The Red Judge

by Pauline Fisk

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Have you got him? Look out, his boots are slipping off! They’re not tied properly. Bring him this way – yes, that’s it! Be careful, you two at the back – don’t drop him! Yes, that’s right, gently, gently, down here by the fire …’

  I smelt it before I even got to it – smelt its warm, sweet savour and felt safe. The girls lay me down beside it, with a pillow of scarves under my head and their coats piled over me. Some of them went back to unharness Harri and Mari. They brought them to the fire too, and I remember dimly thinking that they deserved all the fuss and attention that they were getting.

  Then I must have dropped off to sleep because, the next thing I knew, Harri and Mari were forgotten and the girls were round me again. In the moonlight, every single one of them looked like a silver screen goddess. I could scarcely believe that they were real.

  ‘You’re in good hands,’ the first girl said, touching my cheek as if to prove how real she was. ‘Everything’s all right. Don’t you worry. You’re safe with us.’

  I didn’t doubt that I was. But safe was one thing and better was another, and one minute I was freezing and the next I was sweating. I couldn’t stop coughing, couldn’t stop being sick, and the seven girls clustered round me might be goddesses but they certainly weren’t doctors!

  Not that that seemed to bother them. With quiet efficiency, they set to work. The first girl stayed to hold me upright while I was sick, and lay me down again afterwards, while the others hurried about, building up the fire and collecting ice off the river. I’d no idea what they were up to, but they filled a billycan, put it on the fire and waited for the ice to melt. Then, when it was boiling hard, they took it off the fire and stuck it in the snow to cool down.

  Finally, when it was cool enough, they brought it to the first girl, who sat me up and put it in my hands. I looked into the billy-can and saw a scummy mess of river water with bits of leaves and twigs and goodness knows what else floating on its surface. It wasn’t very appetising, to put it mildly.

  ‘I know it may seem crazy,’ the first girl said. ‘But we know what we’re doing. Honestly. Trust us.’

  I did, too. Trust them, I mean. Goodness knows why, but when the billy-can was put to my lips, I decided to take the risk. Its contents might look like the most unlikely medicine I’d ever seen, but I took a sip – and the drink tasted fine. Surprisingly fine. In fact, it actually tasted a bit like wine!

  I took another sip, thinking that it tasted even more like wine – and a decent wine as well. Then my head started spinning and I went back for a third sip. And then I took a fourth, and my head began to spin even more.

  All too quickly the billy-can emptied. The girls looked down at me, their faces wreathed in smiles. I started feeling sleepy and they blurred in and out of vision. The first girl said something to me, but her voice seemed to come from far away.

  She lay me down again, and covered me with coats and the tarpaulin off the sled. By now I could scarcely keep my eyes open. The girls seemed miles away, and years away as well, fading from the present as if the past was taking them and leaving me behind.

  I closed my eyes. ‘Now go to sleep,’ I heard the first girl whispering. ‘Let the river work its magic.’

  In the morning, I woke up cured. I knew it even before I opened my eyes. Knew that I was strong again, and restored in every way. I didn’t feel weak after being so sick. I wasn’t coughing any more and wasn’t in a sweat. The band of iron had gone from round my chest, and I didn’t ache any more.

  Instead I felt ready for the new day. I got up. The camp fire had burned out and the coats had gone, along with every other trace of the seven sisters. But the blankets off the sled had been tucked tightly round my body, with the tarpaulin laid over them to keep me dry. Harri and Mari got up too. They shook themselves and we set off again. They were restored as well, their eyes bright and their heads up as they pulled the sled downriver.

  It was a wonderful morning. I sat on the high bench seat, convinced that this would be the day when we finally made it to the sea. I looked for it round every twist and turn in the gorge and I even sang, if I remember rightly. I couldn’t see a snow cloud anywhere, and the air actually had a bit of warmth to it for a change. My mind ran on ahead of me to the river estuary where, as if my faith in the impossible had been restored, I could picture my seafaring father waiting for me.

  The dogs strained forward, as if they had dreams of their own. Poor Harri and Mari – I can see them still, the sun above them and their feet flying down the icy river. They had no idea what lay ahead, and neither did I.

  We came bursting out of the gorge, glad to be alive, to find that every branch on every tree was hung with diamond drops of water caught by the sun. They sparkled in the soft air, and I should have added two and two together and recognised a thaw when I saw one.

  Before I could do anything, however, a sudden cracking sound had me jumping out of my skin. It sounded like a gun going off – a shooter in a wood, or something like that. Harri and Mari flinched, but I’m certain they would have carried on if there hadn’t been a second crack, even louder than the first, and closer too.

  They reared up in confusion, and I struggled to calm them down. But then we heard a third crack, even closer still, and they spun round on the ice and I lost control. For a moment I was almost tipped out of the sled, then it righted itself and Harri and Mari went bolting back the way we’d come, dragging me behind them, clinging to the sled to stay onboard.

  There was nothing I could do to stop them. The gorge’s shadows fell across us, and we bumped and lurched, twisted and turned our way past everything I’d thought we’d said goodbye to. Finally we found ourselves back in the dark place again, where the ridges of trees looked like quivers full of arrows.

  The place I’d thought of as a place of slaughter.

  I’ll never forget it. Ahead of us, I could see the village with the hotel and the ice-locked ferries. But, before we could reach it, another shot rang out. It sounded right behind us this time, and I spun round to find a black snake racing up the ice towards us.

  A long, black, twisting, turning snake!

  I cried out in a panic, unable to understand quite what was going on. And after that it’s hard to put anything in order. It happened so very quickly. I remember the dogs rearing up. I remember the way the river shook as the snake passed by. I remember the sled being struck, and the snake running under it like black lightning, and then carrying on upriver. I remember it reaching the village and the ferries bobbing up and down.

  But it was only when I saw the water rising up like black blood all around me, that anything made sense. It came bursting out of the snake and, suddenly, I understood. The sunny day, the dripping trees, the spring-like weather – of course. This was a thaw!

  Suddenly there wasn’t just the one snake on the river. There were hundreds of them running about in every direction. As far back as the footbridge, I could see – and hear – the frozen river breaking into pieces. And I could see it ahead too: the ferries at the hotel careering round like fairground rides, and a network of chasms opening up around them.

  Everywhere I looked, the river was rising up. Only last night it had saved me, but now it felt like an enemy. I couldn’t believe that it was the same river. The power that the thaw had unleashed made it unrecognisable.

  I tried to get away, steering the sled across what remained of the ice. But it was impossible to stay upright, let alone escape. Water slopped over me as I tried to right the sled, and over Harri and Mari too, as they tried to help. We did our best, aiming for the shore, but the river was impossible to navigate.

  When a chasm opened up beneath us, there was nothing we could do. The sled went one way, me clinging on to it, and Harri and Mari went the other. All that connected us were ropes and harnesses. I struggled to pull them back, and the dogs struggled to reach my outstretched hands. They nearly did it, too, but suddenly a pair of massive ice floes crashed between us like h
eavy-duty pincers, cutting through everything that bound us together and sending Harri and Mari down through the black water.

  I couldn’t save them.

  All that I could do was watch it happening.

  It was over very quickly. One minute Harri and Mari were flailing about in the freezing water, and then they were gone and I had no time to mourn them because I was nearly gone myself. I was still clinging on to the sled – goodness only knows how – but the river rose to greet me and I slipped beneath its surface. I could feel the sled pulling me down, and realised that, if I didn’t let go, I would sink with it.

  And so I did. Let go, I mean. I let the sled slip away from me, and sink without a trace. My grandmother’s red wicker sled, inherited by Pawl along with Harri and Mari. I never saw it again, and I never saw them either. All that was left was a broken plank from the high bench seat, which I found bobbing on the water and grabbed for dear life.

  It must have been what saved me. I’ve no memory at all of how I got out of the river – just a dim recollection of black figures running up and down the hotel car park in the distance. One minute I was treading water, wondering what had happened to my boots and surrounded by ice floes. Then darkness fell, and the one clear thing I do remember is swearing that, if I survived, I would never swim again.

  And ever afterwards I’ve always hated water. It took me years to break that vow. Years to swim again, and even then I hated it. And this is why.

  22

  The Speech House Hotel

  What happened that day changed me. Ever since, in small ways and large, I’ve been different. Something died in me when the dogs went down, but something else was born. No longer did I look for happy endings as if I stood a chance of finding them, or believe in the power of my imagination to make my dreams come true.

  But a new determination came over me. Life was a battle for survival – and one that I would win! I’ve been a fool, I thought. A stupid fool on a stupid journey, going nowhere and not even knowing it. And now, because of me, Harri and Mari are dead.

  I became tougher after that. Sharper, and less squeamish about things like right and wrong. Take stealing, for example. Once I’d break out in a sweat at the thought of doing anything like that. But now something dogged and determined got hold of me. The thing that mattered most was staying alive. And I’d do whatever it took. Take whatever I found. Find what I needed and stay alive at all costs!

  ‘Nothing in the world,’ I told myself, ‘not hunger, cold, exhaustion or some trifling matter of who owns what, is going to get in my way!’

  My first theft took place in the village, up the road from the hotel. A house stood on its own, without lights and surrounded by trees. I walked straight in, dripping all over the floor, grabbed a handful of clothes off a drying rack, stuffed them into a bin bag and walked out again. Nobody saw me. Maybe the owners of the house were down by the river watching the pantomime on the ice.

  I even helped myself to a fridge full of cold meats and a camouflage jacket hanging on the back door. Then I did the same at the next house that I came to, only to find that I couldn’t get beyond the conservatory and would have to make do with a pair of gardening boots tied up with string.

  It wasn’t much but, in the forest afterwards, changing into dry clothes, I told myself it was enough. I left behind my old clothes, buried in the snow, but hung on to Pawl’s coat even though it was too wet to wear, stuffing it into the empty bin bag because it was all that I had left of my old life. Then I started through the forest, climbing up the gorge without a clue where I was heading, but thinking that anywhere would do, just as long as it was out of here.

  I didn’t like this dripping gorge. The snow was disappearing fast, and the ground beneath it was boggy and grey. Streams of melted snow ran everywhere and the trees hung sadly, as if the carnival was over. I knew I’d never have another journey like the one I’d just had with Harri and Mari. Everything was ordinary again. Everything was disappointing.

  I reached the top of the gorge at last, and the river lay beneath me. For a moment I stood watching it twisting and turning out of sight, then I turned away. I walked all that day without knowing where I was going. Ahead of me lay a sodden, never-ending forest where everything seemed dead. If the sun shone, it was always high up among the treetops, never reaching the forest floor. Even when it sank, it didn’t reach the forest floor, just faded slowly somewhere off between the trees until there wasn’t anything left to lighten my path.

  I was in deep forest, lost in the night. Once or twice I heard cars in the distance, but I never saw any headlights or came across a road. Gradually my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and I made out forest paths and old abandoned railway tracks, which I followed for miles. I passed deep streams, buried in banks of peat, and ponds that would have been frozen over only hours ago, but now they rippled in the evening breeze.

  Later that night, I hit a road with houses on it, and streetlights. It was the outskirts of a town. I passed along its pavements, picking food out of bins. Nobody was about, streets empty and pubs closed. But curtains twitched as I walked by, and a couple of cars slowed down so that their drivers could take a second look, checking on this foreigner in their town.

  It was a relief to reach the other side, and return into the forest. Its huge old trees threw their shadows over me and I walked freely again without fear of being observed. I was shattered by this time, but had worked myself into a frame of mind where stopping was unthinkable.

  ‘I’ll carry on for ever,’ I told myself. ‘Nothing’s going to stop me. Even if I found the sea, I’d carry on until its waves broke over me. And then I’d carry on. I’d never stop. I’d walk for ever and never give up.’

  It was crazy, of course. In the end, of course, I had to stop. Somewhere in the darkness, my body said enough’s enough. I don’t remember where it was, or what exactly happened, but I woke up in the morning to find myself lying under a huge old sump in an oily-smelling corrugated hut. This, I discovered when I staggered outside, was part of an abandoned coalmine, overgrown with moss and bracken. Piles of slag lay outside the hut. Bits of broken railway track disappeared into the forest and I even found a couple of chipped coffee mugs sitting on a tree trunk as if the miners might come back.

  Perhaps this mine wasn’t as abandoned as I’d first thought. It didn’t look very likely, but I hurried off just in case, my legs like rusty pistons cranking into action. I didn’t have a clue where I was going or what would happen next, but I didn’t care. The thing that mattered was the doing. The getting up again. The going through the motions.

  I walked for hours, just like the day before. Mostly the forest was silent, but occasionally birds cried out warnings as I approached, or a little breeze got up and whispered through the trees. A couple of times I passed houses where I sneaked in and grabbed food.

  Once I even climbed up to a viewing point where I could see the forest stretching away to the horizon. There would be roads beneath those trees, and towns and villages too, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see a single sign of life.

  It was a gloomy prospect. I set off again, wandering aimlessly for hours and ending up in a vast boggy region where all the melted snow in the forest, it seemed, had drained into a natural sink. A network of peat ditches lay beneath my feet. I tried to keep out of them, looking for higher ground, but the boggy region stretched on and on. Brambles caught me in their branches, and huge old holly trees pressed in on every side. I sank up to my ankles and even left my boots behind and had to dig them out.

  Finally the forest fell silent and the sun began to sink. Soon it would be dark again, and I’d be stuck here for another night. I forced myself on, but the going got no better. I couldn’t even see where I was putting my feet any more and, to make matters worse, a little bit of mist was beginning to drift my way.

  I veered away from it instinctively, and it was then that I started hearing things. To begin with the sounds were too far off to care about but, as I edged
away from the mist, it seemed to me that they grew. Then I started seeing things as well – little bits of light that came and went like waves on a moonlit sea. And the sounds were like the sea too. They drifted towards me and faded away like waves washing over pebbles.

  I forced myself forward, hope springing to life again against all odds. What if, despite everything, I’d reached my journey’s end? What if the sea lay ahead of me? The ground became drier and the trees thinned out. I made my way between them, my heart pounding. But it wasn’t the sea that I found waiting for me when I stepped out from between the trees. It was a road.

  It stretched before me, bright with headlights making their way home. I had got it wrong about the waves and pebbles. What I’d heard were tyres on wet tarmac, cutting through the forest at high speed. I stood watching cars disappearing one after another, cross with myself for expecting anything else. Finally nothing else came along and the road emptied.

  Then I stepped on to it, and started walking. It was a long road, and perfectly straight, stretching away in either direction for as far as I could see. Trees grew right up to the edge of it and their darkness pressed in around me. In the distance I could see a solitary light, but I didn’t take much notice until I drew level with it and saw that it was an illuminated road sign advertising hotel accommodation.

  THE SPEECH HOUSE HOTEL

  AA THREE-STAR RATED

  FOUR-POSTER BEDROOMS AVAILABLE

  OLD FOREST OF DEAN HOSTELRY

  ESTABLISHED 1676

  I couldn’t actually see a hotel, but a short walk further down the road brought into view a fine old country house, its tall chimneys standing against the night sky. Tiled across its entrance porch was the word WELCOME, and through its leaded windows I could see guests moving about from one bar to another, carrying drinks. They were all dressed up, the men in black bow ties and the ladies in cocktail dresses, as if for a grand gala occasion. I wondered what they were celebrating until I noticed a banner in the reception area wishing everybody a HAPPY NEW YEAR.