Aminatta Forna - The Hired Man

Saturday morning after my exercises I walked directly to the blue house. There were the family, sitting at the table at the front of the house over a late breakfast. Grace saw me first. ‘Hi, Duro.’

Laura, who had her back turned to me, looked round, cleared a frown from her face with a smile. ‘Duro. I wasn’t expecting you today. I thought we’d see you on Monday.’

‘There’s a lot to do,’ I said. ‘You left your shawl.’ I handed it to her.

‘Duro, this is Conor, my husband. Conor — Duro. Duro’s the one I’ve been telling you about. He’s come to our rescue. Haven’t you, Duro?’

Laura’s husband extended his hand and we shook. He was taller than me, which isn’t hard, still he wasn’t exactly tall. He was dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. He looked odd with his white legs. He wore his grey hair short. Pale blue eyes. Ten or more years older than Laura. A heavy-set man, the handshake he gave me was strong. Perhaps it was his natural grip, all the same I tightened my own in response, so that for a few seconds we stood locked together. Conor released his fingers first and let his hand fall to his side. ‘Good to meet you, Truro.’

‘Duro.’

‘Du-ro,’ he repeated. He sat down.

‘Coffee?’ asked Laura.

‘Thank you.’

‘Sit here. I’m finished anyway.’ Grace cleared some plates and went into the house.

Conor said, ‘Thanks for all your work.’

I nodded. Laura poured a coffee for me. We drank in silence, broken by Conor. ‘So, Duro, how much more work is there to be done, d’you reckon?’

‘Still more,’ I replied. ‘The roof is done, the paintwork and outside walls I’m doing now. This dead tree here must come down, before it causes damage. Also depends on what you want inside. One thing, the wall needs repairing. I have fixed the leak in the roof which caused the damage.’

‘But the structure is pretty sound, is it?’

‘The house is good. Built the old way. Will be here one hundred years from today.’

‘Fabulous. Told you, Laura, didn’t I?’ Conor smacked his lips, leaned back and crossed his arms as though he had built the house with his own two hands and just eaten a piece of it.

Laura smiled and laid her hand on his knee. She turned to me. ‘Take today off, Duro. Come on Monday. You’ve worked so hard and we’ll probably stay at home today, so Conor can get a feel of the place.’

‘No problem.’ I finished my coffee, said my thanks and pushed my chair in. As I walked away I heard Matthew’s voice. ‘Hey, Duro, if you’re not too busy today, do you think maybe we could go shooting?’

I thought for a moment. I had plenty I could be doing, nothing urgent. ‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Brilliant!’

‘What do you mean shooting? Shooting what?’ That was Conor.

‘Guns. What do you think?’ replied Matthew.

‘Are you really all right with this, Laura?’

‘Mattie says he wants to.’

‘OK, well, if Matt wants to then it’s certainly none of my business.’ Conor shrugged.

‘It will be perfectly safe,’ I said.

‘I’m sure. Used to shoot myself, actually. Just didn’t think it was your kind of thing, Laura. Or yours, Matt.’

‘How do you know what my kind of thing is?’ Matt looked dangerously at his stepfather who raised his hands in mock surrender.

‘Hey, go ahead. Enjoy. I’ve no doubt you will.’

I needed some time to prepare the guns. Less than an hour later I returned carrying two rifles: my old.22, I’d had it since I was a child, and the.243. The door of the house was open and inside were Laura and Conor, he standing behind her in the middle of the room, arms around her waist, his face in her neck. He raised his head and kissed the top of her head. ‘Man of few words,’ I heard him say as I got closer.

‘Who, Duro?’ replied Laura. ‘He is that. He likes to get on with the job. He’s normally a tiny bit more talkative. Maybe you make him nervous.’

Conor laughed. ‘Nice of him to bring your shawl this morning.’

‘Yes.’

‘I think he’s sweet on you.’

Laura laughed but said nothing.

‘No really,’ Conor went on. ‘And the perfect pocket Romeo. At that size you could take him anywhere.’

‘Oh shut up, twit!’ Laura smiled and pretended to elbow him, pulled herself free and swung round to face him. He reasserted his hold around her waist and she looked up at him; as she did she caught sight of me. ‘Ah, Duro.’ She didn’t miss a beat but widened her smile, as though the smile had been meant for me all along. ‘I think Matthew’s waiting for you at the back.’

I walked away. Behind me I heard a muffled giggle.

I carried the guns, Matthew walked by my side, issuing explosive sounds and shooting at the sky with the fingers of his right hand. He watched me as I set up at the far end of the long field that stretched out from the back of the house. I stapled the target to a board and leant it against the thick base of an oak tree. Next I dismantled the gun and showed Matthew the component parts, had him repeat each one. ‘Keep the barrel pointed down. With many guns a bullet can travel more than a mile. You miss, you kill somebody in Gost. Understand?’

Matthew nodded.

‘Understand?’ I repeated.

‘I understand.’

‘Face the target always. Don’t swing around. If you have a live round and it goes off maybe it’s me you kill.’ I looked at him. ‘Understand?’

‘I understand.’

Once he was holding the.22 correctly and had taken a few dry shots I loaded the magazine and allowed him to shoot. It’s a light gun, no recoil to speak of. He placed the shots in a good group upon the target, which was all of twenty-five metres away.

‘Nice shooting.’

He grinned, pleased with himself. ‘Yeah, I think I got the hang of that.’

I let him take a few more shots. By the time the magazine was empty he was placing them all pretty much dead centre. He punched the air.

‘Good. Now try this one.’ I passed him the.243, stood back and folded my arms. ‘Make sure you have the butt well into your shoulder.’

Matthew fired. The recoil jerked the barrel upwards and his shot missed the target, the bullet entered the trunk of the tree. ‘Fucking hell!’

I laughed.

Matthew rolled onto his side, shielded his eyes from the sun. ‘You knew that would happen.’

I smiled. Matthew laughed. ‘Duro, you are one ace bastard!’

Matthew took five more shots and began to hit the target. I gave him another five. A tendency to tug at the trigger, otherwise he was pretty good. I moved him back another twenty-five metres, returned him to the.22 for five more rounds. I showed him how to change the magazine. If I hadn’t already heard Conor’s tread behind me I would have guessed who it was by Matthew’s changed expression: his features slackened, except for a faint tightening of the jaw, his eyes hardened and glazed over.

‘How’s it going up here?’

‘Fine,’ I replied when Matthew didn’t answer.

‘What have you got there?’

I handed Conor the.243.

Conor weighed the rifle in his hand. He stepped forward and raised the barrel and set his eye to the sight. ‘Mind if I give it a go?’

I passed him the full magazine.

‘Safety catch?’

I showed him and he pressed the butt into his shoulder, moved around, making himself comfortable with the gun. Finally he squeezed the trigger. The shot was wide, but not far off. He squeezed off three more rounds, then flicked the safety catch back on. ‘Let’s see what you can do then, Duro?’

‘Matthew was about to shoot,’ I said, passing the gun to the boy.

But Matthew had heard the base note of a challenge in Conor’s voice. ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Go on, Duro.’