‘Get to its head,’ Yöst yelled as Rico scrambled upright.
‘Pa!’ Rico ran over to the plunging horse and made a grab for its halter, Barone’s eyes rolling back, white with fear. Calling out encouragement, Rico leaned back and dug his heels into the soft earth, his feet slipping and sliding as the weight of the logs dragged them remorselessly downwards.
Snatching up his billhook, Yöst leapt for a large deciduous tree growing astride the edge of the path, his mind teeming with images of Rico lying broken and battered at the bottom of the slope. Despite the urgency, he didn’t move for a second or two, needing to clear his mind of its emotion. Picturing his bones as being hollow, his body of little more substance than the pigeon’s calling its song into the air, he shinned along the branch until he was directly over the raft of logs, almost tumbling down on to it as the branch dipped sharply.
Risking a glance upwards, he caught sight of Rico clinging to Barone’s head collar, his face contorted, his arms straining, with no breath left to call for help.
Crossing his ankles over the branch, he lowered himself down, his arm grasping the billhook at full stretch. At the periphery of his concentration, he heard Rico shout out and ignored it, closing his thoughts to anything other than the sled of logs, its chain linked to Barone’s harness, taut and straining. Taking a deep breath, he angled the curved tip of the billhook into the metal fastening, and, uttering a silent prayer to Zeus, flicked the tip sharply upwards. With the swiftness of a bullet fired from a gun, the snap hook flew open, the chain links striking Yöst across the back and shoulders.
Startled, he tumbled headfirst onto the logs, the abruptness of his descent setting them moving. Gathering pace, the heavy load hurtled down the slope, buffers of brush and scrub torn up in its downward rush adding to the weight.
Too dazed to react, it was Rico’s voice that alerted him to the danger, his name called into the air … once … twice … high-pitched and terrified. Suddenly conscious of the roaring torrent below, using both hands he jabbed the billhook against a tree. It held and he was dragged off, the speed of the sled’s descent almost pulling his arms out of their sockets. He caught the thunderous roar as the logs crashed into the river, a wall of water flying into the air.
Striding down the slope, Ramon dragged the winded boy away from the water. ‘What a damn-fool thing to do,’ he bellowed, ‘you could have been killed.’
Yöst gasped, his breath coming in fits and starts, his ribs stinging where the chain had struck him. ‘Is Barone okay?’
‘Yes, thank God! Pepe’s with him. What the hell happened?’ He swung round inspecting the tree, its bark deeply scarred by the sharp blade. ‘You got a death wish or something?’
Rico slid down the slope. He didn’t speak; his expression that of someone holding back a parcel of tears, his hands gripped tightly. ‘You hurt?’
Yöst brushed ineffectively at the mud liberally bespattering his shirt and overalls, noticing the tear in the leg. ‘A few bruises, that’s all,’ he replied casually, flinching as pain jabbed at him. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
Ramon glared. ‘You may wish you were hurt when Ma catches sight of you, she’ll give you such a tongue lashing; your overalls are only fit for the rag bag. What stupid behaviour.’
‘It wasn’t his fault, Pa, it was the wild cat.’
‘Wild cat?’
‘Jumped out in front of Barone. Didn’t ’alf give me a fright, I can tell you. That’s why he reared.’
‘You telling the truth, boy?’
‘I always tell the truth, Pa,’ replied Rico aggrieved. He pointed back up the slope to where Pepe was rubbing the horse’s head to quieten it. ‘Go and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me. There’s bound to be footprints. The bank collapsed and Barone was dragged down backwards. We’d both be dead for sure if Yöst hadn’t got those logs loose.’
‘Is that what happened, Yöst?’ Ramon, the deep lines either side of his mouth making him appear bad-tempered rather than concerned.
‘It is, Pa,’ Rico broke in again, defending his friend. ‘If it wasn’t for Yöst, Barone would have broken his back tumbling down that slope. And me. Thought I was a gonner for a minute. He managed to unhook the logs and got dragged down instead.’
‘Why risk your life?’ Ramon stared curiously at Yöst. ‘If what my son says is true and you were very nearly killed … would have been if you’d ended up in the river. You don’t owe the horse anything, nor Rico … or me, for that matter. You earn your keep well enough, why put yourself in danger?’
‘You said we were cheaper to replace than the horse.’ Yöst shrugged carelessly and aimed for a nonchalant grin, anxious to dispel Rico’s haunted expression. ‘To be honest,’ he regarded Ramon seriously, ‘I never thought. My grandmother always said it was my worst fault.’
He wished he could explain, that it had been pure instinct rather than anything else – except that would invite questions, something he couldn’t afford.
Ramon swung round, examining the route of the sledge of logs down the hillside. Keenly aware of his suspicious nature, Yöst studied the minute changes of expression as Ramon considered his son’s explanation, his head moving back and forth in debate weighing up the possibility of it being true. He watched the hesitation and doubt shift, then sit stubbornly like a wine stain on cloth, before moving on to the very real possibility that, had Yöst not acted as he had done, death might well have proved the likely outcome. He waited anxiously for the verdict, imagining Ramon painstakingly totting up points for each side, adding and subtracting the evidence, re-examining one by one the suspicions that had plagued him for weeks. Then slowly, and almost reluctantly, setting them aside, sending them floating into the past, of no further interest than twigs and leaves borne down river by the current.
Relief swept through his body, his legs weak with the force of it He swung away to disguise the sudden trembling of his hands. It was over, those weeks of watching over his shoulder. Now they could stay.
‘Get yourself a drink.’ Ramon patted Yöst on the back, reaffirming the not-guilty verdict. ‘Pascual sent a bottle of cordial to have with our bread and cheese.’ He bellowed up through the trees. ‘Pepe walk Barone slowly down the path. That’ll help calm him. Then we’ll drag these logs out of the river.’
Swinging on his heel, he strode down to the riverbank, the ridged soles on his leather boots making light work of the slippery slope, the spilled load floating half-in and half- out of the water.
‘That creature, it was too big for a cat.’ Trying to disguise the very real shafts of pain attacking his body, Yöst grabbed hold of a tree branch to stop him slipping.
‘You are hurt,’ Rico accused. He helped him across the deep gouges in the earth left by the avalanche of logs. ‘Wild cats are different. A real biggun, though, big enough to carry off a goat. If we’re up here again tomorrow, I expect Pepe will bring his gun. ‘How come you never seen a wild cat before?’
‘Where I used to live, we only had rabbits.’ ‘You ever seen a fox?’
‘No, is it like a rabbit?’ Yöst teased, remembering the books about animals his mother had bought that he’d placed under his pallet.
‘If you’d been killed … I don’t know what I’d have done.’ The pain in Rico’s voice triggered memories of Willem, although several times in the past month, Yöst had found his homely features impossible to visualise, especially when confronted with the regal planes and angles of Rico’s face. If the same incident had happened whilst Willem had been in charge, they would have laughed away their fears. Only once had he ever been truly serious … that last night with death stalking the air. Even then, he had calmly tried to get them all to safety.
‘Well, I wasn’t, was I? Go on, tell me about the foxes.’
Rico swallowed. ‘They’re real pests. Pa won’t keep chickens ’cause’a them.’ His voice picked up becoming more cheerful. ‘Ma keeps askin’. He says if a fox gets into a hen house, it’ll kill the lot. How much do you
weigh?’
Suddenly alerted, Yöst responded quickly to the probing question, ‘No idea.’
Rico had stopped opposite the oak tree, its branches bare of leaves, apart from an obligatory sprinkling, brown and wizened. He was staring up at the branch Yöst had crawled along, his sudden descent breaking it in two. From the ground it appeared too fragile to bear anyone’s weight, its broken stem no thicker than the handle on the cart. ‘How did you do it?’ He swung round accusing. ‘You weigh as much as me.’
‘More,’ Yöst replied, hoping to side-track his probing. ‘Exactly, so how come that branch held you up.’
‘But it didn’t, did it?’ Yöst pointed to the broken stem, feigning innocence ‘Still, never mind about that now; what about the foxes. You going to show me or not?’
Diverted, Rico climbed back up onto the track. ‘If it’s fine, we’ll go Sunday.’ Pulling out the bottle of cordial, he poured some into a wooden cup, filling it to the top with water from the leather canteen. ‘This is Ma’s special cordial. Here you go. It’ll help with your arm.’ He handed the cup to Yöst. ‘She swears by it; says it puts hairs on your chest.’ He burst out into giggles. ‘When Adelita had a bad cold last winter, she was real angry with Ma; said she didn’t want hairs on her chest.’
Yöst drank the sweet blackberry juice, not really listening as Rico prattled on, thinking about Willem. As commander of their group, he had behaved like a Black in waiting, although that mantle would eventually have fallen onto Zande’s shoulders. Rico was so very different; he and Willem poles apart. Rico might know about the countryside, but he was very much the younger of the two. And spoiled … moody, too. Yet, in his own way, quite perfect. ‘If we go out on a Sunday, my sister and brother will have to come with us. I promised Ramon I wouldn’t leave them.’
‘Oh no!’ Rico’s face drooped, his expression theatrically morose. ‘I suppose that means Clara,’ and grinned to show he was joking. Yöst nodded. ‘Okay.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘As long as we stay best friends, you can bring the wild cat if you want.’
19
Rico’s good humour didn’t last, lapsing into surliness even as Ramon, leading Barone, set off for the winery with the load of logs.
‘You can walk back,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘After I’ve dropped these off, I’ll go straight home and give Barone a rub down. Provided all’s well, we’ll start again early in the morning,’
Rico glared after the disappearing vehicle, slapping his work gloves against his hip in frustration. ‘Pa thinks more of that horse than he ever does of me.’
The bitter tones registered but Yöst paid them scant attention, well used to Rico’s mercurial changes of mood. Leaving him to follow, he strolled on down the track, not hurrying, his thoughts idling along like him. Relief was his main sensation; he’d been lucky. But more than that, the uncertainty dogging his footsteps was finally at an end. Being able to walk through the door of the beehive house, and not have Ramon’s questioning gaze flick over him, was definitely worth a few bruises.
‘It makes sense,’ he argued. ‘Without the horses, none of the farm work would ever get done, whereas if you’re injured, Ramon can hire someone – like me.’
Wary of his moods, it was the first time Yöst ever remembered contradicting Rico, and was surprised to see the pettish frown replaced by a wide grin. Unable to stop himself, ‘What?’
‘That’s what I’m counting on.’
‘Counting on?’ he stuttered. ‘You’re leaving?’ suddenly aware that life in the beehive house without Rico would prove intolerable.
‘Nah! Not as long as you’re about,’ Rico aimed a friendly punch, quickly pulling his fist back. ‘Sorry, forgot your bruises. When I have enough money, I will.’ His face darkened. ‘Not much chance of that though is there, not ’til Pa dies. My sisters, lucky devils, they’ll have dowries when they marry …’
‘What are those?’
‘Gifts of money. That’s why Pa hates spending the stuff, wants to keep it to buy Ana and Berte a decent husband. Not me. Until Pa dies, I own nothing, not even the boots I stand up in. He gives Ma money to buy those.’ He glowered. ‘Don’t tell Pa but I’m planning to run away with Adelita.’
‘Adelita? Has she got money?’
Rico chuckled, the dark shadows replaced by excitement. ‘Not a cent. Doesn’t matter, I’m still going.’
Yöst didn’t pursue the conversation, assuming as he always did that Rico’s reply was no more than a casual remark, brought on by antagonism towards his father. At least it shed light on one mystery, his seesaw attitude. Rico loved Ramon and was proud of him but resented the life of a farmer being imposed on him. Rico obviously wanted something different and that made him both angry and resentful.
Deep in thought he walked on, content with the silence, aware that was another thing they had in common; neither he nor Rico were great talkers. Although what Rico found to think about, he still wasn’t sure. For him, it was the great outdoors and the infinite openness of the sky. By contrast, that morning, the close atmosphere of the wooded slopes had made him uncomfortable. He might have guessed nature would express its displeasure at the violation in some tangible manner. He’d been lucky. But carinatae were lucky. It was their nature to be so. More than that, they were content with the life Zeus had chosen for them. The very opposite of humankind, struggling and striving, fretting about what to do and what to wear. The carinatae asked for nothing other than what they’d been given … not even possessions. ‘Possessions tie you down,’ Rue had said. To prove his words, he had taken to the sky proudly showing off his newly emerged feathers. ‘If we ever need money, the Black will give it to us. That’s his job, to care for us from birth to death.’
The dull clatter of their footsteps on mud and stone sharpened as the track merged with the surfaced roadway. Picking up on the sound, Yöst swung round. ‘Where’s Pepe?’
‘I expect he’s tracking the wild cat.’
Conscious Rico’s voice was once again steeped in anger, he asked, ‘Why do you care so much?’
‘Because I hate being treated like some snot-nosed brat.’ Abruptly stopping, Rico leaned on the stone parapet, staring down at the river, its furious pace hampered by an island of debris washed up against the abutment. Partially blocking the arch, the bloated corpse of a badger lay among the tangled heap of branches, brought down by the storm.
He pointed at it. ‘That would have been you, if you’d fallen into the river.’
‘But I didn’t!’
‘Yes, I know. I was just saying.’ ‘Rico, what is it? Please tell me.’
‘It’s just that it’s so unfair. I’m thirteen and know as much about the farm as he does.’ Rico directed his voice at the river, refusing to look at Yöst. ‘When I told Pa about the wild cat, he said he believed me.’
‘Yes, so …’
‘He didn’t, not really,’ the light tones sounded despairing. ‘He only said it because you were there. That’s the problem with my Pa; he refuses to take anyone’s word but his own.’ He shrugged, ‘Come on or we’ll be late and he’ll moan about that too.’
‘He sent Pepe to look for it,’ Yöst reasoned, ‘he must have believed you.’
‘That’s different. He trusts Pepe because they fought alongside each other. If Pepe says it’s a cat, it’s a cat. Me … he always checks. Even if I’m right, he’ll never say so … just finds something else to complain about. That’s why I’m glad you came. Someone to talk to.’
‘And there’s me thinking since neither of us does much talking, that’s why we get on.’
Rico swung round, a burgeoning smile banishing his grumpiness. ‘Oh well, you know.’
‘But what about your sisters?’
‘What about them? Come on, I’m starving.’
‘Ana’s nice.’
Crossing the bridge, they swung into the lane, trees on the perimeter of the orchard leaning forward in casual greeting, their stubby buds glistening with water from an earlier shower.
<
br /> ‘Yes, Ana’s fine, she’s sensible. But Clara?’ Arms akimbo Rico whirled round. ‘Do you like my dress?’ he mimicked in a squeaky rendition of his sister’s voice. ‘It’s new on. Adelita made it especially. Isn’t it beautiful?’ His twirling feet slowed to a stop and he leant over panting. ‘Clara only ever thinks about herself,’ he muttered scornfully.
‘She’s not very old,’ Yöst reminded. ‘Besides, she must say nice things sometimes because Zande likes her company.’
‘Zande’s a saint,’ Rico retorted. ‘As for the cousins, they just giggle, especially if it’s you asking the question.’ Kicking at a pebble, he carried on walking, his expression once again glowering and morose.
‘And Berte?’ Yöst ignored the jibe about the cousins. Rico was right. Whenever he chanced a remark, the two girls elbowed one another, as if they’d just been talking about him.
‘She worships Pa; wants to be a farmer like him. I wish he’d let her and get off my back. Come on, I’ll race you.’
‘Now, I know you’re not serious.’ Wrapping his arm around Rico’s shoulders, Yöst dragged him back. ‘That’s never going to happen, you beating me in a race. Not unless you tie both my arms behind my back.’
Rico grinned at him. ‘Don’t you mean feet.’ Mischievously, he elbowed Yöst in the ribs.
‘Yow!’
‘Sorry!’
‘You may be older than me …’ he growled out, flinching with pain.
‘Thirteen next month – and don’t you forget it.’ Rico retorted; his former concern replaced by a triumphant grin.
‘I’m still going to be taller.’ Yöst edged his words out slowly, not wanting anything to change. Despite working alongside each other most days, only on a Sunday did they have time to chat … really to chat. Except, he didn’t really mean chat, he meant to be together, the two of them, without Ramon dictating the mood of the day.
‘You can be a giant the same as Pepe for all I care, it won’t worry me.’ Rico began to whistle, an enigmatic expression on his face, as if he knew something secret and very special.
The Click of a Pebble Page 22