by Su Bristow
What else could there be? ‘What’s that, then?’
‘She’s not the only one that’s changing.’
13
It was the dark of the year now; the time of small, drab days and endless freezing nights; the time for sitting by the fire, mending and making and telling the old tales. On the shortest day of all, close upon Christmas, no-one put out to sea. Usually they would stay ashore only for Sundays and holy days, but the older traditions still held sway, and the priest was wise enough to turn a blind eye to it.
But Donald went, with a dark lantern and a basket full of fish, and Bridie watched him go and never said a word. She had a private vigil of her own to keep, for it was at just about this time that John had gone out in bitter winter weather, and the boat had returned with a shocked and silent crew, and one man missing. She would set a light in the window and lay a place at the table, the way folks did on All Hallows’ Eve, for the lost and hungry souls to find their way home. Mairhi would be with her this time, of course, but somehow her company was never intrusive.
So Donald made his way alone, down to the shore and over to the skerry in the drifting fog. The night was starless, moonless and utterly still. He set his basket down on the strand, with a sidelong glance at the black, gleaming rocks where the sealskin had been, and now of course was not, and walked along to the little grove of birches and rowans where the selkies had played. It was desolate now, every branch and twig encased in silver. No leaves, no bright berries, no life at all. There was no sign that the seals had ever been here. He stood still a moment and then retraced his steps back to the sand. Squatting by the basket of fish, he closed the lantern, and at once the fog pressed in around him; he could see almost nothing and sensed rather than saw the gentle swell of the water a few feet away. He waited a little while, and then spoke aloud into the vast, whispering dark.
‘Seals! I don’t know if you’re out there, or if you’ll understand any of this.’ He stopped, feeling foolish, hearing his own voice fall flat and small under the iron weight of the freezing fog. Then he cleared his throat and went on. ‘My name is Donald Macfarlane, and I have done you wrong. But I can’t undo it, she can’t come back to you now, and I … and she’s with child, d’you see? She has to stay, at least until the child is born. I promise you, I’ll take the best care of her that I can. We’re to be wed soon; we’ll be man and wife. That’s how it’s done, with us. And when the child comes, if it … if it belongs to you, I’ll…’
He stopped again. His throat seemed to have closed over, and for a while he could not speak. At last he muttered, only half aloud, ‘I’ll bring it here, to you. But if … but if it’s human, I’ll do right by it, I’ll do right by her, and I’ll try to be a good husband and a good father, and’ – his voice had risen again; he was shouting now into the void – ‘I’ll try to make it right, d’you see? I’ll do my best! And I’m sorry! And … and these are for you.’ He stood up, tipped out the basket in a brief glimmering stream onto the sand, picked up the lantern and stumbled away towards the rocks, almost running in his haste to be gone. He tripped, nearly lost his footing, and only then remembered to open the lantern. It made a little globe of light in the fog, and he could not see the place where he had been.
14
It had been a merry evening, up at the shieling with the family. Bridie had been called away halfway through supper by a wide-eyed little lass who appeared at the door, wrapped in a shawl too big for her, saying that her mother’s pains had started and could Bridie come now, right away, no time to waste; but Donald and Mairhi stayed. Catriona and her little sisters wanted to teach them to dance for their wedding. Donald refused, point-blank; not even for his own wedding would he be persuaded to do such a thing. Mairhi went along with it willingly enough, but she persisted in moving to her own sweet rhythms, and never seemed to mind that the others were soon weeping with laughter. Indeed, Donald thought that for her that might have been the point of it all, and maybe she had the right of it. He’d been watching them, smiling, and then became aware of his uncle watching him in his turn.
‘It’s a grand thing, family,’ Hugh said then. ‘And now you’ll be starting one of your own.’
‘Aye, I suppose,’ said Donald.
‘It changes everything, and no mistake. You’re a man now, Donald, and you’ll need to be thinking about how to look after them. Your mother’s done the best she could on her own, and your crabbing’s brought in enough for the two of you, but things are different now.’
Donald knew what was coming next. Hugh had no sons, and although he was still hale enough, the seagoing boats were no place for older men.
‘I know, Uncle Hugh. I’ll come out with you this winter when you need me.’
‘Fair enough. But you’ll need to look to the future as well. I’m not getting any younger, and you know the boat should have been yours by rights.’
‘I know, Uncle Hugh,’ Donald said again. ‘I don’t forget it, I promise you. But you know Callum Campbell would take it on in a second, if you asked him.’
Hugh made a noise in his throat; if he’d been out on the water, he’d have spat over the side. ‘Callum’s a good man, but the drink’s got to him these days, and you need a steady hand. I can’t rely on him. I’d far rather see it stay in the family. But there, we’ll say no more about it now. There’s time enough, God willing.’
It was long past dark when they left, to pick their way carefully down to the harbour. Most folks were already indoors, but as they were passing the bar, the door opened and a knot of men staggered out in a blast of light, heat and noise that was cut off abruptly as the door shut behind them. No telling who it was on this moonless winter’s night, Donald muttered a greeting as they shouldered past; but the next moment one of them had him by the arm.
‘Hey, Macfarlane! Where’s your manners, man? Are you not going to introduce us?’ It was Andrew Bain, eldest of the three Bain brothers. Donald cursed his luck. Euan and Aly had stopped too, now, crowding back into the feeble light that came from the bar window. The reek of smoke and whisky was strong on them. It must have been a good catch that day.
‘Well, right enough,’ Donald said lamely. ‘This is Mairhi McArthur, my … my intended.’
Aly tittered. Euan swept off an imaginary hat and made a sweeping bow that almost sent him into the harbour. ‘An honour, Miss McArthur!’
Mairhi merely stared, then took a step back as Aly came close, breathing whisky into her face.
‘Let’s have a look at you, then. Not much to see, is there? But maybe there’s some hidden charms about you, eh? What did you do to land a slippery fish like Donald here?’ He took another step forward, pushing her up against the bar wall.
Donald started towards them, but Euan’s grip on his arm was suddenly tight as a hawser, and Andrew had closed in, barring his way. Beyond him, Mairhi gave a little cry of protest, and Aly laughed again.
‘Oh, so you do have a voice, after all? And here they’re saying you’re dumb and witless. What else is there to know about you?’
‘Let her be!’ Donald shouted, but both the elder brothers had their hands on him now.
Mairhi cried out again, and there was the sound of something tearing. Donald struggled to free himself, Euan and Andrew holding him back; but suddenly all three were frozen by the ragged, high-pitched screech that ripped across the thick night air. Donald lunged past his captors, only to stop dead. It was not Mairhi who had screamed, but Aly.
He had fallen to his knees now, making horrible choking, rasping noises, clutching at his throat, while she stood like a stone, still pressed against the wall, just watching. Aly’s whole body convulsed; he threw himself backward onto the cobbles, arching his back and jerking like a salmon on the gaff. His face, lit up as the bar door opened and men came crowding out, was a ghastly green. Then he went still, sprawled limp as seaweed across the stones. There was a terrible silence.
Just as the tide of men surged forward once more, he shuddered into life agai
n, drawing in a great, hoarse, tearing breath; everyone recoiled as he curled over and vomited, retching over and over again and gasping or sobbing in between. Donald fought his way through the press to where Mairhi still stood motionless. Cautiously, he put out a hand. She jumped at his touch and then shivered all over.
‘Are you all right, lass?’ The neck of her dress was torn.
She looked at him, and he braced himself for that dark, drowning gaze. Then she came into his arms. Quietly, while everyone was busied about Aly Bain, he held her; but that could not last for long.
‘What the hell did she do to him?’ That was Euan, and others too now, while Aly still moaned and shook on the ground.
‘He hurt her,’ said Donald. ‘And he’s taken a bit too much drink tonight.’ Maybe that was all they would see, just another drunkard coughing his guts up. Or maybe not, as Aly turned the black holes of his eyes towards them, and found his voice at last.
15
‘I saw them,’ he said, slow and flat as though he were dreaming. ‘I fell down in the dark, and I saw them. All tangled in weeds, and the fish going in and out through the bones. They reached their hands up like they were asking for help, and I tried to keep away, but I kept sinking, and then—’
‘That’s enough, now,’ said one of the older men harshly. ‘It’s the drink talking. See him home, Andrew, for God’s sake.’
But the others were looking away, crossing themselves, shrinking back. Donald, looking from one to another, saw the same horror in all their faces, the fear that must never be spoken. For the first time, he knew beyond doubt that, whatever his own imagination could conjure up, it was no worse than the secret thoughts of any of these hard-handed, practical men, and that the only way to deal with those thoughts was to keep them dark, private, unspoken. But it was too late. Aly was still speaking, and it seemed nothing would stop him.
‘They reached up, and then they had hold of me, the bones of their fingers round my ankles, in my hair’ – he reached up to claw at his own hair as he spoke, faster and higher – ‘and I couldn’t get free, and I could see the boat above me and I tried to call out, and the water came into my mouth, down into me, and they held fast, they wanted me down there with them, and…’ He was choking again, drowning again, clutching at his throat.
The other men watched, helpless, unmanned by their own horror. All but Euan. He sprang at his brother, catching him by the shoulders and shaking him hard, until, despite himself, he took in a great, rasping breath.
‘Aly, that’s enough!’ Euan shouted directly into his face. ‘Come back, man, come out of it!’
Abruptly, Aly’s eyes focussed. He looked wildly around at the circle of men staring down at him, seeing his own fear, his own shame leaping back at him from every pair of eyes. They flinched away as he saw them, one by one refusing complicity. Only one person could bear to meet his gaze. She gave him back look for look, expressionless.
‘She witched me!’ He raised a trembling arm and tried to point at Mairhi. ‘She put pictures in my mind, she tried to kill me!’
‘It’s true,’ Euan agreed. ‘She did something! Something uncanny. We were just talking to her, and then … and then he was like this.’ He indicated his brother with a sweep of his arm, but he was looking at Mairhi.
Donald had no idea what to do. Old habits held him hard. Cringe, look down, mumble and play the idiot until they leave you alone; it had never served him very well in the past, but it was the only way he knew. But the thing was, he was not on his own any more. Mairhi clearly had her own ways to defend herself, but he had no way of knowing if she could use them against a whole group of men, or even if they were under her control at all. In any case, she might make matters worse. He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. Ignoring all the others, he spoke to Euan, who still crouched at his brother’s side.
‘You saw what he did. He hurt her, he tore her dress. He’d have done worse, too. And you just watched, the both of you. Now you keep him away from her, you stay away from us, do you hear?’ The other men would have to make out the truth of it for themselves. He could take no more. Holding Mairhi by the arm, he steered her through the crowd, and they made way for him. There would be a reckoning, of that he had no doubt, but now he just wanted to go home.
The night was far gone, and it was almost time for milking when Bridie finally came in. Donald had not slept, though Mairhi had gone to bed long since. He woke the fire and made tea, while Bridie sank into her chair and stared at the flames. She looked smaller, somehow, his mother; a little bent, like an old woman, though she was far from that.
‘Did it not go well?’ he asked, as he handed her the hot tea. She started, as though she had been somewhere else in her thoughts. ‘What’s that? Oh, well, the birth. No, that was all fine in the end. Another daughter. I’ve no doubt Rob Wallace was downcast; he already has the three. But when they fetched him home from the bar, he had something else on his mind. He barely thanked me, couldn’t wait for me to be out of the house. There was something about the way he looked at me. I don’t know. It put me in mind of when I was still new here, and some folks thought I had strange ways about me. Well, some folks still do.’ She looked up at Donald. ‘So tell me, what’s it about?’
He told her. It was so familiar: telling her his day, and she smoothing it out, making sense of it all, while he let it fall away. And yet, it was utterly different. He could tell her, but he could not give it up to her. She listened quietly, not interrupting, until he was done, and then was silent for a while.
‘I had an idea there might be something like this,’ she said after a while. ‘It’s come sooner than I’d hoped, though. They might try to stop the wedding.’
‘They can’t!’ Donald spoke more fiercely than he had intended. ‘The priest wouldn’t give any heed to magic and witchery. He thinks well of you, too.’
‘Maybe. But he has to think of all the souls in his care. It depends which way they fall, whether they lean to the Bains or to us. We’ll see. And there are some, like the ones who still think I’m a stranger, who might find Mairhi’s ways a little hard to swallow.’ She smiled, a little rueful. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see. But you know one thing, Donald?’
‘What’s that, then?’
‘You could have let them do what they liked with her. You could have stood back. But you didn’t.’
It had never occurred to him, not for a moment; but he saw now what she meant. Not so long ago, it might have seemed an easy way out. He could hardly make sense of the person he had been then; it seemed like a thousand years ago.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘I’ve to look after all of us, now.’
Bridie smiled again. ‘You did well,’ she said.
16
Donald was halfway down to the shore when he heard his mother’s voice hailing him from the top of the path. He looked up and back, to see her on the skyline above, one arm raised, beckoning. All he wanted was to keep walking, but after a long moment he turned around and trudged back to the house. Bridie and Mairhi were both by the gate, wrapped in shawls and laden with baskets, waiting for him.
‘I thought I’d see to the pots along the strand—’ he began,
But Bridie cut across him. ‘No skulking off today, my lad! We’ll need to face this down before the story grows any bigger and folk have time to get together and make their judgments. We’re all going to call on Auntie Annie. And if we happen to meet anybody else along the way, so much the better. Most of the men will be out on a day like this, but you’ll catch them in the bar later, or maybe tomorrow. And I’ll make sure to talk to as many of the women as I can in the next day or so.’
‘But I never go to the bar—’ Donald began, and once again she cut him off.
‘There’s a first time for everything! You need to be seen about, and you need to hold your head up. Here’s Hector already at his gate.’ She raised her voice. ‘Good morning to you, Hector! It’s a fine day for gardening.’
Hector
nodded at them. ‘Bridie, Donald.’ He waited until they were almost past, and then said, as if to the wind, ‘I hear there’s been mischief afoot.’
Bridie turned to face him. ‘And what kind of mischief would that be, Hector? Has the fox been after your chickens again?’
The old man snorted. ‘You know right well what I mean, Bridie McFarlane. I’ve always thought there was something uncanny about yonder lassie, and from what I hear, I’m not far wrong. Can you look me in the eye and tell me it was natural, what she did?’ Bent as he was, he looked up at Bridie from under his shaggy eyebrows. His eyes glittered.
‘And what exactly do you imagine she did, Hector?’
‘I’ve heard the tale! The Bain boy almost drowned last night, on dry land with his brothers by him. And this morning he won’t leave his bed; they’ve had to go out without him, and folk are saying he’ll maybe never be fit to work the boats again.’ His eyes darted sideways at Donald. ‘You know what that means, when a man can’t pull his weight.’
Donald said nothing. He was used to this kind of talk. But Aly Bain had a wife and children; what would become of them? His mother was speaking again.
‘It won’t come to that; he’ll be right as rain in a day or two. He’s never had much of a head for drink, and from what I hear, he’s not much loss to the crew either. I wouldn’t like to say what he did to our Mairhi, but he went too far and frightened himself, is all that happened to him. Maybe he’ll stay away from the bar in future, and keep his hands to himself as well. Now, we must be on our way. Good day to you, Hector.’
She was off down the path before he could muster a reply, with Donald and Mairhi trailing behind her. Donald looked back as they turned the corner, to see the old man still standing at his gate, looking after them. He raised a hand, but Hector did not wave back.
‘Silly old fool!’ said Bridie as he caught her up, but she was wiping her eyes with the corner of her shawl. ‘Twenty years we’ve been neighbours, and he still thinks there’s some dark, foreign secret I’m hiding. But it’s not Hector we need to worry about; no-one pays him any mind. Aly Bain’s not well liked, but his family will feel bound to stand by him. Ah, now we’ll see.’