The Restraint of Beasts

by Magnus Mills

  “Nothing,” said Tam. “Pay no attention to him.”

  “Finlay and Son!” announced his father in a loud voice.

  Jock appeared behind the counter and tapped it twice with his finger.

  “Alright, Tommy,” he said. “That’s enough of that.”

  But Mr Finlayson was now in full swing. “We could have had it in the bag! Proper genuine stock fencing! Solid! None of this low-cost, high-tensile shite killing the market! Us! Me! And your brothers. And instead of that…” He was beginning to falter. “And instead of that you went over to the other side!”

  At that moment some helping hands launched Tam’s father through the doorway and out into the night.

  “What it needs is a stockade!” he bellowed in the darkness. “Right around the house!”

  As the hotel door was closed and bolted, Tam brought our drinks over to the table. “Sorry about the delay,” he said.

  “What was your dad getting worked up about?” asked Richie.

  “Nothing of importance,” replied Tam. “He thinks he’s an expert on fencing all of a sudden.”

  “That’s as bad as my father,” said Richie. “He hasn’t touched his fences for years and now he’s started going on about getting them all renewed.”

  “Well can’t you do them?” asked Billy.

  “That’s what I said,” replied Richie. “But he goes ‘Oh no, they’ve got to be specially matched to my requirements’.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Tam.

  “Fuck knows.”

  “Sounds like the sort of thing Donald would come out with,” I remarked.

  Jock was going round the tables collecting empty glasses, and when he got to us he said, “I hear you’re going back to England.”

  “How did you know that?” said Tam.

  “Ah well, word gets around you know,” replied Jock. “You’ll be better off down there this time of year.”

  “Why?”

  “They don’t have proper winters, do they?”

  “Suppose not, but we’re not going yet. We’ve got Hogmanay first.”

  Ah yes, New Year’s Eve, that was the next big thing to look forward to. As Jock continued his rounds we squeezed what we could from the remaining dregs of Christmas. A few minutes later the bell rang for last orders and Richie went to get them in.

  “I’ll just see if Morag wants a drink,” said Tam.

  But she’d already gone.

  ♦

  Returning to work the following day we found out how Donald had spent his Christmas. There was no sign of activity anywhere in the company yard, so we collected our spades meaning to carry on with the trench where we’d left off. The rainy weather had subsided into clear stillness and there was a slight frost lying across the fields. As we approached we could see the Demonstration Fence glinting in the winter sunlight, but there was something different about its appearance. Drawing nearer we saw that during our absence the original fence had been extended. There was a new section at each end, at right-angles, so that the structure now formed three sides of a square. Again the work was done perfectly, with flawless joinery and unblemished posts in dead straight alignment.

  “Why’s he done it like that then?” said Tam.

  “Don’t know,” I replied.

  “How does he get the wires as tight as this?” Tam gripped the wire. There was a ticking noise and he leapt back from the fence. “For fuck’s sake, it’s switched on!”

  “You should have done the test,” I said.

  “Fuck the test!” he snapped. “That’s it. I’m not going near it any more.”

  “Here’s Donald,” said Richie, and we all began studying different aspects of the Demonstration Fence with interest. Donald had just come through the gateway at the corner of the field and was advancing towards us.

  “I bet he turned it on deliberately when he saw us coming to have a look,” said Tam.

  Yes, I thought, he probably did. Donald was walking along the line of our trench as he approached, peering into it from time to time, no doubt checking that it was sufficiently deep.

  “Glad to see you managed to return so promptly after the festivities,” he said as he joined us. “I was beginning to think I had a band of truants on my hands.”

  “Oh,” I said. “No.”

  “Well, you seem to be making reasonable progress with your excavation work. Three or four more days should see it completed.”

  I nodded towards the Demonstration Fence. “You’ve been busy then.”

  “Yes,” replied Donald, and began once more to make a thorough examination of the shining structure. We trailed vaguely after him as he patrolled the three adjoining sections.

  “Is it going to be a square when it’s finished?” I asked.

  “Correct.”

  “With a gate?”

  “No gate.”

  “But if someone was inside, and it was switched on, they couldn’t get out.”

  “Quite,” replied Donald. “Remember, it’s for demonstration purposes only.” He allowed us a few moments to absorb the remark, and then said, “Any other questions?”

  “Where’s Ralph?” asked Tam.

  “We’ve lost him.”

  “Have we?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “How?”

  “There was an accident during the early trials.” Donald laid a hand on one of the straining posts. “He’s under here if you wish to pay your respects.”

  ∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧

  Fourteen

  It took us the rest of the week to get that trench completed. Every day we turned in for work, collected our spades from the tool store and carried on digging. In other circumstances we could have probably wound the job up in two or three days, as Donald had estimated. After all, there were no particular problems to overcome. Now that the weather had dried up the work became less like drudgery, and we were able to apply ourselves to it properly. As a result the trench was neat, with straight vertical sides and a flat bottom. It actually made a nice change from building fences all the time. I soon came to realize, however, that Tam and Richie were pacing themselves so that we didn’t get finished too quickly. This was all to do with the approach of New Year’s Eve. I think they suspected that if we got the trench done any sooner Donald would send us off on the next job and they’d miss all the fun. As it turned out they needn’t have worried on that account. After a couple of days Donald paid us our wages (minus certain deductions) and announced that he was off to prepare the site for Mr Hall’s new fence. As usual he gave no indication about when he would be coming back, but nevertheless a relaxed atmosphere soon developed. Not long after he’d gone we went to the tool store and switched off the transformer. There would be no more surprise electric shocks for the next few days at least. Then we carried on with the trench, but at about half the speed we’d been going before, with regular fag breaks and pauses for general speculation. In the end we had the work finished by New Year’s Eve. Oddly enough, Donald did not return for quite some time. This was most unusual. He rarely left the office unattended for very long, yet on this occasion it was almost a week before we saw him again. Whatever was delaying him at the Hall Brothers’ place must have been very important.

  “Maybe he’s fallen into their sausage machine,” remarked Tam. We all had a good laugh about that.

  In the meantime New Year’s Eve came and went. It was the usual story in the Crown Hotel. Leslie Fairbanks provided music for a packed house, while Jock clattered and complained behind the counter. Tam and Richie got pissed with Billy, and everyone ignored Mr Finlayson, drinking alone up at the bar. For some reason, Morag Paterson failed to make an appearance, which I for one found disappointing. The evening was pleasant enough all the same. I was ‘allowed’ to sit at Tam and Richie’s table, although I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up with their rate of drinking for very long. My solution to this problem was to drop out of a few rounds, and not claim a drink, but then Tam accu
sed me of ‘back-watering’ which I thought was a bit unfair. He punished me by buying me drinks I didn’t want, so that I spent New Year’s Day with the worst hangover I’d ever had.

  The day after that there was nothing officially to do at work, but I persuaded Tam and Richie that we should go in and get the caravan cleaned up, to which they reluctantly agreed. It was in an even worse state than I remembered. All the carpets were still damp and the drainpipe from the sink had somehow become disconnected. Also the tyres had gone down again. I got Tam to pump them up while Richie dragged out the carpets and hung them on a line to dry. Meanwhile I tested the electric strip light to see if it still buzzed. It did, loudly, but I decided to take a power cable with us next time anyway, because the gas lamps were on their last legs and I didn’t want to live in the dark.

  We were just having our break when a truck suddenly pulled into the company yard. Donald was back. He got out and stood regarding the caravan in its dismembered state.

  “Looks like you need a bit of a sort out,” he said, by way of greeting.

  “We’re waiting for the carpets to dry,” I explained.

  “I see.”

  Tam and Richie were now busy fiddling about with the waste disposal pipe under the sink. As Donald peered at them through the caravan window I said, “You were gone a long time.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I got delayed.”

  “Oh, er…anything serious?”

  “A minor project of Mr Hall’s needed urgent completion and he asked me to oblige.”

  “What sort of project?”

  “I’ve been building pens.”

  “What, on your own?”

  “Not quite. I took an assistant with me.”

  There was a low gurgling noise as the waste pipe came away in Tam’s hand. Richie quickly tried to jam a bucket underneath, but it was too late and filthy water gushed across the kitchen floor. Donald turned away.

  “I take it you got your trench work completed OK?” he continued.

  I assured him we had.

  “Good,” he said. “Everything’s ready at Mr Hall’s and we want to get you shipped off tomorrow morning.”

  It struck me that Donald sometimes employed a very unfortunate turn of phrase. He was forever talking about ‘rounding us up’ and ‘shipping us off ’ as though we were being transported to some sort of penal colony or corrective camp, rather than merely going to undertake a commercial contract. Tam, Richie and myself were quite used to his ways of course, but it must have sounded very odd to potential customers.

  “What are we doing for this Mr Hall then, exactly?” I asked.

  “Something rather special,” replied Donald. “He wishes to eliminate all possibility of escape. Therefore we’re providing him with electric fences of extended height.”

  “How high?”

  “Seven feet.”

  “That’s a bit over the top isn’t it?”

  “Not really,” said Donald. “Oh, by the way, you’ll need to be at Mr Hall’s place by six o’clock tomorrow evening.”

  “Why’s that then?”

  “After that you’ll find the gates are locked.”

  ♦

  It was still dark when Richie and I arrived at the golf course the following morning to pick up Tam. I stopped the truck some distance from the greenkeeper’s house, bibbed the horn and wound up my window. Then we waited for signs of movement in the kitchen, where a single light-bulb shone. As we sat there waiting it seemed to me that the place looked different from before, though I couldn’t quite see why. The house no longer had a proper outline, and appeared instead to be part of a vast backdrop. Even the light cast from the kitchen window came to an abrupt end after a few yards, as if blocked out by some kind of solid barrier. I flicked the headlights onto main beam, and we saw a newly-built stockade advancing round the back and sides of the house. The work was not yet complete, but nearby a huge stack of larch poles lay ready, each with a pointed end.

  “Blimey,” I said. “I thought he was joking.”

  “You don’t know Mr Finlayson,” said Richie.

  Just then there was a movement in the darkness. An upper window of the house had been opened and a haversack was dropped to the ground. Soon afterwards a figure in a leather jacket emerged. We watched in silence as Tam lowered himself down until he was suspended from the ledge by his hands. After hanging there for several seconds he seemed to change his mind and started to pull himself up again, but then lost his grip and plummeted into the gloom.

  We heard a thud and a ‘Fuck’ in the near distance, waited a moment longer, then Tam appeared in front of the truck, grinning.

  “Misjudged that a bit,” he said.

  “Why did you come out the window?” I asked.

  “Cos my dad’s in the kitchen.”

  “So?”

  “That’s reason enough. Come on, let’s go.”

  “Richie!” roared a voice from the direction of the house.

  “For fuck sake,” said Tam. “It’s him.”

  “Richie!” shouted the voice again. “Come and have a cup of tea!”

  “Ignore him,” said Tam.

  “Richie!”

  “I’ll have to answer him,” said Richie. “He knows I’m here.”

  Tam tutted.

  “Oh, hello Mr Finlayson!” Richie called.

  “Come and have a cup of tea while you wait!”

  “I’ve just had one at home, thanks!”

  “It’s already poured!”

  “I’ll have to go and be polite,” said Richie, getting out of the truck and trudging towards the house. “Bring that foreman with you!” yelled the voice.

  Tam looked at me. “You’d better go in,” he said.

  I followed Richie through the blackness to the kitchen, where Mr Finlayson was waiting.

  “Can’t have you sitting out there, can we?” he said. “Your tea’s on the table, I’ve put sugar in.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “He’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Oh…er…right.”

  We sat awkwardly at the table and tried our teas. Richie took sugar normally but I didn’t, and it was very sweet. I didn’t say anything though. A few moments later there was a rattling sound in the upper part of the house, and shortly afterwards Tam came down the stairs into the kitchen. His jacket was badly scuffed up the front, and most of the fabric had pulled away from the lining.

  “Is that you then?” said his father. “These two have been waiting.”

  “I know, I know. Hi.”

  “Hi,” we both said.

  We rose from our seats and moved to go, but Mr Finlayson was blocking the door. “Finish your tea first,” he ordered. Then, to Tam, “You’ll have to do without.”

  There was a dutiful pause as we quickly drank our tea, then Mr Finlayson moved aside from the doorway and allowed us to leave.

  It was beginning to get light when we arrived at the company premises to collect the caravan. The first thing we saw was a large articulated lorry being loaded up in the timber yard. There were huge posts stacked along its entire length, and still more were being added. An air of efficiency prevailed. The whole place was emblazoned with artificial light from two floodlamps mounted high up on the gable end. I’d never noticed these before, and they made the company premises resemble an industrial plant, rather than a collection of converted farm buildings. The lorry had its own powered crane, which was being operated by someone on the far side. Only the steel toe-capped boots of this individual could be seen moving around, and he in turn was being given instructions by someone entirely lost from view. This made the entire process seem to have nothing to do with us.

  “Look at all those posts,” muttered Tam. “We’ll be away for months.”

  “Looks like it,” I said.

  Soon after we’d begun hitching up the caravan, Donald appeared from the direction of the timber yard and asked me to go into his office. Lying on the desk I noticed a cardboard carton stamped
with the words ‘Caution: electrical appliance’. Donald produced a file and handed it to me.

  “You’ll be dealing with a Mr John Hall,” he announced. “The full client name is Hall Brothers, but this Mr Hall is head of the regime and you should take your instructions from him. The other brothers are little more than sleeping partners.”

  I changed the subject and indicated the carton. “Is that for us?”

  “Correct,” said Donald. “As foreman it will be your responsibility to install the transformer before carrying out the final tests. Have you made yourself entirely familiar with the system?”

  “More or less.”

  “Good. This fence consists of ten live high-tensile wires and four strands of barb, so the posts are quite long. You’ll need to take a stepladder with you.”

  I looked at Donald and tried to see if he was making a joke or not. Was he seriously expecting us to knock these posts in from the top of a stepladder? After a few moments I decided that, no, he wasn’t joking.

  “Sounds like a big job,” I remarked at length.

  “Yes,” said Donald. “Our largest contract to date.”

  “Will any of the other gangs be involved?”

  “There aren’t any other gangs,” he replied. “You’re the last one.”

  A shadow crossed the window as the lorry moved out of the yard. A few minutes later I found Tam and Richie sitting side by side in the truck, waiting to go.

  “I suppose you haven’t got any money,” I said.

  “Nope,” said Tam.

  “I’ve got a bit for the time being,” said Richie. I went to the store room and found a stepladder. Then we set off.

  ♦

  That caravan was a flimsy affair. The walls were nothing more than a double layer of hardboard, separated by a timber frame and clad on the outside with tin plate. Only the chassis held it all together. And as I slowly came awake next morning the whole structure was creaking. Creak, creak, creak, it went. Rhythmically, creak, creak, creak. I lay with my face pressed against the wall, half-asleep, trying to remember where I was.

  “Is that you doing that?” said Tam.

  I looked beyond my toes and saw him eyeing me from his bunk.