IT’S TIME: COULD YOU RISK YOUR SANITY TO SAVE YOURSELF?

by Rachael Dytor

  Thank you sincerely! That was just the motivation I needed to see this through. What was I thinking even wavering slightly on this? If there was ever someone who deserved their comeuppance, it was him. The weather was not going to beat me, I had renewed vigour and was going to battle the elements and get this done. And no ‘sir’ I wouldn’t dilly-dally. You see how quickly I can get through this field with the sweet thought of knocking you down a peg or two at the end of it!

  I jump aboard and set about clearing the field. I picture my siblings and mother in my head as I mentally say, ‘I am doing this for you, for all of us!’ but I snap back to reality when the wind picks up. This was no easy task and was taking all my focus and concentration to plough on. I am convinced now that a snowstorm has set in, there is far too much snow in the atmosphere now to simply put it down to being the wind whipping it up. I cannot stop, I have to see this through.

  With grit and determination, I keep going and am rewarded as halfway through, the storm starts to ease off. Visibility has increased and instead of seeing snow and very little else, I can now see the pathway ahead and my goal – the far corner where I know what is lying in wait. On and on I go cutting through the snow; the uniformity of it starting to have almost a meditative quality to it which I enjoy as it has the effect of calming me right down.

  A noise breaks the silence and stirs me from my reverie. It was the unmistakable sound of a large stone being swallowed up. It didn’t appear to have done any damage as the snowblower continued on. Then again, another clatter and bang as another large stone is devoured. And again, and again she goes, swallowing up the debris and coughing and spluttering and choking with the effort until finally she could take no more. With a last gasp, she simply gave up and came to a standstill; unwilling to hoover up another inch of the white powder. I left the engine idling. I sit in smug contemplation – phase one of the plan is complete.

  Now for phase two. I dig deep within myself and summon the courage to call out to him. “Father! Father! I need your help!” I wait patiently but nothing. I try again another couple of times, but again, nothing. I realise he is tucked up indoors. Of course, why would he be out in this? There is nothing else for it, I’m going to have to go inside to retrieve him. This (strangely) breaks my nerve a little. It makes no sense because one way or another I know I’ll get him to come out, but I think it’s because it wasn’t part of the plan which we’d discussed and rehearsed at great length. Also, I need to ensure he doesn’t go out alone to fix it or once again, game over! I shake the nerves off (as they will not serve me well) and walk as nonchalantly as possible in the direction of the croft.

  He surprises me. I expect him to be nestled into his comfy chair in the dining room, glass of Scotch in hand. However, I find him in the kitchen sipping what smells like a cup of tea. This also has the effect of un-nerving me. As I’d been making my way towards the croft, I’d told myself he’d be starting to feel the effects of the alcohol which would numb his senses but unfortunately it looks as though he is very much clear-headed.

  “Been watching you out the window. What’s all the bloody commotion about?”

  Stay strong! “I was trying to call for you. The snowblower is completely blocked. I got the majority of the lane cleared but the last little bit is still covered because of the blockage. It just stopped working the minute it became blocked, sorry.”

  “Fucking useless so you are. Getting a boy to do a man’s job, should’ve known you weren’t up to it. Well, you needn’t think you’re getting out of it that easy. I’ll get it cleared and you will finish it off.” As he says ‘you,’ he pokes me quite painfully in the chest. I take an involuntary step backwards. Then, he slurps up the remainder of his tea and beckons for me to follow him.

  I maintain a steady distance behind him, watching him as he strides purposefully in the direction of the snowblower. If only you knew! I thought we were getting a reprieve, but it was clearly short-lived as the earlier snowstorm which had left had now returned in earnest. The wind had also re-joined us and even the act of walking was proving difficult. I had a wobble – what if he turned around, choosing instead to let the storm pass and to clear the blockage later? However, he was showing no signs of slowing down. I am quite sure he had other plans for this afternoon, and they certainly wouldn’t involve clearing out a snowblower.

  He is trying to communicate with me, but I can barely hear anything with the storm now in full force. We reach our destination, and he indicates to me that I should climb aboard. I do as I am instructed. Again, I hear snippets of words, but it is all indecipherable. I feel sure he is cursing, judging by the look on his face. He approaches me and leans right in, realising I can’t hear a word. I feel like recoiling, barely suffering the stench of his breath so close to me. He barks his orders; “Make sure she’s off and your foot is nowhere near the clutch. The spark plug should be disconnected but fuck it, I’m not pissing about with that in these conditions!”

  OK, here goes nothing. Time to put this plan into action. The engine was still idling but the noise of it was suffocated with the roar of the wind. There was a very slight shaking motion to the snowblower since it was still idling but would he notice? The plan had been to turn the engine off then put it back on as he set about clearing the blockage but was that necessary if he didn’t realise it was still on? Keep your cool, I tell myself. Just wait a minute or two and see if he notices. The storm I had been cursing not so long ago for making my job difficult was now working to my advantage. He didn’t seem to notice that I hadn’t turned it off. All the reassurance I needed came in the form of a sequence of hand gestures. We couldn’t hear one other whatsoever, so he did a motion in the air with his right-hand mirroring turning the engine off. This was closely followed by both hands outstretched in a gesture which depicted ‘well, have you done it?’ Here goes nothing. I reciprocated by giving him the thumbs up and he copies, providing me with a thumbs up. He was ready to go in.

  It did occur to me that he might have equipped himself with a broom or shovel to assist him but no, he was going in with both hands! He had put his trust in me to turn the engine off. What a fool! At that moment it felt as though time had stood still. His fate and mine were in the hands of the gods, inexplicably intertwined. I watch intently as he removes some of the blockage from the top of the chute, his hands nowhere near the impeller unit. Encouraged by the ease of which he managed to remove the top layer of compacted snow and debris, he goes straight in again without delay. This time I watch memorised as he heaves a large boulder out of the chute. Those blades attached to the impeller unit were going to fire into action imminently …

  He digs deep a third time and there is no containing the shriek. It pierces and cuts through the storm. I watch the scene unfold as though I’m seeing it through the eyes of someone else, feeling somewhat detached from reality. I have never heard father scream before, and it is a sight to behold. He is a writhing, screaming, snivelling wreck; his face devoid of any colour, clearly in shock. Then I see the blood. The perfect ruby red droplets land on the brilliant white snow and the contrast is striking. It is my sole focus in that moment, and I am completely unaware that he is desperately trying to communicate with me.

  Thankfully, he makes steps towards me and it is enough to jolt me into the present moment. I act quickly, cutting the engine off dead. He is completely unaware of my actions; too consumed with tending to his bleeding hand. I cannot ascertain the extent of the injury he sustained since the snow is coming down thick and fast and is being blown in every direction, making visibility extremely difficult. I mentally prepare myself as best I can for what I am about to witness. Caroline’s words are ringing in my ears – ‘He has it coming to him.’ I think of Juliet and mother, both so helpless and easily manipulated by him and it helps me strengthen my resolve.

  He is right up by my side now and he brandishes the bleeding digit in my face. Sadly, he has only sustained an injury to one of his fingers – the thumb of his right hand – s
o not as gruesome as I had anticipated. It was difficult to tell in the storm, but it looked as though the majority of his thumb was still intact; just the very top was missing, sliced clean off. He is very distressed; in pain and desperate to have it out with me but it would be impossible to hold a conversation in the midst of this storm, so we revert to hand signals again. He (thankfully) removes the bleeding thumb and motions me to follow him back to the croft.

  I maintain the obligatory six feet distance behind him and again I feel that detachment set in as I am captivated with watching the droplets of crimson blood make contact with the snow. He will leave his mark; an offending trail of blood; staining the perfect crisp white virgin snow.

  As we near the croft, I cannot help but cast my mind to my siblings. Will they be happy with the outcome? (Well Juliet knows nothing about our plan so I imagine she will be shocked.) And I am unsure what James will think as he said very little when we were plotting it all out. Have I succeeded or have I failed? I set out to cause him injury and I have succeeded on that count but at first glance it didn’t appear to be as bad as I had thought it might be. He was lucky not to have lost the whole thumb or to have damaged any other fingers. He also escaped unscathed from any debris flying out of the chute which could’ve easily happened when he unclogged it (since the engine was still running). I felt fairly satisfied I’d seen the plan though with the desired outcome, but would everyone share my point of view? Caroline in particular was baying for his blood, desperate to see him suffer. Understandable, since he had pushed her to the limit, and she was looking for retribution.

  He is cradling his hand tenderly like a new-born baby, every so often glancing down at it, clearly still in shock about it all. The normally swift walk back to the croft takes us considerably longer than it should do thanks to the forces of nature. We were being blown this way and that and enduring driving snow in our face. I am fearful of how he is going to react when we make it indoors. We reach the croft, and he uses his good hand to fling the door wide. He does it with such gusto that it flies back towards me and I have no choice but to step backwards. The door rattles loudly as the hinges moan and groan when they are activated, such was the force applied. This is not looking good; he is clearly fuming.

  The only presence in the kitchen is mother and I can see the slam of the door already has her scared witless. Like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights, she jumps to attention, all wide eyed and fearful about what is to come. I catch sight of her reaction as he enters the room, and she looks genuinely shocked.

  “Bert, what happened? Goodness, are you alright?” She rushes to find the first aid box, witnessing the blood beginning to pool at his feet.

  “Do I look alright, you daft bitch?! This one here is out to get me and make no mistake!” He points towards me. What to say, what to say? This is going southwards, rapidly. “He had me put both hands down the chute of that godforsaken snowblower to unblock it with the engine still running and look; just look at the result would you!” He thrusts his bloody, torn, and tattered thumb right into her face and she snaps her head back but somehow manages to regain some composure.

  “Don’t worry, Bert, we’ll get it bandaged up and stem the flow.” She busies herself with getting dressings and tape from the first aid box and meanwhile he turns his attention towards me.

  “Well come on then, we are all ears! What the fuck happened out there?! Give me one good reason not to string you up right now!” Again, I have that detached feeling come over me as though if I leave my body, even for a moment, I can pretend this is not happening. I can be there witnessing myself from outside of myself. It is at that point I can clearly hear the voices of my siblings. They have my back; they are the voices of encouragement, of love and support and they help me to formulate a response.

  “I am so sorry. It was an accident. I don’t know how it happened, honestly! The engine was turned off long before you went in to unblock the chute. The only thing I can think of is that there was still torque left in the system after I cut the engine which caused the impeller to keep spinning.” A stony silence fills the room as he takes in my response. The only noise to be heard comes from mother as she expertly tends to his wounds. I am feeling brave and confident with my response and give myself a virtual pat on the back. Not half bad considering I’d just came up with it on the spot! The original plan had been for me to cut the engine off completely then turn it back on, using the excuse that my hand had slipped, but since that’s not what happened the rest I was making up as I was going along.

  “Aah, smart guy huh? Mary, we have one smart ass here, do we not? What do you know about ‘torque in the system’ and ‘impeller blades’?” he says, mimicking my voice. “Bullshit Thomas! That engine was never turned off, you knew exactly what you were doing! You meant for this to happen. In fact, I imagine you were hoping I lost far more than just the tip of my thumb! Look at me boy! LOOK AT ME!” he says menacingly and with such ferocity, I have no option. I stare him straight in the face and we take each other in, weighing each other up and our opposing versions of events.

  I am more than aware that whatever I say next could have a ground-breaking effect. This is pressure like I have never felt before. And we are in unchartered waters here as he is on the receiving end for the first time. OK, here goes nothing.

  “I cut the engine off, I swear to you. I am not lying. And you asked me to read the manual on how to operate the snowblower when you taught me how to use it which is why I knew about the torque and the effect it can have after the engine has been turned off. But … I am responsible for the machine getting clogged up. I knew there was a bad storm forecast today and thought if the chute were to get clogged up, then I might not have to finish it all. So, last night I left some large rocks and sticks at the far end of the lane and … and, well you know the rest. But I never, ever meant for you to get hurt, I just thought we’d call it a day with it being blocked and with the storm and all … ” I see his face is now crimson, he is about to explode so, without thinking, shamefully, it’s out there; “It was Caroline; it was Caroline, father! She made me do it! It was her idea!”

  What had I done? I’d dropped her right in it; put her right in the firing line. There had been no thought involved, I was just straight out with it. The only thought I did have prior to my outburst was that I had to show some accountability. To simply say I’d cut the engine off and nothing more, that it was a freak accident I didn’t think would wash with him. He wanted someone to blame so saying I had purposefully clogged the chute up was, in my eyes, definitely the lesser of the two evils. He would be more lenient if he thought I was trying to shirk out of finishing a chore as opposed to being out to intentionally injure him. But, bringing Caroline into it, how had that happened? I felt guilt and shame in bucketloads. All the time I’ve spent contemplating about how to protect them all and at the first opportunity I use her as my fall guy. Well, there was no going back now, it was out there so I’d just have to see this one through.

  Because we had been looking directly at one other during my confession, I’d had the misfortune of watching his face throughout. This, I realise, is why I had dropped her in it – I was terrified, I didn’t like what I saw one bit. He was fit to burst and had mother not been tending to his wound, I imagine he would have been off his seat in a flash, pinning me against the wall. Blaming Caroline, it appeared, was a colossal mistake. Not only did I feel beyond guilty, but I could see the impact of my words and it seemed to make him even madder, if that was possible.

  Mother finished dressing the wound and I braced myself. “So that’s your version of events then, is it? Caroline was the mastermind behind all this? It was her idea to clog the chute up and you happily went along with it, wanting to get out of doing your chores? This is beginning to be a recurring theme now, Thomas, shifting the blame towards Caroline, is it not? But, if that’s what we’re going with, then you’re both to blame, is that not right, Mary?” We simultaneously turn to look at mother and she ap
pears to be in a state of fugue, staring off into space. “Mary; MARY!” Nothing rouses her. “What the fuck? Stupid cow, she’s on another planet that one. At least I know she’s not involved, she’s not capable of breaking her way out of a cardboard box!”

  He turns his attention back to me. “Well, if what you’re saying is true, you’d better get her in here right now, prove it to me. You claim you didn’t set out to hurt me but hurt me you did as a result of your stupidity and laziness.” He stares intently at me, waiting for me to make a move, but I can’t, I’m frozen to the spot, not sure what to do. He starts to shout, “Caroline, oh Caroline, where are you? Get in here – now!” We wait, but nothing.

  “Piss off out of my sight now, lad! And Caroline or no Caroline, you’d best get yourself back here within the next hour or so help me God … and be prepared to get what’s coming to you! Go on! Shift it will you! Can a man no get some peace? I need to rest up and have a wee dram whilst I think up your punishment.”

  When we had been discussing how to execute our plan, Caroline had said all along she’d be watching the proceedings as they played out. I knew with certainty that she would have heard all the drama unfold when we arrived back in the croft, she would have been lying in wait. Now the real panic sets in with me. She knows my betrayal and she knows he is looking for her. I feel my heart breaking – what had I done? OK, yes, she was involved, but why had I implicated her in such a direct fashion? If she knows he’s after her, she’ll be in a panic too. Think Thomas, THINK! There’s no way she’d hang about here. She will have fled, and it hits me straight away in that moment, I know where she’ll be headed to. I have to go; I have to get to her before he does.