by Alex Shearer
‘My name’s Peggy. This is Gemma. This is Martin. So there. We’re introduced.’
‘Well – then –’ It was plainly an effort for him to let the words come out. ‘Then ma name – might be – though I’m no saying it is – but it might be – Angus.’
‘That’s a nice name,’ Peggy said. ‘Angus. Very nice.’
One of the caterpillars came back into action and it arched itself up into a quizzical sort of shape.
‘Are ye trying to be funny?’
‘No. Not at all.’
But then the brief thaw turned to ice again.
‘It makes nae difference!’ he boomed. And he went and yanked the claymore out of the ground. It was a huge sword. It took both of his hands to lift it. ‘Makes nae difference what anyone’s called. You have to pay the toll or you don’t go any further.’
And then he swirled the sword around his head. But whether it was to frighten and intimidate us, or whether it was to try and get rid of the insects that were tormenting him was hard to know.
Something puzzled me then. Why did the insects bother him? They weren’t bothering me, or Gemma, or Peggy. The just seemed to like eating him. They left us alone completely.
I looked past him. The island wasn’t that large and it looked mostly barren. There was a vapour compressor next to a small stone house and behind the house a greenhouse, where he must have grown a few vegetables to supplement a diet of sky-fish – as I couldn’t see what else he might have lived on. A sign on the door of the house read Bonny Banks. There was a small outside lavatory too, and that had a door-sign reading Bonny Braes.
To the right of the house, at a short distance, were some small mounds of stones – cairns, I think they are called. I’m sure that’s what Peggy told me once. But I might have been wrong.
‘I may have to sit down a moment again,’ Peggy said. ‘I get dizzy if I’m up on my feet too long. I suffer with the poor circulation.’
‘She suffers with the poor circulation,’ Gemma said, backing her up again. ‘Along with the arthritis and the cramps.’
‘And then there’s the gout,’ Peggy said.
‘And the gout,’ Gemma said.
‘But we’ll not go into that right now.’
‘We’ll leave it for now,’ Gemma said. ‘It’s not serious gout. Mostly twinges. I don’t suppose you’d have a chair, would you? For Gran to sit on?’
Angus lowered his claymore and stood there open-mouthed.
‘A chair? A chair!’
‘If you’ve got one?’
He raised the claymore and pressed the point of it right into Gemma’s neck. She stiffened.
‘Leave her alone,’ Peggy said.
So he did. He stuck the point into Peggy’s neck instead.
‘You pay, or you pay,’ he said. ‘You pay the toll, or you pay the troll. Your money or –’ Then he struck a pose of what’s-the-word-I’m-trying-to-think-of? – ‘Oh aye. Your money, or your life. That’s how it goes, isn’t it?’
‘Just told you,’ Peggy said, ‘don’t have any money. Haven’t had any money since I was eighty-three.’
‘Blew it all, did you?’ Angus said in disgust. ‘Typical. Didn’t think of making any provision for your old age.’
‘And as for life, I don’t have much of that left either.’
‘Maybe you don’t – but they do.’
‘What are you going to spend money on here, anyway?’ Peggy demanded. ‘Where are the shops?’ She moved her arms to indicate the empty islands and the vast, empty space beyond. And the gesture encompassed everything – the giant’s isolation, his loneliness, the pointlessness of his demands and the uselessness of money to him. Why did he want it? What was it for?
‘I’m making provision,’ he said. ‘It’s nae for me. I’m making provision for the wife and bairns.’
And he swatted so violently at the midges around his head that he almost decapitated himself with his sword – which would have solved our problems nicely if he had.
Peggy looked at me and she looked at Gemma; she looked sad, and old. She didn’t look frightened at all, just ever so weary.
‘Wife and bairns?’ she said.
‘That’s right,’ Angus said. ‘It’s not for me. It’s the wife and bairns.’
And then Peggy asked him a question, though I’m sure she already knew the answer, just as I did, and Gemma maybe did too.
‘And where are they? The wife and – the bairns?’
‘They’re right there looking at you!’ the giant said. ‘Do you not have the eyes to see? That’s Colin there, and that’s Nancy, and that’s Fiona herself, taking care of them.’
I was kind of afraid to look. But really, I’d already seen. My eyes followed his raised hand and his pointing finger. And I saw – just as I knew I would – the three heaps of stones, the three little cairns, the mounds of pebbles and rocks.
‘That’s them right there,’ he said. ‘They’d come over and talk, but they’re busy. But they’re relying, see. They’re relying on me to provide. They’ll be wanting to go to school one day and get an education. There’s none to be had round here. City Island, see. That’s where they’ll be going, soon as they’re the right age. So I’m saving up – for books and such, and uniforms and all that. So there’s no choice about it. You have to pay the toll.’
And instead of protesting or getting angry or feisty or sarcastic like she could be, Peggy just looked really sad, and she reached out to him and she said, ‘We’d love to give something to help the children, Angus. We’d love to do that.’
And he just looked at her, just looked, and the big, rusty claymore fell from his hands with a clatter, and Peggy took a step forward and she took his great, huge hand in hers. His hand made two of hers, easily.
‘You poor man,’ she said. ‘You poor man.’
And the great giant of an Angus didn’t say a word; he just let Peggy hold his hand in hers, and a large tear, the size of a raindrop, rolled from his eye and down along his cheek and disappeared into his bushy red beard.
‘Will you take payment in kind?’ Peggy said.
‘What kind?’ he said gruffly.
‘Martin,’ Peggy said. ‘Go to the boat and fetch one of the bottles that Ben Harley gave me.’
‘You mean the private stash?’ I said. ‘But I thought you said it was lethal. I thought you said you should never –’
‘Just get it,’ she said. ‘And stop asking questions for once.’
‘But I thought you said asking questions was good, and that when we get to City Island we have to ask nothing but questions, as if you don’t ask questions you never learn, and then –’
‘Another time, Martin. Just bring a bottle of Ben Harley’s private stash.’
‘All right.’
‘And hurry up too, Martin.’
‘All right, Gemma. Since when were you in charge –?’
I went to get what Peggy wanted from the boat.
‘Kids, eh?’ I heard Angus say behind me. ‘Brother and sister, often arguing. Mine are the same. But they love each other underneath. Mine are the same,’ he repeated. ‘Just the same –’
I found one of Ben Harley’s bottles of private stash and returned to the jetty.
‘Open it and give it to Mr Angus,’ Peggy said.
I pulled the stopper out of the bottle neck. That familiar foul smell hit me. Old Ben Harley’s home-made private stash was disgusting. The smell soon wore off though, once the air got at it.
I knew why she was giving it to Angus. And I knew now why the midges weren’t bothering us.
‘There. That’s our toll paid.’
Peggy put the bottle into Angus’s hand. He sniffed at it.
‘It’s poison.’
‘No, just smells like it. I wouldn’t drink it though. It’s got better uses. Just dab some on your beard.’
He did. Then he re-corked the bottle and set it down.
‘Well? Now what?’
‘Well, look at yourself.’
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‘How can I look at myself,’ Angus said, ‘when there’s nae mirror? There’s been nae mirror for years.’
‘Evidently …’ Peggy muttered.
‘Then what’s this stuff do?’
‘Haven’t you noticed?’
It took him a few more seconds. Then a smile spread across his face.
‘The midges!’ he said. ‘They’re leaving me alone! They’ve tormented me every minute of the day since I can’t remember! They’re leaving me alone!’
‘And it’ll last a long time too,’ Peggy said. ‘Especially if you’re not big on washing.’
‘Don’t have the water to spare,’ Angus said. ‘Not that that means I don’t maintain standards. Always been big on personal hygiene. A bath every three or four months, whether I need it or not.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Peggy said. ‘Then that bottle there should last you years. You just need a dab and they’ll keep their distance and not bother you again.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ Angus said. ‘It’s like someone turned the misery off.’
‘Is that us quits then?’ Peggy said. ‘Have we paid the toll?’
‘More than paid it,’ Angus said. ‘But I don’t have any change.’
‘We’re not expecting any,’ Peggy said. ‘Just happy to help. Aren’t we?’
‘Yes, Gran,’ Gemma agreed.
‘Very happy,’ I said.
‘Then I’ll let you get on your way,’ the Troll said – and he wasn’t really such a troll now. He was just another person, a rather large and frightening one, but essentially just like us.
‘We’ll do that then,’ Peggy said. ‘Gemma, Martin –’
‘Goodbye, Angus,’ Gemma said.
‘What a pretty wee girl,’ Angus said to Peggy. ‘I compliment you on your granddaughter. She’s just like my Nancy. So young, and full of life – and the young man here, reminds me of my Colin …’ And then his voice trailed away.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Angus,’ I said.
‘A pleasure to meet you all. And thank you for the … thanks.’
‘Not at all. If you’re ready then –’
Peggy led us aboard. Angus helped us untie and he stood watching from the jetty as we uncovered the solar panels and unfurled the wind sails.
He undid the lines that held up the net blocking our way; the net sank down and we were free to leave.
‘Sail safely now,’ he said. ‘Mind how you go. There’s some weird people about,’ he said. ‘You want to be careful.’
‘It’s just straight on, isn’t it?’ Peggy said.
‘That’s the way. Empty sky for about fifty kilometres, and then you’ll see the Isle of Ignorance.’
‘We’ll see the what?’
We were already sailing and his voice was lost on the wind.
‘Ignorance. You’ll see it. But keep going.’
And he waved, and we moved on.
I looked back. We could just see him changing the sign by the jetty.
It now read THE TOLL TROLL IS: OUT.
And he was reeling the net in, and the way was now clear. And there was no longer a swarm of angry midges around his head, and he somehow looked less angry too.
The last we saw of him, he was standing by the three stone mounds, as if engaging them in conversation. But what he was saying we could only imagine, or fail to imagine. For who knows what is really in another person’s heart? That was what Peggy told me.
‘So what did we learn back there?’ she said, once we had put a good distance between Angus and ourselves.
‘I don’t know, Peggy,’ I said. ‘Eh … we learned that his real name was Angus?’
‘What else?’
‘Eh … I don’t know.’
‘Gemma?’
‘Plenty,’ Gemma said.
‘Tell me what you learned,’ Peggy said.
‘Not to judge people on first appearances. That angry people are often upset and in pain inside. That you never really know about anyone, that your first impressions can be completely wrong. And that underneath everything we all have a lot in common, and we all suffer in the same way, and can all be happy in the same way.’
Peggy smiled.
‘That’s right.’ She nodded. ‘That’s right.’
It was all a bit above my head, to be honest. All I felt I’d learned was that the troll’s name was Angus. But there you are.
Taking advantage of the situation though, I said, ‘Peggy – if we’ve already learned so much about life, do we have to go to City Island? Couldn’t we just turn around and go back home?’
‘Martin,’ she said. ‘You can learn about life anywhere. But if you want to learn about physics, chemistry, history, geography, economics, languages, algebra and quadratic equations, then you have to go to school.’
‘I don’t know that I do want to learn about quadratic equations,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what they are but I can’t say I like the sound of them.’
‘You’ll love them,’ she said. ‘Once you get started.’
But I wasn’t so sure about that. I had this sense of vague unease. There was something about quadratic equations that didn’t sound very inviting.
5
cooking
GEMMA SPEAKING NOW. HER TURN:
Peggy said from the off that we had to get Martin to do the cooking. She said, back in the very old days, it was always girls who got stuck with the cooking, but Martin wasn’t going to know that, so we’d stick him with the cooking instead, right from the start.
‘How is he going to know any different?’ Peggy had said. After all, there were just the three of us. It wasn’t as if he was going to pick up bad habits from elsewhere. The only other male of the species (as Peggy called them) within visiting distance was old Ben Harley. And he was stuck with the cooking too, and as far as he was concerned, it was cook or die. For who else was going to do it, as he was on his ownsome?
When I say we stuck Martin with the cooking, that’s not strictly as bad as it sounds. All we did was get him to do his share. So that was accepted. We all had to help. Sometimes it was washing-up; sometimes it was cooking; sometimes it was keeping the place clean. You always got stuck with something. But when everyone else is getting stuck with something too, you don’t mind. It’s when you’re stuck with everything and everyone else is stuck with nothing – like Cinderella, who Peggy told us about – that’s when you feel aggrieved. It’s seeing those ugly sisters with their feet up on the coffee table and their bums on the sofa cushions all day long that gets you riled.
All the stories we know come from Peggy – the Cinderellas and so forth. She’s got plenty that she can recite off by heart and there were books in the house, but not many, as they were hard to come by. There’s no visiting library boat out where Peggy lived; the only other literature you get there is what’s written in the clouds, or the future that’s scrawled across the palm of your hand – if you believe in that kind of thing, and I don’t, though I don’t mind pretending for fun.
It’s another of the reasons why we have to go to City Island and meet new people. Peggy says she’s got no more stories left and she’s told us them all. She’s all storied out. She says there’s plenty more out there, but she doesn’t know or can’t remember them no more. Or rather – any more. I’ve got to remember that. It’s grammar. We’re not supposed to say no more no more. We’ve got to say any more from now on.
Peggy says there’s books out there like you’ll never see the end of. She says there’s so many that no one could ever read them all, not even if they made it their life’s work and dedication. Seems hard to imagine to me. I can’t even picture that many books, not like walls and walls of them, going on forever, but Peggy says they’ve got books in City Island like fish in the sky.
And then there’s boys. Peggy says they’ve got almost as many boys as books and you could never get to the end of all of them either. She says it’s time I met some, but I don’t know. I mean, Martin’s a boy and so wha
t? But Peggy says a boy’s not like a brother. She says a boy who’s not a brother is a completely separate thing and an entirely different kettle of fish. So I had to ask her what a kettle of fish was, and why you’d be cooking fish in a kettle. But she said it was just an expression, and that was all the kind of thing we’d get the hang of once we arrived at City Island.
I’m just hoping all this education is going to be one bit as marvellous as Peggy’s making out it is. I’ve been disappointed before. She said that eating sky-oysters was a real treat when you can get them. But when we did find them, I thought they were disgusting and tasted like slime with extra slime added. So I hope that finally going to school isn’t going to be like that.
The expression is always finally going to school with Peggy. Other kids, I reckon, just go to school. But not us, we finally go to school, like we’re the last to arrive or something.
Anyway, I just hope she’s right and that it is going to be something special and we’re not going all this way for nothing. Though I am interested in seeing what all the fuss over boys is about. Not that I’m fussed or making a fuss. It’s Peggy who’s gone on about them. She just says we gotta go out into the world and grow up normal. She says growing up on our ownsome with a batty old woman – which is what she calls herself and we’ve ended up stopping arguing and contradicting with her as she seems kind of proud of being batty, to say the truth – but she says that growing up with a batty old woman like her isn’t good for two kids. She says it’s all right when you’re little but that we aren’t so little any more, especially me. She says (when he’s out of hearing distance) that maybe Martin still is a little bit little but that I’m not and that I am growing up apace.
That’s the kind of word she uses sometimes. I like that expression, that you are growing up apace. It just means quick but it somehow sounds better. Peggy says there’s all kinds of words like that, ones that are plain and simple, and other ones that have poetry in them.
Anyhow, Martin doesn’t really remember. Not like I do. It’s all buried deep down in the underground for him; he was so young and small when our parents were lost. But when you lose your mum and dad, it’s like the ground has gone and you’re falling, falling, falling, all the way down into the sun. And plenty of times that was what I wished would happen and it would be the better and the easier way. I even said so to Peggy, when she found me crying once, that sometimes life feels so bad that you’d rather not live it, and you miss people so much you’d rather be with them than go on living. She said that was true and she could understand that, but we have to go on. And when I asked why, she said what about Martin, what would Martin do, as I was all he had left now, and he was all I had too.