by Alan Millard
I was ten or eleven at the time and had been caught out on the previous day doing something I knew was sinful and wrong. My best friend Thomas lived in the house next door. His house was bigger than ours and had a shed at the bottom of the garden where we often played. One day I suggested a game of doctors. The shed would be the surgery and I’d be the doctor. Thomas would come to me saying something was wrong with his willy and I would I examine it. I didn’t think he’d agree but he did. We closed the shed door and listened out to make sure no one was anywhere near. We then sat on two upturned logs, facing each other. I remember the guilty thrill as Thomas stood, undid his flies and lowered his trousers. I was just about to examine him when the shed door flew open framing the awesome figure of Thomas’s father, a grammar school teacher and deacon of St John’s church. He said nothing but stared in disgust as Thomas hastily pulled up his pants and grabbed for his trousers. What happened to Thomas I’ve no idea but later that night a knock at our front door filled me with terror. My father went to see who was there. Unable to breathe I could hear the unmistakable voice of Thomas’s father whispering in the porch.
Dreading the worst I expected the wrath of God to rain down upon me when father returned but all I received was a cold stare and the order to go to bed. There was no sleep that night, just terror and guilt. Knowing my father never spared the rod I stayed wide awake convinced he would burst into the bedroom at any moment and give me the thrashing I deserved. But nothing happened and hours later I heard his and mother’s footsteps mounting the stairs and the sound of their bedroom door being quietly closed.’
‘You don’t still carry the guilt of that day I hope,’ said Simon. ‘Kids do things like that. It’s called growing up. It means nothing.’
‘Perhaps not.’ Matthew opened another can. ‘Anyway, I hardly slept that night. When I eventually dropped off I dreamt the Devil was bending over me with his hands gripping my neck. I remember waking in panic struggling to wrench myself free. I longed for the night to be over but dreaded the prospect of morning not knowing what my father would do.
In the event he did nothing. My mother crept into my bedroom to wake me. I went downstairs and sat at the table. My father said grace and we ate in silence just as we always did. After we’d eaten he rose from the table and took himself into the study to work on his sermon. He reappeared for the Sunday roast which again, after grace, was eaten in absolute silence and when we’d finished he went to the study again. I stayed in my room for most of the day until it was time to put on my Sunday best and get ready for the evening service.’
‘And nobody spoke all day, not even your mother?’
‘Nobody said a word, not even after tea when we walked to the scout hut to hear whatever the Lord had instructed my father to say that night. We arrived in good time to prepare the hall. As soon as the chairs had been regimented in ordered lines and inspected by father, Sinai’s servants arrived and filled their allotted seats. The service was always brief. Father, convinced that music and singing were tools of the Devil, made sure the battered piano lid remained closed.
I sat in fear as father stepped out of the shadows and mounted the rostra with fire in his eyes pinned on me. Praising the Name of the One who had etched on a tablet of stone the Ten Commandments and summoned Moses to hand them down he launched at once into Exodus 10 v 3, - “Thou shalt have no other God but me.” Then suddenly raising his voice he announced that someone seated before him had other gods. At that point I was summoned to stand at the front and face the congregation while father turned to Leviticus 18 v 22 and bellowed, “Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is an abomination.” I don’t remember what happened next apart from the shame I felt. And afterwards I was made to learn the Leviticus verse by heart and recite it aloud every night.’
***
Hearing the delicate chink of china I welcomed the temporary relief from this sordid tale. ‘How did Matthew get away from his father?’ I asked. I knew he’d eventually escaped or he wouldn’t have gone to Oxford.
‘I was coming to that,’ said Howard pouring the coffee. ‘It transpired his mother was not all she seemed and nor were the Servants of Sinai. Toby Carter, a local artist attended the weekly meetings for one reason only - lust after Matthew’s mother.’
‘Are you saying...?’
‘That they had an affair? They did and it lasted for more than a year with everyone knowing apart from Jacob. Eventually one of the faithful plucked up the courage to tell him.’
‘Was she frozen out and humiliated like Matthew?’
‘I’m sure she would have been had she not run off with Toby Carter. Drink your coffee and I’ll tell you what happened.’
***
Simon had listened patiently. ‘How long did you have to put up with this crazy routine of reciting Leviticus?’ he asked.
‘It went on for months. Every night father came into my bedroom and made me repeat the verse ten times over, twenty if I made a mistake. Then one night he failed to appear. I could hear him shuffling around and stumbling into things. He was mumbling incoherently. I listened and waited, expecting him to come to bed but he didn’t.’
Simon opened two more cans and handed one to Matthew. ‘What happened next day?’
‘When I went downstairs he was slumped in a chair fully clothed and snoring like a pig.’
‘And your mother?’
‘No sign of her anywhere. The room was a mess - chairs knocked over, a broken vase on the floor, flowers trampled into the carpet, an empty tumbler sitting in my father’s lap and an empty whisky bottle at his feet. Without disturbing him I cleared up and made my own breakfast then went to school.’
‘How did you cope all day not knowing what had happened?’
‘I didn’t give it a thought. I enjoyed school and the teachers liked me. I was top of the class in nearly everything. School was the only place I could forget about home.’
‘Were you worried about going back that day?’
‘Not in the least. I knew something awful had happened. I’d heard of people having nervous breakdowns. If he’d lost his marbles I’d be the one in control.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘I guessed she’d left him though I didn’t know why until later. It didn’t matter. I knew things would be different from then on and I was right. He took to the bottle. I looked after him but only because I enjoyed him being dependent on me.’
‘What happened to the Servants of Sinai?’
‘They carried on with father at first. He somehow managed to get to the hall and mount the rostra swaying about and ranting nonsense till one day he toppled over and had to be carried home. The elders met and persuaded my father to stand down. They appointed a new leader. Father didn’t protest but he never went anywhere near the place again.’
‘Did you?’
‘I did and they looked after me. The church thrived under the new leader. Numbers increased and money came rolling in. They raised enough to buy a plot of land and built a new church. I thought they’d abandon father and me but they didn’t. A small group of guardians was appointed who saw to everything. They visited every day and made sure we had everything we needed including money. I sailed through secondary school and excelled in maths. I took an interest in architecture and managed to get a place at Oxford.’ Matthew’s face suddenly darkened when he mentioned Oxford.
‘What is it?’ Simon asked.
‘Just the day I left for Oxford. My father begged me to stay but I wouldn’t. He wanted to come to the station to see me off and although he was already drunk I let him. I remember watching him sway about on the platform, lurching forwards and standing too close to the edge. A goods train was coming. I could have grabbed him and pulled him back but I didn’t. I stood and watched as he fell in front of the engine. I heard the screeching of brakes and the screams of people ar
ound as the train squealed to halt and I stared down at his mangled remains feeling glad he’d fallen without me having to push him. I felt nothing. So now you know what kind of person I am.’ Matthew finished his beer and waited for Simon’s response. Expecting censure all he received was Simon’s sympathy and consolation.
For several months after the events of that night Matthew was a changed man. He became more open with his work colleagues, took part in the office banter and joined in the ploughman’s lunches and drinks at the end of the week. He enjoyed his work and excelled so much in whatever task he was given that even Simon envied his natural brilliance though it pleased him to see Matthew succeeding. Their friendship grew by the day. On Saturdays they did all they had to do and on Sundays they got up in pyjamas and browsed through the papers. If the weather was good they went for afternoon walks. One Sunday in autumn Simon suggested a stroll in Ninesprings, a thickly-wooded hillside bordering the town where small waterfalls tumbled into a series of dark lakes and criss-crossing paths climbed up and down through the trees. But as soon as the place was mentioned Matthew felt uneasy without knowing why. ‘Not Ninesprings,’ he said hoping to change Simon’s mind. ‘There must be other places to go.’
‘No arguments,’ Simon said, ‘it’s the perfect place for a day like today - squirrels, hazel nuts, carpets of colourful Autumn leaves, I can see them now, “Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red”.’
‘And “pestilence-stricken”,’ said Matthew who knew Shelley’s poem as well as Simon but favoured the darker passages. In spite of his reluctance he gave in and let Simon have his way. They were passing their workplace when Matthew stopped for a moment to look at the brass plate fixed to the wall. ‘Hoskins, Dyer and Blake,’ he said. ‘We know who Hoskins and Dyer are but who was Blake?’
Simon shrugged, ‘Someone who left or died. Maybe he’s a sleeping partner.’
‘Odd that we’ve never heard about him.’
Blake was still on Matthew’s mind when he suddenly stopped on the path at the bottom of the rise leading up to Ninesprings and the colour drained from his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Simon. ‘You look as though you’ve stepped on a grave.’
Matthew said nothing but stood glued to the spot staring down at his feet unable to move. Not knowing how to react, Simon gently took hold of him and coaxed him away from the spot. They’d walked several yards up the rise before Matthew found his voice. ‘My God, that was weird,’ he said.
‘Weird for me too. What happened?’
‘I don’t know. Just something about that spot.’
‘Did you see something?’
‘No, just a feeling, a horrible feeling.’
‘Best let it go. Come on, let’s enjoy the woods.’
They climbed to the highest point then headed back down. On reaching the bottom they stopped at a point between two lakes where a small waterfall, easily crossed by a grill, tumbled down from the higher lake into the lower one. On the other side there was a grotto hewn out of the rock and set into the fern-covered bank. Inside spring water flowed from a carved gargoyle face. ‘I think it’s a wishing well,’ said Simon. Leaving Matthew behind he stepped inside and filling his cupped hands with water took a slurp.
‘What did you wish for?’ asked Matthew.
‘I can’t say or it won’t be granted.’
‘It won’t be anyway.’ Matthew believed in wishes as much as he believed in praying to someone who wasn’t there.
‘You never know. Give it a try.’
Matthew squeezed into the grotto. He looked at the gargoyle and started screaming. Simon rushed in after him and grabbed him by the shoulders. He backed him out of the grotto and edged him towards a bench at the side of the path. ‘What is it? What happened?’
‘The face was alive. It leered at me.’
‘It was only a gargoyle.’
‘It was his face, my father’s.’
‘But your father’s dead.’
They sat together for several minutes. Matthew was shaking uncontrollably and whimpering. He undoubtedly believed he’d seen his father’s face but Simon knew that was impossible. There had to be a logical explanation. He recalled the night when Matthew had opened up and told him about the incident in the shed, the humiliation in the scout hut and his guilt over his father’s death. But after that night he’d changed. He’d become a different person. He’d left the past behind, made new friends and thrown himself into his work. Could overwork be the cause of the breakdown? Perhaps in a day or two they could talk about it. All that mattered now was to get him back to the flat.
Several people edged by them on the narrow pathway between the lake and the bench - an elderly man dragging an arthritic spaniel on its lead, a middle-aged couple out for a walk and a mountain-biker annoyed at having to dismount. They all glanced briefly down at the troubled pair and immediately looked away not wanting to get involved.
‘I think we should be going,’ Simon said. ‘Come on. I’ll help?’ Gently easing him on to his feet he guided Matthew slowly along the lower path to the gate and down the grassy slope. When they reached the path at the bottom Matthew stopped in exactly the same place. He stared down and began shrieking, ‘Oh my God, my God! Look! Look!’
What Matthew claimed to have seen on the path was a railway line and his father reaching up for his hand begging for help. Cars were rushing by as they passed the entrance to Hoskins, Dyer and Blake where the brass plaque was flashing in the light of the setting sun. Not wanting to draw attention to themselves they skirted the town centre and took a quieter route to the flat. As soon as Matthew was settled Simon went to the fridge and laid his hands on two bottles of the strongest beer he could find.
There were more than two empty bottles beside them when Matthew eventually rose to his feet. He fumbled his way to the bedroom, fell on the bed and passed out. Simon was also ready to collapse. He removed Matthew’s shoes and left him to sleep. But before he could settle he needed to think and make some sense of what had happened.
He could understand how a gargoyle might evoke images of Matthew’s father but not a path. What was so special about the path? Thinking about it he remembered something he’d seen at the flat when they’d first moved in, some kind of booklet or pamphlet with aerial photographs of the town’s development over the years. The pamphlet had been amongst a pile of magazines left in the bookcase by the previous tenants. Needing space for their own monumental collection of paperbacks and university textbooks they’d dispensed with the magazines but not the pamphlet. They’d both glanced through it and decided to keep it. There was something in it Simon had seen which seemed important though he couldn’t think what it was.
Determined to find it he started searching. Locating a slim booklet in amongst all the other volumes was no easy task. Kneeling down on the floor with his head bent sideways he fingered his way through the spines attempting to read the titles. Losing his balance he fell against the bookcase and dislodged a shelf. The books tumbled down in a pile around him. He picked them up one by one and sorting through discovered what he was looking for: “Yeovil Above and Beyond, compiled by Westland Apprentice & Student Association.” He scooped up the rest of the books from the floor, piled them back on top of the bookcase and returned to his chair with the pamphlet.
There were over a hundred photos to hunt through. They were aerial views taken from a helicopter high above the town. Starting from the beginning he turned the pages looking for the illustration he remembered seeing but still not knowing why it was so important to find it. There were pictures of housing estates, recreation grounds, factories, hospitals, schools, views of the town in different decades, everything apart from the page he wanted. At last he found it, a panoramic view of the airfield just to west of Ninesprings. Running along the entire length of its southern flank was a railway track curving away from the foreground int
o the distance. Written below was the caption he remembered seeing: “By1969 the Yeovil to Taunton railway line had closed.”
So that was it. The path where Matthew imagined he’d seen his father had once been a railway line. He’d solved at least part of the mystery. It wasn’t until he climbed into bed that he realised, rather than solving the problem, all he’d done was deepen it. Matthew couldn’t have known about a railway line buried beneath the path. It made no sense and yet it was an uncanny coincidence. He went to bed trying to puzzle it out and fell asleep dreaming of lay-lines and buried railways all connected interlinking the past with the present and all leading somewhere or nowhere. It was ten o’clock in the morning when he woke. In a state of panic he jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes and went to stir Matthew who was already wide awake staring up at the ceiling. ‘How are you feeling?’ Simon asked.
‘Fine. Why?’
‘I was thinking about yesterday and your father.’
‘My father’s dead.’
Simon wasn’t sure how to react. ‘I think you should stay in bed today,’ he said. ‘I can tell them you’re not well. I need to move. It’s ten o’clock. I overslept.’
‘Ten o’clock! Christ! Let’s get going. I’m halfway through a new design and I promised I’d have it done by the end of the week.’
After a mad scramble they were both at their desks before midday. Matthew threw himself into the new design with such wild enthusiasm that it was finished before the end of the week and was so impressive that his boss immediately put him to work on an even more demanding project. Simon meanwhile was given menial tasks. In spite of his workload Matthew continued to engage with his colleagues and enjoy the ploughman’s lunches and Friday drinks session without affecting the quantity and quality of his output.
Fearing he was in state of denial which had to be confronted Simon waited until the weekend before raising the subject. ‘I know you won’t want to talk about it,’ he said, ‘but what happened at Ninesprings last weekend won’t go away. It’s better to face it and deal with it. You might need some kind of help.’