Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  Can't see that happening. Down the line I can see Dawn and her husband, Henry the mill supervisor, looking a bit doubtful. I can't imagine Henry doing owt but docking my brother's wages if he's late for work with a hangover. Oh―but Gale won't have a hangover will he? 'Cause the Light doesn't like you going on the piss.

  Aha. I'm starting to get it.

  I'm not surprised by what I hear next:

  "If you have grievances at work, if you truly believe they are justified, do not down tools, make placards, march and shout; instead, elect a spokesperson and arrange a meeting with those in charge."

  "Yeah, we tried that," shouts Vic. "They still treated us like shit!"

  Ryder stops, and invites Vic up to the stage. He looks around, like he feels a bit of a dick, then goes to stand by Lieutenant Parks.

  Ryder holds out a hand to both Parks and Vic.

  "Lieutenant Parks, if Vic or any of his colleagues come to you with a grievance, can you vow to listen? To consider his point of view, and hammer out a reasonable compromise?"

  Park shrugs. "Yes. I don't see why not."

  "Vic? If you trust that you will be heard, would you try the meeting before the protest march or strike? I've spoken to Darius on the subject, and he's willing―are you?"

  Vic shrugs, in the same way. "Yeah. I suppose. If he's going to be reasonable."

  "Can you both stand back and think not just of your own priorities, but consider the points of view of the other?"

  They both say that, yeah, they can.

  Well, that was easy. A bit too easy. Reminds me of the plays Ryder used to put on last winter. That's what this seems like. Sort of stagey.

  No one else sees that, though; they're all smiling and clapping.

  Ryder beams at both of them. "We will do things differently here in Blackthorn, from now on. Governor North and I have discussed many strategies that will help us move forward towards the Light and away from Despair; some of them you may have doubts about at first, but I ask you to keep an open heart."

  Darius is behind me; I can hear him grunting to Vic, Lake and Myers.

  He clears his throat, and calls out, "What are these strategies, then? I mean, yeah, I'm on board, like I said the other night, but what am I going to have doubts about?"

  Ryder breathes in, deeply. "This is a new chapter in the history of Blackthorn, Darius. A more enlightened chapter that will help us through these difficult days. If we're to rise above Despair we must make some adjustments, and they may not all seem easy, but ultimately we will all reap the benefits."

  He hasn't answered the question. I glance behind; Darius looks kind of bewildered.

  Ryder holds out his arms. "Welcome the Light into your hearts, and he will arrive. Live according to his words, and you will find joy. Know that those we have lost are with him, and that we will be reunited with them, after our physical selves have left this world."

  Then he stops, and rubs his beard like he's deep in thought―and yes, he's off again.

  "Can I be honest with you? At first, I felt burdened at being chosen for this task, because I didn't know how the hell I was going to do it, but now I understand―the task is not a burden but a gift, because nothing worth having comes easily."

  "That's true, that," says Dad.

  "Feel the Light in your heart." Ryder puts his hand on his chest, then holds it out, palm facing us. "Share that Light with your neighbour." He laughs, looking more like the Ryder we used to know. "Go on! Do it, all of you! Turn to the person next to you, on either side, and share the Light!"

  Laurel slams her sweaty palm onto Gale's; she looks fucking stoned. I'm not doing it; I bend down and pretend to be doing up my boot lace. Oh, and of course, next comes the hugging―Laurel tries to hug me, but I tell her she can fuck right off with that―and it's all happy-happy; I look up on the stage, and even our Governor is smiling, which is kind of scary. Ryder stands, hands in front of him, together, dead serene and still, just like one of those Jesus models in the churches, except that he's wearing cargo pants and a blue woollen hoodie.

  Mum reaches across Dad, clutches my hand, and says, "We're going to see Morning again. I'm going to see my baby girl."

  So I really hope this is all true, for her sake.

  Then again, she'll be dead by the time she finds out, so it won't matter one way or the other.

  Part 2

  Five months later

  Living in the Light

  Chapter 14

  Evie

  "Live in the Light," says the first person I see as I walk up into the city centre. He's an old guy, probably about fifty; the size of his gut tells me he has an easy job and eats too many pies, probably made by me. He holds up his plump, pink palm and smiles at me as if he wants nothing more in the world than to join mitts with a skanky shacker. Eight months ago, I'd have got the 'what are you doing here, scumbag?' look.

  Yuck. His hand feels too soft for a man, like he's never sawn a log, built a wall or dug a hole in his life.

  I walk on towards the library.

  It's a gorgeous day; you know how you get the odd one in April when it's more like June, and everyone takes off their jumpers and thinks summer's come early? It never has, of course; usually by the next week it's pissing down with rain again, but today I couldn't wait to get out to the woods and the spirit field. I was on early shift, which meant I finished at two o'clock. That's part of the new regime. Seven-hour days instead of eight-hour. This is so that more of the refugees from Central, Boltwick and Mulgrave can be offered paid work so they don't have to live on bunnies, worms and dandelion roots. Which is all very nice for them, but we have less money.

  Vic kicked off about this; he was having a right old moan in the Beer Hut and wanted to do a tools-down, but Darius said no, 'cause they'd promised not to do that shit any more.

  "This is what Ryder was talking about," said Bonnie, leaning on the bar. "The strategies that might seem hard at first, but are better for everyone in the long run."

  Vic still looked pretty hacked off, though.

  Myers, who was the first one of their crowd to accept the Light, said that now they're not spending so much on drink, they'll hardly notice the drop in wages, especially as the governor has added a half pound of butter to our weekly freebie allowance but, most importantly of all, making this sacrifice for others would get us one step closer to the Clearing.

  "Yee-fucking-hah," replied Vic.

  Ryder kept his word, and hasn't moved out to a fancy Thorn Lodge apartment, but he does have his own shack now. They built it specially for him, tacked onto the edge of Logside, near the road out to the bakery and the market; it's on the same water system as the bakery, so it's got not only a tap but a bathtub and a flushing toilet, and Wonderful Ryder doesn't have far to go to get fresh bread for his brekky.

  He doesn't work as a guard any more. His job is spiritual guide. Which, basically, means that he wanders around smiling at people, or sits in his shack and waits for them to come looking for spiritual guidance. He holds prayer groups, but you have to pay a chip to be in one. He calls it a 'donation', and says the chips will buy materials―stuff we don't make here but get from other settlements―for the upkeep and extension of the church. It's being made bigger so that more of us can crowd in to tell the Light how awesome he is, and posher so that when the Word Of The Light has spread all round the country, visitors who want to 'pay homage' will feel like it's been worth the trip.

  There will also be huts at the back for 'pilgrims' to kip in, overnight.

  In the old religions they had prayers already written out, and you had to say the same words every time, but at Ryder's prayer groups anyone can write them. He has to look at your prayer first to make sure it's appropriate (he uses that word a lot, now), and then he or the person who wrote it can read it out. He holds two sessions a day, except Saturday (which is when he does most of his wandering around smiling), and Sunday, which is the main church gathering day, but otherwise there is a group at ten every morni
ng, and another at six in the evening. People from all over Blackthorn go to them, even the lieutenants.

  You can pay more than one chip if you like; there is always a waiting list for the sessions, because Ryder's shack (he calls it a cabin) is only small, so only ten people are allowed per session, but if you pay more you get moved up the list.

  Which means that the poorer people―the shackers, in other words―lose out. No change there, then. Except that now they don't moan about it, 'cause the Light says it's wrong to whinge.

  Darius said that surely the Light will know who goes to the prayer groups and who doesn't, and it won't be fair if shackers can't get to the Clearing because they can't afford to give bigger donations.

  Ryder said that the Light isn't sitting up in the sky with a pen and paper, keeping a tally.

  I don't go to prayer groups. I'm taking my chances. If the Light doesn't think I'm good enough to go to the Clearing when I'm dead, I'll just have to show them who's boss in Despair.

  We know it's not the actual clearing in the woods that we'll go to when we die, by the way. Like, what Ryder felt was just a manifestation of the Light's world. But everyone got fed up with saying 'What Ryder Experienced in the Clearing in the Woods', and just started saying the Clearing 'cause it's easier; it's symbolic.

  Hark at me, using my new words!

  Ryder says that the Clearing isn't a place you physically get to, but a different plane in which your spirit will rest. I said, is it like the waking dreams you have when you're stoned? And he laughed and said, maybe, a bit. But I felt like he was patronising me.

  Everyone thinks they're going to see their dead loved ones when they get to the Clearing. Which is just as well, because there have been a lot of deaths all over the city since this malarkey began. It was fucking freezing in December and January, with a ton of snow, then in February it rained non-stop, and, just when it was starting to ease off, there was this bad flu outbreak. They reckon it came from the pigs or the chickens, 'cause the animal carers got sick first. Star didn't; she said the Light was taking care of her.

  I said, "So how come he was taking care of you and not the others?"

  She pretended she hadn't heard me.

  Lots of old people and young kids caught the disease; people say the schools will be emptier for a few years.

  Thora's mum died, too, though not from the flu. She'd had bad guts for a while and Doctor Paul said she had cancer up her arse, or something. Thora said it was a 'blessed release' when she died. Then there was a pregnant woman in Midshacks who wanted to have her kid at home instead of going to the hospital, but she had to have it cut out of her and they both died. The funerals were sad, like they always are, but Ryder was there and talked about the dead people going to the Clearing to hang out with the Light, and people didn't cry so much.

  They were still buried in the spirit field in the family grave, but no one talks about the tree spirits any more.

  At the funeral for Thora's mum, Gale said, "Aren't people's souls in the trees any more? Does that mean they never were?"

  Mum and Dad told him to shut up, but I think it was a fair question. I mean, they either were or they weren't.

  Ryder said they always went to live in eternal peace with the Light, but the tree thing gave us comfort before we were 'awakened', so it's all good.

  It's a lot different here now.

  It's Saturday night and I'm sitting with Laurel and Jay in the Beer Hut―we're paying for Jay 'cause he's got no money. We're having a good laugh at all the big men pretending they don't mind not getting totally arseholed like they used to on a Saturday night. 'Cept Vic, who says fuck it, and shouts to Bonnie to bring him over some shine.

  A lot of people are having trouble getting used to this rule. Sorry, guideline. Ryder has people knocking on his door for advice on how to conquer their desire for alcohol. He tells them that it will come in time, and when they learn to appreciate that every day is a gift, they won't want to blur it with drink.

  Meanwhile, Jack and Bonnie are pissed off 'cause people aren't buying as much booze as they used to; Bonnie has started to grow weed, instead. The same is happening in the Midshacks bar, but not so much in Stinky Bottom 'cause half of them are 'beyond redemption', or so Thora says.

  It's quiet in here, for a Saturday night.

  "Sod this for a lark," says Jay. "Let's go down Clem's and have some fun."

  I can hear the laughing and shouting as we make our way down the path, and the sound of a guitar and people singing; sounds like we might be in for a fun night―but the first person we see when we push open the door is Brook, who is sort of sitting on a stool at the bar. When I say 'sort of', I mean that his arse is perched on the edge with his left leg dangling out at one side and his right foot wedged behind a rung. He's lolling over the bar, supported by his right arm; one false move, and he'll be on the floor.

  "Dad." Jay grabs his arm. "Dad. Shall I take you home?"

  Brook lurches to the side and yes, it's a movement too far; both he and the stool crash to the floor.

  "Yeah, take him out, will yer?" says Clem, as we heave Brook to his feet; his right leg is still tangled up in the stool but he doesn't seem to notice this. He does this horrible thing with his face that I think is supposed to be a smile.

  "My boy," he slurs. "You got any money?"

  I drag his right arm round my shoulder. Fuck, he honks something rank. "We're going home, Brook."

  His blotchy face turns in my direction. "You that smart-mouthed bitch from Logside? You going t' buy me a drink, pet?"

  I pull him up. "We'll get you home and you can have summat there, alright?"

  A couple lurch up to the bar. The woman's got a shaven head and a black eye and I think the bloke's hair is meant to be dreadlocks, but it's just a matted mass with bits of sawdust in it. "We'll get Brook a drink," the woman says, throwing a load of chips on the bar. "We got paid today, an' we owe him a couple."

  So he's been spending Jay's wages on drinks for other wasters.

  Clem shoves half the chips back at the woman.

  "I ain't serving him no more tonight. Last night he pissed his self, sitting right there."

  Doesn't smell like she cleaned it up very well, neither.

  We drag him back to their shack, and when we open the door I want to cry for poor Jay, living here. Brook gets chatty and I make the odd comment back, but Jay tells me not to.

  "I know how to deal with him," he says. "Anything you say can set him off; you just sit quiet."

  He manhandles his dad into bed, but then Brook decides he needs to take a piss and tries to have one, right there, standing in the corner, so Jay has to get him back outside again. It's fucking horrible, it really is. While they're outside, I sneak a look in the cupboards. The only food is a few scraps left over from what I nicked for them earlier in the week.

  Once Brook is snoring, I say, "Mate, you can't keep living like this. Look, you can come and live with Laurel and me, we'd make room―"

  "I ain't leaving him."

  "He's drinking away your money―"

  He gives a big sigh. "I know. And I fucking hate him when he's like this, but he's still my dad. And just 'cause someone's a git most of the time, it doesn't mean you don't love them."

  I dunno about that.

  "And," he says, "I'm scared."

  "Scared? What, of him?"

  "No." He bites his lip and looks down. "You know. Despair. If I left my dad to rot here all alone, that'd be really bad, wouldn't it? So I might end up in Despair when I die." His lip quivers. "Forever and ever. I don't think I could stand that. I just couldn't."

  Shackers' End is quiet next day, it being Sunday, 'cause everyone's up at the church. I go for a walk to the spirit field, on my own. That's empty, too. Used to be a lot of people would come here on Sundays.

  I'm so wound up thinking about Jay.

  When I think the poor folks' church gathering will be over, I walk back over to Ryder's shacabin. That's what me and Jay call i
t, 'cause we're always saying 'sha―' before we remember to call it his cabin. So it comes out as 'shacabin'. Star says it's disrespectful.

  Ryder's not back yet; I sit on the grass outside and wait. When he turns up he's with Raven and two Midshacks farm workers; he looks happy and full of beans, and his hair's all shiny and bouncy, like a girl's.

  The farm workers touch their hands to their chests when they see me, and hold up their stupid hands. I ignore them.

  "Hey!" says Ryder, bounding up to me. "I didn't see you in church."

  I stand up, and brush the seat of my trousers. "Prob'ly 'cause I weren't there. Can I come in?"

  "Always," he says, putting his key in the lock. "Any time; it's good to see you."

  Inside, the place is sparkling clean, 'cause one of those farm workers cleans it for him every other day, and refuses to take payment; he says it's an honour. The flowers on his table are cut for him twice a week from the North Garden. Lieutenant Ward's wife brings them down for him. He's got these poncey curtains, with little tie-backs, that Thora made for him.

  "Can I get you anything? Tea?"

  I would like some, but I'm too angry to say yes. I don't even sit down. I don't want him to think this is a friendly visit. So I just come out with it.

  "It's about Jay."

  He's all smiles, still. "What's the matter; is he in trouble?"

  I don't smile back. "Duh―you haven't noticed?"

  "I'm sorry, Evie―it isn't always easy to keep up with everyone; there are only so many hours in a day! I know his father lost his job―"

  "Yeah, months ago, and Jay's trying to keep both of them on his cleaner's wage, but his dad takes his money for drink, and Jay's living on scraps, half the time―"

  Ryder pulls a chair out. "Please, Evie. Come on; sit."

  I do, but only 'cause it'll seem like I'm being arsey if I don't, and I need his help. I sit at his cute table with the pretty flowers in the pot, and I stare at them so I don't have to look at him.