A Field Full of Folk

by Iain Crichton Smith

  What was she doing there at one in the morning?

  At that moment she felt the sickness rising in her and she bent over and the stuff poured out all over the pavement. She glanced at it dully. It was mixed with fragments of food. She took out a handkerchief and wiped her mouth. Then she stood up slowly, grasping the railings beside her. She staggered on. It seemed to her that the street was rising up against her, that she was sailing into a choppy sea. She thought again that she was going to die. If only there was a place where she could sit down. She walked on and came to a bench. She leaned her head against the cold wood which had drops of dew on it. She closed her eyes and felt she could go to sleep. But then with an effort she opened them and said to herself, No, I can’t do that. Where was Terry? He had stayed away from her all night and when she had protested he had said.

  “What the bloody hell is the point of going to a party unless you meet new people?”

  That bitter angry rage had suddenly filled him again and she had been frightened. How little she had really known him! The yellow lights troubled her: it was as if they belonged to an alien country which she hated.

  A black cat ran along silently in front of her. A sign of good luck, she thought. If only I could sleep. The black cat turned and she saw its green wedge-shaped eyes. On the other side of the street she saw a drunk staggering along, shouting and swearing to himself.

  “There’s nae team like the Glasgow Rangers,” he was shouting, “no, not one, no, not one.” His voice was off key and now and again he would turn and shake his fist at the whole yellow deserted city. His long scarf trailed to the ground.

  “No not one, no not one,” she heard, and then the words faded into the distance.

  There were trees on the other side of the road and a park beyond. She thought that perhaps she would go into the park and sleep but a voice warned her, “You’d better not. You never know who’s there.” She got up from the bench and came to a bus stop against which she leaned, and then was sick again. She squeezed sickness like toothpaste from the tube of her body. And then as if it were an act of God she saw a taxi approaching. Let its yellow light be on, she prayed, let it be on. Its yellow light was on and she waved it down. She opened the door and slumped into the back seat.

  “Bank Street,” she said. “Number 19.”

  Voices gibbered monotonously at the driver and she thought that they were talking to her. She rocked back and forward on the leather seat like a doll. She leaned back and closed her eyes. And all the time the driver stared ahead of him and didn’t speak. He didn’t even whistle or hum. And all the time the voices gibbered. Now and again amidst the incessant stream of words she would hear an address being given, and then she would slump into the back of the seat again.

  Finally the taxi drew to a stop and the taxi driver told her, “A pound and ten pence.” She fumbled in her handbag and found the money. He drew away from the kerb and she turned towards her flat. She entered the close and set her feet upward for the climb. Very slowly she made her way up the steps. When she reached the top she took the key out of her bag and fitted it shakily into the lock. Then she dashed into the room and lay spinning on the bed. It seemed to her that she did not recognise the room. She clung to the bed with outspread hands as if she were crucified.

  18

  “YOU SHOULDN’T WORRY about your son,” said Annie to Morag Bheag as the two of them stood together in the village shop. “You should turn your eyes to the East. I’ll have some yoghourt, please, Sandy.

  “You see,” she went on, “the Buddha sat under a tree and revelations came to him. We must be freed from desire for earthly goods, not like Sheena Macnab. I hear she’s just bought a new bedroom suite from Littlewoods.”

  “I don’t know,” said Morag Bheag from the point of whose nose a drop of water was hanging. “You do worry, whether you like it or not.”

  “That’s right,” said Sandy. “Anyone who has a son in Ireland is bound to worry.”

  He leaned over the counter, waiting for Annie’s next order. Of course she was an old woman but there was a streak of brilliance there.

  “I will tell you,” said Annie. “What you should strive for is the condition of Nirvana. That is, you dissolve into nothingness. You do not care any longer for possessions. Before that of course there are cycles of rebirth. I myself think that in a previous existence I was a professor in Egypt. If you study such subjects you will find that substances have been found that modern science cannot analyse. There were people here from another planet, here, years and years ago. And what about the Bermuda Triangle? All these pilots disappearing. I’ll have a plain loaf, I think, Sandy. So my advice to you is not to worry but to try to attain the condition of Nirvana.”

  Morag Bheag thought miserably, “That’s all right for you. You don’t have any children.”

  Sandy brought the loaf over and laid it in front of Annie on the counter. He hoped that the supermarket wouldn’t come in the near future, not till he had retired from the business which his father had left him. He could quite see why Morag Bheag should be worried, any sane person would be.

  “How long is he going to be in Ireland for?” he asked.

  “I think it is six months,” said Morag. “I think that is what they do.”

  “Protestants and Catholics,” said Annie with determination. “That is what you get if you believe in Christianity. There is nothing but guns and fighting. It happened before in the Thirty Years’ War and there was Joan of Arc whom they burned to death. Confucius wanted everyone to be a gentleman but I don’t think that is enough. Was Hitler a gentleman? What you want to be is indifferent to the concerns of life. That is what the Buddha teaches. Of course there are people who said that you should go about naked and eat little food but I don’t think that was right. If you study the Pyramids you will find that the king’s servants were killed as well as the king: that was to help him in a future life. But in my opinion that was going too far. Royalty was only interested in possessions. Of course they had chariots and they believed in cats. By the way I hear that David Collins’ cat was run over yesterday and the driver didn’t stop. They shouldn’t keep cats here. There is far too much traffic.”

  “That’s right,” said Sandy. “Still, I would have thought that it would have known the rules of the road by now. That cat was fourteen years old.”

  “You do not know the day or the hour,” said Annie pointing to the cartons of cottage cream. “I’ll have one of those. If we knew the day and the hour and what was going to happen that would be predestination and that wouldn’t be good. If you study the great religions you will find that people sat under a tree and thought, and forgot about themselves. That is what we should all do. If a man is sitting under a tree thinking he is not harming his neighbour. I don’t think anything will happen to your son, Morag. He is a soldier in this life but perhaps in another life he will be a peacemaker.”

  “They say they have found metals in Egypt that the scientists don’t know anything about,” said Sandy.

  “Most people here read only the Reader’s Digest,” said Annie dismissively. “They do not make enough use of the library in the town. There are more things in heaven and earth than we know about. Sandy, your potatoes were poor, the last lot I got. They were very wet and some of them were green. Where did you get them from?”

  “The usual. I don’t understand why they should be like that.”

  “I am okay,” said Morag remembering the last letter she got: “It’s not as bad as people say. I’ll be getting some leave at Christmas.” How could Annie know anything about children since she hadn’t had any children of her own? She was too selfish for that. And how could Sandy know either? You had to be a mother to feel the things that she felt, to remember the things that she remembered. Of course they disobeyed you and you had quarrels but they were still your own flesh and blood.

  “Is he sending you money?” said Annie. “You make sure that he sends you money. The officers can deal with that. Otherwise he�
�ll spend all his money on cigarettes and drink. The young people of today don’t care about anyone but themselves. Why are we getting so many strikes if that isn’t right? We’re heading for the Apocalypse. Look at the rate of inflation we’re having, and the wars all over the globe. I think that’s all, Sandy. And make sure that you add it up right.”

  Certainly, thought Morag, when George had that job in the garage he wouldn’t give her any money and they had a lot of arguments about it. When I was your age, she had said, I gave all my money to my parents. Who do you think is paying for your food, and if you were in lodgings you wouldn’t leave your room in that condition.

  “I’ll tidy my room when I go to the army,” he had told her, so impudent and quick.

  “You wait,” she had told him, “you wait till you are in the army. You’ll find it’s not all that you think it is. And another thing, you should get as many certificates as you can from the school. You never know when they’ll come in handy. You should be studying.”

  “I don’t like school,” he had said and turned on the television again. She was tired of that television though they could only afford a black and white.

  “That will be one pound eighty-five,” said Sandy to her. She took out her purse and counted the money into him hand. What was he doing in Ireland anyway? She had warned him about it. But he would come in and say; “There’s a programme about the Army tonight, mum.” And then at Christmas he had come in drunk. Of course it wasn’t serious but you had to watch them all the time.

  She handed over two pounds and waited till she got her change.

  “You tell him I was asking for him,” said Annie magisterially. “Tell him to turn away from Christianity and look towards the East. Look what they did to Christ, they crucified him. But they didn’t crucify the Buddha and even if they had he would have gone into a state of Nirvana and he wouldn’t have felt anything. That’s the great advantage of Nirvana. Look at what they’re saying about the silicon chip. They think they know everything. But what is the silicon chip? Nothing. There are millions of unemployed people in India and they worship the cow. But they have their own reasons for that. Which reminds me, Mrs Berry hasn’t sold her calf yet. I was telling her that she should. They’re not worth what you pay for them in feeding stuff.”

  “You’re right enough,” said Sandy. “Feeding stuff is very expensive these days.”

  Morag Bheag prepared to leave. Nothing that Annie had said had made her worry less about George. Every morning at seven o’clock she put on the news to hear what was happening in Ireland.

  “Now,” said Annie, “I will tell you about David Collins’ cat. Three things will happen. These things always come in threes. You mark my words. The same thing happened when I lost the sheep. Angus Berry was the next to go and after that it was Elizabeth’s mother. If you study the Eastern religions you don’t think about things like that. You’re indifferent to these things.”

  “We should all sit under trees,” Morag Bheag thought laughingly to herself. “Just like dogs.” There were plenty of trees around the village. Maybe Annie should sit under one eating yoghourt.

  She said cheerio and left the shop looking small and dispirited.

  “That woman,” said Annie, “worries too much. There is no use in that. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. I hear the minister’s wife’s planning an open air party, the day of the Sunday School picnic. I shall certainly be there.”

  “I’m afraid,” said Sandy diplomatically, “that I don’t know anything about that. Anyway I can’t leave the shop.”

  “Huh,” said Annie. “Remember this, Sandy, you can’t take it with you. There are no pockets in a shroud, as the saying goes.”

  And she left the shop walking with her usual slanted urgent gait as if she were heading into a high wind. Sandy looked after her affectionately. One thing you could say for her, she was a good crack.

  19

  KENNY FOOLISH SAT in front of the house, his head bent over a piece of wood which he was carving into the semblance of a duck, just like the one Mrs Berry had. Alisdair and Hugh approached him coming from opposite directions. He smiled at them radiantly but didn’t speak.

  “Did you see the Jap?” said Hugh. “There’s a Jap in our house.” And he pressed an imaginary trigger making the sound of a machine-gun. There was a programme on TV about them. They had attacked Pearl Harbor.

  “The ’planes were lying on the ground,” said Alisdair. “They were cheats.” Kenny Foolish didn’t say anything. The duck grew more clearly under his hand. He was chewing a piece of grass which hung from the side of his mouth. The sun was warm on his hands and on his face. He was happy. He saw the brown train chugging gently along the track.

  The two boys gazed tenderly at the duck. Everyone knew that Kenny wasn’t all there of course. They should keep away from him, their parents had said. Kenny Foolish raised his head from the duck and smiled. He smelt the roses and the rank grass and he felt the knife in his hand. There was a contented hum around him.

  “They starved the prisoners of war,” said Alisdair. “The little girl eats chocolates. She’s very small.”

  Kenny Foolish looked ahead of him and saw the water sparkling in the sun. The duck’s head took shape. He liked the warmth and the humming. He liked the flowers some of which were like small yellow suns.

  “My mum said David Collins’ cat went to heaven,” said Hugh.

  “That’s right,” said Alisdair. “He’s with God in heaven.”

  “Why do you think he’s in heaven, Kenny?” said Hugh. “Do you think God has mice?”

  Kenny smiled his radiant smile. The head wasn’t right. It was too … he couldn’t think what it was too.

  “I think,” said Alisdair, “that God wanted the cat for himself. Maybe Mr Collins should get a dog now.”

  The completed duck lay in Kenny’s hand. It was wooden and perfectly shaped. The two boys looked at it and in turn touched it. It seemed as if it was ready to fly. Kenny watched them and the duck and he was happy. The knife in his hand glittered like a fish from the river.

  The heat of the sun was on the back of his hand.

  20

  THE REVEREND PETER MURCHISON and Mr Scott sat in the latter’s living-room while the two ladies were in the kitchen.

  “Would you care for a sherry?” said Mr Scott, opening a cupboard above which there was a painting of what appeared to be a green fawn in a wood.

  “I wouldn’t say no,” said the minister.

  After the meal he felt full and almost in a mood for confession.

  “What would you say,” he said, “about a person, a Christian, who had lost his or her faith?”

  “Are you talking about Annie?” said Mr Scott, smiling. “I hear she’s gone all Eastern.”

  “No, I wasn’t thinking of her,” said the minister slowly, glancing at the obligatory television set, the long red curtains, the bookcase.

  “Is there someone else then?” said Scott, placing a glass of sherry on a small table in front of the minister.

  “There is,” said the minister decisively. Scott looked at him keenly, then turned away and sat on the sofa.

  “I don’t know what to do,” said the minister. “This man used to believe implicitly in God. His whole life radiated from that belief, and now he no longer has any.”

  “And why did he lose his belief,” said Mr Scott, gazing at him with sharp shrewd eyes.

  “He doesn’t know, that’s the whole point of the story,” said the minister slowly. He doesn’t know. Do you think faith can come and go?”

  “It’s not for me to say,” said Scott. “I can’t say that I’ve ever had that sort of belief. My whole life hasn’t been run on belief. Of course I believe but I have never examined my belief. Belief for me fits the facts.”

  “Yes, this man thought that too,” said the minister reflectively. “But now he doesn’t believe that that is the case. He says that his life is like a continual tiredness. In the beginning he would se
t out in the morning as if he were a missionary. Now everything feels heavy and old. What do you think of that?”

  “Well,” said Scott, “when I came to this village at first I felt the same. I was sure I had made a mistake. There were so many people that I didn’t know, and at first they wouldn’t have anything to do with us. I felt they resented us.”

  “But you don’t feel like that now,” said the minister, leaning forward eagerly. “I mean you have done a lot of good work here. You and your wife are on so many committees. Surely you don’t feel like that now.”

  Scott put his glass down slowly on the table and said, “It’s difficult to tell. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I feel as if I’m in the wrong place. I don’t seem to fit, to mesh with my surroundings. It’s very difficult to explain. Then the day passes and I’m all right again. There is something missing that I regret. Can you understand that? It’s as if I’d left a part of myself behind. The only reason that we came here to live permanently was because we used to come on holiday here and we liked the place. But being on holiday in a place and living in it are two different things.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” said the minister with the same eagerness. “It’s as if the repetitiveness of the world gets us down. I wonder sometimes whether too much examination of the world is good for one.” He sipped his sherry. “It’s as if we …” He stopped and continued again. “Some people accept the work of the seasons and the day and do not wish to see beyond that.” His voiced trailed off.