Hymn From A Village

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Hymn From A Village Page 5

by Nigel Bird


  Lush runs a light. Gets himself killed.

  Gets Stevie a glass eye and a bit of brain damage.

  Stevie always takes his eye out when it gets to that part. Let’s us have a play so long as our hands are clean.

  Feels warm like it’s alive.

  He hands over the giraffe to me and leans down to Joey.

  “What’ll it be today?”

  One of the geeks walks right between us, almost knocks Stevie over. Brushes the giraffe from my hands.

  He never looks where he’s going.

  Always dress the same, him and his mates. Ripped jeans, leather jackets and hair like girls. Not a spare ounce on their bodies.

  Spend half their time hopped up on glue – I seen ‘em with their bags out on the stoop. The other half they’re making tunes. Don’t pay no attention to us, normally.

  Pop says that guys like them should be drafted into the army. They’d learn ‘em a thing or two.

  I don’t know about that.

  I’ve heard ‘em play down in the garage. Make me feel good, their songs. Like they wanna be somewhere else or somebody else or something. I think I understand.

  Stevie shouts over.

  “Careful where you go, son,” he says in a nice voice, like he’s trying to be kind.

  The boy looks up. Can’t see his eyes cos of his shades and the flop of hair.

  “Sorry,” he says and takes his hands out of his pockets. Comes back and picks up the giraffe and gives it to me. “Sorry kid.”

  He puts his hands back in his pockets and gets on his way again. I wonder where he’s headed. Then he looks round. Speaks.

  “How you doin’ Stevie?” He says it like they know each other, but not well.

  “Same old things, Little Man. Same old things.”

  Stevie leans down to Joey.

  “A dog in a heart, please.”

  He picks out two pink balloons, same as always, one dark one light.

  She’s so fucking hot, man. Melting.

  Debbie. Hell rhymes with that? Heavy?

  Debbie / she’s so heavy / ba ba ba ba, ba ba.

  Makes her sound fat. Definitely not the way into her skirt.

  That skirt. Shit. It’s like she’s tellin’ us to come and get it. Gotta get me a piece of the action or I’ll die a fucking monk.

  What about that place in sunny Afrique?

  Entebbe. With the hijack. Could work.

  Like the folk on the planes down in Entebbe / I’m a hostage to love with a girl called Debbie / ba ba ba ba, ba ba.

  Hotdog! A million fucking dollars.

  Better get me a pen.

  And glue. My head feels tight. Need to loosen things up in there.

  Fuck was that?

  “Careful where you go, son.”

  I ain’t nobody’s son. Not anymore. If I ever see that bastard, I’ll suck his lungs out through a straw and spit them right back in his face.

  “Sorry,” I tell them. McKendrick’s kids. Hang round on Lex. Seen the big one by the garage. He’s OK. Shame they still got a father. Poor sods.

  “Sorry kid.” I really am.

  Christ, he’s got the giraffe. Always my favourite.

  Wonder if Stevie’s still telling the way it used to be. Wouldn’t mind seeing him pop his eye.

  “How you doin’, Stevie?” He’s looking good. Hair’s a bit longer. Maybe not so orange. Teeth busted up. But good. Maybe I should ask him to see his eye.

  “Same old things, Little Man. Same old things.”

  Little Man. Fucker’s going make me cry. I’d better move. Always used to call me Little Man. Made me feel special. Like I had a friend, you know?

  Hope the guys are ready. I need to blow off some shit. Rip into the bag and get me singing.

  My turn to get pizza. Two extra large.

  Christ. McKendrick’s steaming again. Slumped in the street with his bottle in a bag.

  Wouldn’t swap places with those kids. Better not to have a dad than to get stuck with one like that.

  “Asshole,” he shouts. “Come here asshole.”

  Don’t look like he can walk. Think I’m going over there to get myself a kicking? No way, man.

  “You chicken, boy?”

  Get called a lot worse than that. Chicken. I eat fucking chicken.

  “Come over you streak of piss. Come an’ I’ll shave your hair, you hippie freak.”

  “So long sir,” I tell him. “Have a nice day.” Then I whisper. “Prick.”

  You know, one day he’s gonna be asking for my fucking autograph. And you know what I’m gonna say when he does?

  Well nor do I, not yet. But it’s gonna be good, I tell ya. It’s gonna be a peach.

  Boys like that, Joey and Ray and Little Man, they’re the future. The way it’s going to be.

  I’m glad I know them. Means I’ll be around even when I’m gone, wrapped up in their heads like precious stones.

  That’s what I don’t tell them, see. That I’m happy doing what I do. Seems more important to them that I was a hotshot with a bat many moons ago.

  Their papa, now he remembers the way it was.

  Caught those pitches like they were sent down by first-graders. First-grade girls at that. I’ll never forget the balls, way they flew like they were going into orbit. That was some day.

  Nowadays I got me an art form to keep me occupied.

  Yankies still look after me, even now. Thirteen years on. Cheque’s in the post first of the month, regular as a vegetarian.

  This just gets me out. Meeting the future. Looking after it. Keeping it safe. Place like this, somebody has to. Somebody needs to be their catcher in the rye.

  “Dunno where he is,” I tell Joey. Down at the bar, I guess. Prick.

  Ain’t got no money left now we bought our balloons.

  Joey’s not feeling so good. Maybe it was the ice-creams that did it. “When can we go in, Ray?”

  Wish I knew. “In a few minutes. Mom’ll be back from work soon. Or Dad’ll come.”

  “I wanna go to Pop’s,” he says. It’s a good idea, only we haven’t got the fare.

  “What about your dog?” I ask. “What does he want to do?”

  “He wants to go to Pop’s, too.”

  Even the balloon dog knows where we should head.

  The geeks come out from their session. Sounded good, what I heard. Got a new song about Debbie. Something about love and planes.

  “Your old man’s down at Blake’s,” Little Man shouts over. Funny, he looks like he’s smiling. “Wanna hang out for a while? Get some pizza?”

  I look down at Joey. He nods and looks at the dog in the heart. The dog nods too.

  “If you like,” I tell him.

  “Don’t be doing me any favours, now,” he says.

  They walk along the street, heads down and nodding like their necks are busted.

  Joey puts his hat on and picks up his dog and his bat. Maybe he smells a game. I get the ball and the mitt to keep him happy. No point telling him these boys don’t play. Reckon the last time they got any exercise they were running from the cops.

  Little Man stops and turns towards us. Looks down at the balloon dog. “Cool,” he says, then he turns round quick. Starts walking away before we get there.

  “Ray.” Sounds like Dad. “Ray, you keep away from those layabouts, understand.”

  “Least those layabouts are here for us.”

  I shouldn’t have said it. I know better. Keep quiet when he’s drinking Mom says, and I try. Only the words are out and it’s too late.

  He storms over like he’s defending the Alamo. Bright red cheeks, wheezing, a cigarette stuck to his lips.

  “What you say?”

  I see Little Man turn to look at me. He doesn’t speak, but I know what he’s thinking. ‘Keep your mouth shut, boy. Don’t say a word.’ I get it. I say nothing.

  “He said they were here for us.” Joey doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t mean to make it worse, only I know he’s just thrown me i
nto a bucketful of shit.

  Little Man’s still watching. Like he’s thinking what to do. He looks real pale in the sunlight.

  “Gimme the bat,” Dad says to Joey.

  Joey slips it behind his back. He’s a good boy.

  “Give it to me.” Joey holds still.

  Dad reaches over. Grabs the handle. Lifts it into the air. Joey holds on tight, his legs dangling and kicking the air. Dad shakes the stick, pulls at his fingers, lets Joey fall to the ground.

  Before I can move, I see him swing.

  It’s coming right for me. I look at Little Man.

  It hits. I know it hits. Only there’s no pain. Just a massive crunch. Like butting a wall when you’re angry. Doesn’t feel right.

  I’m on the floor. I feel it now. A dark wave of icy water running through my body.

  I look for Little Man. Try to hear what’s going on. My eyes won’t see. My ears won’t hear. I think of hitting a homer at The Stadium, see the ball curve. I think of Stevie smiling. I think of my giraffe, of yellow and blue.

  Bastard Mckendrick. Same as all the grown-ups round here, a useless fucking slob.

  I ever end up like him, I’ll give Dee Dee a gun. Get him to pull the trigger.

  Stupid brat. Why’d he have to open his mouth.

  “You got no right to beat on the brat, asshole,” I tell him. “Not with a fucking baseball bat.”

  I’ll write a song about it one day. Tell the world.

  I run to catch up with the guys. No way I’m staying around to find out what he thinks. No way he’s coming after me. Besides, somebody needs to call an ambulance.

  I don’t have to think.

  Before I know it, I’m home, opening the display cabinet in the bedroom.

  First time it’s been out in thirteen years. Unlucky for some.

  I don’t need to read the inscription underneath. I know that off by heart – ‘To Stevie Boyle. In honour of what might have been.’

  Feels good to have a bat in my hand again. I give it a quick look, the autographs as vivid as they were the day they were written.

  I almost trip over the stilts on the way out. Kick them against the wall and start to run. Without them my trousers are three feet too long, but what the hell. Doesn’t stop me taking the stairs two at a time.

  He’s still there, standing over the kid and shouting at Joey. People like him, they need a lesson.

  There are men that share their sperm and there are fathers. I think about that when I get to them.

  I don’t imagine I ever swung as good, even at college.

  The back-lift, the arc of the bat, the sound of the air being sliced all just as I remember.

  Then there’s the contact. Sweet as a nut. Crisp and mighty.

  Easy as taking the top of a boiled egg.

  I look down and see what I’ve done. Look carefully in there for precious stones.

  Nothing sparkles. Nothing shines. All I see is grey mess, spreading over the sidewalk like the arms of an octopus.

  Joey steps over. Holds tight onto my leg. Buries his head into my trousers. Looks up. I rub his hair. Feel nine foot tall.

  Sing A Song Of Sixpence

  Cargo.

  Something moved from one place to another.

  Doesn’t matter much what it is as long as it gets there.

  Danny’s in the business of moving things. Enjoys the regular work and the chance to get out and about. Bags of time in the sun and stacks of duty free. Even gets to try out the merchandise when he fancies.

  If there wasn’t a downside, it’d be perfect.

  Whatever spin you put on it, getting caught on the job would be a downside. That and having to work for Charlie ‘the arse hole’ Wren.

  Would have given it up if he hadn’t been reckless and fallen for the boss’s daughter.

  But St Chris has been good to him. Never had an accident and only got stopped at customs the time he had a flat tyre.

  Knows his history an’ all, our Danny. Result of spending all that time poolside with his books. Understands that folk have been stealing people since time began.

  It’s what made his country great. That and tea and football.

  Knows about Liverpool, too. All those fine buildings fronting up the Mersey built on the blood of Africa.

  sing a song of sixpence a pocketful of rye

  four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie

  He could see the Liver birds gleaming in the bright sunlight as he drove through the city centre. Cursed his luck that the air-con had packed up on the hottest day of the year.

  Least he had a window to open.

  Poor buggers in the back just had to suffer.

  They must have been baking, but it wasn’t as if he could let them out for a stroll. Anyone got a whiff of what he was up to and they’d have him behind bars before you could say ‘Jack Robinson was a fag’.

  Last he’d set eyes on them was in the Pyrenees. Let them stretch their legs, gave them water and emptied the buckets. Even bought them bread and cakes.

  They certainly needed the fresh air. The stink in the back of the van was worse than the one under his duvet after a curry and a night on the piss.

  “We have rights, Mr Dawson,” one of them had said. “We might be desperate, but we’re human beings. Human beings deserve better.” She was the feisty one of the group – someone took on the role every time. Not that it ever did them any good.

  “I can take you back,” Danny said, not looking her in the eye. “Leave you on the streets. Drop you off at an orphanage if you like.”

  Always shut them up that one. Took the chirp from their mouths it did.

  He thought about the back of the van. Couldn’t bear to imagine what it would be like in there now. He reached for the flask in his pocket to change the record his mind was playing. If he was pulled over, drink-driving would be the least of his worries.

  when the pie was opened, the birds began to sing

  wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king.

  “Ready Danny?” Ralph asked. He wasn’t but he nodded his head, pulled out the wall of ply and stepped back real quick.

  Ralph and his mate turned the nozzles on the hoses and the water gushed into the van.

  The girls huddled together, crossing their arms over their bodies to maintain what was left of their dignity. The feisty one stared back at them like they should be worried.

  “Get laid?” Ralph shouted over the roar of the water and the high-pitched squeals of the girls.

  “Too young,” Danny said. Ralph was sick. This lot were just girls. Danny turned his back and went off for a smoke and another sip from the flask.

  the king was in his counting house counting out his money

  Charlie Wren looked out of the window at the top of the tower.

  Done well for himself, the lad. A mansion overlooking Sefton Park. Two gardeners, a chauffeur, a cook and a maid, not to mention a collection of Everton Football Club memorabilia that’s second to none.

  All built on the blood of Africa, just like the city.

  Danny could see him through the leaded glass. His big belly spilled out over the towel around his waist. In one hand he gripped the stub of a cigar, in the other a wad of cash.

  “Clean ‘em up good,” he shouted down. “Don’t want to be catching nothing from the merchandise.”

  Danny didn’t want to be around when the boss checked them out, jabbing his fingers into places they had no right to enter. “That’s enough,” he told Ralph and headed inside.

  the queen was in her parlour, eating bread and honey.

  Soon as he saw Jenny walking down the stairs, he got a hard on.

  Driving long distances could do that to a man, nothing to think about but football and sex.

  Helped that she looked good, skin glowing and skirt as tight as a condom on an elephant.

  When she saw him she put a little extra into the sway of her hips.

  The sultry smile on her lips expanded into a big grin and
she dropped the plate she’d been carrying onto the floor. Three bounds and she was in his arms, legs wrapped around his hips.

  She sucked hard at his mouth.

  “Drinking already,” she said.

  “Celebrating. Where’s your mum?”

  “I’ve just taken up her toast. She’s still in bed.” How the other half lived.

  “And your dad’s not dressed.”

  “You getting ideas?”

  “I’ve been having ideas all the way from Dover,” he said and walked her into the downstairs bathroom.

  Locking the door behind him, he fumbled at her buttons while she pulled madly at his fly.

  the maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes

  “Danny.” Charlie Wren wasn’t far away. “Danny.”

  Having her father looking for him made it all the more intense. He pounded harder and quicker till he was done. Jenny bit into his shoulder to suppress the sounds of her joy.

  The two of them collapsed into silent laughter and they straightened out their clothes before sneaking out.

  “Danny.” The voice was coming from the conservatory.

  “Yes boss.”

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Danny and Charlie headed out to the van where Ralph was supervising the merchandise, twenty-four girls sorting through a pile of clean clothes of assorted styles and sizes.

  “You did good,” Charlie said as he looked over at his maid sorting out the laundry on the lawn.

  It was an open secret about Charlie and Lucy. He’d spent a fortune on surgery turning her into the woman of his dreams.

  With breasts that size Danny wondered how she managed to stay upright.

  Ralph arranged the girls into a neat line, tallest to shortest, and Charlie went to introduce himself.

  There was a routine to it all. He’d shake hands, tell them to open their mouths and do a little twirl. Next he’d let his hands wander and decide where to send them.

  While he was at it, Jenny walked into the garden innocent as you like. Paid no attention to what was going on and went straight over to help with the washing.

  She knew damn well what their maid and her dad got up to in the laundry room. Kept it to herself in case she could use it to her advantage one day.

 

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