by Barry Hines
‘Well you’re not a member then. Do you live in the Borough?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Borough, the City.’
‘No, I live out on Valley Estate.’
‘Well that’s in the Borough, isn’t it?’
A man approached and plonked two books on the counter. The girl attended to him immediately. Open stamp. Open stamp. She slotted the cards into his tickets and filed them in a tray. The man pulled his books to the edge of the counter, caught them as they overbalanced, then shouldered his way through the swinging doors.
‘Can I get a book now, then?’
‘You’ll have to take one of these forms home first for your father to sign.’
She handed Billy a form across the counter. He took it and looked down at the dotted lines and blank boxes.
‘My dad’s away.’
‘You’ll have to wait until he comes home then.’
‘I don’t mean away like that. I mean he’s left home.’
‘O, I see…. Well in that case, your mother’ll have to sign it.’
‘She’s at work.’
‘She can sign it when she comes home, can’t she?’
‘I know, but she’ll not be home ’til tea time, and it’s Sunday tomorrow.’
‘There’s no rush, is there?’
‘I don’t want to wait that long. I want a book today.’
‘You’ll just have to want, won’t you?’
‘Look, just let me go an’ see’f you’ve got one, an’ if you have I’ll sit down at one o’ them tables an’ read it.’
‘You can’t, you’re not a member.’
‘Nobody’ll know.’
‘It’s against the rules.’
‘Go on. I’ll bring you this paper back on Monday then.’
‘NO! Now go on home and get that form signed.’
She turned round and entered a little glass office.
‘I say.’
Billy beckoned her out.
‘Now what?’
‘Where’s there a bookshop?’
‘Well, there’s Priors up the Arcade. That’s the best one.’
‘O ye! I know.’
He went out into the sunlight. People crowded the pavements and gutters, and on the road the traffic was jammed honking in two straight lines. Billy screwed the form up and dropped it onto a grate. It bounced on the bars, then fell between them. He squeezed between a car and a bus and jogged down the centre line of the road. Car drivers with their arms resting on window ledges, looked up at him as he passed. The vehicles at the head of one line began to move. Billy slipped back on to the pavement before the reaction in the chain could reach him.
He looked in at the window display, then walked through the open doorway and crossed to a rack of paperbacks. Walking round the rack, and revolving it in the opposite direction, he examined the room as it flickered by between the books and the wire struts. All four walls were lined with books. Disposed around the room were racks and stands of paperbacks, and in the centre was a table with a till and piles of books on it. There were three assistants, two girls and a man. Several people were browsing, and one young man was buying. The shop was as quiet as the library.
He started in one corner, and, working from the top shelf, down, up, down, moved along the sections, scanning the categories, which were printed on white cards and stuck on the edges of the shelves: CRAFTS… DICTIONARIES… DEVOTIONAL… FICTION… GARDENING… HISTORY… MOTORING… NATURE – ANIMALS, one shelf, two shelves, BIRDS, birds, birds. A Falconer’s Handbook. Billy reached up. The book was clamped tight in the middle of the shelf. He pressed the top of the spine and tilted it towards him, catching it as it fell. He opened it and flicked through it back to front, pausing at the pictures and diagrams. A sparrowhawk stared up from the glossy paper of the dust jacket. Billy glanced round. The man and one of the girls were serving. The other girl was shelving books with her back to him. Everyone else had their heads down. Billy turned his back on them and slipped the book inside his jacket. The man and the girl continued to serve. The other girl continued to shelve. Billy continued round the walls, to the door, and out into the arcade.
‘What’s tha want that for when tha can’t read?’
Jud reached over Billy’s shoulder and snatched the book out of his hands. Billy jumped up from the kitchen step and ran after him into the living-room.
‘Giz it back! Come here!’
Jud held him off, tilting his head and trying to read the title at arm’s length as the book flapped open and shut.
‘Falconry! What’s thar know about falconry?’
‘Giz it back.’
Jud pushed him back on to the settee, then started to examine the book at leisure.
‘A Falconer’s Handbook. Where’s tha got this from?’
‘I’ve lent it.’
‘Nicked it, more like. Where’s tha got it from?’
‘A shop in town.’
‘Tha must be crackers.’
‘How’s tha mean?’
‘Nicking books.’
He looked at a picture, then slapped it shut.
‘I could understand it if it wa’ money, but chuff me, not a book.’
He skimmed it hard across the room. The covers flapped open and when Billy grabbed at it, he bent and scuffled the pages back.
‘Look what tha’s done now! I’m trying to look after this book.’
He smoothed the bent pages, then shut the covers and squeezed them tight.
‘Anybody’d think it wa’ a treasure tha’d got.’
‘It’s smashing! I’ve been reading it all afternoon, I’m nearly half-way through already.’
‘An’ what better off will tha be when tha’s read it?’
‘A lot, ’cos I’m goin’ to get a young kestrel an’ train it.’
‘Train it! Tha couldn’t train a flea!’
He laughed out, mouth open, head back, more a roar than a laugh.
‘Anyroad, where tha goin’ to get a kestrel from?’
‘I know a nest.’
‘Tha doesn’t.’
‘All right then, I don’t.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m not telling.’
‘I said where?’
He rushed over to the settee and jumped astride Billy, pushing his face into the cushions and forcing one arm up his back in a half-nelson.
‘I said where?’
‘Gi’o’er, Jud, tha breaking my arm!’
‘Where then?’
‘Monastery Farm.’
Jud let go and cuffed Billy’s scalp as he stood up. Billy sat up, rubbing the tears from his cheeks and massaging his arm.
‘You fool, tha nearly broke my arm then.’
‘I’ll have to see about goin’ round there wi’ t’gun.’
‘I’ll tell t’farmer on thi if tha does.’
‘What’s he got to do wi’ it?’
‘He protects ’em.’
‘Protects ’em! Don’t talk wet! Hawks are a menace to farmers, they eat all their poultry an’ everything.’
‘I know, they dive down on their cows an’ carry ’em away an’ all.’
‘Funny bugger.’
‘We’ tha talks daft! How big’s tha think they are? Kestrels only eat mice an’ insects an’ little birds sometimes.’
‘Tha think tha knows summat about it, don’t tha?’
‘I know more about it than thee, anyroad.’
‘Tha aught to, tha nearly lives round them bleedin’ woods. It’s a wonder tha don’t turn into a wild man.’
He stuffed his tongue under his bottom lip, grunting and scratching his armpits. Then he straightened up, grinning.
‘Billy Casper! Wild man of the woods! I ought to have thi in a cage. I’d make a bloody fortune.’
Billy scrambled up off the settee and raised his arms laterally, beating the air with short powerful strokes.
‘Tha should have seen ’em today though, lad, they go like lightning!’<
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He held his arms still and angled them by flexing his trunk laterally.
‘I laid watchin’ ’em for hours. They’re t’best things I’ve ever seen.’
Jud watched him through the mirror, chin up, throat taut as he knotted his tie.
‘I’m hopin’ I’ll be laid watchin’ a bird tonight. But she’ll not have feathers on; not all over anyway.’
He grinned at himself and folded his collar down, covering the back of the tie.
‘Tha ought to have seen ’em though Jud.’
‘A few pints first.’
‘An’ tha ought to have seen one of ’em dive down.’
‘Then straight across to t’Lyceum.’
‘It dived straight down behind this wall. Whoosh!’
Billy clawed his fingers, and dived straight down on to the settee. Mrs Casper came in from the hall, looking down at herself and smoothing wrinkles out of her sweater. Every time she brushed her palms down the front, her breasts flubbered underneath.
‘You’re a couple o’ noisy buggers, you two. I bet they can hear you at t’other side o’ t’estate. What you been making him roar for, Jud?’
‘I never touched him.’
‘Not much! He nearly broke my arm, that’s all.’
‘I’ll break thi neck next time.’
‘O shut it, both of you.’
‘We’ he’s nowt but a big baby.’
‘An’ thar nowt but a big bully.’
‘I said SHUT IT.’
She stood between them, looking from one to the other; then moved across to the fireplace and looked into the mirror.
‘Have you had any tea yet, Billy?’
‘No.’
‘Well get some then, you know where t’pantry is.’
‘He’s too busy reading to bother about eating.’
‘How did your horses get on today, Jud?’
‘Not bad, I’d a double up.’
‘How much?’
‘Enough.’
‘You’ll be treating us all tonight, then?’
‘There’s somebody treats you every night.’
‘It’d be nice. Shift, Billy.’
She pulled Billy to the front of the settee and dragged a cushion out from behind him. Underneath it was a pair of stockings as flat as flowers in a book. She held them up to the window, inspecting them in lengths, then lifted a foot on to the settee and began to roll one on.
‘Where you going tonight then, Jud, anywhere special?’
‘Usual I suppose.’
‘And don’t be coming home blind drunk again.’
‘Why, are you entertaining?’
‘Don’t be so cheeky.’
‘Anyway, you want to talk about coming home drunk.’
‘I never come home drunk.’
‘Not much you don’t.’
‘Well at least I’m not sick all over t’house every Saturday night.’
‘Not this house perhaps.’
‘And what’s that suppose to mean?’
‘Well you don’t come here every Saturday night, do you?’
‘Seen my shoes, Billy, love?’
She looked round, under the chairs and table, then knelt down and felt under the settee. Jud slipped his suit jacket on and flexed his shoulders, smiling at himself in profile through the mirror.
‘Some bird’s goin’ to be lucky tonight.’
He fluffed the bob at the front of his hair and walked out whistling.
Mrs Casper turned her shoes over in her hands, licking her fingers and trying to erase the scuff marks on the heels, then she breathed all over them and rubbed them up on the edge of the tablecloth.
‘These could have done with a polish. Still, ne’er mind, it’ll soon be dark.’
She stepped into them and looked round at the backs of her legs.
‘There’s no ladders in these stockings, is there, Billy?’
Billy looked at her legs and shook his head.
‘I can’t see any.’
‘That’s summat anyway. What you going to do wi’ yourself tonight, love?’
‘Read my book.’
‘That’s nice. What’s it about?’
‘Falconry. I’m goin’ to get a young kestrel an’ train it.’
‘A kestrel, what’s that?’
‘A kestrel hawk, what do you think it is?’
‘I say, what time is it?’
‘I’ve cleaned t’bottom shed out ready, an’ I’ve built a little nesting box out of an orange box ’til…’
‘Ten to eight! Ee, I’m goin’ to be late as usual.’
She ran into the hall and started to search through a heap of clothes draped over the bannister, peeling them off and throwing them down until she came to her coat.
‘Here, there’s two bob for you. Go and buy yourself some pop an’ some crisps or summat.’
She slid the florin on to the mantelpiece and smiled at herself through the mirror.
‘And don’t be still up when I come in.’
She hurried through the kitchen and banged the door, leaving the house quiet behind her. Billy opened his book, pointed to his place and began to lip the words as his finger crept under the lines.
* * *
At the first sound of footsteps on the stairs he slipped the book under the pillow and ran across to the light switch. The footsteps were heavy, their progress punctuated by halts that suggested each time that the climb had been abandoned.
But eventually they reached the top, the light clicked on and Jud swayed into the bedroom, droning. He stopped at the foot of the bed, re-adjusting his feet continually, as though the floor was in motion.
‘Billy. Are tha shleep, Billy?’
Billy lay still, his face hidden in the sheet. Jud drifted away and started to fumble at the top button of his shirt, grimacing and trying to squint down at it. His respiration appeared to be out of all proportion to the amount of energy required for this simple task, resembling more the exertions of a cross-country runner. He managed the top two buttons then tugged the shirt over his head, pulling it inside out as he wrenched his hands through the buttoned cuffs. He dropped his trousers and raised one foot. As soon as he leaned forward and looked down, he overbalanced, and had to break into a hop to remain upright. The wall stopped him. He grinned at a rose on the wallpaper, then turned round, covering the rose with his head.
‘Whoa you bugger, whoa.’
He rested on the wall, grinning down at the trousers bunched round his ankles.
‘Billy! Wake up, Billy!’
He set off across the room like a man in fetters.
‘Billy, wake up!’
He stopped at the side of the bed and tried to haul the sheet in.
Billy turned over and tried to hang on to it.
‘Gi’o’er, Jud, I’m asleep.’
‘Hel’ me ge’ undresh, Billy. Am pish. Am too pish to take my trousher off.’
He flopped down on to the bed giggling. Billy wriggled out from underneath him and got out of bed. Jud curled up on his side and closed his eyes, a blind smile on his face.
‘Turn light osh, Billy, an’ ge’ to bed.’
Billy turned him on to his back and took his shoes off. He worked his trouser bottoms over his heels, then pulled them over his feet and off.
‘I’m fed up o’ this bloody game. It’s every Saturday night alike!’
Jud was asleep, snoring, mouth open.
‘Just like a pig snoring…. A drunken pig…. Jud the drunken pig.’
He snapped Jud’s mouth shut and held his lips between his finger and thumb. Jud began to grumble in his throat, then he tossed his head free and his eyelids fluttered.
‘W’a’s up? W’a’s up?’
‘Get back to sleep… you pig… hog… sow… you drunken bastard… Tha don’t like being called a bastard, does tha, you bastard? You PIG,’ – clawing at Jud with his right hand ‘HOG,’ – left hand, ‘sow,’ – right again, ‘DRUNKEN BASTARD,’ – one strike per syllable.
‘Pig Hog Sow Drun-ken Bas-tard.
Pig Hog Sow Drun-ken Bas-tard.’
Slowly, padding round the bed, clawing, chanting with every step.
Bas-tard, Bas-tard, Drun-ken PIG.
Bas-tard, Bas-tard, Drun-ken PIG.
Faster louder round the bed.
Pig Hog Sow, Drunken Bastard.
Pig Hog Sow, Drunken Bastard.
Bastard Bastard Drunken PIG.
Bastard Bastard Drunken SMACK – Already committed to its strike, Billy’s claw had involuntarily hardened to a fist, and thumped Jud, smack on his ear as he turned over on to his side.
For a second, a still, catching Billy poised over the bed, fist still clenched above the offended ear. Then the monster began to rumble. Billy snatched his clothes off the chair, flicked off the light as he ran past, and ran downstairs. His fingers almost seized up as they fumbled at the lock on the kitchen door, their ineptitude making him glance round and squeal softly in fear and excitement. With the door opened, he relaxed and paused on the step to listen. Silence. Continuing silence. So he went back inside and fetched his jacket and pumps, and dressed at leisure in the doorway, by the light of the moon.
The moon was almost complete, its outline well defined, except for the blur on the waxing curve. The sky was cloudless, the air still warm, but when he reached the fields it cooled slightly, taking on a fresher, sharper quality. The moon made it light in the fields, and lent the grass a silver sheen, and the piebald hides of the cows were clearly visible in this silvery light. The wood was a narrow black band beyond the fields, growing taller and taller as Billy approached, until it formed a curtain stretched out before him, and the top of the curtain appeared to touch the stars directly above.
He climbed on to the stile and looked into the trees. It was dark on both sides of the path, but above the path the foliage was thinner, and the light from the moon penetrated and lit the way. Billy stepped down off the stile and entered the wood. The trunks and branches lining the path formed pillars and lintels, terraced doorways leading into dark interiors. He hurried by them, glancing in, right and left. A scuffle to his left. He side-stepped to the right and began to run, the pad of his feet and the rasp of his breath filtering far into the trees, WO-HU-WO-HOOOO. WO-HU-WO-HOOOO. He stopped and listened, trying to control his breathing. WO-HU-WO-HOOO. Somewhere ahead; the long falter radiating back through the trees. Billy linked his fingers, placed his thumbs together and blew into the split between them. The only sound he produced was that of rushing air. He licked his lips and tried again, producing a wheeze, which he swiftly worked up into a single hoot and developed into a strident imitation of the tawny owl’s call. He listened. There was no response, so he repeated it, this time working for the softer, more wavering sound, by stuttering his breath into the sound chamber. And out it came, as clear and as clean as a blowing of bubbles. His call was immediately answered. Billy grinned and answered back. He started to walk again, and maintained contact with the owl for the rest of the distance through the wood.