Paupers Graveyard (7 page)

They were greeted by the delicious smell of newly made potato cakes. There was no sign of their father, and Timmy guessed that he had gone to the tavern. Whenever there was trouble, be it sickness or shortage of money, his father always seemed to have enough for a pint and found great consolation in its depths. Their mother greeted them warmly, although her eyes still had that frightened look. She tutted and fussed over the baby, taking her to be changed in the other room. Timmy washed his hands and had to bully his brothers into doing the same. They had set the table and were sitting expectantly when she came back and placed the baby on the bench next to Timmy.

The smell of this favourite food made their stomachs rumble. Their mother smiled and cut into the first one. They could see that it was more flour than potato, but it smelled lovely. She cut it into four triangles and placed a slice before each of them. Small pieces were broken off and stuffed into impatient mouths. This was washed down with buttermilk, and when all were finished, they began to get up from the table.

‘Would you like another bit?' their mother asked.

They looked at one another before sitting back down, and watched in awe as she brought the second cake and shared it out in the same way. Rose had already had enough and her second slice lay untouched when the boys had finished eating. Before his mother could offer it to them, Timmy spoke.

‘Have some yourself, Ma. We're full up and it will only go to waste.' He glared at his brothers, who eyed the slice like hawks.

‘Well, maybe I'll eat it later.'

‘Have it now, Ma, while it's still hot,' insisted Timmy. ‘I'll make you a cup of tea to go along with it.'

He swung the kettle over the fire. Rose's head was drooping, so he motioned to Tom to take her to bed and for Peter to follow. The kettle was soon boiling and he used fresh leaves to make the tea. He could hear the sound of Peter singing softly to the children, who were probably already asleep. The lullaby drifted in from the next room and his mother joined in humming. Taking the cup, he left it beside her on the hearth and placed the slice of potato cake on her lap.

‘Eat it, Ma, please.'

She broke off a piece and placed it in her mouth. She just let it sit there for a while, too tired to chew and swallow.

‘Come on, Ma, have another bite.'

She picked up the cup with shaking hands and brought it to her lips. Timmy noticed a crumb on her cheek and reached over to brush it away. His gentle touch opened the floodgates.

‘Is it that bad, Ma?' His mother was crying for the second time in two days!

‘It's worse than you could ever imagine,' she gulped between sobs. ‘We're in terrible trouble. Only a miracle can help us now.'

‘But, Ma, we've saved most of the potatoes. We can replant the good tubers in the spring.'

‘Listen, child, you're too young to understand how bad this is, but I'll have to try and make you see.' She took a deep breath. ‘What was left in the ground was meant to see us through next spring and summer, with enough left over for planting. The potatoes stored in the pits will last only until Christmas and then what? There's nothing. Nothing, but hunger awaits us.'

‘What about, Nelly?' His thoughts went to the fat pig in the yard. ‘We can eat her, and then there's our wages.'

‘Most of the wages go on rent,' she explained, reaching out and stroking his cheek. ‘There's little left over for food. Nelly will be our last resort, for your father was planning on selling her and buying two calves. He said we'd at least have some milk and cheese from them when they were older. So she'll be the last to go, you can be sure of that. But there's other families will be worse off than us, God knows.'

It sounded bad, much more serious than he had imagined. Finally he asked, ‘What will happen when the potatoes run out?'

‘We'll starve, child.'

He knew his mother was speaking the truth. She never lied to him and she wasn't the kind that found pleasure in frightening him. ‘There'll be rabbits, Ma, and fish. There are pheasants and wild duck. Some families have chickens and geese.'

‘Yes, but for how long? There won't be many birds around in the thick of winter and what rabbits there are will soon disappear. Anyway it would mean jail or worse if we were caught poaching. I dare say there will be many of the richer families that will survive, aye, and there'll be many that prosper by what misery is yet to come. But for us, child, and our kind, there'll be nothing but want.'

‘It's not fair, Ma,' his eyes filled with tears. He thought of his brothers and little sister in the next room. He was big and could muddle though somehow; they were so small and already hungry at times. And his precious mother was only skin and bone as it was … how would she survive?

Walking to the table, he stood with his back to her, hands pressed firmly on the rough wood. His mother must not see him like this, weak and childlike in his fear. He tried to stifle the tears that were building up inside him, but it was no use, they came anyway. Loud angry sobs racked his thin frame until he thought he would be sick.

‘There now, child,' he felt her arms go around him. ‘Don't take on so. Many will survive, I'll swear to that this very night. We'll find a way. Between us, we'll keep you and your brothers and sister alive. Come, child, sit by me and listen well.' He let her guide him back to the fire. She pulled his father's chair over beside hers.

‘As in all such times,' she continued, ‘it's the strongest who survive, and that is what we must do – make you all strong enough to fight the hunger when it comes.'

He understood the second slice of cake now.

‘Take everything that is offered to you from now on, child. Don't turn down one morsel of food, no matter what it is.'

He thought of Martin's mother and her offer to him to call any time he was passing. Well, she would have little to give him now.

‘What about da?'

‘What about him?'

‘Will he still go to the tavern?'

‘You be respectful when you speak of your father.'

‘I didn't mean it the way it came out.'

‘Ah, I know you didn't,' she said, taking his hand again. ‘There will be many changes from now on, we'll just have to wait and see. Now off to bed with you before your father gets home and keeps us up all night with his talk of rebellion.'

Timmy got up smiling. They knew his father was very brave when he was drunk. He laid awake thinking that sleep would never come, and wondering what tales his friends would have when they all met the next evening. He thought of how God sent down manna to His people when they were starving, and how He could turn one loaf of bread into thousands. Perhaps tomorrow there would be ten pigs in the garden instead of one and ten more the day after that. After all, God did lots of miracles. Maybe He would do one for them. It didn't have to be a big one, just enough food to stay alive.

August 2003

The murder of the dog had upset the children far more than Elizabeth could have imagined. They had become terrified of Black Jack, and the slightest look from him sent them running to her for protection. They had taken to spending more time beneath the earth, hiding. Black Jack, on the other hand, was growing stronger and bolder by the day.

The last of the houses were almost completed. Most of the builders had finished and been replaced by plumbers, electricians and landscapers. A stream of security men came and went, but no one stayed for long. Most did not last the night and the boss was completely frustrated trying to coax men into taking the job.

When the latest recruit arrived, Timmy and the others went to see what he was like. They watched him hang up his coat and unpack his bag. He placed a container and cup on the desk along with a paper-wrapped bundle. Turning to the bag, he took another parcel from it and a hammer. With this, he fixed a nail high on the wall opposite the desk. Soon a sad-eyed Christ gazed down at them. The light from inside was dazzling, and it was only when he put his coat on and came outside to do his hourly inspection that they were able to get a proper look at him. He stood in the doorway, pulling on gloves, and was almost frightened senseless to hear his name whispered.

‘Paddy!'

Timmy was amazed to see it was the man called Paddy. The same man who had tried to stop the digging.

‘Jesus Christ!' exclaimed Paddy.

Timmy walked slowly towards him followed by the others.

Paddy had lowered himself onto the doorstep. His first instinct had been flight, but he was not sure that his legs were capable of it. He watched the advancing group, eyes darting from the crucifix on the wall to the only weapon available, the hammer. The children stopped just feet from him and eyed him warily. For the hundredth time that night he cursed his decision to take this job. He had known of the boy-thing's existence. Had heard the stories going around about the site and yet he had felt compelled to come. As if some magnetic force was drawing him to this place, to his destiny. He wasn't a coward, far from it, but looking at the ragged group of skeletons standing before him made him quiver in terror. Raising his hand to his forehead he began to make the sign of the cross, and watched fascinated as the assembled group did the same. As suddenly as it had come, the fear left.

‘There's more than one of you, then?'

The children looked at one another in wonder and the whisper went about, ‘he can see us'. A girl pushed her way from the centre of the group and faced him. ‘My name is Katie.'

Paddy had to remind himself again not to scream, as he looked into the sunken eyes of the dead child. From inside the cordoned-off section of the graveyard he could hear someone calling and the children reacted at once.

‘Katie, come on!' the boy-thing came forward and pulled her back. They turned as one and started to walk away.

‘I mean you no harm,' Paddy called after the retreating figures. He watched as they walked towards the boundary, wondered if there was a small gap in the thicket where they could get through. The light was fading and it was difficult to see, but he held his breath as he watched them disappear, one by one. Only the boy turned and looked back at him, before he too blended into the greenery.

Elizabeth listened in awe to their stories about the man who could see them. She looked at Timmy for confirmation of this and he nodded. The children lay down in the grass and cuddled together. Timmy and Elizabeth stood listening until the chattering and laughter faded away and the earth and its darkness once again welcomed them.

‘So,' she put her arm around his shoulders, ‘tell me about this man.'

He told her the man's name and about how he had seen Timmy on that first day.

‘Will you talk to him?' she smiled, already knowing the answer to this.

He laughed in reply.

‘I thought as much. But do take care. There is still so much we don't understand.'

‘I will.'

He went back towards the bushes and walked through them. Only then did she lie down in the grass and stare up into the starlit sky. There had been no sign of Black Jack all day. He was probably inside the houses or foraging around the site. He behaved like a magpie, stealing anything shiny, or whatever took his fancy.

The place that marked his grave resembled a dump with pieces of broken pipe and old rope piled in a clutter. Still, she was glad of the peace and, closing her eyes, surrendered to the dark.

Timmy crept up to the security cabin. He could see the man inside, seated at his desk. Climbing up onto the step, he peeped through the window. The man was pouring liquid from the container into the mug. Steam rose into the air, and for the first time in years, Timmy smelled the leafy aroma of tea.

‘There's enough for two.'

He almost lost his footing in surprise, and waited for a moment before pushing open the door and stepping in.

‘Sit down.' The man pointed to a chair beside the desk. ‘I won't bite, and I hope you'll do me the same courtesy?'

‘I don't bite!'

‘Would you like some?' The man asked, indicating the bread and meat before him. ‘I mean if you can eat. No, I mean … God, I don't know what I mean.'

Timmy noticed how his hand shook as he brought the mug to his lips. ‘No, thank you. I'm not hungry, not any more.'

‘Aye, well, I seem to have lost my appetite as well,' the man said, throwing the food back into its container.

‘What year is this, please?' asked Timmy. He gasped at the reply. Almost two centuries had passed. He had been dead for more than a hundred and fifty years. He asked question after question of the man, who answered each one patiently. In turn, Timmy told him about his life, about Elizabeth and the other children, and finally about Black Jack. He told stories of famine days that only an eyewitness could know.

The man listened as Timmy's words tumbled from him, telling of the horrors he and the others endured, and about the fear that each day brought as they wandered in this new world, this limbo. The first fingers of light were streaking across the sky when he got up to leave. He had finished his story and wanted to be back with his own kind.

‘Come again tomorrow night,' Paddy said. ‘I'll bring you some books. Show you all the wonderful things that have happened since … your time.'

‘Yes I will. Thank you,' Timmy called, as he melted into the early morning mist.

****

Paddy was as good as his word and arrived with armloads of books the next night. Timmy spent hours leafing through the pages and calling out in wonder at some of the things he found there. ‘Could I take these to show the others?'

‘Of course you can, boy. Keep them. They're yours.'

Timmy couldn't believe it. How could anyone part with such precious things as books? He accepted the gift and carried them back to the graveyard. Paddy watched him go, shaking his head in wonder. He was surprised at how easily he accepted the boy who had just the night before frightened him rigid. There was goodness about the youngster, a goodness that transcended his fearsome features. He had been right after all, in taking this job, Paddy decided as he went about his work.

****

The drug addicts returned and were disgusted to find a security man guarding the site. Still, the night was dry and they lit their fire on the opposite side of the graveyard, well hidden from prying eyes. They shared out the stash the same as before and soon all were high and feeling no pain. Each one slumped down onto the grass lost in a drug-induced fantasy world, as time slipped away from him.

‘Shit, what was that?' asked one of the boys, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. Turning onto his knees, he searched the grass. ‘Wow! Cool!' he exclaimed, holding the object up for the others to see. The skull glowed in the light of the fire.

‘Toss it here. Let's have a better look,' called one of the others.

The skull was passed around until it finally arrived back in the hands of its finder. ‘I wonder if she gave good head?' He brought the mouth close to his crotch, shaking with laughter.

‘She almost broke your head, wanker,' added someone else.

‘Yeah, fuck it,' he said gruffly. He threw it hard against a tree trunk, and grinned as the force reduced the skull almost to dust.

‘Hey,' one of his friends came over and leaned on his shoulder, ‘it kind of reminds me of that bitch we did last night.'

Black Jack listened, as they recounted how they had broken into the home of an elderly woman and beaten her and robbed her of her savings. He found these boys to be fearless, amazing in those so young. They could be of use to him, he decided, before walking through the bushes.

‘Who or what the fuck is that!' one of the boys uttered in horror.

They drew back initially, startled by Black Jack's blood-red eyes and blackened skin, but the drugs coursing through their blood quickly helped them to overcome any fear.

‘Yeah, who the fuck are you?' challenged another one of them, swaggering towards the spectre.

‘Look at his clothes,' another sneered. ‘What are you? Some sort of sissy, huh? Hey, lads,' he called to his friends, ‘I bet he's a shirt-lifter.'

‘Are you?' the one nearest to him laughed. ‘What's the matter, nancy boy? Can't you speak?'

Black Jack realised he had been wrong in imagining that these boys could be of use. The pleasure he had felt at first was quickly being replaced by a growing anger at their mocking and jeers. He walked back into the graveyard, unnoticed by the boys who were falling about laughing at their own jokes. Stalking over to where he kept his latest acquisitions, he pulled some lengths of rope from the pile. These he fashioned into six nooses, biting and tearing them into shape with his hands and teeth.

The children and Elizabeth sat clustered around Timmy looking at the picture books. They could hear Jack swearing and talking to himself, but that was nothing new.

When he was finished, Black Jack strode back to the next field. The boys were now hunched beside the fire. Worn out by the laughter they dozed in and out of consciousness, and were too far gone to react, when a noose was slipped over each head and tightened. They had no time to scream, before he gathered the ropes and dragged them, pack-like, through the bushes and trees.

The boys clawed at the nooses that were slowly strangling them, oblivious to the thorns and branches that tore at their clothes, shredding their skin.

Timmy was forced to hold the pages of the book down as the wind whipped up sending them into a flurry. Elizabeth stood as the sighing increased around the graveyard, and cried out when she saw what Black Jack was doing. ‘Children, lie down. Do it now.'

They huddled together, fearful of the cries around them, and glad to return to the dark earth.

Timmy dropped his books and ran after Elizabeth. They tried to wrestle the ropes from Black Jack, but were no match for his demonic fury and strength. He pushed them aside and continued dragging the struggling boys over to the highest tree in the graveyard. Allowing the wind to lift him he sailed over a strong branch taking the ropes with him and landed smoothly in front of the terrified boys. Four of them stood on tiptoe trying to stop themselves from being strangled. The other two had lost consciousness either from fear or asphyxiation, and swayed drunkenly from side to side. The only thing keeping them upright was Black Jack's grip on the rope.

‘Please, Mister,' one croaked. ‘Please. Let us go. We'll do whatever you want.'

The others sobbed as he laughed at their misery and the wet patches on the front of their trousers. Time after time Elizabeth and Timmy tried to take the ropes from his hands, only to be thrown aside.

‘Get the book-man,' Elizabeth whispered to Timmy as she made another assault on Black Jack. Timmy raced through the bushes and returned with the man in tow. It took Paddy a few minutes to force his way through the tangle of branches and during that time, Black Jack pulled on the ropes and sent the screaming, wriggling bodies skywards. The voices in the wind screamed louder, mourning the loss of so many young lives.

Nothing could have prepared Paddy for the sight that met him when he finally broke through. Black Jack stood like some monstrous puppeteer holding the ropes of the thrashing boys who jerked and kicked in a crazed dance of death. Eyes bulging from sockets, swollen, protruding tongues that were turning black.

‘Oh Jesus, Jesus!' Paddy stumbled forward, his heart pounding.

Sensing his approach Black Jack turned and, for the first time, Paddy saw what the devil looked like.

‘Stay back or join them,' he warned.

Paddy tried to be brave, to save the boys, but his heart had never been very strong and couldn't take any more. As he reached the tree he felt it slow to a dull thud as pain exploded in his chest. The crying of the wind faded as he fell against the trunk and slid to the ground. He lay staring up at the tangle of loosely hanging legs above him and watched the leaves tossing in the wind, sometimes allowing a star to peep through. He gasped just once, as his heart gave up and the darkness descended.