by Euan McAllen
When it was over, he looked down to climb down, only to see two ugly, ignorant lads, lacking hair, staring up at him, grinning with menaces. He knew their faces. They knew him very well. He was their free entertainment. They began baiting him. They had him cornered. He refused to come down, so they began to kick the tree trunk as if hoping to fell it.
‘Simple Simon says, come down!’ shouted one.
‘I’m not coming down,’ he replied. His name was, in fact, Simon.
The other threw a large stone at him. It hit him hard and it hurt.
‘Ouch! That hurt!’
‘That’s the idea, stupid.’
Suddenly, sneaking up on them from out of nowhere (as she usually did), the old woman known as The Village Witch was upon them, right behind them. With one hand on each shoulder, she sent a shiver down their spines. She gave no quarter with the force of her dark, devilish personality and her cold, intruding stare. She had years of experience with which to intimidate them and scattered them with a threat of a curse. As they ran off, she laughed at how easy it was to scramble young minds.
She looked up Simon and ordered him down to the ground where she admonished him for attending such a nasty, cruel sport.
‘But I didn’t go!’ he complained. ‘I was in the next field.’
‘Don’t give me that. I’m not stupid. You saw it all up there. Treat all animals, all nature, with respect. Else nature will turn against you.’
‘I just wanted to see the people, acting differently. I didn’t want to see the bear.’
‘That’s good then.’
And with that, she took him by the ear and led him off home.
Back from bear-baiting, and relaxed by a large quantity of beer served up alongside a plate of food in the tavern, Mozak finally came clean and told his mistress that she was to stay put. Furious, she slammed down her mug.
‘So it’s just the men, off to see the great Outside! You promised me!’
‘No, just me going. I’ve instructed Mutz to guard you with his life.’
And I’m supposed to be grateful, she thought.
‘And my doctor will keep you company.’
Marvellous, she thought. He’s a laugh a minute. ‘When did you tell them?’
In under one minute, Mozak came clean a second time. ‘This morning, before breakfast.’
‘And you’re only telling me now?’
Mozak didn’t answer that one but turned away. She was starting to get too big for her boots. A rest from her would be good for his health. That night she would not give him a good send-off. (She would elbow his advances away, pretending to still be in a sulk, when in fact she was petrified he might discover her rash, and accuse her of having the plague – and giving it to him. She would fantasize him putting a rope around her neck.) She did the same, and a stony silence descended, which prompted Mutz to take his leave. He did not like to be around when they were both like this. Outside, he dithered between a night at Madam Overy’s, or another night at the brothel. The brothel – and the same girl – won his heart.
Lady Agnes became miserable, preoccupied as she was with the pounding, unavoidable thought of being abandoned here, in this dead beat, rundown hole, with no one to keep please her, entertain her; and with the great Captain Mutz watching her all the time, like a child needing protection.
Timothy was also having a miserable time: his application for his new church had been turned down – no explanation, nothing. Esmeralda did not get the chance to console him for, angry, he stormed off in the dead of night to go confront the Senior Elder. The man lived in a gated community, as did all the Elders. It’s one of the perks of the position: free, secure housing.
Timothy never got past the man on guard at the gate. The Senior Elder would not see him, not at this time of night. Timothy was told to make an appointment at The Village Hall with the Board of Elders. Frustrated, he stormed off. That battle would have to wait until his return.
That night Esmeralda kept Timothy awake in bed as she went over everything he had taught her; to be sure she understood it. That night, Lady Agnes sat up, arms folded, occasionally staring down at her prince with an icy stare, annoyed that he had fallen asleep with consummate ease. In the next room, Doc slept soundly: his body on the way to full recovery; his cough abating. Across the road, Mutz slept exhausted, as did the girl curled up in his arms. As a child, she had always dreamed some big, fit, handsome young man would sweep her up off her feet. This was the second best.
That night Tassilo and Ricardo sat up in bed. The vicar had won, and his lover had to know all about it-no second church. No Outsider stealing his thunder or his congregation! Ricardo tried to knit his way out of the conversation, which consisted entirely of rubbishing the nice Timothy and his crazy idea for a second church.
‘Are you listening?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, are you happy for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t sound like it.’
Ricardo lowered his knitting needles and looked up at the blank wall ahead of him.
‘You’ve been going on about this for so long it’s simply boring now. Why can’t you give it a rest?’ He turned and looked his vicar in the eye. ‘Why are you so afraid of him? Can’t you take a little competition? It will be good for you, raise your game.’
Tassilo didn’t like where this conversation was going and refused to join in. He rolled over to bury himself in his half of the bed.
‘You blow the candles out.’
‘Gladly. When I’ve finished my knitting for the night.’
The needles resumed their clickety-click.
***
The next morning, early, the twins stood ready for inspection by their women, both wishing to set off without fuss and commotion. Mozak got what he wanted. Timothy did not. Esmeralda hugged him and kissed him, and again; in between checking that his clothes were the right stuff for another adventure. Mozak got no kisses from his Lady Agnes, only a deafening look of silent judgement. She managed to make herself wish him luck, but that was as far as it went. He got a better send-off from his captain, despite the man’s disappointment in being left behind.
When the pair finally took their leave and set off, Stevie smelt a rat and tried to follow, but Timothy sent him packing back into the arms of Esmeralda. She held him tight, like her baby, as she watched them go, as if off to war. She shouted his name one more time and continued to wave. Timothy waved back one last time. When he disappeared out of sight, a hole opened up inside her. All she could do to hang on was kiss Stevie instead. He was a poor substitute.
Lady Agnes did not wave once, instead, she looked around as if to ask ‘now what?’ She looked at Stevie and was envious for she had good memories of him. Perhaps if she asked nicely – very nicely, to the point of grovelling – Esmeralda would let her take him for walks? But that would mean having to talk to her. She was not ready for that yet.
With the twins gone, the two women turned to go, each wishing to say something to the other, but unable to. This moment could not be shared. Recent history was still too raw. Esmeralda returned to her routines and duties, while Lady Agnes wondered how to fill her time. She had lots of it now. (But at the Castle she had also had lots but filling it there had never been a problem.) Sitting all day in her room was not an option. Sitting all day in the local tavern – and drinking – was also not an option, because it did not open until early evening. She would go for a long walk, she decided, and explore. Then have a bath afterward – more to ease her rash than to keep clean. Then go and get drunk to finish off the evening. Then, somehow, try to get through the night alone in her bed.
Esmeralda did not take the class that day. She cancelled it, sending the kids home bemused again – some to parents who did not appreciate the sudden, unexpected loss of valuable ‘kid-free’ time.
She was too afraid she would do or say the wrong thing. She did not want to be a teacher. She wanted to be taught.
Doc, his help now not needed at the brothel, also went exploring. He was drawn to searching out the old woman; hoping to swap stories, advice, knowledge. But when he did find her, she sent him on his way, suspicious.
Mutz, with single-minded ambition, attached himself to his new girl, buying her time as and when required to keep the brothel keeper off his back.
Without telling Mutz, Lady Agnes headed off to explore, to see how the other half lived, to try to make sense of this community which had sprung up as if by magic deep within the Maze – or perhaps caught, caught like flies in its web. With a large reservoir of pent-up energy, she just kept walking and walking until she left The Village proper behind and was back amongst the fields and walls. Like a cannonball, she needed to be fired from a cannon.
She stopped at a break in a wall, and scratched herself into submission, refusing to let her rash win. A hole had been made in it decades earlier to allow passage. Those bricks which had not been removed for building purposes were piled up against the side of the wall, and heavily seasoned with dirt and ancient moss. They invited her to climb up, to try to reach the top, to take in the view, to look for a way out. She took up the challenge, determined to see beyond the island on which she had been stranded. She never made it to the top: halfway up, she slipped on the unstable bricks, fell and grazed a shin and knee. She cursed loudly, but she did not cry out. After a year or more spent suffering Mozak, she had got used to receiving sudden shocks of pain. She tried to hobble back down but soon gave up and sat, despondent, wishing not to provoke her rash, but wishing to scratch; as if hoping for some shining knight to appear. And he did, in the form of Farmer Giles.
He offered to help her hobble back to his farmhouse, where he could attend to her leg. She accepted the offer and leant on his arm all the way, conscious that this fat, well-fed man had the eye for her, and not caring. She asked him if his wife would mind and was not surprised when he said there was no wife. Back home – a big house, she was impressed – Farmer Giles was as good as his word and tended to her wound. He went further and put her on his horse to take her back to The Village. Despite her insistence that she could walk, he refused to have it any other way. Very well, she decided. I won’t fight this. An admirer in this place would be no bad thing. And to be fair to him, though overweight, he did advertise strength and determination. No bad thing in a man. Perhaps she could make the high and mighty Captain Mutz jealous?
Upon reaching Madam Overy’s and helping the lady down – for a lady this woman definitely was – Farmer Giles made his sales pitch: he invited her to join him for a picnic the next day. Good wine and food, he promised her, and a good view. Lady Agnes accepted his invitation without a second thought – anything to be entertained – anything to fill the time – anything to feel appreciated – and made a point of not telling the others, preferring to have her secrets.
***
Three days after being invaded by Castle folk, The Village suffered a second invasion: this time half the number but ten times the passion; a thousand times the potential damage.
While Lady Agnes sat in isolation and sank her first pork pie, pretending to be engaged, and trying to ignore her rash – which had taken exception to the thick blanket on which she had collapsed – Ricardo was interrupted by a knock at the door. He had been rinsing out shirts: a weekly task. He opened it to be confronted by the stern face of a teenage girl. It was a face he half-recognised. Family? Family! It was his small sister – not so small now. Out of the blue, his uncomfortable past had suddenly invaded his present. He had been trounced.
‘Ricardo.’
Her voice had changed, he noticed – but then, of course, it would.
‘Ricardo, it’s me. Sinead.’
‘Sinead, yes I know. You’ve grown. Grown a lot.’
‘You haven’t as far as I can see.’
You don’t look very far then, he thought. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Can I come in?’
His sister spoke with the measured determination of their father. How could he say no? She was family. He had to let her into his home – his precious, clean, tidy home. He waved her past and watched her every movement. She looked around with heightened interest before sitting down in the nearest chair. She sat, tidy; her hands folded together and resting on her knees. She sat as if in submission, waiting for her older brother to speak, even though he had nothing to say. She had invaded his world, not the other way round. He deserved an explanation.
He last remembered her crawling all over him, giggling. He had been her escape, from what she did not know at the time. His sister was carrying a bucket load of nervous energy which was caused by him, and which she directed back at him. Her big brother was her great big ‘coming of age’ birthday present, and she wanted to open him up, peer inside, and perhaps try him on.
He found out she had left home, on her sixteenth birthday. ‘For good?’ he asked. ‘For good.’ ‘Had she fallen out with her father?’ Sinead avoided a direct yes or no answer. ‘Not exactly, but she had been forced to choose: between the family and the man she loved; between fulfilling her mission and staying locked up at home doing the dishes.’ Was she in love? So young, just sixteen! Mission? She had a mission? Why the surprise? he asked himself. She was strong stuff, just like Father. Father had filled her head with madness – as he had filled all their heads.
‘What is your mission?’ he asked.
‘To take God to the people, to raise their spirits, to send their souls to Heaven. The Village is a dark place. It needs light. I am just one candle, but I hope to make a difference.’
A candle, he thought. God help me, he thought. Now I’m surrounded.
‘Who was this man who had won her heart,’ he asked. A man of God, she told him proudly. A man of learning and sophisticated, from the Outside.
What was his name?
Fargo.
‘Will I get to meet him sometime?’
‘Of course!’
And with that, his sister jumped up and shouted out his name, leaving Ricardo slightly shaken when the response was a loud bang on his door. Too much was happening in so short a time, and he didn’t like it. He liked to move calmly and gradually through time, and deal with everything life threw at him in at a leisurely pace.
When he opened it again, he was confronted by an older man – a man who looked like he had fought many wars. His little sister had fallen for this man?
The man smiled. He looked very pleased with himself.
‘Hello, I’m Fargo. Been looking forward to meeting you.’
Ricardo had no choice but to invite him in, whereupon Sinead grabbed his hand and directed him to sit down beside her. She told her brother that they were staying in The Village. ‘For good?’ ‘For as long as it took, they replied in unison.’
She hoped they could be family again – just the two of them if need be. Ricardo said he hoped so too but had yet to believe his own words. Being cut off from his family – kicked out in shame – had produced a burden of pain he had carried ever since: but it had also been a blessing to escape the suffocation of his father’s strong beliefs and simplistic, inflexible outlook on life. Tassilo had helped ease the pain but not removed it. Perhaps a reunion with his sister would- high hopes.
With nothing more to be said, for now, Sinead gave her brother the name of her lodgings and left him to it – it being a forlorn introspection on where he was and what he was, and why. She hoped to see him again. ‘Tomorrow?’ ‘Yes, tomorrow would be good,’ he said. He did want to see her again, but alone, without this strange, slightly scary man present – a man who reminded him of their father, but with his hair let down. They had much to talk about, but it was family talk, the intimate, private kind, not for sharing.
&nbs
p; He suddenly had one burning question as he was about to close the door on them.
‘How did you find me?’
‘I asked the man in the church, the vicar. Those people know everyone.’
Ricardo gave Fargo a long, hard look as he walked away – or rather was led away, for Sinead had gripped him by the hand, and was pulling him along like he was a pet dog. Was this man really in love with his sister? Or was he using her? Or was she using him? As her big brother, should he try and intervene? Should he try and talk her out of it, make her see sense? Whose sense was she expected to see – hers or his? Now he had a headache. He had to lie down. The shirts could soak. Perhaps some knitting would help regain his focus. He had just reached the point where his life was neatly wrapped up. Now it felt like it was about to unravel again. And all because of family.
Back in the garden of Farmer Giles, Lady Agnes sank her second pork and tried to look interested as Giles droned on about the problems of farm management and seasonal labour. Let him wine and dine her. Let him tease her. Let him make Mutz jealous. She would be gone in a month.
That night, Sinead spent her first night in the same room, in the same bed with her man Fargo. She kept him at bay with what would become her mantra: ‘no sex until we are married’. She allowed him to hold her, but no more. She allowed him to hug her but did not reciprocate. He wanted attention, like a lost puppy. She wanted a well-trained dog to do her bidding. He wanted his youth back. She wanted to be rid of it. Fargo was under the illusion that he had been handed a second chance at life.