Gregory Norminton - The Devil’s Highway

‘She let you up her arse yet?’

‘Fuck off, Stu.’

‘Single woman, strapping young bloke under her roof. Sounds like something you’d watch on telly. Mind you, a lady vicar – she’s probably a lezzer.’

‘If all blokes were like you, who could blame her?’

Stu wets his lips, grins. ‘Good to see you, mate. Staying long?’

‘Just came to see Bekah.’

‘Yeah, well you seen her now, ain’t ya.’

His sister returns with Annie on her hip. ‘Dada,’ Annie cries and casts off from her mother into Stu’s arms. He makes a big show of kissing her cheeks and the tip of her nose.

‘I wasn’t expecting you back,’ Bekah tells Stu, and the lack of warmth in her voice cheers Aitch up.

‘You know me, efficient worker. I see we got the pleasure of a guest for lunch.’

‘Na,’ Aitch says, ‘it’s fine.’

‘You’re welcome, mate.’

‘I got things to do.’

Bekah protests, or feels the need to pretend to. Even so he can tell she wants him gone.

‘You give my best to Barry, yeah? See you, Annie. Stu. Bex …’

3

First come our boy Malk.

He hold the guidin stick, it bein his turn.

He hold Abans knife. The knife they take off Feo in the bad time.

Feo they slaver beat Malk so black Aban so blue one night they bled him like a porker.

Runnin ever since with the blade that done it.

Malk reckon a knife done red work cut a way for us. Stedders smell blood keep out its way an the way its people. Cant say for hoofers but they go sly an void the roads cos they gods say so.

Aban talk bout the roads. The Thirsty with its robbers. The Empty where stedders have they tolls. So many dangers on our way to West Cunny. West Cunny where the rains still fall. Where Malk Aban Efia Nathin Becca Rona Lan headin. The pastures there. Tight bellies plus an end to roamin.

Fastest ways the road, say Malk.

Walk on till wind spew up sand an grit. Becca Lan pull they hoods tight. Nathin spit. Efia look at the spit, how Momma swallow it like she swallow everythin.

On the road, say Aban, trollers see for miles.

Yeah an we see em too.

Trumpet finches bust up from the dunes. Aban put a hand on Malks arm, feel the muscles there. His bro, his mate from wayback.

Safer ways off road.

Aint nuthin but scrub an sand. What if we lose us?

Follow the sun. Least we stay hid.

I got the guidin stick.

Whats it tellin?

Malk look like he dont know.

Efia touch Malks neck. Trollers mean slavers, she say. You got pricey heads.

Malk feel Aban Efia Nathin Becca Rona Lan press eyes on him. He turn the guidin stick in his hand, feel the right grain of it, true grain that know the way an give rightness to its holder. Off roads slow, he say.

Nuthin slow like never arrivin.

The group all gree when Malk lift the guidin stick. Then Becca say she thirsty. Whole groups thirsty, say Rona, an suns gearin up for a hotten. One hour since dayup an the sands bakin, the airs meltin an carders workin up they skikishik . Lan give Becca the dregs from her jercan.

In a kayshas shade we share beetle grubs cook in last nights ashes. Nathin give up three strips of jerk he bin keepin in his belt. The stink of jerk bring flies. We sit flappin our swats. Long wait fall on us then. No thinks, just breathin. Rest our eyes on the plain, all swimmy like water tho there aint none. Watch birds hangin up high, specks turnin to wild dog, camel, blackbuck.

We cant stay here, say Malk. Grubs low an water too. How fars the nearest well?

The Winnel, say Nathin. Bout an hour. Half at night.

Stedder place, say Becca. Why risk it?

Cos we jercans empty, say Rona.

Winshams close, say Nathin. Shop there after.

Can do, say Aban. Need fresh legs if stedders catch us.

Well it is, say Malk liftin the guidin stick. Hole up an wet throats till nightfall. Then we shop at Winsham.

In parch time a waterin place show from its palms an willows. We creep in slow, lookin out for stedders. Fresh earth smells. Hoopoes in the branches. Soil between our toes cool an sucky after sand an dust. Only mud tho so long the dry an stream gone underground. In wintertime a waterin place flood again or should do. Old wintertimes leastways before the rains fail.

The Winnel have three wells. Two in use by stedders but one near us just gapin sayin, Coo-yoo, wet yer beaks here.

We run to the well our jercans ready. Nathin Aban bend they backs to lift the bucket. Soon as done the group fan out lookin for things to eat. Lan find a ditch of slime boilin with frogs. We catch the frogs, stuff em in our packs, skewer em on sharpsticks. Good eatin if we risk a fire. Not tonight tho. Best eat raw. Keep out of stedders sight. Fat up our nerves for shoppin.

Lan put a snail on her tongue an all the group laugh. Malk take out the knife an start to skin frogs. Efia watch the bodies fall at his feet like squirmy little blokes.

Our jercans full, we hole up the day in a cork grove. Far enuf from hearin but close enuf to watch. Sussin out the doins on the Winsham palisades.

When shadows spread, Aban crawl out thru scrub an grass to the gate of the sted. He look round, see women poundin grain, carryin water on they heads. Sentries dozin in a cedars shade. Others nabberin by the meetin tree. Creepin closer Aban find gaps in the fence, look at the market stalls. Suss out the grain store. Then snake an scrabble back to us.

Wassup, say Malk.

Hungers comin.

How so?

Winsham folk sellin goods an stocks. Fuelwood. Dung cakes. Nuthin blokes can sink they teef in.

Less blokes eat shit, say Lan.

What grains?

Sorghum. Maize. Meat too an cows blood.

Killin what they cant keep, say Rona.

The group turn quiet. Look into the trees so pictures in our heads stay hid. None of us as dont know the pain of hunger.

Abans first to bright up. Makes sense shop now then dunnit? Go in fast an quick.

Take what? You say theres nuthin sellin.

We aint buyin. Look they got grain stores on stilts. Keep rats an coons out give us nifty cover. Drill our way in.

Like in Whey Bitch, say Becca.

No, say Malk. This shop we get back. All on us.

What if some don’t, say Becca.

We go nifty. Not like last once.

Sez you, say Becca an Rona hug her for quiet. Malk take his eyes off Becca slow an warnin.

Boys go, say Nathin.

Balls, say Rona. You shop grain stores we scout the sted. See whats goin.

An the sentries?

Run if we can fight if we cant. Malk take up his sharpstick. On my signal, he say. Click an slick.

Slicks our movin. Clicks our speakin without words. All on us kneel in mud an black our faces.

When the sun cook like an egg on the ground, its time. Hoods down. Turbs in place. Pray patches on our clothin. Sit in our heads readyin for danger.

The sky hatch a fat moon. Nightspit on the grass an spidie threads like smoke on the ground. Cool breeze good as sleep after the blazin day.

Fires in the sted die out. Stedders go sleep in they huts. Only sentries pacin over the gate.

Now, say Malk an we move. Like Aban before we shift cross the plain to our bizness.

Malk bein strongest hoist us over. Lan Efia Rona Becca hide next a pigsty but Aban almost land on a billy, it run bleatin, bell janglin an Nathin go to split its throat but Malk stop him. Goats get spook for nuthin, he say, leave it be. Nathin nod tho his eyeballs dancin. Grains this way, say Aban an he click, Upyer.

Aban wriggle under the grain store. Down in the dark best not think on rats or spidies. Lan Efia Nathin follow with packs open an Aban use the drill. Happen the floors made of wood so he blow dust from his hands an spin till a breakthru. Nuthin here so start again. An again. Fourth time some grain come tricklin so he gouge hard with his sharpstick an out it come like steam. Aban shove fast now makin holes an everyones sweatin, the sand an sawdust in our eyes, our packs gapin yorr an gobbin up the spillin grain.