The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean (11 page)

“And we wudnt want that wud we Billy?”

I shake my hed.

“No Mam. No.”

We stand an age looking owt from the shados and seein others sumtyms passin by.

“Thats Mister Blenkinsop,” she says. “Hes very niys hell be OK. Thats Emily Willyims & we sertinly musnt let her get to no. And Missus Jowns hoos a very swete sole & a very good customa that lyks to hav a perm dun evry munth.”

“Whats a perm Mam?”

“An important thing in haredressing.”

She makes us a dinner of pies & sossijes & milk & bred.

Owt ther beyond the curtan the lite begins to fayd.

She stares into the air.

“How brayv you feelin Billy?” she softly says.

“Dont no. Brayv enuf I think.”

“I think so too. So lets go owt.”

I flinch & shake.

“Yes lets go owt” she says. “ts nerly dark thers hardly anywon to see & if anybody dus appear just look away. Pretend that yor not here.”

And she puts a hevy cote on me & a hat on me & opens the dore & owt we step.

Crunch crunch rattl crunch.

Crunch crunch rattl rattl crunch.

I hear it now the sownd of our steps as we tayk that first wark together acros Blinkbonnys waysts.

Crunch crunch crunch crunch.

I feel the erth beneth my fete. The dust & rubbl & grit that slips & slyds beneeth. The jaggid edjes of briks & stones the press of pebbls bits of snappd cabel bits of snappd timba. I feel my clumsy legs so weak & my mams hand in my hand the way she prevents me from trippin totterin farlin.

Crunch crunch rattl crunch.

I close my eyes & see us both the trubld woman the skinny lad in a cote thats far too big for him in a world thats far too big for him. His brane is stretchin lyk thers wings tremblin & flappin in it. His lungs ar gaspin at the comin in of the icy owtside evenin air & the skin of his fays is stingin with the fele of that straynj new air on it.

Crunch crunch rattl crunch.

I see the sky abuv them reddenin lyk fyr & darkenin lyk death. I hear the screemin guls the rattl of the breez. A dog barks sumwer nereby & sumwer faroff thers a deep deep groanin. The breth is weezin in my throte & wisslin throu my teeth. & thers crunch crunch rattl crunch crunch crunch rattl rattl crunch.

The lites all red & golden. The woman & the boy ar silowets in it. They wark on the shattad payvments the potholwed rodes throu weeds & shrubs past crumblin howses emty howses empty shops ruwind restronts empty spaces. Thers driftin smoak arownd them thers scattad litta rampant weeds. Thers a body or 2 that wanders by lyk lost & lonely soles. The boy starts tiring qwik. The woman holds him tite. She wispas to him to slo down to tayk care to be brayv to turn his fays this way that way to hyd to look away. She poynts throu Blinkbonnys gaps to the glitterin riva at the far off edj. Shows him the darkenin spayses beyond Blinkbonny. Tels him that these ar feelds & moors and mowntans. Poynts to the far off lites of the sity that exists downhill. Tels him of the meny peple that inhabit that plase.

She tels him to look further beyond the city. Can he see the dead flat dark horizon thats darka than the darkening sky abuv? He looks. He stares. He reels. How can it be that the worlds so big?

She tells him that the dead flat dark thing is the sea. She asks him can he see the lite that turns ther the lite that gos & then cums bak & gos & then cums back?

He says he can but really hes not sertan that he can.

“That lite wen it turns shines on the iland,” she says.

“The holy iland?”

“Yes.”

“The won wer the masterpees was mayd?”

“Yes. That 1 Billy. And well go ther 1 day. Its not so far away.”

He stands ded stil & stares & wunders. He turns his eyes to the enormus sky abuv with alredy the first few stars that shyn in it. How can it be that thers so much spase? How can it be that hes so small? He shudders & gasps & feels that he will fall.

“O poor Billy its tym to return” his mother says.

But he cannot stop his lissenin & feelin & his lookin lookin.

The sun appears for its final moment below a jet blak clowd abuv the blak horizon & it blasts its final golden lite at them wich turns them into brite & shinin golden things that stand ther at eech othas syd.

They stumbl bak at last throu nere darknes. Back acros the rubbl crunch crunch rattl crunch. Throu the gate & the dilapidayted garden crunch crunch rattl crunch.

She fumbls with her key. She turns the lok & lets them in & they enter the kitchin & shes switchin on the lite & closin the curtans to block Blinkbonny owt.

“O Billy” she says. “What a dredful thing to be a chyld in such a plays of devastayshon.”

The boy holds on to the taybls edj. He closes his eyes. The vishon of Blinkbonny rores within him.

“Im so sory” she wispers. “It was all supposed to be so different.”

He turns his eyes to her.

“Its lovely Mam” he grones at her. “Its byutiful.”

And all this nite he wil not slepe for the aykin of his mussels & the stingin of his bones & the thumpin of his hart & the byuty & the wunder of this world.

Tap tap. Tap tap.

The sownd of a stik on a dore.

Tap tap. Tap tap.

“Whats that?” hisses Mam.

The tappin agen then the sownd of a voys comin throu the dore.

“Veronica! Veronica!”

Mam gos to the dore & bows a littl as she opens it.

“Weve left you long enuf,” says Missus Malone. “How ar you getting on William?”

“Say very well thank you Missus Malone,” says Mam.

“V-very wel th-thank —”

“A polyt childe” says Missus Malone. “He is a credit to you Veronica. I hav sum stray strands.” She tuches her hare. “Can you see? They need attenshun. Ill sit here if I may.”

She sits on a kitchen chare & fases me. She hangs her stik on the bak of the chare. Mam puts a towl rownd her sholders.

“Now then William. I hav wayted for this tym. I beleev that you hav a purpos. Ar you aware of it?”

“N-no . . .”

“Of cors not. I think it may need dying agen soon, Veronica.”

“Yes Missus Malone.”

“Perhaps next tym. I saw you owt and abowt last nite wich I was very pleesd to see. No good wil cum of hidin away behind closed curtans. You must be abowt yor work Veronica. Yor customers are waytin. And the boy must be trayned.”

“Yes Missus Malone.”

“William why dont you open those curtans as wide as they wil go?”

I look at Mam. She nods at me & I open the curtans wide.

“Thank you,” says Missus Malone. “Thats much beter. Now we can see eech other proply & yor mother can see what she is abowt.” Mam carefully cowms Missus Malones hare.

“Dos he no enything yet?” says Missus Malone.

I see Mam trys to anser but dos not no how to anser.

“He dusnt dus he?” says Missus Malone. “Not abowt enything that maters.”

Mam kepes on cowming.

“No” she murmurs.

“William,” says Missus Malone “yor mother told me you saw fases in the warls. Is that corect?”

I cannot speak.

“Ther is no need to be nervos. That is sumthin els that you shar with yor mother & wich you must overcum. Be plane. Did you see fayses in the warls?”

Mam widens her eyes at me.

“Y-yes” I anser.

“And did you no whos the fases wer?”

“No.”

“They wer not the fayses of yor mother or yor father or of yourself or of Mr McCaufrey or Missus Malone?”

“No.”

“Exellent. I think you cud tayk a little off the frinj, Veronica. A little mor in fact.”

“Yes Missus Malone.”

“Thats very good. Yor mother has a lovely tuch Billy. Now how cud you see fayses of pepl you did not no?”

“I d-dont no, Missus Malone.”

“Of cors you dont. Those with the truest gifts often do not no the sorses or the meanins of those gifts. And did they speke to you thees fases in the shados in the warls?”

I dont no how to anser. Dont no how to put together the words to tel her that yes ther wer sounds like breathin & nereby wispers & sounds like calls from far far away. And ther wer words that came from deep insyd myself and that flappd out from my own mowth & flappd out from my tung.

She watches as I struggl to speke.

“I dont n-no” I say. “It is h-hard . . .”

“Of cors it is. And difficult to decifer. Wich is often the case. Now tel me what happens wen you diy.”

She watches me with ded stil dark eys.

“Hav you never thort of that?” she says. “What wil happen wen you diy?”

“Go on Billy” wispers Mam.

“We go to H-Hevan or-or . . .”

“Or?” says Missus Malone. “Speak up. We must do something abowt that stamma Veronica.”

“Yes Missus Malone.”

“Or what, William?” says Missus Malone.

“Hevan or H-Hell” I say. “Or P-Purgatry or — or . . .”

“Or Limbo. Arl that old bluddy drivel. Ha! Nothing els?”

“We r-rot away lyk a d-dead burd or a dead m-mows.”

“Do you hav sum lacker Veronica. Yes, that ratha niys lavenda won. Spray it ther. The breez can do such damaj to the styl. And the dust! As far as the body is consernd William, what you say is corect. You ar a bryt boy I am pleesd to say.”

“Say thank you Missus Malone,” says Mam.

“Th-thank you Missus Malone.”

“And what do you think of Blinkbonny William Dean?”

We all look to the windo.

“I think,” I say, and I feel my breth qwikening my voys rising. “I th-think it is b-b-byutiful,” I say.

She claps her hands.

“Do you now? I am deliyted to here it. What you say mite be a lode of bollox & ther ar few that wud agree with you but it is evidens that you are abel to see throu to what may ly beneath. I think that looks very niys Veronica. Thank you my dere. Blinkbonny was wons a plays of byuty that was destroyd and was going to be turnd bak to a Paradys. Did you no that?”

“No M-Missus Malone.”

“Everythin that was broken was to be restord. All was to be brung bak owt from the dust. Evrything wud be heeld. Can you beleev it?”

“I d-dont n-n . . .”

“Of cors you dont William. How cud you? Veronica Im ratha parchd & a glas of warta wud be very plesant if its not too much trubbl.”

Mam bows slitely agen & goes to the sink. Missus Malone smooths her hare & kepes on watchin me. Mam gives her a glas of water. She sips then jently wipes her mowth with her rist.

“William,” she says. “Do you no wy I hav protected the nowlej of you just lyk the butcha wil protect the nowlej of you? Say no, Missus Malone becos you cannot possibly no.”

“No, Missus Malone.”

“No. That is corect. I hav dun it for yor mothers sayk, Billy Dean. I hav dun it for her protecshun. I hav dun it becos she is an aynjel who has been took advantij of. Do you understand? Of cors you dont.”

She sips agen.

“And I hav dun it becos good boys lyk you need to be protected from an evil world & becos good boys like you can do speshal things in an evil world. Of cors you do not no & understand such things you must lissen to us & be led by us. You may enjoy yorself of cors for you ar stil littl mor than a child. Ther is no need to hyd away. Few pepl wil tayk noatis in this forgotten plays. But ther may be sum who wud do you harm. If enybody dos qwestion you just tel them that you are in the care of Mr McCaufrey and Missus Malone. Wil you do that?”

“Yes, M-Missus Malone.”

“Good. That wil shut them up. This little trim you hav given me is exelent my dere.”

“Thank you, Missus Malone,” says Mam.

“Yor welcom. Now my dere as I sed you hav customers waytin. I think you shud go off to them.”

“Now?” says Mam.

“Indeed. Now. Noreen Blair for instans was looking very bedraggld when I saw her last. Which is not lyk her is it?”

“No, Missus Malone.”

“No. And do not wory. I wil look after the boy.”

My hart sinks. My breth gasps. Mam sqweeks gently lyk a mows. Thers tears in her eyes.

“Whats this?” says Missus Malone. “Its understandabl of cors but its not as if hes stuk lyk a bayby to yor tit. I thort Id tayk him owt and show him a bit mor of this Paradiys hes fownd himself in. It is tym to explane sum things to him. Don’t you agree Veronica?”

“What things?”

“The things that kepe him in the dark. Youd lyk that wudnt you William?”