Authors: Yelena Kopylova
It’s a fine sight to see animals born. And over there, look, sheep. I can see four of them.
My, my!
He’s done well for himself. And look at that patch there, gooseberry bushes if I’m not mistaken, and
apple trees. Well! Well! Well! “
So they spent the next half-hour admiring the land and its occupants around the cottage, and when there
was still no sign of the owners and the twilight was deepening fast, he said, “Could be they’re away for
the night, must be someone ill or dead. Anyway, there’s always the morrow. Come on,
we’ll hie home.
Did you hear what I said there, lad?
I said we’d hie home. Funny that I should think of Kate’s place as home. Yet not so; I spent many a
day in that cottage or trailing after her skirts, picking herbs for her. Come on, come on.
“... When they
entered the wood leading to the long ride, the twilight turned to night and the boy walked closely against
his father’s side, his hand pressed tightly into the big fist;
and the silence and the darkness contributed to a fear that made itself felt through his father’s hand, and
Peter, drawing him close to him, said, “Never be afraid of quietness, lad, learn to like it, nor be afeared
of the dark because in the dark your wits become sharper.
You understand? “
“Yes, Da.” YeLhe didn’t know what he understood except that at the moment if he hadn’t been with his
father he would have taken to his heels and run out of this darkness into where there was more light.
“Look.” Peter pointed upwards.
“There she comes, as Kate prophesied.
She was always a good one with the moon, was Kate. Do you know, they used to come
and ask her
what the weather would be like on Fair Day.
And she’s cured more with her medicines than I can count, both animal and human.
Although at one
time . well, people are more enlightened now, at least some, please God.
“Ah, look. Now isn’t that a bonny sight!” They had come out of the wood and to a gap in the
brushwood that bordered the quarry and, pointing downwards to where the reflection of
the moon was
just touching the edge of the water at the bottom of the quarry, he said.
“Tis a bonny sight to see the moon washing itself in the water. I’ve watched her riding alongside us
many a night skipping over the waves. Aye. Aye, and the white clouds chasing her. But I must admit
there were times when I didn’t appreciate the sight like as now, for then, at those times, me belly would
have been crying out for a decent meal, something not running with maggots; or I was so froze I longed
to die.
Aye. “ He looked down at the shadowy face of the boy now as he added, “ Would you
believe that,
your da longed to die because he was so cold and hungry? I hope you never want to go to sea, lad. But
come, look, the bank’s clear, let’s sit down here for a minute and enjoy that sight ‘cos it won’t last long;
she’ll be scudding away hiding herself behind black skirts in a minute or so. And the
night is young yet,
and His voice dropped to a soft whisper now as he lowered himself down onto the grassy verge of the
quarry, saying, “I want to remember just this, you and me sittin’ on the bank where I sat many a time as a
lad looking down on the same scene. I never thought one day I would have a fine son of me own.” He
pulled the boy’s head against his chest, and like this they sat quietly looking to where the moon appeared
to be skipping along the edge of the water at the far side of the quarry.
It was Peter who heard the sound of horses’ hooves first, and he gently pressed the boy’s head away
from him as he swivelled round on the grass, peering backwards into the dark towards the far end of the
ride. After a second or so he got to his feet, saying as he did so, “There’s a horse, or horses coming.
You’d better look out in case we are trampled. Come on’—he pulled the boy up ‘we’ll
keep close in
until they pass.”
He now pulled his son across the pathway and into the shrubbery opposite and waited for the rider to
pass. The horse, he realized, was walking, and slowly, but his ear, which in his youth had been alerted to
all sounds of the woodlands and the fells, realized there were footsteps accompanying the rider. He
decided he wouldn’t speak in case he should frighten both the rider and the horse, and part of his mind
told him that the nder might have a gun:
the man could be out poaching, and he didn’t want to be taken for a keeper.
When the sound of the horse’s hooves and the footsteps stopped some little way to the
left of him, he
warned the boy to silence by gripping his shoulder; and turning his own head to the side and his ear
cocked, he listened to the low voices that he guessed weren’t more than a dozen feet from him along the
path. The sounds that came to him were, he recognized, from voices indulging in
question and answer,
but he couldn’t make out the words until, his head poked further forward, he heard one say, “Are you
sure of the place?”
And the answer came, “Of course I am. I should be; I spent three hours here last night digging it. It’s
just beyond that gap there. I covered it up.”
Then came a low hiss-snapping rejoinder, “Don’t use that tone to me.”
There followed a pause and the mumbled reply was inaudible.
A voice came again, saying, “It’s the wrong time.”
“Not to my mind,” was the answer.
“Couldn’t be better. Most of them are at the barn dance.”
The barn dance. Peter nodded to himself. That’s where Bill and Jane must be, and the
child with them.
The barn dance. Yes, of course. But why hadn’t Kate known of their going? But then,
why should
she? She mightn’t see them from one week’s end to the other.
The words came as if from right beside him now.
“Tis in here to the left. I widened the gap me self pulling some of the brushwood up so there would be a
bit more light.”
There was a pause now in the talking but a scuffling of feet and a movement as if
something was being
carried. And then quite suddenly Peter pulled the boy’s face tight into his belly and
turned his own head
towards the thick undergrowth, oblivious that part of it was a holly bush, the leaves of which were
pricking his cheek.
His body took on a ramrod stiffness as he felt the figures almost brush past him carrying a weight
between them. Then the branches of the very bushes against which he was standing
moved by the
pressure of the bodies turning at right angles from the path.
There was an interval of about thirty seconds before he heard a voice saying, “Bring the pony in here,”
and another voice answer, “There’ll be nobody along there the night. The late shift
doesn’t come up until
ten.”
“Bring it from the path.” The words were low and gritted.
There was the sound of a grunt, then he was conscious of a figure passing close to him, but he didn’t turn
his head to look in its direction. But when the horse passed him its body sweat wafted over him, so close
was it to him.
It wasn’t until he heard what he realized was earth being shovelled that he moved
cautiously onto the
path. The boy was by his side now, his body shivering with fear of the knew not what,
only that there
was something disturbing his father. And when the hand came on his shoulder the
pressure told him that
he was to stay where he was. But no sooner had his father stepped into a gap in the
brushwood than he
almost leaped after him and the crack of landing on a small dead branch echoed like a
revolver shot
through the night.
Peter did not stop to chastise his son, it was too late. A lantern on the ground, though shaded, showed
up the scene: he was in a small clearing, and there before him were two men, one on each side of a hole
in the ground. The hole wasn’t all that deep, for he could see that in it was a body, half of it covered with
soil, but the face still exposed looked startlingly white yet at the same time had a hue.
“My God!” The words came out on a thin whisper, for he knew he was looking down on
Mr. Roystan
the smelting mill clerk, the man who was supposed to have run off with the wages. As he made a dive
for the man nearest to him he let out a yell, crying, “Feeler! You bloody swine.
Feeler! “
As the shovel was raised to come down on his head his fist caught the man under the
chin, and his boot
in the lower part of his stomach, which sent him reeling. Then crouching like an animal now, he peered at
the figure standing at the other side of the hole. He was in the shadow out of the light cast by the lantern
and so he couldn’t make out his face, at least not at the moment. But then the moon,
coming from behind
a scud of clouds, gave sufficient light for him to recognize the tall figure, and his mouth dropped open
before snapping closed with his teeth grinding together.
“You! You murdering sod, you!”
The boy now watched his father step back in order to take a jump over the narrow grave, and he cried,
“Da! Da! Oh, Da!” Then he screamed as he saw the shovel leave the tall man’s hands and come right
across the side of his father’s neck. He now put the fingers of one hand right into his mouth and bit on
them as he saw his father fall almost on top of the little man who was in the act of
staggering to his feet.
Running to his father, he knelt by him, crying, “Da! Da!” but when a hand lifted him
bodily upwards by
the collar he turned, screaming and kicking at the tall figure until his mouth was clamped shut and his
hands gripped tight. Then he heard a voice say, “Pull yourself together. Get him covered up and we’ll
deal with this one. My God! for this to happen. D’you hear? Pull yourself together! I’m talking to
you. Get it into your head, if you don’t want to hang at the end of a rope, finish the job.”
“I... I can’t. He almost did for me.”
“My God! I’ll do for you. Look, take this one here, and hold his mouth tight. God! When all’s said
and done you’re a soft-gutted swine.” The pressure temporarily gone from his mouth, the boy once
more attempted to yell, but before he could do so something was again clamped over his mouth; not a
hand this time, yet it was a hand, but not an ordinary hand. His head was pressed back tightly and he
was looking up into a thin face, the mouth of which was open and with blood pouring
from one side of it.
When it began to drop onto his own face he closed his eyes and once again kicked out
with his feet. The
groan from the man made him redouble his efforts, but the last thing he heard before a great blackness
overtook him was the voice above him appealing to the other man by name, and the
words were to the
effect that he was feeling bad and couldn’t hold the boy any longer. It was then the blow came on the
side of his head.
The tall man stood panting as he looked down on the small limp figure while cursing his companion. His
words punctuated with oaths, he said, “Of all the bungling buggers, I’d have to rely on you.” And the
other man muttered in defiance now that spoke of subservience mixed with suppressed
retaliation,
“You’ve been glad to rely on me afore. And I didn’t bungle this, it was yourself. You said you knew the
right road he was takin’, but he diddled you. You seem to forget he didn’t come the
Newcastle road:
that leaked out to put people off the scent.
There’s cleverer than you, it seems, mister. He came the open way across the moor, and it was me who
caught sight of him else we wouldn’t have had him at all. Remember that, mister. “
“I’ll remember that,” the tall man growled.
“And what have we got out of it so far, eh? Tell me that. Nothing, only a dead man.”
The smaller man’s voice trembled as he said, “He ... he wasn’t all that dead, I ... I simply knocked him
out.” He looked towards the hole in the ground and the half-buried man and the soil that covered the
body, and he gave a whimper like that which might have come from a child as he said,
“Same as Hellier.
You shouldn’t go that far. No need.”
“And who’s to blame?” The voice came at him again.
“He saw you, didn’t he? You said he did, as plain as daylight. And what would have
happened if he
had come round? And, my faithful servant, let me ask you this: would you have kept your mouth shut?
No, not you. So, he’s dead enough now, and God knows if we’ll live to see another day if that man’s
voice and his boy’s screams have carried. So, put a move on and bring that brushwood.
Get going, if
you don’t want my foot in your backside.”
Both men now shovelled earth into the hole, then collected small pieces of brushwood
which they
stamped on the loose earth. They next gathered some stones and threw them haphazardly
here and there
over the brushwood.
“What if the earth sinks in?” the small man said.
“Well, it’ll be your job to come and put more stones on. Understand?”
“But what if I’m seen in these parts?” There was a tremble in the man’s voice now.
“I’m rarely over here. They’d want to know....”
“For God’s sake, shut your weak-lipped mouth. And now look at those.”
He pointed to the two prone figures on the ground.
“What d’you think you’re going to do with those, eh? Bury ‘em? You know who that is?”