Alan Garner - Thursbitch

“He was up Cats Tor, going for Pym Chair; and I was going for Thoon. We passed each other as close as I am to you, but in a bit of a clatter, like; so we didn’t speak. But I looked at him. He had an oddstrucken sort of a twist to his face, full of grief and good. I swear as I saw a broken man, but one as could mend. And I swear, Father, I never did see a happier man. And he looked at me.”

“And what did this chap see, Jack?”

“How should I know what he saw?”

“I’m thinking: were you not hearing Bull? Did this chap see same as you? Did he see a broken man as could mend?”

“DEAR HEART, METHINKS you already know.”

“I don’t, Sal.”

“Bed wheels.”

“What about them?”

“The first time I was in hospital, for tests, I kept looking at the wheels on the beds. They were quiet and watching. Then they’d rattle away. But they always came back, and be there, looking at me, waiting, day and night. When I left hospital I knew they were still there. They were in no hurry. And when I went in again, there they were. Now they know I’m coming, and this time they’ll have me.”

“What’s the second promise?”

“I know what I’m saying, Ian. It’s so hard that you don’t have to answer. If you do answer, you must tell me the truth.”

“You have my word.”

“What is it, when the time comes, that will see me off?”

He put the back of his hand against her cheek.

“The most common causes of death are either dysphagia or the result of an opportunistic invasion, usually pneumonia.”

“So it’s choke or drown.”

“It is.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I put that on you, but I had to know.”

“If you want it, I shall be there with you.”

“No, Ian. It won’t come to that. I’m a coward. I shall go through the windows before they’re too narrow and while there’s still light.”

He squeezed her hand and looked away.

“I’m a coward, Ian. I’m scared of the dark. I don’t want the mirrors without the sky.”

“Salt seasons all things,

Said Solomon the Wise;

And him as gets a good wife

He gets a goodly prize.

Him as gets a wrong un,

He falls into a snare;

And Old Nick plucks him by the neck,

As Mossy ketched his mare.”

Jack climbed from Sooker and the snow was drifting. He held Jinney’s reins to lift her. They passed Ormes Smithy, up Blaze Hill and along Billinge Side. The wind was full in their faces and the horses were trying to tuck into the bank for shelter, but Bryn kept them from shoving their panniers against the rocks. Now it was dark and the snow was swarming into his lanthorn and he could not see for the whiteness.

They crossed the four-went-way and began the drag up Pike Low. By Deaf Harry, Jinney reared. Jack shortened the rein and patted her neck and shoulder.

“Nay, nay, lass. Don’t you take boggart now. Yon’s a high stone, that’s all. He can’t hurt you. He can’t move, choose what Tally Ridge’ll say. Well, not tonight he won’t.”

He braced for the top of Pike Low.

“Blood and elbows! Oh, what a world. What a world. Summer hangs in a bag tonight; it does that. But we shall fettle it, shan’t we? We shall and all.” He led the train down from Pike Low by Drakeshollow; the wind and the snow still in his face. They climbed up Ewrin Lane and over Waggonshaw Brow. As he passed through the farmyard at Buxter Stoops, he saw Martha Barber at the curtain sack of her window.

“Is it you, Jagger Turner?”

“Ay, but it is, Widder Barber!”

“I thought I heard. Will you come thy ways?”

“Nay, Missis. But thank ye. If I let this lot melt I’d starve to death.”

“Hast any piddlejuice about you for such a time?”

“I have and all. Good to make a cat speak and a man dumb. Pass us your jug, Missis, then get that down you, and you’ll be as frisky as a tup in a halter.”

“I always say as how there never has been nowt like your piddlejuice, Jagger; and that’s a fact!”

“Ay, Missis! If you’re on the road all hours in these hills, you must be fit for owt, or you’ll find it’s when bum hole’s shut, fart’s gone. It’s there, you know. Oh, ah. When bum hole’s shut, fart’s gone.”

They laughed on either side of the door.

“Give us a tune, Jagger! I feel a little ditty coming on me and I’ve a flavour for to sing it.”

“Nay, Widder Barber. I must be getting down bank, and me beasts need their rest.”

He saw her shadow. She was hopping and began to dance for Jenkin. Her voice was uncertain at first, but then it broke forth with a strength that not even the wind could quell.

“I must be getting down bank, Widder Barber! Wind’s in Thoon’s eaver, and me beasts’ll be bangled if they’re not moving!”

Martha Barber was now leaping in her dance; her head kecked backwards. The hollering wind took her voice from him, but the song was in the storm itself and came to him out of Thoon’s very own mouth.

“The next great joy of Mary Anne

It were the joy of seven:

To see her own son little Jack

Reap up the stars of heaven;

Reap up the stars of heaven and make

Of them the golden Bee.

Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!

Through all Eternity!”

“How will you do that, Sal?”

“Get out? I’ll find a way.”

“You know where I have to stand on this.”

“Of course. I’m not asking you for anything.”

“Are you hoarding pills? A stomach pump is not a pleasant experience.”

“No. They’re wise to that one. I’ll find a way.”

“You won’t, Sal. You can’t. You are not strong enough; physically.”

“I must. It’s my choice.”

“Please reconsider. We can make all experience positive. We cannot know what will happen.”

“I always did think you lot were a bunch of sado-masochists. Why should I have to put up with this longer than I need because some mediæval mentalities have nothing better to do than to take odds over angels on pins? I’m the one in the bed, remember. And I’d rather you didn’t sit on it while you’re comparing mattresses.”

“In an ideal world –”

“Oh no. Please not that. It is not an ideal world.”

“What would you want?”

“If you must know, I would stay here. Here is my place of understanding. ‘And every stone and every star a tongue. And every gale of wind a curious song.’ At school. I remember.”

“Eternity?”

“Your kind? I find that queasy. Where’s it all going to end? I ask. I’d be happy just to let my fingernails grow.”

He stood, and walked on the sheer edge of the path and looked down at the confluence of the ford.

“My hypocritic oath,” he said.

“The next great joy of Mary Anne,

It were the joy of nine:

To see her own son Little Jack

Pluck up the bilberry fine;

Pluck up the bilberry fine to give

Himself to thee and me.

Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!

Through all Eternity.”

Jack hauled his way back along Ewrin Lane towards Buxter Stoops. The bend near the top told him where to turn off to find the pillar of Osbaldestone in the white bees of snow. He swam to it and sat next to its strength, facing Thoon. He pulled his hat down against the blizzard and was still.

The wind about the stone spoke to him. “Towards the place into which you enter, the path from which there is no return, all light is withdrawn.”

“Get off with your bother,” said Jack. “You shall pass, and then we shall make a bonny moon and a laughing sky.”

A warm wetness came under his hat. The dog licked his face.

“Now then, Bryn.You’ve been quick. Did you see ’em home? There’s a good lad.” The dog lay next to him and he patted it. “And what did I say? What did I tell you?” The wind had dropped. He pushed up his hat. The cloud was passing, and stars floated in the gaps.