John Halkin - Squelch

‘Must’ve been an adder then. Who ever heard of a caterpillar biting anybody? Come on, Charlie — have you?’

‘They’ve ruined my lettuce this year. Made a right mess o’ the whole bloody garden.’

‘Ay, but that’s not the same as biting people. What d’you say, Liz? You’ve had plenty o’ little nibbles in your day. Ever had it with a caterpillar?’

‘You watch your mouth,’ she told him. ‘You always did shoot off your mouth, didn’t you, Harry Smith? Always the big mouth.’

Another laugh exploded out of him, loud enough to rattle the glasses on the shelves.

‘Ah, no offence, Liz! Come on. Come up to the bar an’ I’ll buy you another Guinness. I’ve only got a minute. Meeting someone.’

‘I’ll have it here,’ she said, not budging.

‘It’s her leg,’ Charlie explained, reaching to the shelf behind him for a bottle of Guinness. ‘Months now since she came out of hospital, but it’s still not right.’

‘Knocked off me bike by a bloody moth, you wouldn’t credit it. Now here I am on sticks for the rest o’ me bloody life. And I wasn’t even drunk.’

‘You’d had a few.’ Charlie brought her the bottle, taking the empty back to the bar with him. ‘You’ve had more’n you should today as well. That’s your last one, Liz.’

‘Fuck off!’ She concentrated on the Guinness, pouring it in against the side of the glass with a skill born of long practice, her hand as steady as a rock despite everything. That was more than she could say of some. Raising the glass to her lips, she said: ‘Here’s to you, Harry! Always had a soft spot for your Liz, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right! We had many a good grope, eh Liz?’

‘Dirty bugger!’ she spat at him.

He sipped his large whisky. ‘Ay, but we’re no longer as young as we were then, more’s the pity. That’s life.’

‘Young girl came in to see me in hospital,’ she told them, remembering. Thinking it over. ‘Some relation o’ Dr Rendell’s, she said. Kept going on about them moths, saying as how they didn’t attack me at all, and how nice they were and all that Sunday School stuff. Daft kid.’

They weren’t listening. The man Harry Smith was expecting had arrived and they went off into a corner to talk privately. He was a younger man than Harry, in cavalry twill and a flat cap, the kind who’d talk a farmer into mortgaging his last field to pay for a new tractor he didn’t need. Ay, she’d seen them all, she had. Slipped upstairs with a few back in her barmaid days. Saved quite a little nest egg. Men? If they want it they’ll pay for it, so why give it to ’em free?

‘Charlie!’ Jesus, those bloody doctors should’ve patched her up better than this. Getting up was murder, even with her two sticks. That gelding was to blame; she’d told him so, too. ‘Charlie, take me drink into the garden, would you, love? It’s too stuffy in here. I’ve got me hot flushes coming on.’

The seats out in the pub garden at the back were a bit on the rough side, not as comfortable as in the bar, but she found one in the long shadow cast by a couple of apple trees and sank gratefully on to it. Charlie put her glass down on the shaky table beside her, and didn’t forget the bottle either. Through the open window came Harry’s loud voice arguing about delivery dates. She still couldn’t fathom why he’d chosen to come in here rather than the Red Lion.

She leaned back on the rough wooden seat humming some tune or other, she couldn’t put a name to it. Ten years old she must have been, she and Harry both. Back row of the class, sharing one of those double desks. She’d never forget that look of concentration on his face as he pretended to be interested in the blackboard while all the time his left hand was exploring her leg under that short frock she always wore. Pushed him away that morning, she had — she could no longer remember why — so he’d fumbled with his fly buttons till suddenly he had his thing out. She’d giggled. That was a hot day too, now she thought of it. ‘He’s come up for air,’ he’d whispered so loud, the whole class had heard him. ‘Can’t breathe in there.’ God yes, and she could remember Teacher’s words now, clear as yesterday. ‘Harry Smith — is that you talking again? Stand up, boy! Stand up !’ And Harry stood up, stung into quick obedience by her tone of command, not thinking. They all saw him, turning around to stare at his bit o’ white meat. Of course they laughed, all but Teacher. ‘Kindly adjust your clothing and stand outside the door till I call you.’ Her very words.

It had brought everything back, seeing Harry again. After all, what was the harm? It was only a little boy’s prick he’d had then, nothing for the lady teacher to get excited about. A giggle, that’s all — and here she was, supping her Guinness, still remembering it.

Oh hell, that bloody leg was bothering her again. If it wasn’t aching, it was pins-and-needles, this time on the soft flesh above her stocking-top. She tried to scratch it through her skirt, but that only made it worse. A quick, sharp pain cut into her, causing her to swear. Involuntarily her foot jerked forward, kicking the table. Her glass fell, spilling the Guinness over her.

Another sharp bite, and this time she screamed in agony. It just went on and never seemed to end, chewing into her leg like a slow-turning drill. Then a second drill started up — on her left leg now not far from her crotch — and she realised dimly through that excruciating pain that it was not her usual trouble, not this time, but something quite different, as if sharp-toothed ferrets had got under her skirt. Twisting with pain, she fell off the bench, yelling and cursing with all her might as she thrashed about on the grass and tried desperately to end the torment.

It did ease momentarily, long enough for her to get a grip on herself. She pulled up her skirt, now bloodstained, and let out a shriek of terror. Two long, hairy green caterpillars were on her legs: one busily burrowing into her inner thigh which was now almost numb, its tail end shifting backwards and forwards as it fed; the other gradually rippling upwards towards her groin, leaving a wet smear of blood behind it.

Her blood.

But she saw everything in a paralysing slow motion. Get rid of them, her mind insisted urgently; you’ve only to reach out, take hold of them, fling them away: but she couldn’t. Her own dark blood was trickling over her skin, but she could do nothing. She stared as though hypnotised at that second caterpillar which had now almost reached its destination.

‘Help me!’ Her voice quavered weakly. ‘Help!’

The men were running towards her, she could hear them. They had been mentioning caterpillars earlier. Killed a boy, wasn’t that it? Killed someone? But they were too late. All too late. She almost welcomed that stab of pain in her groin when it came, knowing the sooner these green caterpillars had their way, the sooner it would all be over. On that tree above her, on those fresh young leaves, that’s where they were. She was screaming uncontrollably, she could hear herself, when one dropped down on her face, inserting itself into her wide open mouth.

‘Bloody hell!

Men bending over her: that had been so much part of her life, feeding the insatiable hunger between her legs. Her own private curse, even now when men no longer wanted her. Oh God she couldn’t breathe. She was choking. Dying. Was this it? Was this how it happened?

Let me breathe… please… oh let up for a moment, love, just so as I can breathe…

A hot knife burned in her throat, the most savage pain she’d known yet. No screams now though, however much she wanted to. Just that red-hot, jagged knife, and the drumming in her ears ever louder.