The Book of Air

by Joe Treasure

  There are blackberries scattered on the table. I gather the ones within reach and offer them to Simon, but he shuts his mouth tight and shakes his head. He asks for Jangle and I tell him again that Django’s dead.

  I hear raised voices in the hall. Deirdre comes in, followed by Aleksy. She asks me what we’re going to do.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘What are we going to do about Maud?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘I haven’t thought about it.’

  ‘We must do something.’

  Aleksy pulls a chair up to the table. ‘Maud’s young. She’ll get over it.’

  Deirdre is exasperated. ‘It’s not about her. It’s about Django. She killed him. We can’t do nothing.’

  ‘You want we build her a little gaol? We all milk the cows and bring water in for her to sit and get fat? You want to give her ten years maybe? Then for sure she won’t kill no one else.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Just give her a good slapping then. What do you think? You want to do it, or how? You want me and Jason to beat her a little?’

  ‘You’re really a disgusting human being, Aleksy – you know that?’

  Aleksy grins slyly.

  Deirdre turns to me. ‘I just think we ought to do something, Jason – to show that it’s important – to show that Django’s life mattered.’

  ‘You never killed no one, Deedee?’ Aleksy asks her.

  ‘That was different. That was on the road. That was self-defence.’

  ‘This was no different.’

  ‘She gets away with it and who’ll be next?’

  ‘No one will be next,’ I tell her.

  Deirdre looks at me for a moment and then turns to the window. She speaks more quietly, as if this is an argument she’s having with herself. ‘She never talks. Who knows what she’s thinking?’

  Simon frowns and his mouth begins to move. ‘What did mmm…’ We watch for a bit while he struggles with Maud’s name.

  Then I answer his question. ‘What did she do? She watched out for you, Si. She saved you from a fall. You might be dead if she hadn’t.’

  ‘She…’ There’s a k-word coming. It scratches in his throat like a hairball, until it threatens to choke him.

  ‘Killed Django, yes, but someone had to.’

  He frowns at me, struggling with this new thought. ‘Why did someone have to?’ He pushes my arm away and shuffles off my lap to stand on the floor. ‘Why did someone?’ I watch the rage gathering in him, tightening his face, pulling him upright.

  When Maud appears in the doorway all Simon’s red-faced fury is turned on her. ‘Why did you?’

  Maud turns to Abigail, standing beside her with an arm round her shoulder, then she faces Simon again. ‘Because, Simon…’

  We’ve never heard her voice. We couldn’t know it would sound just this way – the soft music of it, the faint Welsh lilt – but now no other voice is imaginable.

  Maud breathes and tries again, speaking slowly but with gentle urgency. ‘Because I wouldn’t have him fill you with that book of death.’

  Simon glares at her, shaking with rage. ‘She must be sent to her room,’ he says, ‘withouten any ice cream.’

  They stand for a moment confronting each other. Then Maud turns and runs. We hear her footsteps on the oak staircase, all the way to the top of the house and more faintly along the passage. A door bangs, and I know which door it is. She’s chosen your beautiful bathroom, Caro, to hide herself in. The house creaks and falls silent. Deirdre rests her head against the glass. Aleksy sighs. Abigail says, ‘We should have tea,’ but doesn’t move, and I realise this isn’t a proposal, but an expression of loss. A strange peace settles on the room.

  Agnes

  We rode for two days. It was late afternoon when we saw the village. A fresh spring wind came up to meet us. The hedges were all in blossom, the track skirted with sorrel and thrift, a sight I’d not thought about in my time among the scroungers but had pined for in my heart. Dell, who is not so used to riding, sat behind with Walt. I saw in the distance through the trees the swallows swooping and the cows grazing the meadow, everything in its right place.

  When the Monk’s Ruin came into view ahead of us, I cut in through the trees and headed for the High Wood, so that we would see the Hall before being seen.

  The villagers who had once been my neighbours were gathered on the grass. Seeing them together and the Mistress with them I faltered. If Brendan was dead they couldn’t blame me for it, but I had escaped from the red room and defied the power of the Hall. I told Dell, though she seemed less afraid than I was, that everything would be all right and that she should stay by the horse with Walt. If they took me she should do as we had agreed – ride boldly to the oak door and ask to speak to Sarah. If Sarah wouldn’t come she should tell whoever would listen that little Walter was Brendan’s child and should be taken in for his sake.

  I dropped quiet as I could to the ground, pulled the leather bag from Gideon’s back and took some steps towards the lawn. The shadow of the Hall reached out to meet me, pointing with its gables and chimneys.

  A woman stepped from the shadow of a tree and I saw it was my old neighbour Bessie. She threw her arms around me. ‘You here,’ she said. ‘I never thought to see you again.’ Drawing back, she put her hands to my face. ‘And are you well, dear Agnes, and are you home for good? Your cottage stands empty since your poor mother died.’

  ‘I’m home if they’ll have me, Bessie,’ I said, ‘and not lock me up.’

  She shook her head and sighed. ‘That’s more than I know.’

  I asked her, ‘Why is the village gathered?’

  ‘A terrible thing. Morton is dead and they say Daniel killed him. So he must be beaten, poor boy, and sent out into the forest to scavenge.’

  ‘Dead how? Of what cause?’

  ‘Tal found him in his bed with his throat cut and swears he saw Daniel washing in the brook at midnight.’

  ‘And what does Daniel say?’

  ‘At first he tried to speak but no words came. Now he is proud and silent, and that’s enough for them.’

  ‘But he was always so kind.’ I couldn’t believe that Daniel would do such a thing.

  ‘And such a good father he is to Annie’s little girl. And so happy he’s been these past months between the child and helping Roland.’

  ‘Helping him with what?’

  ‘I don’t know altogether. First it was the murk that must be broken apart, all the pipes inside it, and each part carried up to the turret to be peered at. Then day after day, water to be boiled on the fire.’

  ‘But what’s it for, all this carrying and boiling?’

  ‘It’s beyond me, Agnes dear. But Roland says it’s set down in the Book of Windows if you know how to read it. And so they played like boys. And now this. I should stand on the lawn to watch but I can’t bear to watch.’ Bessie’s tears stopped her talking then. We held each other until Gideon snorted among the trees and shook his mane, and we heard Walt gathering himself to cry out and Dell soothing him.

  Bessie looked to see who I’d brought with me. ‘Is it a scrounger? And a scrounger’s child?’

  I waved the question away. I wanted more news. I wanted to hear how things stood in the village. ‘Tell me about Megan. Does Megan have a child yet?’

  ‘You didn’t hear, of course. There was no wedding. Megan ran with the other girls to the wood, though the rain had come on hard during the night and the way was all mud. But there was only a tree with bindweed hanging on its trunk, and no husband. Now she keeps away from the Hall when she can. And Roland devotes himself to the Book of Windows, with Brendan gone. So much change, such troubles, and Morton murdered in his bed.’

  Her sobbing was drowned by Walt, who had opened his mouth in a pure, clean cry.

  Faces turned towards us from the lawn. I heard behind me Dell tramping among the trees, crooning words of comfort, and Walt’s noise muted to whimpers and gurgles. Then the Mistre
ss spoke and everyone looked at her again, and Daniel was led out, hooded and naked to the waist.

  Someone else was making noise, one of the villagers. It was Annie with an infant in her arms. I saw her stifle her own howling with a hand to her mouth. Her anguish was for her living husband not for her dead father. I was sure of that. And it came to me, not as a thought but as a feeling, a sensation on my skin, that it was true. It was all true. I remembered how Morton had taken hold of me the night I cut myself in the red room. And I knew all in a rush that Annie’s baby was Morton’s doing. And my mother’s baby too, who was born too small to live. Brendan had not lied about that. Daniel, who shrank from speaking, had once spoken up in front of the whole village to save Annie. And now there was another girl growing under Morton’s too watchful eye. I saw how Daniel might have wished Morton dead and not left it at wishing.

  Walt had started up again, in spite of Dell’s efforts to distract him from his hunger. I would have fed him but had more urgent work to do. His wailing had drawn more than looks. Tal had left the gathering and was walking towards us, his face blank as a stone, and Peter trailing after him. There was movement among the villagers, a murmur of voices, and Sarah appeared from among them, hurrying across to where we stood.

  People turned this way, and back again towards the Mistress whose voice rose to silence their noise, then this way again, straying towards Sarah, who had never walked away from a flogging however she shrank from it inside, and towards me who was mad and had escaped to live among the scroungers, and was mad still no doubt and stained with scrounger ways.

  Now there were more coming. Ada and Miriam hooded as Reeds, their green fronds blowing about them. The voice of the Mistress grew louder and more shrill, but whether calling them back or urging them on I couldn’t tell.

  As if pulled over the lawn by their long shadows they moved towards us. I told myself not to be afraid, though in truth I was faint with fear at the thought of what I was about to do. I stepped forward with the bag swinging heavily against my leg.

  Sarah reached me first, moving with quick light steps. ‘Is she with you?’ she said, ‘is it my child?’ hardly stopping to hear my answer before hurrying on under the trees.

  I knelt, sinking back on my heels. I heard the gasp of joy from Dell and the comforting murmur of Sarah’s voice and Walt grumbling between them. The bag lay open on the ground. A book came into my hand and I tossed it in Tal’s path. Another book spun towards the women, landing softly on the grass. A third book for Peter. A fourth and fifth for the women. The books perched on the lawn fluttering, holding themselves to the wind like curlews.

  More faces turned from the crowd by the Hall, straining to read the meaning of what I did.

  Tal had stumbled in his progress and now stooped to see what lay in front of him. Peter came up beside him, scratching his beard. Miriam and Ada turned this way and that to gather the books that fell flapping at their feet.

  I heard Bessie’s voice behind me. ‘What are they, Agnes?’

  A whisper grew among the villagers. Above our heads the branches ducked and strained. The old slates rattled on the roof of the Hall. The people moved back and forth across the lawn while the sky darkened and the wind howled down from the moor to riot in the wood.

  Then there was Roland. I stood with my empty bag billowing at my side and waited for him to come towards me. I raised my voice to be heard above the storm.

  ‘So you’re the Reader now.’

  ‘What have you done, Agnes?’

  ‘You thought there were only four books. I’ve brought more to show you.’

  ‘I never thought there were only four.’

  ‘We all did, Roland. You never said different.’

  ‘What does it mean anyway?’

  ‘It means we think fresh about everything. If there are a thousand books.’

  ‘A thousand?’

  ‘Why not? Then there are a thousand ways to think.’

  ‘And this is what the scroungers have taught you?’

  ‘The books taught me this. And my own mind.’

  ‘And what good will it do?’ He looked about at the villagers, who passed books and held them open for the air to snatch at, muttering in their agitation. ‘They’re frightened already, Agnes. This is a hard time for us. You should have waited.’

  ‘For your permission?’

  He laughed but I could see it was just to hide his own fear. ‘There’s still only one Book of Windows.’

  ‘Which will teach you nothing. Not to capture steam nor how to ride without a horse.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I know it’s just a trick of yours to say otherwise, to have your own way. For years Brendan studied the Book of Windows and he found so little sense in it, it made him mad.’ I stopped then, because I saw all at once that Brendan had led a sad and worthless life.

  ‘You haven’t asked about Brendan.’ Roland looked as if he thought this question would make me stumble.

  ‘Should I have asked?’

  ‘He’s not here. I thought you might have wondered what became of him. Unless you already know.’

  ‘I haven’t asked about Megan either. Weren’t you going to marry?’

  ‘You can’t lie to me, Agnes. We grew up together.’

  ‘You grew up at the Hall. I only lit your fires and washed your sheets.’

  He smiled at that, because it was my old way of talking, I suppose. ‘There are others to do that now,’ he said. ‘But I’m not as idle as I was. Come to my room and see how I work.’

  ‘Your room in the turret? I’ve been there before. It’s too close to the red room. I’m afraid I might never see the forest again, or the fields, or the geese. How are the geese?’

  ‘The geese are laying and will go on laying without any help from you. Come to my room and we can talk about the books.’

  ‘And if I did come, what would Megan say?’

  I saw I had unsettled him at last. ‘The night you left.’ He looked at the ground. When he looked up again his eyes were fierce. ‘Until the night you left, Agnes, I didn’t know.’

  ‘What didn’t you know?’

  ‘That without you the Hall is an empty ruin and the other villagers worth less to me than a rabble of scroungers.’

  I was surprised to feel my heart beat faster to hear him say this, and my breath come less easily. I didn’t know what I would say in reply until the words came. ‘Then knock on my cottage door and I might answer.’

  I made to walk away but was stopped by a thought. When I turned back, three or four women had gathered around Roland, old neighbours puzzled to see me, some holding books awkwardly in both hands, while the air tore at their scarves and the hems of their skirts. Bessie joined them, puzzling at a page of words. They were afraid perhaps the Book of Death was come for them in many faces and the world was soon to end. Behind them on the steps, the Mistress moved her arms through the air but her voice was drowned. Daniel, waiting beside her to be flogged, tilted his hooded head as if to catch a sound that would tell him what was happening to the village.

  ‘I met some scroungers on the road,’ I said. My words were for Roland but I didn’t mind who heard them. ‘They boasted they had killed a villager. An old man who limped in his walk. I thought of Morton. Is Morton dead? They said they cut his throat while he lay in bed asleep and left him to be eaten by rats.’

  Roland watched me through narrowed eyes. ‘How did they know of his limp if they killed him in bed?’

  I looked at the wild sky, then at the women who waited for an answer. ‘They followed him home from the forest where he’d been gathering firewood.’

  ‘A loaf of Annie’s bread was in the kitchen, Agnes. Did the scroungers tell you that? Cheese and freshly churned butter. In the yard a shed full of chickens. None of it touched. Only Morton, slashed from the ear to the throat, and enough blood to drench the straw and spill down through the floorboards on to his kitchen table. Is there no hunger any more among the scroun
gers?’

  I shrugged. ‘Scroungers do what scroungers will, Roland, and there’s no accounting for it.’

  I left him standing there, and the neighbours gathering round him, and hurried to where Dell stood with Walt, and Sarah clinging to her, while above them the trees tossed and churned. I told Sarah she should come with us to the cottage, but she pulled herself away from Dell and said she must see things right at the Hall. She held me tight for a moment, said she would come to us later, and set off into the storm.

  So it was just the three of us again. I led the way on foot back down to the road and over the bridge towards my mother’s cottage.

  Jason

  The fire has died down, and I’ve come to dig Django’s grave. Inside the blackened shell of the church the roof timbers sit precariously in heaps. Embers break here and there into little runs of flame. The walls give off heat and I’m sweating before I’ve begun.

  Django lies in the churchyard where he fell. On one side his clothes have burnt off and his flesh is singed. I chase off a couple of buzzards, throw a sheet over him and weigh it down with stones. Then I cover my face and start digging. While I work, the wind shifts direction and grows stronger. The air is pleasantly cool. I catch the smell of tree bark and damp leaves. Before I reach the water level the rain comes and I’m hoisting shovelfuls of mud.

  I’m about done, when I see Abigail on the road. I climb out and let the rain wash the mud off me.

  Abigail calls out, ‘The others are on their way.’ When she reaches me she puts her hand on my neck and kisses me on the mouth. Then she takes my arm and pulls herself close, resting her head against my chest.

  I ask her if Maud’s all right.

  ‘I think so. The door’s still locked. You won’t let them hurt her will you?’

  ‘No one will hurt her.’