a man, his head lying on top. Maybe he saw me, for at that moment he looked up wearily and turned his face in my direction. His face was drawn and harrowed, and the sight of this soul in torment put me in mind of the Jesu and how he might have looked if he had turned towards you on the climb up to Calvary.

The swell was pushing the barrel towards the Zarn, the great black cave where smugglers unloaded their goods. If nobody helped the man he would be broken up on the rocks, and the barrel with him. I tried to call for Tegen but my words got stuck in my throat. I ran towards where the women were sat, a hundred yards off to the east, huddled together behind a great boulder for shelter. I cried out again, more lustily, cupping my hands to my mouth, ‘Over here!’ But there was no sign that they heard me. I called again, so loud I tore my throat and then I saw Tegen’s dumpy form as she got to her feet and peered over at me.

‘Quick, Teg, there be someone in the water! A man near drowned. He be heading for they rocks. In God’s name help me,’ I shouted. She lifted her skirts and began running across the strand. I was already wading out towards the barrel, the freezing water rising under my skirts and taking my breath away. Tegen wasn’t far behind. The barrel pitched in the swell, showing itself one minute and vanishing the next. The water rose above my waist and each new surge covered my shoulders and slapped my face. My skirts were soaked through and the cloth weighed me down. Being only a woman, I’d never learnt to swim, and I was fearful of being pulled out of my depth. As I got nearer to the man I saw there was an oar under each of his armpits and the oars were tied to the barrel. I had to stay clear of those oars or they would dash out my brains, so I waited for a safe moment, dived in between them, and threw my arms around the barrel on the other side to where the man was tied. The side of my head hit the barrel as I did so. Then I pushed the barrel towards the beach with all my might, but the best I could do was slow its advance towards the Zarn.

Tegen’s body slammed into my back. A powerful swell climbed over us, covering our heads and lifting my feet off the sand. My sister had a powerful pair of arms and between the two of us we inched the barrel towards the beach, straining with all our might. The incoming tide was behind us but a wayward current wanted to drive us into the Zarn. We were soon almost done for, but Nancy Spargo arrived and put her broad back into it as well. In time we reached the shallows and the barrel scudded onto wet sand. Women appeared and helped us untie the foreigner from the barrel and haul him up the beach.

I lay flat out on my back trying to catch my breath. The world seemed to throb around me, the sounds now loud, now soft. When I lifted my head I saw stark shapes against the sky, and at first took them for angels in Heaven, but it was only a crowd down from the village. White clouds floated by above me while the strand rolled underneath me. The pounding in my forehead where the barrel had struck me was like a hole made of light, and the brightness hurt me the way it does if you stare too long at the sun. I turned my head and saw a world strangely aslant, a dream that might melt away at any moment, and it was then I had my first proper look at the man. He lay with his head in Nancy Spargo’s lap, and what I would have given to take her place! Such a long straight nose he had, and dark eyelashes trembling on his cheeks. His wet locks were black as tar, clinging to his neck and collar. He was a big fellow, broad-shouldered and tall with it, going by how his limbs stretched out on the sand. Dazed as I was, I believed my own fancy had charmed him out of the sea.

‘Should we fetch a priest to give him his rites?’ said Nancy. Her voice was from another world.

‘A doctor more like,’ said another woman.

I sat up, not able yet to get to my feet. Of a sudden, there was two of everybody and I didn’t know which one to look at. Jake Spargo, Nancy’s husband, was down on his knees trying to make the foreigner drink from a cup of liquor. ‘This be the best medicine for him,’ Jake said. The foreigner’s head lolled this way and that, as if the smell of the drink upset him. ‘Take a drop of that to warm ’ee,’ said Jake, tipping the rum between his lips. The man choked and groaned, his features twisting in pain, as if poison were being forced down his throat instead of prime Jamaican rum. His hand flapped about feebly, trying to swat the cup away, and the liquor rolled over his chin.

‘Poor fellow, who have done such a thing to he?’ said Nancy, her shoulders damp from her dripping hair.

‘Whoever lashed this fellow to the barrel meant to save his life and not to hurt him,’ said Jake. ‘I seen the like afore now.’

‘Someone should take the foreigner indoors to thaw out,’ said another woman.

‘We’ll give the man house room,’ I said quickly, standing up, and reeling. ‘He can rest up there till the doctor be fetched from Newlyn.’

Tegen whispered in my ear. ‘Whatever do you be saying of?’ She took a firm grip of my arm. ‘It don’t belong to us two maidens to take in a man. That bang on the head have knocked all the sense out of you.’

I took no notice of her. ‘We need a hand to get him up the hill,’ I called out. I was close to swooning, but tried to hide it, and in no mood to let anyone take the man from me now. Two lads came forward, keen perhaps to show their strength to the wenches round about. One caught the big fellow under his knees and the other under his armpits, and they lifted him up. It was hard work lugging him up the beach and down the quay, and then up the steep lane. The lads had to stop every so often at cottages, and take a drop of water.

It was a good while before we reached the alley into our little courtyard, which was barely wide enough to squeeze through. Mamm looked on aghast as the foreigner was carried upstairs. They laid him out on the bed. Tegen came to the doorway, not wanting to enter a room with a man lying in it.

‘We durstn’t leave him in these wet clothes,’ I said. I kept my voice steady as I could. ‘It will be the death of him.’

‘But we can’t take the clothes off him! Are you mazed?’ said Tegen. She was scarlet to the tips of her ears. I ignored her and went to the chest, pulling a drawer open and taking out some of Dad’s old things.

‘We can dry him with this,’ I said, throwing a shirt onto the bed. ‘And we can dress him in another of Dad’s old shirts till his own be dry.’ I leant over the foreigner and began tugging the cloth up over his body. I called Tegen over. ‘Come here and help me lift him. Look how he’s shivering, we must be quick about it.’ She came over to help, looking away so she wouldn’t see the man’s white skin as the wet clothes were peeled off him.

‘Think of what folk will say,’ she said.

‘Let their tongues wag. Have you forgot the Good Samaritan?’

‘This ain’t a hospital.’

‘You sure? You forget about Mamm, I seem.’

‘The man is a stranger. What is he to you? I don’t follow you at all.’

‘Providence have brought him here. It were me that saw him first. It’s meant.’

We lifted him up, and with difficulty pulled the dry shirt down over his head and shoulders.

‘Who, I wonder, is to do all our work if we have to nurse this man?’ said Tegen.

‘Don’t you pity him at all?’

Tegen looked on him, but there was more of shame than pity in her face.

My head ached and all about me was a fog. I put my palm on the foreigner’s brow. His skin was warm. My hands were ice cold so I rubbed the palms together before touching him again. ‘He has a fever,’ I said. I poured some water into a cup and tried to make him drink, but most spilled down his chin. Tegen left me to it and went downstairs.

I dropped into my chair and let the room turn slowly around me for a little while before it settled. I closed my eyes and was almost gone, but a sudden groan from the bed startled me.

‘Is it come?’ the fellow shouted. ‘Is this the reckoning? Dear Lord, have mercy on my soul!’

I went to the bedside. ‘Forgive you?’ I whispered. ‘Why? What has you done?’

He squinted at me, and I stared into those eyes for the first time, so dark and deep and hard to fathom. His face shook and he let out a strangled cry: ‘Pitiless devil! Leave me in peace, for Heaven’s sake. Why do you still torment me, Molly?’ His strength failed and his head fell back.

‘You are mistaken, Mister, I am not Molly,’ I said.

He moaned pitifully. ‘I have beaten you, Molly. God forgive me, I have hurt you, your face . . .’ My fingers reached up to where his gaze was fixed, and I felt the tender and throbbing bruise on my temple where the barrel had struck me. The foreigner’s eyes closed and he fell into a sleeping fit.

While the man was lying a-bed, I set off up the headland to buy a charm. I picked my way through the copse where Old Jinny lived. Bare winter branches creaked in the breeze, and birds pierced the cold air with their cries, warning me off. Sometimes in the night the old woman was known to take flight and soar over the village herself, not on a broomstick but with her gown open and spread out around her like crow wings. I followed the scent of wood smoke and soon I reached the passage between thickets of needle-sharp briers that led to her door.

It was dark inside, with all manner of objects dangling from the rafters and turning slowly in the draught that followed me into the cottage: dried herbs, tiny bones tied in bundles, wooden dolls, pewter pots and pans. As my eyes got used to the gloom, I saw a jumble of wicker cages piled about, and along one wall a blue dresser, the paint cracked and peeling. A fire hissed in a small hearth and a large warming pan hung over it.

Old Jinny sat in the corner on a high-backed chair with great hawks carved on the arm rests, a little wheel for spinning thread at her side. I jumped at a sudden frantic flapping of wings as a black shape ripped past me to alight in the old crone’s lap. It was a jackdaw and she took it in her hands, stroking it with long twisted fingers that had dirt under every fingernail. The bird cocked its head this way and that to judge me from all sides. I had the curious notion that the bird was Jinny’s own child.

‘Friend or foe?’ the old crone asked in a voice as light as a whistle and reedy as a child’s. ‘What brings you across my threshold?’ The sound seemed not to come from her at all but from elsewhere in the hovel. There was spittle in the corners of her whiskery mouth, and beneath her grubby lace cap her hair clung loose about her neck and shoulders. It was matted and dusty as the cobwebs that were draped in thick layers in the corners of the room. Her nose was hooked and pointed like a bird’s. She wore a gown of faded blue silk, streaked with bird shit like everything else in that place. It was open at the front to show a stained quilted petticoat of faded satin, and over that an apron which looked to have been embroidered with her own needle. On it were dozens of birds – wrens, robins, snipes and choughs. Her sleeves ended in lace ruffles, stray threads hanging from them, which reached almost down to the filthy floor of beaten earth.

Seeing how dazed I was, she laughed, a piercing sound that set my teeth on edge. It was plain the woman was mad as a snake.

‘Don’t boggle at me, girl. Tell me, what is your business here?’ She spoke grandly, like a true snot. She ruffled the pale feathers at the back of the jackdaw’s head with the back of her hand, making the bird shiver.

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath. ‘I need a charm to cure a man in a fever, short of breath. He was at sea a long while, lashed to a barrel. He is asleep mostly, but has bad dreams and sees things before him that aren’t there.’

‘Perhaps he sees things that are there, but which you cannot see? An old man or a young? Big and strong or a weakling?’

‘Not young or old. But big and strong, for sure.’

She opened her hands to let the jackdaw fly free, and clapped in glee. ‘I know the remedy you need!’ She got to her feet, stiffly. She was no taller standing up than she was sitting down, and all the smaller for being so stooped. She put her hand out for payment. ‘Two shillings,’ she said.

‘Two shillings!’ I was dumbfounded.

She nodded, briskly.

I had just enough on me. I counted out the coins and stooped to put them in her hand. She bit each one in turn to see if it was true before putting it in her apron pocket. When she was finished she left the hovel with a queer hopping gait and went to fetch the charm from out the back. A stink of stale sweat and piss hung about after she was gone, and the jackdaw hopped and flapped all about me, shitting on everything, including my hair. Its croak was loud in that little place and had me all of a jitter. The bird could talk, too, but in strange riddles of which I could make no sense.

I waited so long that I wondered if the old woman had died out there. Through a rip in the sacking over the window I saw the hut where she kept the captive birds. Their fretful twittering could be heard all over the wood. Round about me in the shadows of the room were all manner of nasty-looking instruments among the cages. I didn’t care to wonder at their use.

At last Old Jinny came back with one of the poor creatures in her hands, wrapped in a bloody cloth. It made a fearsome racket and set the jackdaw hopping and flapping about in a frenzy. My nerves were frayed.

‘I be thinking I shan’t go through with this matter, after all,’ I shouted above the din.

She burst into shrill giggles. ‘’Tis too late,’ she said, holding the little bundle out to me. ‘I’ve already plucked her.’

‘Plucked her? What do you mean, plucked her?’

‘The bird has to be plucked, my girl, if you want the charm to work.’

‘That be the wickedest thing I ever heard!’

‘I can’t stick the feathers back into the creature, can I?’ she said.

What was I to do? I had already paid her two shillings, a king’s ransom. And the bird would die now, anyhow. I let her put the creature in my shaking hands, and nearly dropped it when I felt its warmth and how it wriggled inside the grubby cloth.

‘A song thrush. A hen for a man, a cock for a woman,’ said Old Jinny, leering at me. ‘Tie it to the rafters in the bed-lier’s room. Twenty-four hours should do it. It might take longer if there is no rash on the man. Once the fever has been spirited from the human to the fowl, the bird will turn black and bloated. And then it will expire.’

I made sure nobody saw me on the way back, which was not easy because the creature was making a din fit to wake the dead. It fair pecked my hands and wrists to pieces. When I got home, Tegen wouldn’t help me so I had to tie it to the beam by myself. I knew the best knot to bind its legs but it was a dreadful fiddle with only one hand spare and the little creature raging to break free of me. Once the thing was tied and hanging, it went madder still, spinning in a flurry, its feeble plucked wings flapping furiously and its screeches deafening me and echoing around the room as it tangled itself in the string. I was overcome with the horror of it then, but it was too late to turn back. The foreigner groaned in his sick bed, disturbed by the noise. When the bird had tired itself, it hung there a moment twitching, its eyes bulging and unnatural, its grey wrinkled flesh covered in bloody pinpricks.

I couldn’t bear staying in the room with the wretched creature, so I fled down the stairs to the kitchen. I sat at the table and took deep breaths, waiting for my heart to slow to its usual beat. Mamm looked away from me and Tegen scowled.

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ I said. ‘It’s only for a day or two. A man’s soul matters more to the Creator than a bird’s.’

Later, on the way back from the well, I passed Johnenry in the lane. He blocked my path.

‘I be in a hurry,’ I said, nodding at the pails of water in my hands. He stood his ground.

‘I suppose you’re in a hurry to get back to that big fellow you fished out of the cove?’ he said.

‘It were only Christian to give him house room until he be better. The fellow was close to death.’

‘You be the last woman I ever thought would turn nurse maid.’

‘It fell to me, as I were the first that saw him.’

‘Well, don’t expect me to carry him to the graveyard when he breathes his last. You be trying my patience, Mary. Think about how things stand, now. You need to make up your mind. A man can keep on fathering children until they nail him in his coffin but a woman’s got to squeeze the beggars out while she still can.’

‘So these be the sweet wooing words you use now you’ve had your way with me?’

‘I used up all my sweet words the other night. And you seemed to like them enough then, the way you was rolling underneath me.’

‘Wash your dirty mouth out.’

‘Let’s not be enemies, Mary,’ he said, more mildly. ‘It heats my blood to think of the way some of they be slanderin’ you, and I want to take care of you, that’s all. To protect you.’

‘I got by fine without a man to protect me all these years, so why would I need one now?’

He stepped toward me as if a hornet had stung his ass. ‘I ain’t got the patience of Job. ’Tis meant, you and me, even if you won’t admit it. Why can’t you lean more to the common way?’

‘Maybe I don’t care to. And you ain’t the master of me, Johnenry. So let me pass.’

He took my arm, twisting it and hurting me, a nasty look in his eyes. ‘What in God’s name be wrong with you?’ he said. ‘Is you sickening?’

I pulled my arm free and half a pail of water slopped over his trousers. I left him standing in the lane looking like he’d pissed himself.

All that night I sat in my chair and kept vigil on the foreigner in the sickly glow of the smoking tallow. On the chest was a pot of herbs that the Widow Chegwidden had given me. Earlier, I had mixed the brew with a little milk and spooned it between the foreigner’s lips. The smell of the potion mingled with the odour of sickness in the room.

My head throbbed fearfully from the blow I’d taken from the barrel. Perhaps some of the sense had been knocked out of me. I thought about Johnenry and what he’d said when I met him. Why had I taken a strange man into the house and risked the mud-slinging that would follow? Perhaps I was sickening after something, as Johnenry said. But I couldn’t help myself. My heart went out to the man, thinking how he’d been thrown this way and that at the mercy of the waves, lashed to that barrel. And my woman’s nature stirred at the notion of this big, dark fellow, at once so strong and yet so helpless. It did trouble me, I own, the hold the foreigner had on me. I consulted with the stone idol, but her face was set in a sulk so I put her on the floor, facing away from the sick bed.

The man’s breathing was quick and fretful. While he slept the bird hung quietly, twitching every so often on its string. Whenever the man roused himself with a groan and twisted in his narrow cot, the bird thrashed around as if crazed, taking on the pains of the man. The foreigner drew the life out of the bird’s body and into his own, and the bird grew more and more sickly as it took on the man’s contagion. I prayed for the bird to breathe its last and there were times when I almost went to fetch a pair of stones to brain the poor creature and bring its misery to an end. But I saw how the man in the bed was repairing, so I gripped the seat of my chair tight, to hold me at my post. Every so often I went over and wiped sweat from his brow with a cloth dipped in cool water. Time passed and the man’s strength returned little by little while the bird’s ebbed away.

In the dead of night such a hush was over the world that the wings of a moth flitting about the flame were loud as sheets snapping in the wind on laundry day. The cottages in our lane were huddled together so close that I could hear the snores of all the neighbours throbbing through the walls. At closing time the footsteps of the men staggering home from the kiddlywink – where men of the worst sort spent their time drinking and gambling – echoed out in the lane, with snatches of song, a quarrel and much profanity. The drunkards disturbed the gulls in their slumber and they made a row of their own over the rooftops.

By the time the first hint of daylight showed in the window, the man lay in a deep and settled sleep. Seeing he was lost in his dreams, I went and knelt at the bedside and took his hand in my own. He had long fine fingers, despite his bulk, soft hands that had never known hard labour. I stayed there a long while, thinking that I would never tire of looking at his face. His strong jaw was dark with stubble now, and his black locks spread out over the pillow. Without warning, his eyes opened and he stared at me.

‘What devil are you?’ he cried, hoarsely. I tried to shush him, fearful he would bring the whole village rushing to the door. ‘Why are you poisoning me? What harm have I done you?’

‘Quiet now, don’t be upsetting yourself, you’re poorly,’ I whispered, my face close to his.

But he shouted again, as loud as before: ‘The boy! Scarcely more than a child, God help him. Is he saved?’

His shouts upset the bird, which began frantically flapping its little bald wings. The foreigner peered into the gloom, searching for whatever was making the sound. Then he gazed at my face as if to find out what manner of fiend had taken him capture. His breath came fast.

‘If you have a single Christian bone in your body, then I beg you to get word to my wife that I am saved,’ he said. ‘Do it quickly to spare her more anxiety.’

‘We has sent for the doctor,’ I said. ‘He shall no doubt speak with your wife.’

He was quiet again. I sat there by the bed in a slump. For a long while my thoughts were at a standstill. In the end, with a great heaviness upon me, I got up and went to my own room, where I belonged.