by Magnus Mills
Magnus Mills
The Restraint of Beasts
1998, EN
The news couldn’t be worse for Tam, Richie and their new supervisor: Mr McCrindle’s fence has gone slack. The three of them are duly dispatched to the McCrindle farm, where they finish off the work, then go to England where, after rain-sodden days bashing in fence posts, they wolf down baked beans in their shared caravan and spend their evenings and cash in the local pub. But then they encounter the Hall Brothers – butchers, rival fencers and local heroes…
Table of contents
1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8 · 9 · 10 · 11 · 12 · 13 · 14 · 15 · 16
∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧
One
“I’m putting you in charge of Tam and Richie,” said Donald. “They can’t go to England on their own.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“We’d never know what they were getting up to.”
“No.”
“So you can take over as foreman from today.”
“Right.”
He allowed me a few moments to absorb the news, then asked, “Are you finding it hot in here?”
“Just a little, yes,” I replied.
“You should have said.” Donald rose from behind his desk and moved to the skirting board, where a radiator pipe emerged. He turned a stop-tap several times, clockwise, before settling again in his chair.
“These things can be controlled,” he remarked. “Now, are there any questions?”
He sat back and waited. I knew the sort of questions Donald expected me to ask, but I couldn’t think of any. Not with him examining me from behind his desk the way he did. At the moment only one obvious question came to mind.
“Why me?”
“There’s no one else available. You’re the last one.”
“Oh…right.”
Donald’s gaze remained fixed on me.
“You don’t seem very excited about all this,” he said.
“No, no,” I replied. “Really, I am.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. After all, it’s not often we appoint a new foreman.”
“No, I know,” I said. “I just wondered…have you told them?”
“Robert has told them.”
“Robert?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you tell them?”
“Robert is quite capable of telling them.” He reached for his typewriter and slid it across the desk towards him. I watched as he placed a sheet of paper in the roller and began tapping the keys. After a while he looked up and saw that I was still standing there.
“Yes?”
“Wouldn’t it be better coming from you?” I asked.
“Why’s that?”
“It would give me some authority.”
“Haven’t you any authority of your own?”
“Yes, but…”
“Well, then.” Donald continued looking at me for a long while. “It’s only for a few weeks,” he said. “Then you can come back.”
He began attending to his typewriter again, so I went out. Donald’s mind was obviously made up, therefore further discussion was pointless. Closing the door behind me I paused briefly and listened. Inside the office an unsteady tapping had started up. The decision was probably being committed to paper at this very moment, so that was that. It would have been better if Donald had told them himself, but I really wasn’t bothered either way. There was no big deal about the new arrangement. No particular cause for concern. After all, there were only two of them. Should be a piece of cake. True, they had their own way of doing certain things, but that was fair enough. Only to be expected considering how long they’d been together. We’d just have to get used to each other, that’s all. I decided to go and see them straight away.
Their pick-up truck was parked at the other side of the yard. They’d been sitting in the cab earlier when I went past on my way to Donald’s office. Now, however, there was no sign of them. I walked over and glanced at the jumble of tools and equipment lying in the back of the vehicle. Everything looked as though it had been thrown in there in a great hurry. Clearly it would all need sorting out before we could do anything, so I got in the truck and reversed round to the store room. Then I sat and waited for them to appear. Looking around the inside of the cab I noticed the words ‘Tam’ and ‘Rich’ scratched on the dashboard. A plastic lunch box and a bottle of Irn-Bru lay on the shelf.
So where were they? They seemed to have disappeared without trace. From what I’d heard this was the sort of thing they did all the time. They’d just go off somewhere for no apparent reason. And when they came back they wouldn’t have an excuse or anything. That’s what I’d heard anyway.
Eventually I got fed up with waiting and went round to the timber yard. They were nowhere to be seen, so I then conducted a search of all the store rooms and outhouses. Nothing.
Finally, when I couldn’t think of anywhere else to look, I went back to where I’d started and found them sitting in the truck eating sandwiches. They sat side by side in the double passenger seat, watching me as I approached. I knew Richie by sight. He was the one by the window. Therefore the other one must be Tam.
I spoke through the opening. “Alright?”
“Alright,” said Richie.
“Just got back?”
“Last night.”
“Looks like we’ll need a bit of a sort out,” I said, indicating the gear in the back of the truck. “But finish your sandwiches first.”
I walked round and got in the cab at the driver’s side. Tam looked at me for a moment as I slammed the door shut, but remained silent. I could now see that Richie was providing the sandwiches from the plastic lunch box, perched on his lap. He swigged the Irn-Bru and handed it to Tam.
“Don’t leave any floaters in it,” he said.
Tam drank, lowered the bottle, and examined the contents.
Then he turned to me. “Like some?”
“Oh. Thanks.” I took the bottle and drank the warm dregs in the bottom. “Thanks,” I repeated, handing it back.
“That’s OK.” Tam passed the empty bottle back to Richie, who screwed the top back on before throwing it out of the window.
And so we sat there in silence. Richie on one side, Tam in the middle and me behind the steering wheel. All staring through the windscreen. It was a bleak sort of day, with occasional gusts of wind gently rocking the vehicle from side to side.
There was a movement in the distance and Robert came into sight. We watched as he opened a gate to let Ralph through. He appeared to be about to set off on one of his long walks. Whether or not he noticed us sitting there in the truck, watching him, was hard to tell. If he did, he didn’t show it. He merely closed the gate behind him and ambled away over the fields.
“Look at Robert,” said Richie. That was all he said, but I could tell by the stifled silence which followed the remark that Tam and Richie were obviously sharing some private joke made at Robert’s expense. I didn’t join in.
After a short interval I said, “Did Robert come and speak to you?”
“Just now,” replied Richie.
“Oh. Right. Is that OK with you then?”
“Have to be, won’t it?”
“Suppose so,” I said.
Tam glanced at me briefly, but didn’t seem to have anything to say on the subject. Instead he turned to Richie. “Got a fag, Rich?”
Richie reached to a lump I’d noticed in his shirt pocket and took out a cigarette pack. Then he squirmed sideways and fished a lighter from his jeans. He handed Tam a cigarette, gave him a light, lit his own, and we sat there in silence for another few minutes while they smoked, and desultory flecks of rain landed on the cab roof.
�
��Right,” I said when they’d finished. “We’d better have a go at sorting out all the gear.” We got out and stood looking into the back of the truck. The collection of tools lay in a shallow pool of rainwater, some of them bent, most of them showing the first signs of rust. This was supposed to be a set of professional fence-building equipment, but actually looked like a hoard of junk. There were hole-digging implements, wire-tightening gear, a rusty steel spike (blunt), a selection of chisels and a chain winch. All in various states of disrepair. Also several coils of wire. The only item that appeared to be in reasonable condition was a large post-hammer with a cast iron head, lying slightly to one side.
“Here’s Donald,” murmured Tam, and they both immediately began sorting through the pile. Donald had emerged from his office and was advancing across the yard in our direction. His sudden appearance had a marked effect on Tam and Richie, whose faces showed that they were concentrating hard on their work. Tam leaned over the side of the truck and pulled out the post-hammer.
“Glad to see it’s still in one piece,” said Donald as he joined us. He took the hammer from Tam and stood it, head downwards, on the concrete. Richie, meanwhile, had lifted one of the coils of wire onto his shoulder and was about to take it into the store room.
“You seem to be in a great hurry all of a sudden,” said Donald.
This caused Richie to hesitate awkwardly in mid-step with the coil balanced on his shoulder. He half-turned and looked at Tam. Donald was now peering into the back of the truck.
“You people really should take more care of your equipment,” he said.
After a dutiful pause Richie made another move towards the store room but was again brought to a halt by Donald.
“Leave that for now. I’ve just had a serious phone call. You’d better come into the office.” Without further comment he turned and walked off towards the open door. We all glanced at each other, saying nothing, and filed after him.
On entering the office I saw that Donald had placed two hard chairs side by side facing his desk. I’d seen these hard chairs before. They were slightly less than full adult size, made from wood, and spent most of the time stacked one on top of the other in the corner beside the filing cabinet. That was where they’d been earlier when I was talking to Donald. I’d hardly noticed them really. They just looked as though they were intended to remain there indefinitely. It never occurred to me that these two hard chairs were kept for a particular purpose. They had been positioned squarely and symmetrically in front of the desk, and Tam and Richie did not have to be told where to sit.
I went and stood by the small recessed window, half-leaning against the radiator, which I noticed had been turned up full again. There was one other change. Donald had removed the light-shade from the ceiling and replaced the usual hundred-watt bulb with a more powerful one. This bathed every corner of the office in sharp light.
Slowly and deliberately he settled in his chair and sat for a few moments regarding Tam and Richie across the desk.
“Mr McCrindle’s fence has gone slack,” he announced at last.
∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧
Two
Donald let the words sink in. “He’s just been on the phone. He’s very disappointed. You’ll have to go back today and put it right. I thought you knew what you were doing.”
He paused. Tam and Richie said nothing.
“I thought you knew what you were doing. You’re supposed to be specialists. Mr McCrindle wanted a high-tensile fence, not something to play a game of tennis over. How are you going to progress with future projects if this kind of thing is going to happen all the time? You only finished off Mr McCrindle yesterday.”
I noticed that Tam and Richie looked quite meek while they were being addressed by Donald. They sat in their two hard chairs, which were a little too small for them, avoiding his gaze and staring with interest at his typewriter, or maybe the pencil lying next to it.
“It means you won’t be able to go to England until the middle of next week,” Donald continued. “Convenient for you, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by this remark.
“Sorry,” mumbled Tam at last.
Richie mumbled ‘Sorry’ too.
There was more. “I’ve just had a look in the file. It seems you didn’t measure the fence.”
Tam looked up briefly. “Oh,” he said. “No.”
“How am I supposed to invoice Mr McCrindle if you failed to take a measurement?”
“Don’t know.” Tam shuffled his feet slightly. The radiator pipe under the office floor was slowly warming up his rubber boots, so that they stuck momentarily to the lino. Both Tam and Richie were now beginning to look very uncomfortable. Their chairs were so close together that they were pressed against one another, shoulder to shoulder, each in danger of being unbalanced at any moment.
“Why didn’t you measure Mr McCrindle’s fence?”
“Forgot.”
“Oh, you forgot. It would be a different story if I forgot to pay you, wouldn’t it?”
Donald fell silent and sat looking at them, apparently waiting for an answer.
It was Richie who managed to speak this time. “Suppose so,” he said.
How long Donald kept them sitting there, side by side in those two hard chairs, was difficult to say. I noticed for the first time that there was no clock in that room. Nor was there a calendar on the wall. Even the limited daylight coming through the small recessed window was defeated by the glare of the light-bulb, further isolating the office interior from the world outside. And as long as they offered no excuse or reason for what they failed to do, Tam and Richie would have to remain under Donald’s relentless gaze. This was their punishment.
Several minutes seemed to pass before it was over. Eventually Donald leaned back in his chair and shook his head slowly.
“What are we going to do with you?” he said. They did not even try to answer.
After Tam and Richie had been dismissed, Donald turned to me.
“You’ll have to go with them to put Mr McCrindle right. Not a very good start, is it?”
“Not really,” I said. He appeared to be implying that I had played some part in the slackness of Mr McCrindle’s fence, a sort of guilt by association, even though I’d only met Tam and Richie about ten minutes earlier.
“While you’re there can you also make sure the fence is straight,” Donald added. I had been wondering when he would bring up the question of straightness. Donald was known to have an obsession about it. He could often be seen glancing along a line of posts during the construction process, making sure the alignment was true. Obviously it was better for a fence to be straight, if only for the sake of appearance, but Donald wanted perfection. As Mr McCrindle had demonstrated by his phone call, the main concern of farmers was that their fences should be tight. Without this the restraint of beasts was impossible. We were rushing back to deal with Mr McCrindle’s fence because it had gone slack, and for that reason only. I doubt if he had even looked to see if it was straight or not, despite Donald’s concern. It most probably was straight, but if for some reason it wasn’t, well then what was I supposed to do? Take out all the posts and start again? Donald’s pursuit of perfection seemed to be taking things too far. The way he went on anyone would think we were engaged in an exact science. After all, we were only fencing contractors. The process was straightforward.
You put posts in the ground, you stretched wires between them, and then you moved on. That’s what we’d done in the last gang I was in. It was repetitive work, but to tell the truth the whole operation was so simple we hadn’t even needed a foreman. We just got on with it. And when the fence was finished it was invariably straight, more or less.
Of course, Tam and Richie hadn’t helped matters by building a fence that went slack. Apparently they’d been working away at Mr McCrindle’s for several days before suddenly returning the previous evening claiming the job was now complete. Donald had estimated the contract would ta
ke a week, but they’d come back a day early. The phone call this morning had merely confirmed his belief that they needed closer supervision.
“One more thing,” he added. “There’ll be no need for Richie to drive the truck any more.”
“Why’s that then?” I asked.
“It’s part of a new policy I’ve formulated to reduce our insurance costs. Only foremen will drive company vehicles from now on. Richie is banned.”
“Have you told him?”
“Robert has told him,” he replied.
“What about Tam?”
“He’s banned by the Constabulary.”
Now that Donald was giving me his full attention, I found myself looking at the top of his desk most of the time, rather than directly at him. He had this way of staring at people for moments on end without blinking, and it was most disconcerting. Even Tam and Richie could be easily reduced under his gaze. When they were out in the fields they looked like wild men, head-bangers with long Viking hair. If it weren’t for their rubber Wellington boots they’d appear quite menacing. Yet it only took a prolonged stare from Donald to render them meek and mild. During their interrogation about Mr McCrindle’s fence they’d both spent most of the time gazing at Donald’s typewriter, and now I was doing the same thing. I noticed the sheet of paper in the roller, and upside down I could see three names printed under the heading ‘N°3 Gang’. One of them was mine. As I tried to read the other two names I realized that Donald had stopped talking.
“Banned by the Constabulary?” I repeated.
I thought I caught the first twinkle of a joke coming here, so I grinned and said, “Oh, yes. Ha.”
Donald just continued gazing at me, so I went outside.
I found Tam and Richie sitting in the truck again, side by side in the double passenger seat, with their arms folded. The pile of equipment didn’t look as if it had been touched.
“Right,” I said. “Do you want to finish sorting this lot out?”
“Not particularly,” Richie replied.