by Tommy Dakar
He pushed his plate away from him approvingly and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
'He's a strange one, that one, mum,'
he said in a raw voice, like gravel or animal flesh.
'Who? That Richard?'
answered his wife, approaching him with huge mother's bosoms and a cup of tea. He continued.
'Oh, I suppose he's probably harmless, but I do say it's a bid odd, a full grown man wanting to hide himself away like a crab, especially in this day and age. I mean, you'd hardly expect to come across an 'ermit nowadays, would you?'
'In India, maybe. They say they do all sorts of strange things in India, like sitting on poles for year after year, or swallowing yards of muslin to clean out their intestines.'
He looked at her quizzically but affectionately, at her round balloon face that so easily smiled. He sipped his tea and she added,
'but you're right, it's a bit odd having one just round the corner, so to speak ... in our own back-yard you might say.'
'What do you reckon he's up to, then, mum? Maybe he's running away from somebody. The law maybe?'
'Lord, no. Him? No, he's running from himself, that one. It's plain as day. No, he's no criminal, but he's a loner, I think, that's all. Perhaps when he comes to see us, when he needs some things, we can invite him to tea and bring him out of himself a bit. You know, a bit of company.
'I don't think he wants to come to the farmhouse at all. That's what's so odd. I mean there's getting away from it and getting away from it.'
They paused for a while, in no hurry to finish the conversation. They drank their tea silently for a while until the farmer continued.
'You see, today, when I finally got him settled in that old hut, I said 'if you need anything at all, just pop up to the house and ask, either me or the misses or one of the kids'll be there', and he said that he'd rather not bother us, and I said 'Oh, it's not any bother at all' and he said 'I'd rather not', but like he really meant it, as if he were afraid of us or something. So I said 'Well, you'll need some things though, won't you? Bread, candles, the sort of things you can't make for yourself'. I said 'It'll be some time before you settle in, there'll be a million things you'll need.' 'That's probably very true' he said, 'I'm sure we can come to an arrangement', and he went on and asked if he could collect whatever he needed from the old shepherd's hut down by the old goat-run, and he'd leave notes as to what he wanted. I thought it was all very strange but he seemed to insist on it a bit, and well, it don't bother me, it's just that I say it's all a bit odd in this day and age, even if it is money in the bank. Still,'
he concluded, again wiping his lips,
'live and let live, eh?'
His wife thought for a few seconds and added
'Perhaps we'll see more of him when he's tired of being all on his own. It don't do anybody any good to be alone all day, and I'm sure he'll tire of it 'fore long, you wait and see. I must admit, though, you're right, he must be a strange one to want to sacrifice himself like that, like one of them old saints.'
He patted her on the arm, rose, and said
'Well, I've work to do.'
'So've I,'
she replied, and they set about their respective chores in a slow, contented, middle-aged way that tastes of fresh green peas and feels like hot bread clutched against the stomach, a life and attitude that smells of warm, early morning beds and sounds like the laughter of a sister; mercifully safe.