Honour Thy Father

by Lesley Glaister

  Mrs Howgego used to watch us, Isaac and me, after that time. I told her, of course, and she offered the same advice to me as to Agatha. I must keep myself nice and then no babies would come. She tried to keep Isaac away from me, or at least away from me when she wasn’t there to keep an eye on us.

  Isaac managed to overhear the conversation I had with Mrs Howgego about it all. ‘What do that feel like?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing much,’ I said.

  ‘So you’re a woman now?’ he looked me up and down. ‘You still don’t look it.’

  ‘I’m not a woman, stupid,’ I said, ‘so you can stop staring at me. And I’m not going to stop playing with you just because of some stupid curse.’

  He looked relieved. ‘But Mam says we shouldn’t be alone together. She reckons that’s not right.’

  It was not then that it made any difference, but the years passed by, a long procession of green and gold and red and grey; wind and rain and sun and storm. Father came and went away. We were forever anxiously awaiting his arrival, for although it was seldom, it could be at any time. He might arrive at midnight or first light or mid-afternoon. He might not come for two months and then he might return within a day or two, or change his mind and turn back an hour or so after he left. Once he was with us we were always tense, awaiting his departure, holding our breath and crossing our fingers behind our backs that he would leave before he found something to anger him. And when the Howgegos were with us we were nervous. What if Father returned suddenly and found them there? And if we were out walking, especially if we visited the Howgegos, we were afraid on the way home that he would be there waiting. He was hardly with us and yet he was with us all the time. There was no freedom from him. I used to watch from my window sometimes, for his shape appearing in the distance growing larger, growing into Father, and I was pleased when I saw him for at least it was novelty. At least I did not have to strain my ears and eyes for him. I had only to guard my tongue.

  The different feelings grew between Isaac and me over the years. I loved Isaac like a brother for a long time, I wished he was my brother – and then I was glad he was not. I remember a day when Mrs Howgego was in our kitchen, and Isaac and I were standing outside and we were talking. He was a good deal taller than me and I tilted my face up to his. The gold of an early sunset glinted on the wetness all around us and as he looked down at me the light caught the ends of his long lashes and made his eyes shine a darker blue and I found myself aching for him. He was so beautiful and young and yet a man. There was the softness of a young moustache on his lip, tender blonde and soft, and it was no sisterly love I felt for him then. I knew his mother’s eyes were upon us. We were not touching, but I was aware that the air that was touching me was touching him too. I could feel Mrs Howgego looking at us, thinking she could stop it, and I felt a realization of my power over Isaac. Oh yes, it had been the other way round when we were children. Then he was the brave one, the tease, but I could see that he was looking at me differently now. He was puzzled and looked afraid of what he was feeling.

  ‘Mam’s watching,’ he murmured.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed uncertainly.

  ‘But I would like,’ I murmured, ‘not to be nice any more, Isaac.’

  He breathed sharply in, but his eyes never left mine.

  At that moment, Mrs Howgego chose to come abruptly out of the house. She had not heard what I’d said, I’m sure, but she looked at me oddly. She must have felt the way the air was almost crackling between us, and sensed danger.

  ‘Come on Isaac,’ she said. ‘We’d better get along back now and see what Bobby and Davey are up to.’

  I shook my head at him. He looked from one of us to the other but his eyes rested with me. ‘You go on, Mam,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  ‘Won’t you walk along with me?’ she said.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he repeated, hardly glancing in her direction.

  She stood for a moment, indecisively, and then she sighed. ‘Well mind that you come along in a minute then,’ she said. ‘You don’t let him hang around, Milly, do you hear?’ I nodded. ‘What your poor mam would do now I don’t hardly like to think. Don’t you be long now,’ she added again, and giving me a very dubious look, left us.

  I waited until she was a good way off and then I reached out my hands and held his. It was the first loving gesture. We had held hands often enough as children, carelessly, as a convenience or as part of a game, but now, suddenly, the feel of him was precious.

  ‘I can’t do that to you, Milly,’ he said. ‘That’s not right.’

  ‘But we could get married,’ I said. ‘We could, and then it would be right. It would be nice.’

  ‘Are you off your rocker?’ he asked. ‘Your dad’d kill us! and I don’t reckon my mam’d like it either.’

  ‘Don’t you want to marry me?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course I do,’ he said and he squeezed my hands. ‘Oh Milly … but not yet. I can’t keep a wife yet. And then there’s the war …’

  ‘But you’re not going.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  ‘You can’t go, Isaac,’ I said. ‘What would I do?’

  ‘What do you ever do?’

  We fell silent. It hurt that he said that though I knew it was not in Isaac to be deliberately cruel. But he was quite right. What did I ever do, but wait and hope? ‘I can’t just stay here like this,’ I said. ‘It’s awful, Isaac. It never changes. The four of us in the house. We don’t even know what day it is sometimes. Do you understand that? And always there’s the fear that Father could arrive. Always, we are bored or we are scared. Always. It is so awful Isaac. It’s like a prison. It feels just like a prison.’

  ‘Don’t be so daft, girl,’ said Isaac, but he put his arms around me. ‘Look at the sky! You can see forever. That’s no prison.’

  I pressed myself against him, smelling his warm gingery smell, feeling the warmth of his body, the thin strength of his arms holding me tight. I clenched my eyes against the tears that threatened. It felt so safe, to be held like this. I felt safer than I’d felt since Mother. ‘But you mustn’t leave me,’ I whispered. ‘You must promise you will never leave me.’

  Isaac’s arms loosened and he held me away from him. ‘I can’t promise that,’ he said. ‘But if I did go away I’d come back for you.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t!’ I said, and the tears burst from my eyes. I buried my head against him again. ‘Why would you want to come back once you’d got away from here?’

  ‘For you,’ he said. His arms held me so strongly. ‘I’d come back for you.’ I let him hold me. It was good to be held so close to him, to another body, but there was no real comfort in it. He didn’t know. Sometimes lately, compared to myself, Isaac seemed a great big simple boy. He didn’t understand, as I did, about all the things there are in the world, all the people. There are restaurants where women dine with men who are not their husbands and where ice swans melt in pools of crystal light. In London there is bustle and brightness and sparkle. There is music and the streets are full of laughter. That is the world that Mother remembered.

  ‘How do you know?’ I mumbled. ‘How do you know that you wouldn’t meet someone else?’

  ‘I would come back,’ said Isaac stubbornly. ‘I’ve been away before and come back. I’ve been nearly to Cambridge. Anyway, I reckon I’d better go now. Mam will be looking for me.’

  I pulled away. ‘Oh go then. Run after your mam.’

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ said Isaac. ‘You know I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Oh Isaac,’ I said, grasping his sleeve again. ‘Why don’t we both go?’

  ‘What are you on about now?’

  ‘Both go away from here. Run away together, to London perhaps. We could get married there. There is plenty of work. There are factories. We could rent a house. Just you and me, Isaac! Can you imagine it? A little house in a busy street, all noise and bustle!
Every night I’d cook our tea and then we could walk the streets. I’d hold your arm and we could walk along and look at all the people. We could go to the music-hall. I so want to go and see what it was like for Mother. And then we would have a baby of our own, a sweet girl, or maybe a lovely bonny boy, a Howgego boy, and then we’d be a proper family.’

  ‘You’re daft,’ said Isaac, shaking his head. Oh he did make me angry sometimes!

  ‘Why?’ I demanded.

  ‘How could we? I couldn’t leave Mam. Your dad’d murder us.’

  ‘But he’d never find us.’

  He hugged me again. ‘Oh Milly.’

  ‘Isaac,’ I said urgently, ‘I told you, I cannot stay here. Something will happen to me if I stay here much longer. I just don’t think I can stand it.’

  The coldness of a sudden shower of rain surprised us. It had been alternately wet and dry all day and now the sky was darkening quickly.

  ‘I’ll have to go,’ said Isaac.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘don’t go yet. It won’t last long. Come into the barn with me. I don’t want to go inside yet.’

  ‘But Mam …’

  ‘Just five minutes more.’

  He followed me into the gloomy barn. There was an old bench by the wall in the darkest corner near the cow’s stall. I brushed some straw off it. ‘Sit down with me,’ I said. We sat down. I felt awkward. It was as if, suddenly, we were strangers. The air smelt sweetly of rain and hay and cow. The rain pattered on the roof, coming through at one end where there was a hole. It was quite dark in the barn and cosy with the sound of the cow chewing the cud.

  Isaac put his arm round my shoulder and kissed me. It was a long deep kiss. We both pulled away after a moment, trembling with what it made us feel. I tried to pull him back to me, I put my hand behind his head. I wanted more kisses. It was so delicious, the feel of his mouth, the taste of his mouth. It was like drinking when you are thirsty, impossible not to go on and on. He held back for a moment. ‘I won’t be able to stop …’ he murmured, but I was kissing him again and feeling him trembling, and I did not want to stop.

  ‘I love you Isaac,’ I said, and I held him tight against me and I knew it was the animal thing that I wanted; the thing that Isaac had told me; the thing the bull had done to Barley. It didn’t seem so awful now. I understood now. There was a place inside me, a space that ached for him. I just wanted him completely to be mine. And if there was a child because of it, then we would be married and then he would never leave me, then I would escape and bring an end to this terrible time, this terrible empty trap of a time that was my life. It seemed so simple suddenly.

  But Isaac pulled away again. ‘No,’ he said, and he was breathing hard. ‘Stop that, Milly.’

  ‘Are you scared?’ I teased, and I ran my hand along his thigh. He shuddered. ‘When we’re married,’ he said. ‘I want you Milly, but when we’re married.’

  ‘I want you now,’ I said. My belly felt as if it was dissolving. All I wanted was the feel of him, the weight of him against me. ‘We will get married so it’s not wrong … come on Isaac …’

  He stood up and tried to turn away, but I stood up too and held on to him and he stopped resisting and he pressed himself against me and then we were on the floor in the straw, and his hands fumbled and fought with my dress and his lips closed on my nipple. He was like a baby, a nuzzling whimpering baby, and his hands under my dress found the place. Oh I whimpered too then, and moaned in an animal way that frightened and thrilled me and then I touched him and felt the hot silk of his thing, and I saw the high straining purpleness of it like a terrible flower there in the gloomy barn. And he was mine. Isaac was my lover. I felt his heart beating against me and he filled up the aching space and his tears wet my breast and he moaned and shuddered. And then he lay still.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said after a moment, leaning up on one elbow.

  I did not feel all right. It was lovely. It had been lovely but I was not ready to stop. ‘Is that it?’ I said.

  ‘What are you on about?’ he said. ‘Of course that’s it!’ He stood up and fastened his belt. ‘I’ll have to get off now.’ He leant down and kissed me, and picked some bits of straw out of my hair. ‘I love you too,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You get yourself in the house now.’

  He kissed me again, chastely on the head, and then he left me. I listened to him hurry away and then I sat where I was until it was dark and I heard Agatha’s worried voice calling me. I ran over and over it all in my mind, wondering why it was that I felt so disappointed. I had had what I wanted and it had not hurt at all, it was not horrible at all, it was just a disappointment. Perhaps it was better between people who were properly married? But as I stood up and brushed myself down I smiled. Not nice. I’m not nice now I thought, with satisfaction.

  Perhaps it was wrong, the way I led Isaac on. Led him on! As if he was some dull mindless beast, that needs a halter or a ring through the nose, that needs a prod with a stick. No, he was no animal. He was a man with a brain, with a will of his own. He knew what would happen if he followed me into the barn. He didn’t have to follow. I was desperate to escape and it was the only thing I could think of. The only way out. Although as it turned out, it wasn’t. And we did it again and again, and I really loved Isaac. We were never married in a church, but no married people could have felt closer, adored and worshipped each other more. My body cried out for his when he was away.

  Late at night, in the aloneness of the night, when the house creaks and the branches scrape and tap, when bleached moonlight spills dustily through my ragged curtains; or nights like tonight when the rain streams from the sky in a river of black silk, my body still cries out for his. Oh yes, I am an old woman and my breasts are long and withered and whiskery as rats. I am old and broad and the skin on my body is crumpled and the hair on my head and my body is sparse and grey, and the veins writhe and knot on my thighs like eels. All this is true but there is still a part of me that cries out for Isaac. I lie. It need not be Isaac. It cries out for a man. Oh yes! That part of me is alive and ticking.

  Agatha is crashing about now. It sounds as if she is hurling things at the walls. Perhaps she too is frustrated. Perhaps her old body wants it too. Is that it, Agatha? You need a good fuck. Shout what you like, she’ll not hear above her constant movement. One day she’ll come through the ceiling and break in a splinter of old furniture, old sticks of old furniture and old brittle bones.

  Tomorrow, when Mark comes with the groceries, with the gin and the olives and the biscuits and the cat-food and the modern Chinese food that only needs a stir, I will bring him in. A nice presentable boy he is. He makes an effort to be friendly, stops for a few words. He has manners, nice ways, and he has time for a house full of mad old women. I will lure him into the house. What can I say? ‘There’s something I want to show you upstairs. Please, Mark …’ I don’t think he’d refuse if I asked very nicely. He’s too well brought up. He couldn’t refuse without seeming rude. And once I had him in here, what couldn’t I do with him! He’s about as tall as Isaac, but he’s dark – Agatha likes them dark – black hair, a spindly moustache. His face is a bit spotty, but that is only youth. He wears very tight trousers and there is a bulge quite plainly visible. He’s quite shameless in those tight trousers, little bottom, skinny legs – but strong, and that bulge. Sometimes I don’t know where to look! What does he think we think, flaunting like that the secret part of him, bunched up like that under that stretched material?

  I could undress him. If he tried to resist I could tie him up. Oh how could I? He’s so young and strong. The muscles stand out on his arms when he carries the heavy box of food. Never mind that now. I would manage. I would tie him to my bed, hands on the rails at the top and I would peel off those tight trousers and he would be mine. How that bulge would spring up with the freedom I would give it! And he would be mine. I could sit upon him and ride him, up and down, and fill myself with him so young and strong, fill myself to my heart’s content. I could keep
him a prisoner, feed him up, wash him, and use him whenever I wanted. He would be surprised at this old woman.

  Imagine what Aggie would say if I had Mark like that! She’s only had it in the most wicked of ways. She doesn’t know how it feels to do it out of love and adoration, to be filled with desire and then to have that desire satisfied by a strong young man. The nearest she got was spying on me when I walked out with Roger and he touched my breast and his hand touched my knee inside my skirt. She coveted my experience, she converted my experience into her own. Oh how she steals my memories! She hates me because I’ve had more success with men. I was the most attractive to men. She was supposed to be so beautiful with her slender body and the haughty way she held her head – and look where it got her!

  Scraggy Aggie, up there in the attic using your energy to demolish the house. What do you think will come of it? If there was a way to make it right, to arrange it so that it was all right, so that you felt comfortable, you would have found it long ago. But if you did? If, magically, it all fell into place … Ah yes! Of course! The bed here not there; and the dressing-table like so. And then the chair beside it … perfect! What then Agatha? Would you then be still?

  Isaac and I lay in Mrs Howgego’s bed. She had gone to the village and Isaac was supposed to be watching his younger brothers. Isaac dozed, and I turned away from him and nuzzled my face into the rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of Mrs Howgego. It felt wrong doing it in here, in a way it did not in the barn or under the trees by the dyke. Mrs Howgego’s things were all around. Her old bulky bunion-shaped everyday shoes were planted squarely on the floor, and I could almost see her in them, hands on hips, expression of disgust and disappointment on her face. Her private things, underclothes and her nightdress, were draped on the chair by the bed. I did not want to look. In the passion of lovemaking I had not cared where we were, but now it felt awful to be here in Mrs Howgego’s bed with Mrs Howgego’s son. I shook Isaac’s shoulder.