Thursbitch

by Garner, Alan

  When enough were gathered, Jack stood, but continued the spinning.

  “O ye unhappy men of Belial. I’m here to warn you of your torment, and of yon fires to come for you as walk in slippy places.”

  They looked at one another.

  “Take heed, my brethren, I beseech you, for your labour for that meat as perishes and forget that meat as perishes not.”

  The women began to snicker.

  “It is with grief I speak these things. Yet if I did not, the very stones would cry out.”

  “Ay. Stones, then,” said Clonter Oakes. “And what can you tell us about him as smashed Jenkin?”

  “It was the hand of God in his wrath as smote yon bethel of Satan, as his hand is ready to smite you all.”

  “Then how was it as one o’ Turners’ sledgehammers was found just where you’re standing now, Jack?” said Tally Ridge.

  Jack ignored him.

  “God passed by me when I was polluted with innard filth, and let me live; He passed by me, and let me live so as I could fetch you news of His great anger against you, and to bruise the heads of snakes as they will bruise your heels. For you shall all, every one, be surely cast into yon flames, where the worm does not die, and the fire is not quenched. For you wicked shall go away into everlasting torment!”

  “Give over,” said Clonter. “We piss out bonfires, so what’s the odds?”

  “O deluded sinner. Think how it will be for you to dwell with burnings everlasting.”

  “Yay, but where shall your chap find enough sticks?”

  Some of the children were crying.

  “Ah, childer as are unconverted, do not you know as you are going down to Hell, to bear yon dreadful wrath of that God, who is now angry with you every day and every night? And women as are their mothers, will you as have neglected this precious season and have spent all your days in wickedness, will you know as how you are now come to such a dreadful pass in blindness?”

  The women had fallen silent. But the men urged Jack on.

  “Ay, youth! You tell ’em, and then!”

  “Beware of Baccbus, yon Great Satan, you as are dead and barren in prayer. Lament and weep for miseries as shall come upon you; for the sword of God’s word shall smite off the heads of them as he hates, even as this here idol was cut down. Therefore, let everyone now awake and fly from the wrath to come. Yon great wrath of Jehovah hangs over you. Haste and escape for your lives. Look not behind you. Escape to yon mountain, lest you be consumed.”

  There were shouts and cheers.

  “Good lad, Jack!”

  “A bonny tale!”

  “Very well told!”

  “Choice and all!”

  Jack walked away down to Saltersford, the drum still whirling.

  “By,” said Sneaper Slack. “Yon effort beats Bull for laughs, and no error.”

  27

  EDWARD HAD COME over from Redmoor to help move the cattle up at the end of spring.

  “Seems as how our Jack’s back again from another on his jags.”

  As they climbed towards Shady, they could see the people gathered at Jenkin and hear their cries.

  “Well, summat’s back,” said Richard Turner. “But whether or not it’s our Jack is a question. Way that one’s carrying on, he neither dies nor does.”

  “I heard chuntering soon as I left Redmoor,” said Edward. “He’s got to be put right, Father. He’s been home long enough. Have you not tried reason?”

  “Me, I’ve a farm to be run rather than listen to any more of his muckfoodle talk,” said Richard Turner. “Reason! With that one? A man might as good go stop an oven wi’ butter.”

  “I had hoped as how, once he was on jag again, he’d find his wits,” said Edward, “seeing as we’d kept his beasts for him. But off he must go as if nowt had happened nor with a by your leave. And now his jags take longer and he fetches less; so what must he be doing, I ask ye, but mithering others same as here? And his childer. Has he been to Lomases to see ’em, or asked after ’em? He has not. It’s as if they never were. And will he wash and keep himself? He will not. He’s getten that ronk as a man can smell him afore hear his bells, when wind’s right. I must tell you, Father, I reckon as you’re being soft. Jack always did have the best end of the pig trough.”

  “Ay. Well.”

  “Show him who’s master.”

  “It’s not that easy, youth.”

  “Is it not? He’s got us all at a tight rein, has Jack. And them as are down there now on their whirlybones, skriking and blahrting with him. Oh, they began at laughing when he first struck up, right enough; our Jack was quite the show. But by fits and gurds he’s getten ’em eating out of his hand, so as they can’t tell t’other from which. And who are they? Oakses, and Slacks, and Ridges, and Swindells, and Lomases, and Potts, and Lathams, and Adsheads. It seems there’s nobbut Martha Barber won’t have no truck wi’ ’em. Who on us shall be next? There’ll come a time when there’ll be scarce any farming in this valley, for ’em all hill-hooting wi’ Jack.”

  “Yay, but you don’t know all as happened.”

  They moved the cattle along the Butts.

  “I do know as he never did say nowt on how we’d kept his beasts and got feed for ’em all winter, let alone us selves. There were no thanks there. So what did happen, Father?”

  “It’s this road up. Soon as land man come, full on his talk of Thursbitch, I knew Bull wouldn’t stand it. I knew as he’d turn nowty. And Bull and Jack are one folk, think on, at this time o’ day. And Jack knew it. And he went and said sorry and as how he’d take it on his self to see right by Bull. But yon was a gate as he didn’t know he was taking; and hasn’t Bull called a bonny tune. First Nan Sarah, and now Jack. Bull has him on Belderstone now, right enough, and has pegged his een and peppered his chin good and proper.”

  “You never said, Father.”

  “It was between me and Jack.”

  “What’s to be done, then?”

  “Hold fast. That’s what. Bull can bide while folks forget. It all comes round, in the long run, if we can thole while others learn to mind their ways and do things by rights again. It may not be in our time; but we must see. Bezonter. That’s me jiggered for telling.”

  “Father, I never thought.”

  “You can think now.”

  “But what shall we do? How shall we thole? How shall we, then?”

  “We’ll build Jack a little ark,” said Richard Turner. “For him and his brood chicks. And we shall fence it round, so as they can pick away to their hearts’ content; and we can grow cabbage.”

  28

  “ARE YOU SURE you’re warm enough?”

  “I’m fine. I like cold. I like wind. Stop fussing.”

  Showers were blustering with the sun.

  “The cave will shelter us from this southeaster.”

  “Oh, groan. Here they come. Does nothing put them off?”

  “Good afternoon!”

  “Good afternoon. No, these are the hard men. This next lot are another matter.”

  A school group approached, close to the wall, although the wind drove against their exposed side. They each held the same map boards. No one was looking at anything but the ground ahead, their hoods pulled down to their eyes and their collars over their mouths. The mini-bus at Pym Chair was in sight, but they could not increase their pace. The walking had made them sullen. Only the teachers were chatting amongst themselves; and one kept hectoring the children with facts they would not hear.

  “Good afternoon!”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “Poor buggers,” she said. “But I suppose it all helps towards something or other in the great educational scheme of things. Though I see no budding Ph.Ds there. No one appears to be exactly enthralled by the Todd Brook Anticline. They’re shent. Ian? Mind if we prop the wall up for a moment? My legs are feeling the climb.”

  “Do you want to go back?”

  “No, I do not, thank you very much. I’ll tell you when that day
comes.”

  They stopped at the hollow of Old Gate Nick. The way had been walled across, but was clear to see between the scarps above Saltersford and over the heather towards Goyt.

  “On, on, on,” she said, and pushed off from the wall with her poles. The bank of Cats Tor was steep out of the worn Nick. She slipped, but he was holding her by her belt and across the shoulders. “Sorry. Oh, damn it to hell. To hell and back. Sod it. Sod it. Sod it. Ian. I can’t do this bit.”

  “You can. Fireman’s lift. Hup.”

  He draped her as a bolt of cloth. Her arms hung, dangling the poles.

  “Thanks. That was great.”

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Then stay there. You’re no weight.”

  “Put me down, Ian.”

  “No. This way, you don’t have to have a social conscience, Doctor Malley.”

  She laughed, and he strode along Cats Tor, while she walked upside down backwards on the poles.

  “Help!” she shouted as they were overtaken. “Abduction! Murder! Rape! Rapine!”

  The walkers accelerated past, not looking, silent.

  “We’ve cracked it!”

  They continued along the ridge to the sawn-off telegraph pole in the fence. He lowered her onto the other side and climbed over.

  “I’ll walk now,” she said. “I don’t fancy being dumped in a bog.”

  They staggered across the short distance to the outcrop and sat on the flat bed of the recess, overlooking the valley.

  “I said we’d be out of the wind.”

  They watched the patterns of light on Thursbitch and the silver showers driving.

  “Fan. Tastic. This is my place,” she said. “I could live here for ever. But I do live here. That’s the odd thing. My thoughts aren’t tunnelled to that obsessed clinical future. I’m not stuck in a bland room or zimmering around a garden. For God’s sake, I’m not a botanist.”

  “It’s because you’re not under pressure.”

  “Weird. Normally, I could never say in clear what I’ve just said. It’s those damned doctors and nurses. It’s not their fault. At least, I hope it’s not. They have to follow the book: ‘Always formulate a question so that, if required, the patient can answer with a single negative or positive. To confront with the need to make complex decisions can lead to unnecessary distress.’ That’s one thing you do not forget when you read it, I can tell you. It’s no basis for scintillating conversations. And when someone spins words so that you can say only X or Y, is it any wonder you sink into their ways? But here I’m with what I know: and remembering what I had for breakfast is no big deal any more.”

  “Carboniferous grits are more than cornflakes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Speaking of which,” he said, and opened his bag and took out the sandwiches, held her drink, and fed her.

  “But I do understand how fortunate I am, Ian. Sometimes I do.”

  They watched the valley.

  “Ian?”

  “Yes?”

  “You keep looking at me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “And differently.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Ian! Stop apologising! All I want is a straight answer to a simple observation! You’re such a bloody Pygmalion and so smug! ‘Look what I’m doing. I give up my precious time for a terminal case. I go to infinite pains to keep my composure. Look at me. Don’t you admire my objectivity? Am I not the epitome of the empathising professional at work? She sits there with a face as yard as a fiddlestick, thpewing abuthe and I never flinch.’ How I dethpithe roo! Roo mothionleth cold-fingered wakord! Where are the bells? Can you hear them, Ian?”

  “No.”

  “Tinkling. Listen.”

  “I can’t hear them.”

  “I can. Somewhere near. Now they’ve gone. Never mind. It’s marvellous.”

  “Why did you never marry, Sal?”

  “What?”

  “Just an idle thought.”

  “Like hell it is. If you must know, I got tired of massaging male egos that couldn’t see any point in what I was doing with my own work. And thank God for that. At least I don’t have to face up to what I might have left to any kids. But you skedaddled into your seminary PDQ, didn’t you? Talk about fait accompli, mate in one. Or not, in this case.”

  “That was not the reason, Sal.”

  “If it wasn’t, it was a damned good substitute. Your chum Ignatius is a pretty effective bouncer. Or is celibacy inherited, too? That’s a joke. Did you love me?”

  “Sal. Stop. You know that is the one aspect that must not come into this. Do not even think of it. If you do, we cannot meet. Any where, any how. Certainly never alone here. I could be struck off on both spiritual and medical ethical grounds. It is a subject that does not and must not apply.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you panic in twenty years.”

  “You should know better than to do this, if here really does mean what you say it means.”

  “I apologise.”

  They were silent again.

  “Don’t twitch, Ian. You’re as bad as me.”

  He stood, and gazed out over the valley, and was quiet. Then he sat and took hold of both her hands.

  “Sal. Look at me. No. Look at me.”

  “Oh. Eye contact. Of course.”

  “Your neurologist has written to say that you can’t be treated where you are any longer. You’ll have to go into hospital next month.”

  “How long?”

  “That long.”

  “Where?”

  “Manchester.”

  “No.”

  “The last scan showed a crucial deterioration.”

  “But you promised.”

  “I did.”

  “You promised you would tell me before I lost my wits.”

  “It is not your mind, Sal. It is your body. The motor systems are critical, and you are going to need more support than they can give you at the Home.”

  “Thanks, Ian.”

  “We can still come here.”

  “I’m glad you told me. I mean. I’m glad it was you.”

  “Now it’s my turn to thank.”

  “You made another promise.”

  “I haven’t had to keep the first one yet.”

  “This changes things. I may need to activate the second before the first.”

  “You’ve not told me what it is.”

  “Dear heart, methinks you already know.”

  29

  RICHARD TURNER AND Edward stood before the building. It was new in the sun; every fresh cut block of stone, every roof slate, twinkled and glittered. The glass of the windows shone. Whitewash was unblemished on the door in the gable end.

  “By, yon’s fine as Filliloo,” said Richard Turner. “But it’s to be hoped we see nowt on land man for a year or three, else Jack may have a roof o’er his head, but we shall likely not.”

  “Have you done the right thing, Father?” said Edward. “Are you certain sure?”

  “I believe so, youth. I do believe it. There’s no going back on it now, anyroad, is there? But we’re ploughing a narrow adlant, I’ll grant ye.”

  “When I see at it,” said Edward, “and then see at land and how it’s cost, yon clack box is no bonny thing, but two bays o’ beggary; and ruination of Saltersford. There’s not a ditch been scoured, nor a drain rodded, nor a shippon nor a house roof stopped gen rain and snow sin this effort began. And when roof’s shotten, house is gone. There’s places no more nor wind holes for want of new raddle and daub in the wall frame.”

  “Do you think as how I need telling of that?” said Richard Turner.

  “And see at the kyne, Father. We scarce got one bite of hay for winter, all on account of mither for fetching purlin timbers. And Bean Croft’s seen no liming.”

  “Nay, Edward. That’ll do. You’re speaking feart o’ far enough now. B
y hulch and stulch, we’ll live till we die, if the pigs don’t eat us. And I did mix a gallon of bull’s blood wi’ the mortar. So it’s not all wrong road. Look ye. Chimney draws a treat.”

  The first fire had been lit, and a white smoke rose into the sky. They turned their backs on the shining build and went down the lane through the sorry land.

  Jack was sitting in the houseplace, talking to himself, and turning the bead and drum. Mary had put on her Nottingham lace cap.

  “Folks are ready for you, Jack.”

  He did not answer, but stood and left the houseplace into the lane. Richard Turner, Mary and Edward followed him back to the glint of stone. There was the smell of fresh timbers and newly cut blocks, and of whitewash and strewn rushes. The box pews were filled with silent people, except for one pew bigger than the rest. Here Sneaper Slack and Clonter Oakes sat. Richard Turner and Edward sat with them, and Mary found a place with the women.

  Jack mounted the steps of the pulpit in the middle of the far gable, and looked at the people. He held the silence. Everyone watched as he turned his head to the walls and ceiling, then down to the pews.

  “So,” he said. “God has spared you to build this house and tabernacle to His glory in this here one thousand and seven hundred and thirty-fourth year sin yon Vulgar Dionysian Years of Christ, and five thousand six hundred and eighty year from yon Creation of this World. It will help you not at all. Your labours are as nowt in the scale of your evils. He has permitted you to do this thing so as you may better hear of terrors as await you in the judgments of Hell.”

  There were moans.

  “It avails you nowt to lament. Skrike ye, O ye foredoomed. Think you to escape His great wrath, His almighty anger? It cannot be, seeing as how God, as knows all things and can do no wrong, has seen from the start as how you, His creatures as He made, would turn to Sin; and of for that He is angered. Therefore, seek no mercy, but prepare to die in the fire as dies not.”

  His voice was soft. Weeping broke out among the people.

  “I see you now, you agen hearthplace yonder, hutching and thrutching so as to be near its warmth. I think on as how this night of the year you would light your bone fires and jump in ’em. Think you as them are the flames of Hell? No. No more nor a grain of sand to a mountain. No. Much less nor that. For bone fires you can jump through, and when you are warmed by yon hearth you can shift away. But in Hell you can neither jump nor shift. You shall be bound for evermore and laid on griddles as are never quenched, and for you there shall be no shifting.”