John Christopher - The Death of Grass

Deliberately, Pirrie released the safety catch on the rifle. John raised his shot-gun.

“No,” Pirrie said calmly. “Put that gun down. You are very well aware that I could shoot a good deal more quickly than you. Put it down. I should not care to be provoked into a rash act.”

John lowered the shot-gun. In any case it had been ridiculous, he thought, to envisage Pirrie as a figure out of an Elizabethan tragedy.

He said: “Things must be getting me down. It was a silly thought, wasn’t it? If you’d really wanted to dish Millicent, there was nothing to stop you leaving her in London.”

“A good point,” Pirrie said, “but invalid. You must remember that although I joined your party I did so with reservations as to the truth of the story Buckley asked me to believe. I was willing to engage with you in breaking out of the police cordon because I am extremely devoted to my liberty of action. That was all.”

Millicent said: You two can continue the chat I’m going back to bed.”

“No,” Pirrie said softly, “stay where you are. Stay exactly where you are.” He touched the barrel of his rifle, and she halted the movement she had just begun. “I may say that I gave serious, if brief, consideration to the idea of leaving Millicent behind in London. One reason for rejecting it was my assurance that, if nothing worse occurred than civil break-down, Millicent would manage very well by dint of offering her erotic services {121} 121 erotic services: sexual favours to the local gang-leader. I did not care for the idea of abandoning her to what might prove an extremely successful career.”

“Would it have mattered?” John asked.

“I am not,” said Pirrie, “a person on whom humiliation sits lightly. There is a strain in my make-up that some might describe as primitive. Tell me, Custance—we are agreed that the process of law no longer exists in this country?”

“If it does, we’ll all hang.”

“Exactly. Now, if State law fails, what remains?”

John said carefully: “The law of the group—for its own protection.”

“And of the family?”

“Within the group. The needs of the group come first.”

“And the head of the family?” Millicent began to laugh, a nervous almost hysterical laugh. “Amuse yourself, my dear,” Pirrie continued. “I like to see you happy. Well, Custance. The man is the proper head of his family group—are we still agreed?”

There was only one direction in which the insane relentless logic could be heading. John said:

“Yes. Within the group.” He hesitated. “I am in charge here. The final say is mine.”

He thought Pirrie smiled, but in the dim light it was difficult to be sure. Pirrie said:

“The final say is here.” He tapped the rifle. “I can, if I wish, destroy the group. I am a wronged husband, Custance—a jealous one, perhaps, or a proud one. I am determined to have my rights. I hope you will not gainsay {122} 122 gainsay: deny me, for I should not like to have to oppose you.”

“You know the way to Blind Gill now,” John said. “But you might have difficulty getting entry without me.”

“I have a good weapon, and I can use it. I believe I should find employment quite readily.”

There was a pause. In the silence there came a sudden bubbling lift of bird song; with a shock John recognized it as a nightingale.

“Well,” Pirrie said, “do you concede me my rights?”

Millicent cried: “No! John, stop him. He can’t behave like this—it isn’t human. Henry, I promise…”

“To cease upon the midnight,” Pirrie said, “with no pain. Even I can recognize the appositeness of verse occasionally. Custance! Do I have my rights?”

Moonlight silvered the barrel as it swung to cover John again. Suddenly he was afraid—not only for himself, but for Ann and the children also. There was no doubt about Pirrie’s implacability; the only doubt was as to where, with provocation, it might lead him.

Take your rights,” he said.

In a voice shocked and unfamiliar, Millicent said: “No! Not here…”

She ran towards Pirrie, stumbling awkwardly over the railway lines. He waited until she was almost on him before he fired. Her body spun backwards with the force of the bullet, and lay across one of the lines. From the hills, the echoes of the shot cracked back.

John walked across the lines, passing close by the body. Pirrie had put down his rifle. John stood beside him and looked down the embankment. They had all awakened with the sound of the shot.

He called down: “It’s all right Everybody go to sleep again. Nothing to worry about.”

Roger shouted up: “That wasn’t the shot-gun. Is Pirrie up there?”

“Yes,” John said. “You can turn in. Everything’s under control.”

Pirrie turned and looked at him. “I think I will turn in, too.”

John said sharply: “You can give me a hand with this first We can’t leave it here for the women to brood over while they’re on watch.”

Pirrie nodded. “The river?”

“Too shallow. It would probably stick. And I don’t think it’s a good idea to pollute water supplies anyway. Down the embankment, on the other side of the river. I should think that will do.”

They carried the body along the line to a point about two hundred yards west. It was light, but the going was difficult John was relieved when the time came to throw it down the embankment. There were bushes at the foot; it landed among them. It was possible to see Millicent’s white blouse but, in the moonlight, nothing more.

John and Pirrie walked back together in silence. When they reached the sentry point, John said:

“You can go down now. But I shall tell Olivia to wake you for what would have been your wife’s shift. No objections, I take it?”

Pirrie said mildly: “Of course. Whatever you say.” He tucked his rifle under his arm. “Good night, Custance.”

“Good night,” John said.

He watched Pirrie slithering his way down the slope towards the others. He could have been mistaken, of course. It might have been possible to save Millicent’s life.

He was surprised to find that the thought did not worry him.

In the morning, a subdued air was evident John had told them that Pirrie had shot Millicent, but had let the children think it was an accident He gave a full account to Roger, who shook his head.

“Cool, isn’t he? We certainly picked up something when we adopted him.”

“Yes,” John said, “we did.”

“Are you going to have trouble, do you think?”

“Not as long as I let him have his own way,” John said. “Fortunately, his needs seem fairly modest He felt he had a right to kill his own wife.”

Ann came down to him later, when he was washing in the river. She stood beside him, and looked at the tumbling waters. The sun was shining the length of the valley, but there were clouds directly above them, large and close-pressed.

“Where did you put the body?” she asked him. “Before I send the children down to wash.”

“Well away from here. You can send them down.”

She looked at him without expression. “You might as well tell me what happened. Pirrie isn’t the sort to have accidents with a rifle, or to kill without a reason.”

He told her, making no attempt to hide anything.

She said: “And if Pirrie had not appeared just at that moment?”

He shrugged. “I would have sent her back down, I think. What else can I say?”

“Nothing, I suppose. It doesn’t matter now.” She shot the question at him suddenly: “Why didn’t you save her?”

“I couldn’t. Pirrie had made up his mind. I would only have got myself shot as well.”