The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean: Telt by Himself

by David Almond

  And after a time I hear a fluttering in the air so close I nerly gasp but I keep on singin & I keep my eyes closed & O I feel tiny feet restin on my sirup stars & tiny feet scratchin on my skul & O O O I feel a birds beak nibbling at my hair & getting the shuga for its sweetness & strenth and sustenans.

  And as I stand there mor & more birds desend to me. They flutter back & forwards & they pluck & pick and scratch & I am so happy & the birds so bold and brave.

  And I open my eyes and strate away the birds are gone — all the littl birds that hav been standin on me & warkin on me and feedin on me — little sparros finches starlings skylarks tits and robins. I hold my arms owt wide and watch them flee back up into the emptiness and the bluwness and the sunlyt as if they have been flung out from the body and the arms and hair of Billy Dean. I laff at the loveliness of it. And another laff comes from beyond the gate. And I turn to see Elizabeth standing there with a book and a pensil in her hand and a grate grin on her fase. She steps forward leans across the gate and says this is for me. She puts the picture in my hand — the picture of Billy Dean with wild hair and the arms stretchd out and bak archd & fase turnd upward to the lite and all the birds in ther weard airy dancing all around.

  She puts her finger to her lips and backs away.

  I close my eyes agen. The birds return. This time I no thers no need to stay still. I trembl with the joy of it. I move. I danse. The birds fall and rise and danse as well.

  And then Mams voice.

  Shes standing at the door.

  She giggls and giggls.

  “O Billy! Just look at you and the birds!”

  The pepl begin to apear on the rubbl befor the house of Missus Malone. It seems they cum from other plases away acros the hills or out from the sity or from sitys furtha afeeld. Just 1s & 2s at first.

  And they do not come becos they are the bereaved.

  They come in serch of life not death.

  In the very erliest days of this a dorter brings a mother. Shes standin ther at the dore as I cum owt from Missus Malones. Ther are grate swellins of arthrytis on the mothers nees and elbows. Her fingers are twisted & frale & ther is grate pane within her.

  “Just tuch her plees,” the dorter says.

  “Tuch her?”

  “Yes tuch her. Heal her.”

  At that tym I still dont hav a cluw what I can realy do.

  I tell her ther is nothin I can do.

  “We have been told that we can beleev in you,” says the dorter. “And we beleev that you can help. Just tuch her, Aynjel, plees.”

  I am so tyrd of that name.

  “Thers no such things as aynjels,” I say. “Ther is only us. I am me & my name is Billy Dean!”

  “Plees tuch her, Billy Dean.”

  So I siy & tuch the mother & expect nothing. But then I feel the heat that is in my fingers. It is as if my fingas and her joints becum 1 singl thing for a few short seconds. It is like ther is sumthing seeping out from me and into her and like sumthing is seeping bak to me. She groans.

  “O blessed boy” she wispers. “Now tuch me ther. Now ther. Yes ther.”

  When I look into her eyes the pane is draind from them and joy has took its place.

  “Thank you Billy,” she wispers.

  I look at the nees the elbows the fingers. Has enything happend? I cannot tel.

  “What hav I done?” I ask.

  “You hav tayken the pane away,” says the mother. “And look. The swelling is shrinking. I am sertan of it.”

  She moovs her fingers. She moovs her feet. She sways like shes about to dance.

  “And I can moov without pane, Billy. Look. O look!”

  “We new,” says the dorter. “We beleevd in you, Billy. Take this gift.”

  She holds out a handful of coyns. I am bamboozld by it all and do not reech for them. Then Missus Malone is at my back. She reeches past me & takes the coyns.

  “Thank you,” she says. “Healing takes the strenth from him & the boy is tired now & you must let him be.”

  The mother and the dorter wark away in joy. The mother reeches her hands towards the sky.

  “Well well Billy,” says Missus Malone.

  She gazes at me in silens for meny seconds.

  “It apears ther may be no end to yor gifts,” she says.

  When I leav her & wander in confyushon throu the ruwins I pass Jack & Joe standing in a doreway.

  “Bless us Master” wispers Jack.

  I rase my hand to tel them no but they close ther eyes & bow.

  “Thank you Master,” says Joe.

  “We ar redy,” says Jack.

  I wark on.

  And so it starts.

  They come with canser or with heart disees or with funguses or sores or rashes or spots. They limp acros the rubbl on crutches or are weeld bumpily acros it in chares. They cum with depreshon & distres. They trembl & qwayk. They wisper ther feres and sadneses and broaken dremes to me. They bring ther sikly children & ther weke & pityus baybys.

  Plees help, they say. Plees tuch. Tuch me here on my sholder. Tuch this elbo plees. Lay yor fingas on my eyes. Lay them ther just ther on my skul. Yes. Yes. O ther is such tendernes in you. O I suddenly fele so warm. Thers such a straynj vibrayshon, Aynjel. I fele it depe depe down insyd. O thank you Aynjel. Thank you Billy Dean. The payn is gon. Look how I can wark more freely. Yes I see mor cleerly and here mor cleerly. The trubbl in my heart is faydin. O look how he is smyling O look how she is sleepin softly for the first tym sins she came into the world. Thank you Aynjel. You wer sent by God. You ar a saynt. Let me kiss yor hand & leev my gift & step aside. For here is another cumin for yor tuch. And another and another and another.

  And another. And mor and mor of them. Wen I am done with travelin to meet the lejons of the dead it is time to dele with the lejons of the livin. They kew up at the dore. They bring chares to sit on or they put broaken stones and crackd timber togetha to mayk seats. They lite fyrs in the dust wen it is cold. They sit in cheerful littl hoapful groops to share ther tales or they wander the ruwins in lonly dejecshon until it is ther turn to meet the healer Billy Dean. Often Elizabeth is ther sitting among them with her pensils & payper. She draws & she lissens. She tels me that thees Blinkbonny days wil be nown 1 day as days of wunder.

  The weeks pass. Soon under the instrucshon of Missus Malone I start to do my healin in groops. I stand at the dore and the seekers of healin gather befor me. They bring candls and lanterns. I wer the blakfrinjd purpl scarf. I hold it to my fase to bring my father to me for a moment. At times I wisper words into it.

  “I do this for you Dad for only you. I hope that you wud be prowd of me at last. I hope that you may return.”

  Wons wen I lift my fase from the scarf I fynd Jack & Joe rite besiyd me.

  “Are you well Master?” says Jack.

  “You look so tyrd,” says Joe.

  “You are so preshus.”

  “We wil keep an eye on you if we may.”

  They bow & back away.

  Missus Malone says I shud start the healing with prares. I cannot pray to God so I pray to the absens of him to the absens that is filld with things of gorjus wunder & things of deep distress. I say the prare so that it is sumthin like a song. I rase my hands to the sun and air & my prares are sumthing like

  Let me call on the power of the water and the air and stars and the power of the fish and mise and birds. Let me draw the straynjnes of the world and yoonivers to this plays. Just as the living becom the dead and the dead becum the livin let payn be transformd to healin let sadnes turn to joy. I am just a growin boy and we ar only littl ordinary folk but each of us is grate eech of us is hoaly. Now let the power of things and time be consentrayted in us. Step forward when the call to healing cums. Step forward & let us tuch eech other & let us all be heald.

  After a time I no it dosnt mater what I say dosnt mater what I call upon dosnt mater if my words make sens or not. And so I begin to mumbl & mutter & yell or I sqweek like a mows or mew like a cat or yowl lik
e a dog and I trembl and sway like a mad thing.

  Pashlaboovita! I SING. Linovitaki! Ombriwon ombritoo ombrimor my loopiting in the ploobis sky! Ushmandriga ushmandriga we call! O O O O so meny of us dasholabitikin! O so meny of us shoooooovalus!

  And the peepl gasp in wunder. Hes speekin in tongues! they say. He is tarkin the tark of the aynshents a langwij thats long bene forgot. He is speekin the words of aynjels & spirits. O lissen how byutiful it is! Lissen how gloryus he is.

  How rong they are. It is just sounds and chants and noyses and yels. It is noys with no meening in it but with weard byuty & weard strenth.

  Comp yor blip to us! I YELL Comp yor blip & chang yor chep & kink yor kop! Stik it arswards. Riggl it & raggl it! Hashamanikor to Billy Dean! Mew mew sqweek sqweek & howl howl & bliddy howl. Plashis! Brishonol! Gambortstil! Gongorigolus to all.

  Whatever I say they step forwad and the heelin comes to meny and afterwards ther is often singing and praysing that goes on deep into the nite.

  Ha! I often feel so proud to stand ther — to lead the singing & the prares and to bring some joy wer thers been pain. Ha! I think how proud my dad wud be to see me ther with all these eyes upon me. Ha! I am becum lyk him. I am strong and strait and belovd but I stand on dust and dirt beneeth the empty sky & dirt & dust are on me & weard wyld hair glittas on my head & a thin wite dusty shirt dangls down on me & nonsens danses off my tongue. Ha! Ha! Bluddy ha!

  Did it work? Of cors it did. Thers peepl warkin in the world today that wer heeld by the tuch of Billy Dean. Soon enuf thers crutches hangin from Blinkbonnys warls. Thers spectacls on piles of stoans. Thers bottls of pills & choobs of oyntment & bandajes & hearin ayds. Peepl cum to wotch & dowt & laff & to show that its all a nonsens and a fayk and they leve agen in wonder & fere & tremblin.

  Sum say it is happenin becos it is a time of war & in thees days the war is getting wors. They say that in thees stranje days ther are other Billy Deans in other playses. Ther are other weard harf wild boys and girls that yell in tongues and move eesily between the livin and the dead. They say as the world turns bak to wilderness that children wons mor are turnin wild.

  They say it is brout on by the distres and fear of war but I no nothin abowt war & war seems far off enyway sumwer out acros the distant blu horyzon.

  Some say it is the work of God becos he so loves the world but Billy Dean makes no clayms on eny God. God? Ha! What & where is God?

  Sum say it is all the deeds of the devil and that we are hedin down to Hell. Or that the erth is enterin its final days and that all order and sens and truth are breakin up. Or they say its nothin so grand nothin so dredful & its simply the beleef in healin that corses the healin to occur.

  “What is it that cums throu you?” they want to no.

  I tell them that I do not bluddy no. I tell them that is the anser to all qweschions. I do not bluddy no! I tell them that what comes throu me is absolutely bluddy nothin & nowt. It is the grate big emtiness that heals them. The grayt big gloryus nothingness thats cumin throu a boy thats got nothing in himself.

  And I spred my arms to the massiv sky.

  “Look!” I say. “What els but emty nothingness can it be? What els is ther?”

  And I spred my arms agen and say, “Yes it is nothing but it is astownding. How cud you not beleev that sumthing so bluddy astownding as this cud not heal a littl thing like a body?”

  I hav no wish for the gifts they bring but they bring them & bring them. Missus Malones treasure box rattls with coyns and wispers with notes. Those that cannot bring muny bring jam or froot or cakes. It is a time of riches for Mr McCaufrey too. The visitors buy his sausages and cook them on ther fyrs. They eat his pies and puddins. Ther are kews at his shop lyk ther were in the old days. He stands happy insyd with his apron on and his eyes glitterin and his hed shinin & he gossips and grins and slyses and chops.

  Peepl wark with me as I wark throu the dust from Missus Malones to home and bak agen. The air is filld with the noys of rubbl as it rattls & crunches & cracks. Tiny stones scatter & skitter & clowds of dust rise arl arownd. I feel fingers and parms on me from peepl needin to tuch me. I hear prares wisperd at my bak. Mam stops them at the ruind garden gate. No furtha than this she tels them. He is still yung. The boy needes his rest. Leev him in peese.

  It becomes a grate burden to me sumtimes. Wons wen I am worn out by it all I tell Mam I was not made for this. I am too much in the world & too much noatisd by the world. It wud hav bene beter to stay lockd away insyd my littl room. It wud hav been beter if Id never been let out. She takes me in her arms.

  “You cudnt go back to that Billy,” she wispers. “You no that. And mebbe all this is truly what you wer made for. Mebbe this is in the end what all the lockin away and isolashon was for. Mebbe this is why you wer born at the very moment of disaster.”

  She gazes into the emty air.

  “Mebbe your dad new that this is how it wud turn owt. Or how he hoapd that it wud turn but he didnt stay long enuf to see.”

  She strokes my cheek.

  “Why didnt he stay?” I ask. “Where is he now?”

  She closes her eyes for she dos not no.

  Always that anser to so meny qweschions.

  I do not bluddy no!

  “It wont be forever,” she says. “These days will pass. Other things wil cum to take the place of this.”

  I lean agenst her. I hear her heart beatin within her. I sleep & I dream of the iland beyond the horyzon wer ther will be peese.

  When I wake ther are fases staring in throu the windows. A mother holds a baby at the glass to me. The baby has a grate purpl birth mark on its cheek.

  “Plees!” the mother mouths in silens. “Plees Billy Dean.”

  I siy. Thers nothin I can do. My weard gifts hav becum my destiny. I hav to work my goodness. I go owt to her.

  I put my parm on the babys fays and & the mark is gon.

  They apear warking at my side as they so often do. I am nere to my house with folowers behynd me.

  “Forgiv us Master” says Jack. “We do not wish to introod.”

  “But we fere for you,” says Joe.

  They hav littl silver crusifixes hangin on ther neks & shinin in the sun. Ther eyes are blu & gleamin & intens.

  They bow ther heds befor me.

  “Fere for me?” I say.

  “Yor gift is preshus,” says Joe. “It must be protected.”

  “And you must also be protected,” says his bruther.

  He turns round to the followers & rases his hands.

  “Plees dont crowd the master.”

  “Well wer him out,” says Jack.

  “And we dont want that,” says Joe. “Do we?”

  Thers mutters of no of cors we dont.

  “We have a juty to care for the saynts that wark amung us. Dont we?”

  Yes they muter. Yes of cors we do.

  Joe warks towards them. They retreat.

  “We hav spoken with Missus Malone,” says Jack.

  “Missus Malone?” I say.

  “She also has been consernd for you. She beleevs also that it is a good idea.”

  “Whats a good idea?” I say.

  “That we keep things in sum order. That we giv you protecshon from yorself in meny ways. You giv out so much. You deserv sum peese and qwiyet.”

  “And she nos us Master,” says Joe. “She nos that she can trust us.”

  They step bak from me & bow ther heds.

  “Forgiv us Master,” wispers Jack.

  “We simply wish to ofer you protecshun,” says Joe. “Send us away if you beleev you hav no need of us.”

  “Weve spoken to the butcher too,” says Jack.

  Joe smiles.

  “He is another that we remember from the old days. Such a good and desent man. How forchunat you are to hav the love of a man like that.”

  “But both he and Missus Malone are becomin overwelmd themselvs by events surrownding you,” says Jack. “And it wil be such a joy for us to take on sum of the burden.”<
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  I kick the dust. I dont no what to say nor what to ask.

  “We beleev in you Master,” says Joe. “We hav seen the miracls that you perform. You hav brout us comfort from the afterlife. It is only corect that we shud ofer sumthing in return.”

  “Its very good of you” I say.

  Jack turns his eye away.

  “O do not see us as a pare of aynjels Master. We ar simply imperferct men who wish to dwel in yor lite for a time. Men who simply wish to help in eny way we can.”

  “Think of us as helpers,” says Joe.

  “Or disypls,” says Jack. “Yes. Simply as disypls.”

  He waves to an elderly cupl waytin close by.

  “You may now visit the master,” he calls.

  “We will not impose,” says Joe. “We will keep out of yor way.”

  The cuple wark slowly across the rubbl towards us.

  “You will hardly notis us,” says Jack.

  “Hardly at arl,” says Joe.

  Its true. They are qwiet and discreet & polite to all. They keep sum order. They stop pepl from cumin throu the garden gatye. They make sure that pepl kew in order. And pepl like them. They make the old folks smile and the yung kids giggl. Sumtyms I think ther not ther at arl but if I look around ther they are just keepin an eye on things.

  I see them getting muny from Missus Malone or meat from Mr McCaufrey.

  Mam remembers them of cors. She says how wunderful it is that they like me survivd. Sumtyms I cum bak home to find her standing at the dore with them tarking of the old days.

  “They wer always desent boys” she says. “They take some of the burden from you. And ther very good at what they do.”

  Aye they are. Very good at what they do and at what ther soon about to do.

  Sumtyms life itself is a poseshun and a call for healing. I dont need to be at Missus Malones. I dont need to be at the watery tabl or sayin a prare to nothingness or holdin a hand or tuchin a joynt. I wil just be warkin or sittin still at home or droppin off to sleep & I am engulfed by what feels like the hole world by what feels like the hole wide bluddy yoonivers.