by Garner, Alan
“Jack, I’m frit.”
“No need, wife. Sit close by the bank. There’s no harm in them. They’ll not hurt you.”
“Ta-ba-ri-gi!”
“Sithee!” On the cut of the hill the moon’s rim showed. Tally Ridge was awake. “Goibert in Pym Chair!”
Jack lifted the head from Jenkin. He pulled the sack over it, hoisted it on his shoulder and made his way back along the lane towards Saltersford. The hare rested on his arm.
He lost the moon as the lane dipped. From Saltersford he climbed between the avenue of the high stones, close against the hill. He felt the throb of the ground as he had before and measured it with every stride.
“Walk and do. Walk and do. Walk and do till all is done.”
He crossed the Butts, the Belderstone near the track and the steel ring glinting from it, up by Lankin into Thursbitch. He did not hurry.
“Walk and do. Walk and do. Walk and do till all is done. Walk and do. Walk and do. Walk and do till all is done.”
He crossed the ford and sat by Bully Thrumble, facing Thoon, now a stark rock. He breathed the night flowers of the valley. The hare was calm, but a tear formed in each glowing eye.
“Old Bouchert. Old Bouchert. Not long now. Not long at all. Sithee.”
Light limned the rock of Thoon, and the disk seemed to be born from the cave itself.
“Sithee, sithee, little lad. Why, look ye. There’s your ears, and your pretty head.”
He rose.
“And the night is the night.”
He passed over the water that was already shining and began the climb up Catstair.
“Walk and do. Walk and do. Walk and do till all is done.”
By the time he reached the cave the moon was well up, with the shape of a hare clear across its face.
Jack took the head of Crom and set it on the floor of the cave, looking out across the valley.
“I’ll be back in a three-night,” he whispered into the stone ear. “Give us thy bonny een now, then sleep gen tha be weary.”
He left the head to watch over its land and stepped onto the square slab under the ridge of the moor.
The moon was bright, but a low mist lay across the ground. He opened his neckcloth and the hare stood up. It looked about and around, sniffing the air, then lolloped away into the mist.
Jack sat, one heel beneath him, and waited. The night was still. He watched. Listened. Waited. He tucked his neckcloth into his shirt. And waited. The moon rose higher, drawing with it the mist. Jack stood to see above it, listening, looking on the hare’s path.
The first stars were showing, their sounds the echoes of the moon, and the moonlight on the brook rippled up to him. As in the day, he took of the valley and the sky and the valley and the sky took of him; but now all was lapped in a greater silence, and in it and from it he heard something in front of him, and a rustling and a plashing in the mist.
Jack stood firm and waited. The rustling and the plashing drew near, the mist snorted, and of it and from it came a bull, a great white bull, marked only by a red stripe along its muzzle, dark in the moon.
“O sweet Bull. O noble Bull. O worthy Bull. O bonny Bull.”
11
NAN SARAH SAT on the bank side. Everyone else was asleep. They lay in the lane or were propped against stones and each other, silent, but with their limbs moving in a slowness of their own. The moon was clear of Cats Tor.
Clonter Oakes lifted his head and looked around. He caught hold of Mary Turner’s skirt to pull himself onto his knees, and she woke at the feel of him. He stood, swaying but in balance, and not drunk, lifted his arms and clicked his fingers. He danced. His feet barely left the ground, but moved across, heel and toe, a pattering weave of steps.
Others woke at the sound and danced too. Once they were up they were firm and their bodies flowed. They danced where they stood, the men matching but not watching Clonter. The women had a different way: three high steps and a hop; and as they hopped, they wrenched their heads back over their shoulders. They lifted their arms and brought them down, the elbows bent.
Nan Sarah did not know what to do. Without pausing or speaking, the dancers formed, the men on the outside, and they came together with their different steps into one dance. The women leapt higher and the men danced faster. At no signal, they started off down to Saltersford, each one spinning slowly around.
Richard Turner sang. After two lines of the song, Edward Turner sang two lines, alone. The next two they sang together. Then all the people sang.
Nan Sarah followed, apart, walking. She did not know the dance and she did not know the words.
Sneaper Slack began a second verse, and Tally Ridge took over.
Nan Sarah had to walk hard to keep up with them. For all their sound and force, they did not tire.
Lither Lomas sang:
“The third great joy of Mary Anne
It were the joy of three –”
Fodder Pott sang:
“To see her own son little Jack
Upon the horn to fly.”
Their voices joined:
“Upon the horn to fly and scrat
The moon as bright as day.”
Saltersford echoed:
“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!
Through all Eternity!”
Another round began.
“The next great joy of Mary Anne
It were the joy of four –”
“To see her own son little Jack
March down into the moor.”
“March down into the moor and draw
The well as none can dry.”
“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!
Through all Eternity!”
They danced up the hill between the high stones.
“The next great joy of Mary Anne
It were the joy of five –”
“To see her own son little Jack
Fetch out the head alive.”
“Fetch out the head alive and skrike
He were the same as he.”
“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!
Through all Eternity!”
The climb to Shady did not slow them. Their voices were no less. On and on. When they came to the end of the song, they sang again. Over and over. Nan Sarah fell behind.
“The next great joy of Mary Anne
It were the joy of six –”
“To see her own son little Jack
Call from the rock the snakes.”
“Call from the rock the snakes and shape
Of them the ivy tree.”
“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!
Through all Eternity!”
When they reached the Butts, they did not go into the field, but stood at the corner and were stilled. Nan Sarah came up with them. They took no notice of her, nor of each other, but all looked towards the mouth of Thursbitch. They waited.
The Belderstone was dark on the field, but the crescent ring set into the top took a greater light, gathering the moon.
They waited.
12
“O BONNY BULL. Come thy ways.”
He stroked the curls of the bull between its horns. Then he turned his back. The moon was on the ford and all the waters of the valley ran silver to it; the high stones shone.
He set off down Catstair. He took a bone pipe from his pocket and began to play. The tune was happy and sad, and the night flowers opened and swayed around and below him, and he could see every one as close as if he held it; while around and above him the stars were just as close and moved with the flowers; and all rang and sang with the brook to the tune; and under was the knell of the tread of the bull.
They came down Catstair to the ford and along the valley. Thursbitch waters purled on every side. The flowers were with the stars, the stars were flowers, and the brook was the Milk Path all the way to Lankin at the end of the valley. Beyond, the hills were in moonlight. Jack put the pipe in his pocket. The flowers closed. The stars held their roads. He stood and looked down to the Butts. All that shone was the
glint of the steel ring in the Belderstone. The people were dark and silent across the field.
The bull came to Jack’s side, and he laid his arm along its neck. “Noble Bull. Worthy Bull. We live each other’s life and die each other’s death.”
He walked into the field, his arm still on the bull, to the Belderstone. A rope lay coiled upon it, with other things. At the stone, he pressed the neck and the bull knelt.
“We do not want to mither you, O Moon,” he said, “with worship or ill praise, pasturing in your heart swift eyeless love.”
He lifted the rope and wound it between the horns. He measured five paces of slack and tied the free end to the ring in the stone; and spoke.
“Shine with high light, O Bull, and sharpen your two horns, while you sleep below the sky now in these white nights. Let your bonny een give new een above at harvest end, and let your voice go belder to the Moon, so as he never sets for ever, but wakens to tragwallet on his ways, for all us sakes.”
He called aloud.
“See at white Bull! Bonny Bull! As lives on hill tops; striding Bull as lives on hill tops! Lord over all as close the eye!”
The people sang. “Io!”
“See at his step, full of honey! There in his highmost step, the honey!”
“Io!”
“There the highmost step of Bull, striding the sky, shines down! For there is nowt as he is not!”
“Io! Euoi!”
“See at Bull with mighty voice! Mask of Bull, kindled for beauty, white!”
He lifted two wooden pegs and drove them into the sockets of the eyes, and thrust pepper with his fist down the throat as it opened to roar.
The people ran. They fell upon the bull with their strength, tearing, baying, gnawing, as the bull flailed, held by the rope, five paces from the stone.
Jack sprang onto its neck and gripped the horns.
“The Bull I sing!
And for ever yon Bull shall last!”
Fodder Pott was lofted into the air, and leapt back, hanging under the throat.
“First song from the kettle, when was it spoken?
Is it not the kettle of the Moon’s heat?”
The screaming women laughed and never lost hold.
“We know not on what day the Bull arose!
We know not on what day, nor what was the cause!
Nor on what hour of that day the Moon was born,
Him as is first to die and first to be again!
Come! Come! Ne’er mind thy shape nor name,
O Bull! O mountain Bull! Snake of a hundred heads!
Flame! Beast! Wonderment! Come!”
The nails and teeth had pierced the hide. The men and women tore, ate, and the guts flew in the dance and the song.
The bull dropped. Jack ripped out the heart.
“Now have you died and now are born, twice happy Bull, in this one night.”
13
NAN SARAH COULD not see what was happening. Her back ached. She sat against a high stone, and above her were the shapes of the silent people facing Thursbitch and the risen moon.
She heard Jack’s voice up the field, talking at first, as if there was someone with him. The people rustled and jostled but made no other noise. Then Jack shouted, but what it was she could not hear. The people answered. Jack’s voice again. And then the people’s. Nan Sarah stood, but could not see past the height of the men. Jack called to them, and they called back more loudly still.
Jack called, but his voice sang, and the people surged forward up the field, so fast that Nan Sarah had to stop and watch them close upon the Belderstone.
Against the moonlight she could not make out the shapes. They were one swarm of noise. She heard Jack again, but his was the only mortal voice, and even for him Nan Sarah could not move. Something was in the field. It grew from the mass, and was it, yet made it more, drawing the dark writhing into its own purpose, the yelling to its own tongue. What was there grew to reach the moon and gave one cry such as Nan Sarah had not heard in all her days: the cry of both man and bull.
Then it fell apart and came towards her down the hill, turning back to those she knew: Oakeses, Swindells, Turners, Potts, Adsheads, Lomases, Slacks, Lathams, Ridges, all running, dancing, but alone, knowing of nothing but what they themselves had done and seen.
“Jack! Where’s Jack?”
No one stopped. They laughed. They sang. She saw their clothes streaming tattered. “Where’s Jack?” She tried to hold them, but their limbs slipped through her fingers in grease, and her hands became too wet to grip. She saw lame Martha Barber springing high. “Where’s Jack?” Martha answered, but gagged upon her speech. Then they were gone, down to Saltersford, and Nan Sarah was alone on the Butts, in the silence, beneath the moon, before the yellow stone.
“Jack!”
Nothing answered. She went to the stone.
He lay beside it. His clothes were torn, and he had been bitten and clawed. Even in the moonlight she saw the blood coming from his mouth and swollen eyes. She tried to clean him with her shawl, using the dew. He breathed, but the breath was slow and harsh. She kissed him, and he groaned. He coughed, but it was indrawn.
She pushed her fingers between his lips. A tooth fell back in his throat, lodged against his tongue and she caught it. Then she put his head between her knees and forced the jaw so that she could hook the tongue up and forward. He groaned again, but his breathing was stronger though still harsh.
“Jack. Jack, love.”
He lifted his hand. She took it, but he pulled it clear and blindly felt for her shawl.
He tried to speak.
“Graa. Graa.”
“What?”
“Graa.” His fingers moved along her shawl. “Graa.” He felt the Blue John.
“Graa.”
His hand was urgent, and she took out the cup. But he did not try to hold it. He pointed to the flap of his britches.
“Graa. Graa. Graa.”
Then to his lips.
“What, Jack?”
He pulled at the flap, but could not unlace it. She did it for him. His hand felt around for the cup. She gave it to him, but it slipped and he could not grasp. He pointed down again.
“Graa.”
She held it for him and he filled it. Then he pointed to his lips again and opened his mouth. She lifted the cup. The smell was sweet and fragrant, nectar. She poured drops onto his tongue and he swallowed, then opened his mouth again. She went on till he had emptied the cup. Nan Sarah dabbed his mouth with her shawl.
“Grallus.”
His head fell sideways. She smelled his breathing, cradled him and sat while he slept.
He slept until the moon had set, and day broke.
Dew covered them both.
He moved, and lifted his head and spat. Nan Sarah kissed his brow. He opened one eye as much as he could.
“Now then, love,” he said.
“Jack. Whatever did they do at you?”
“By. Yon piddlejuice works wonders. Oh, me neck.”
“Jack. What did they do?”
“Them? Nowt.” He coughed. “Was it right? Was it seen right by? Did we mind us manners?”
“Jack, you’ve been half killed! They were for murdering you!”
“Never. Not them. Was Bull we served.”
“What bull?”
“Summat on me chest.” He went into a spasm of coughing, blood at first, then with one heave he stopped. He felt inside his mouth and dragged something from his throat.
He held a stained, matted lump of coarse white hair.
“Wife. We did it by right ways.”
14
“You put your right arm in!
You put your right arm out!
In, out, in, out,
Shake it all about!
You do the Okey Kokey
And you turn around;
And that’s what it’s all about!
Yeh!
Oh, Okey Kokey Kokey!
Oh, Okey Kokey Kokey!
Oh, Okey Kokey Kokey!
Knees bend, arms stretch,
Ra, ra, ra!”
They bowled along Pike Low, swinging together as they sang. The windows were open.
“You put your right leg in!
You put your right leg out!”
“Mind the gears!”
“In, out, in, out,
Shake it all about!”
At the brow of Pike Low the hills leapt up.
“Open the roof, Ian! We need more room!”
As they curved down towards Blue Boar, he folded the roof back with one hand.
“You put both legs in!
You put both legs out!”
She waved her feet in the air, her hands above her head.
“And that’s what it’s all about!
Yeh!”
From Blue Boar up Ewrin Lane to Waggonshaw Brow.
“You put your whole self in!
You put your whole self out!”
“Sit down! Fasten your seat belt!”
“Seat belt! Sit down!
Ra, ra, ra!”
He slowed and stopped at Buxter Stoops. They could not see for the tears. She slipped as far down onto the floor as the seat would let her, and pulled at the grab handle and the steering wheel to get herself up. His head was resting on the wheel, tears of laughter running down his cheeks, and when the wheel turned he fell across her lap. They lay until he could sit straight. His neck bounced on the headrest. He took a handful of tissues and passed the box to her. They mopped and wiped and spluttered. At last they had control to stay upright. They turned to each other, red eyed, gasping.
He closed the roof, and then the windows. “I’m not switching this engine on, woman, until you behave yourself. From here, I need my wits, without your bawling demotic rubbish in my ear.”
“Yes, Ian,” she said, and stuffed tissues into her mouth.
He drove down the steep-banked lane. There was no place for two cars to pass. He was in second gear all the time to the three-way junction and beyond, turning left round Nab End into Saltersford.