by John Harding
‘Want a lift?’ In those days it was still OK for male teachers to be alone in their cars with fifteen-year-old female students. People hadn’t yet managed to work out why it wasn’t.
‘It’s OK, the bus will be along in a minute.’ She didn’t want to be alone with Richardson. The combination of his balding head, his round glasses and the beady eyes behind them reminded her of someone unpleasant but she couldn’t think who it was.
‘Don’t be daft. It’s late, it’s cold and I have to go through your village. Come on, hop in, I’ll take you right to your door.’
That was the last thing Lucy wanted to hear but she could think of no excuse. Reluctantly, she got into the car.
On the way home Mr Richardson attempted to engage Lucy in conversation. He asked her about her family. He didn’t mention her mother directly but Lucy deduced he knew she was dead because when she told him about her older sisters he said, ‘I expect they look after you.’
Lucy replied that on the contrary they had both left school now and were too busy going out to bother about her. Mr Richardson felt able to take his eyes off the long straight ribbon of road stretching in front through the bleak sugar beet fields to shoot her a sympathetic glance. He had sufficient confidence in his driving to take his left hand off the steering wheel and pat her on the knee. His hand rested there perhaps a second or so too long to give any likelihood to the idea that he might just be being friendly.
They pulled up outside her house. As Mr Richardson switched off the ignition Lucy was able to discern the merest flicker of the front-room curtains and knew her mother had observed them.
‘Well,’ said Mr Richardson. ‘Here we are, then.’
‘Yes. Thank you, Sir.’ Lucy fiddled with the door handle but was in such a hurry to get out of the car that she couldn’t get the hang of it.
‘Here, let me,’ said Mr Richardson. He reached across and she could smell stale tobacco on his breath as he took hold of the handle. But he didn’t open the door. Lucy was pinned to her seat. ‘Well,’ said Mr Richardson again. Even in Lucy’s limited experience it seemed to be the word with which men always chose to begin awkward sentences. ‘Well, aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s normal manners you know. Teacher gives you a lift home, you ask him in for a cup of tea and to meet your parents. Uh parent, I mean.’
‘My father won’t be in. It’s his darts night.’
Mr Richardson released the catch on her door. As she scrambled out he opened his own door and got out of the car too. ‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘You know how to make a cup of tea, don’t you?’
It was with some trepidation that Lucy opened the back door (they never used the front one) and Mr Richardson followed her into the kitchen.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ she said. She knew that was what you were supposed to say from films on the TV. He sat down at one end of the kitchen table. Lucy glanced at him and remembered who he reminded her of. She’d seen pictures of Reginald Christie in a series about notorious killers in the News of the World a few weeks earlier. Mr Richardson bore a striking resemblance to the necrophiliac mass murderer.
As she stood at the sink to fill the kettle, with her back to him, she felt his eyes upon her. She tugged her skirt hem, trying to pull it lower. She wished she hadn’t bamboozled her father into buying her one so short. This was the downside of not shopping with your mother. Nobody else’s mums let them get away with anything so brief. At the same time as Lucy cursed her skirt for being so short, she was grateful that the tablecloth was so long, for she knew that her mother would be crouching under the table beneath it.
Lucy wasn’t too alarmed at being alone with the spitting image of a serial killer. She knew that if Mr Richardson made a move on her, her mother would come to her rescue. The trouble was, if that happened, it would be she, Lucy, who would be revealed as the murderer. The game would be up. There would be hell to pay at school and her mother would discover that her daughter had simply removed her from existence. What would her mum think of that?
Lucy took the tea things to the table, poured tea for them both, gave the teacher his and took hers to the other end of the table and sat down facing him. ‘Goodness, you’re awfully far away,’ he said. ‘It’s like Henry VIII and one of his wives at opposite ends of the banqueting table. Why don’t I move a little closer?’
He picked up his cup and saucer and sat at the longer side of the table, but right in the corner next to her end. His knee pressed against Lucy’s under the table; only the long tablecloth between them prevented actual contact. She would have liked to move her knee away but she was jammed in by the legs of the table and by her mother who had crawled to this end to be as far away as possible from Mr Richardson before he moved.
‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ Lucy said.
A look of surprise and embarrassment appeared on his face. Maybe if she just confronted him he’d go away and no harm done.
‘Prince,’ she said. It was the first name that came into her head. It must have been him talking about Henry VIII that had done it. He looked baffled.
‘Our dog. He’s under the table.’
Mr Richardson went to lift the tablecloth to have a look, but this wasn’t easy as it hung almost to the floor. ‘I wouldn’t disturb him if I were you, he doesn’t like strangers.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, he’s rather old and crotchety, I’m afraid. He’s lovely with children. And women too. But he doesn’t like men. Especially strange men.’
The way she said ‘strange’ would have alerted most people to what she meant by it. But not Mr Richardson. He dropped the tablecloth. ‘Oh well, best let sleeping dogs lie, then.’
‘He’s not asleep.’ Lucy gave her Mum a poke with her toe. A baritone growl issued from beneath the table. Lucy was impressed; she hadn’t known her mother could growl like that.
They chatted for a few minutes then Mr Richardson said, ‘I expect you go out with lots of boys, don’t you?’
‘Not really,’ said Lucy. ‘One or two.’
‘I bet they try to do things to you, don’t they?’
‘I don’t think that’s the kind of question you should be asking me,’ said Lucy boldly. She couldn’t believe her own nerve.
‘It’s part of a teacher’s job to know things about his pupils. How else can I protect a young girl like you, a sexy young girl like you, from being preyed upon by the dirty-minded scum I see around the streets?’
Lucy didn’t say anything. She tried to appear calm. She attempted to pour herself some more tea but her hand was shaking so much the spout of the pot rattled against her cup. This was the moment Richardson made his lunge. He reached out and grabbed her right breast. ‘I expect they put their hands here, don’t they? Well, don’t they? I bet you let them, don’t you? I bet you love it.’
She rose from her seat to get away but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. He thrust his hand up her skirt. She clamped her legs together. ‘I bet they put their hands up here. I bet they touch your – your—’
There was a loud growl from under the table.
‘Mr Richardson, please!’ pleaded Lucy, twisting away from him, but not far because he still had her wrist. ‘The dog—’
‘Oh bugger the dog!’ he cried and started to get up himself, but just as he was on his feet he stopped dead. His eyes went wide in surprise. ‘Oh, God,’ he gasped. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus fucking Christ!’ He let go of her.
‘Mr Richardson, what is it?’ said Lucy, at the same time pulling her clothes straight. ‘What happened?’
‘It bit me! The fucking brute bit me!’
He bent and lifted his right trouser turn-up. Both of them gasped. Blood was flowing from what were undeniably teeth marks. ‘Look!’ panted Richardson. ‘Look what that damn animal has done to me! I’m telling you—’
But before he could say what he was telling her he was interrupted by a long, low growl from beneath the table. He didn’t stay to say any more.
As Ric
hardson limped out clutching his bleeding ankle he flung dire imprecations at her about how he was going to the police and would make sure the dog was put down, but Lucy never heard another word about it. At school he greeted her coldly but never again referred to the incident. He went out of his way to avoid her and always gave her strictly accurate grades. Lucy assumed that he must have decided that complaining about the dog would involve the question of why the dog had bitten him. She didn’t know that at the emergency department of the RAF Hospital in Ely where he went for a tetanus jab the doctor had assured him the bite mark on his ankle was not of canine origin, but, most definitely, human.
TWENTY-SIX
‘GWANGA! GWANGA!’
William was just leaving the shitting beach. He turned and saw the man Purnu running after him, lifting his feet high and weaving from side to side as he tried to run and not step in shit at the same time.
‘You is make good shit?’ asked Purnu when he reached him and stood getting his breath back.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said William. They both looked back to where the usual crowd had gathered round to inspect William’s morning evacuation.
‘You is not bury any more?’ said Purnu. He looked genuinely interested.
‘No,’ said William. ‘When In Rome.’
‘Please, what is mean? What is be Rome?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. It’s too complicated to explain,’ said William, turning and moving off, leaving Purnu rubbing his chin, looking puzzled.
‘Gwanga! Gwanga!’ William stopped and sighed. The man was a nuisance. Then again, he was a powerful witch doctor according to Tigua. William put no store in that kind of hokum but he assumed Purnu’s reputation for magic commanded a lot of influence among the tribe and he didn’t want to cross him.
Purnu caught him up and walked along with him. ‘Everyone is still look at you shit,’ he confided. ‘They is still want for know what you is want for hide.’
‘Only my embarrassment,’ said William.
Purnu nodded wisely. ‘I is understand. You is not worry. Shit is be shit. We is be friends, no?’
William looked at him keenly. He wondered what went on under that low forehead, behind those beady eyes. He strode on, hoping to lose the little man. Purnu trotted along beside him like an eager terrier though, evidently not wanting to be lost.
‘Gwanga, I is make you deal.’
William stopped. Deal was a strange word for a man who didn’t know what money was, but then again, the islanders did have a kind of currency, yams, so it followed they must have deals.
‘You is not have yams. Is be difficult for live on island if you is not have yams. I is give you yams.’
William nodded. ‘Well, that could be useful. What do you want?’
‘Want?’ said Purnu, innocently.
‘You mentioned a deal. What do you want for your end of it?’
‘Ah, is be nothing.’ A coy giggle dribbled from his thin lips. He began drawing idly in the sand with his right big toe, following its doodling, not looking at William. ‘Is be foolish thing, is just be silly wish of Purnu.’
‘Well, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what it is.’
‘I is want for you is teach me read,’ the little man blurted out. ‘You is teach me read, I is give you one basket yams.’
‘I’m kind of busy. Why don’t you ask Miss Lucy?’
‘Miss Lucy is be like this with Managua.’ Purnu held up his two hands, the fingers tightly interlocked together. He cast his eyes down. ‘I is not want Managua is know. Is be OK?’
William considered. He actually had plenty of slack between interviews with the amputees and writing them up. He was spacing them out; there was only so much misery you could take at a time. It wouldn’t do any harm. And it would bring Purnu, the man of influence, onside. Besides, he’d be helping a primitive man towards the delights of civilization.
‘Tell you what, I’ll make you a different deal. Forget the yams for now. Everyone keeps giving me food. There’s nothing else I need, nothing you can get on the island, anyhow.’
‘What you is want then?’
‘Well, here it is. I’ll give you a few lessons, see how we get on. In return, you tell me what you know about Pilua.’
Purnu’s eagerness was deflated. ‘If I is tell you ’bout Pilua and Managua is find out is be plenty big trouble. I is not dare for take risk.’
‘I won’t mention a word about it, I promise.’To emphasize this, William laid a hand across his heart. He didn’t know that on the island the gesture meant ‘I am sorry for your bereavement’. Purnu stared at him, puzzled for a moment, then obviously decided it was another gwanga eccentricity.
‘I is not be sure.’
‘Well, you’re trusting me not to tell him about the reading. Why not trust me not to tell him about this?’
‘All right, I is agree.’ He looked around furtively. ‘We is go inside Captain Cook. Is be more private for talk there.’
William sat in one of the mahogany chairs. Purnu spurned the other and squatted at his feet.
‘Pilua,’ he began, ‘is be Managua first wife.’
‘I know that. What I don’t know is what happened to her.’
Purnu thought carefully before replying. He cleared his throat like someone about to tell a story. ‘Many year past, when American soldiers is be here, they is be order by chief soldier for keep they-selves in other end of island. They is be order not mix with island people.’
‘No fraternization,’ said William.
‘I is not know ’bout that, gwanga. You is just listen, OK?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Time is come when Americans is go leave. They work here is be done. They is plant plenty bombs. They is strip all leaves from trees. They is destroy northern settlement. They is decide is be enough. Now, mebbe a week before they is go, this woman Pilua, well is be girl really, mebbe sixteen year, seventeen year, is go water hole alone. Is nobody else is be near.’ He paused, looked down into his lap and shook his head from side to side.
‘And then?’
‘Is be three American. Is all drink plenty beer. They is not even suppose for be in this part of island. They is take Pilua and . . . and . . .’
‘And?’
Purnu looked up at him. There were tears in his eyes. ‘They is force she make fug-a-fug. They is hurt she and force she.’ He put his right hand over his eyes and wiped off a tear. William was surprised to see this man, of all the islanders, crying.
The sorcerer let his hand drop and stared at William angrily. ‘What for they is make girl do this? This is be how you is do in America? Mans is not be able for have fug-a-fug without they is force someone?’
‘No, it’s not something any man anywhere should do,’ said William. He waited a moment while the little man composed himself. ‘Tell me one thing, because I need to know, for the compensation. The US military will have clever lawyers, that is men like me, who will try to argue that girls here make fug-a-fug freely with lots of partners. Is there any way in which this thing could have happened with Pilua’s agreement?’
Purnu stood up and practically spat at him. ‘This is be terrible thing you is say! This is be big insult for everybody on island.’
‘Calm down, calm down. I’m just telling you what they will say. That she was willing. It will be the word of three men against one girl. Why should anyone believe her?’
For a moment William thought Purnu was either going to hit him, which would have been ridiculous as the man was half his size, or turn him into an insect and step upon him – something which Tigua had told him the sorcerer was capable of – which was only slightly less ludicrous.
‘Is be plenty good reasons. First is be taboo against couple make fug-a-fug in presence of other people. And is be taboo against make fug-a-fug with more than one person at same time. But most of all is be plenty strict taboo say you is not make fug-a-fug with foreigner. Is not be possible any island girl is do what these lawyer mans is say.’<
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‘OK,’ said William. ‘I hear you. I’m sorry I upset you.’
Purnu bristled pulling himself up proudly. ‘Upset? I is not be upset. What else you is want for know?’
‘Well, what happened to Pilua?’
‘She is come tell story in village. Some people is be kind, is look after she. But then other people is say she is be unclean because she is break taboo—’
‘But it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t break it.’
‘Is be true. But taboo is still be break and she is be one who is be make unclean. So they is cast she out from village. She is go little way along coast. Is live alone.’
‘And then what? Was she never allowed back in?’
‘Next thing is be someone is meet she on beach and is see she stomach is grow. She is go have baby. Is be very bad for woman is have baby when she is not have husband.’
‘Yes, a fatherless child, bad scene in any society,’ muttered William. He didn’t know that in island society all children were fatherless, biologically speaking, although they acquired fathers through their mother’s marriage.
‘Now is be more bad news for Pilua. Is break taboo for have baby without husband. But she is not can have husband because no man is marry woman who is be outcast.’
‘Except Managua.’
‘Except Managua. He is step up and offer for marry girl. Is be big surprise because Managua is be most strict on all island for observe customs and taboos. No-one is be able for believe he is do this. But you is know what I is think? Managua is not be so big inside as he is look outside. He is have weakness of kidneys. Well, everyone is try for stop he but he is take no notice. He is take girl and is move up north of island.’
William didn’t understand the reference to kidneys. He didn’t know the islanders believed those organs to be the repository of the emotions, as we the heart. But he got the idea. ‘We is have no nobles here,’ he murmured. ‘He got that wrong.’
‘Nobody is see they for mebbe a year. Next thing two boys is hunt pig, is wander north. Is meet Managua and Pilua and she baby. Is greet he and is pass few words but Managua is act very strange with they. Is tell they for go. Is not allow they is look at baby. So they is carry on they hunt. Short time later they is hear big bang. Boom!’