Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

Nevertheless, she glanced over her shoulder towards her house.

‘I am taking these eggs to Mrs MacLeod in Aird-Dubh,’ she said, lifting the cloth to show me the contents of the basket. The Broad Mackenzie’s kept a fearful number of hens, so many that they were able to supply eggs to the inn at Applecross. Mrs MacLeod was an ancient widow known as the Onion on account of the great number of layers of clothing she wore. It was said that since her husband died she had not once cast off a garment.

Flora asked if I would like to accompany her and I said that I would be glad to. She walked so slowly that I had to pause every few yards to let her catch up. When we reached the junction of the road to Aird-Dubh, Flora asked if I would carry her basket. I took it from her and from that point she walked a little faster, as if it had been the weight of the eggs which had been slowing her down.

‘How is the patient?’ she asked.

I had that morning found the fledgling dead on the floor of the barn beneath the rafter. Flora looked quite sad and said that she was sorry to hear this news.

‘It is one of these things God sends to try us,’ she said in a sing-song voice.

I looked at her sideways. It was an oft-expressed sentiment in our parts.

‘I cannot imagine that God has no greater concerns than trying us,’ I said.

Flora looked at me quite earnestly.

‘Then why do such things happen?’ she said.

‘What things?’ I said.

‘Bad things.’

‘The minister would say that it is to punish us for wickedness,’ I said.

‘And what would you say?’ she asked.

I hesitated a moment and then said, ‘I would say that they happen for no reason.’

Flora did not appear unduly disturbed by my answer and I took encouragement from this. ‘I do not see that God is much concerned with me, or with any of us for that matter,’ I went on.

Flora told me that I should not say such things, but I did not feel that she disagreed with me, only that it was wrong to utter such thoughts.

‘Maybe God is just a story like the ones Mr Gillies used to tell us in school,’ I said, glancing at Flora out of the corner of my eye. The breeze blew a wisp of hair across her forehead and she raised her hand to her face to arrange it behind her ear. She looked straight ahead and we continued our walk in silence.

When we reached Aird-Dubh, Flora took the basket from me and put her head inside the door of the Onion’s house. A bent old woman appeared at the threshold. Her neck was so twisted she had to turn her head to the side, like a hen, to squint up at our faces. It was a warm evening and there was a good fire roaring in the house, but she wore a thick overcoat buttoned up to her neck and tied for good measure around her midriff with a length of string. She seemed pleased to see Flora and invited her into the house. Flora said she had brought some eggs and handed her the basket.

‘And who is this you have with you?’ she said.

‘It’s John Black’s boy,’ Flora said.

‘And does he have a name?’ Her voice was harsh as a gull’s.

‘It’s Roddy,’ said Flora.

The Onion peered at me for some moments and then told me she was sorry for my mother’s passing, even though it had been over a year. She took the basket from Flora and disappeared into the smoky gloom of the house. Flora quietly hummed a song to herself while we waited, and I was reminded of my mother singing in the fields. The old woman returned with the empty basket and thanked Flora for the eggs.

On the way back to Culduie, I offered to once again carry the basket, but Flora explained that it had not been that the basket was burdensome, only that she wished to have me to carry it for her. In any case, relieved of the eggs, our conversation was freer. Flora made some disparaging remarks about how Mrs MacLeod smelt and I told her that my father did not like the inhabitants of Aird-Dubh because they were filthy and ate limpets. Flora laughed gaily at this. When her laughter subsided she said, ‘Sometimes I think your father does not like anyone.’

‘He doesn’t,’ I replied.

I then bent over and mimicked my father hobbling along with his stick. ‘Be sure your sins will find you out,’ I muttered, wagging a crooked finger in Flora’s face. ‘You’re on the path to the eternal bonfire, young lady!’

Flora stopped in the road, putting her free hand to her mouth to cover her laughter. Then I straightened up, suddenly ashamed to have ridiculed my father in this way.

‘Do it again,’ she said, but I felt foolish and continued along the road.

When we reached the junction where we had met, in order that we might not be seen I told Flora I would continue along the road. She did not protest. We stood looking at each other for a few moments. Then she said that we might see each other again some other evening and turned and walked up the track, swinging her empty basket in her hand. I made my way along the road and climbed the dyke at the foot of our croft, feeling quite light, as if I had, all of a sudden, been unburdened of a basket of peats. As I made my way through our sickly crops I saw Jetta hurrying along the track from the direction of Lachlan Broad’s house, a scarf pulled over her hair and hunched over like a widow. I could not think what business might have taken her to the lower end of the village and waited outside the house for her, but she scurried past me without a glance.

Father was in his chair by the window smoking his evening pipe. I fully expected him to question me about my whereabouts and he duly did so. His chair was angled somewhat away from the window, so that the squib of light from the portal illuminated his text. As he could easily have seen us part at the junction, I told him straightaway that I had been to Aird-Dubh with Flora Broad to deliver some eggs. My father asked who the eggs were for. I could not see what difference it made who the eggs were for, but I told him that too. He made no reaction to my answers, which convinced me that he already knew perfectly well where I had been, and had only enquired to see whether I would tell the truth. He took a couple of pulls on his pipe. Jetta had taken up her knitting and pretended to be oblivious to our dialogue.

I felt aggrieved that I should be questioned this way, particularly as Jetta had received no similar interrogation. My father took his pipe form his mouth and said that he did not wish me to associate with Flora Broad or any other members of her family. I was not in the habit of answering back to my father, but on this occasion I did so. Flora, I told him, had not caused him any injury and she had been grateful to me for carrying her basket. I did not expect my father to engage in a discussion with me and nor did he. Instead, he reminded me that I was not too old for a thrashing. I cast my eyes towards the floor in a semblance of contrition, but I had no intention of obeying his decree. This was far from the first occasion that I felt my father to be overly strict towards myself or my siblings, but it was the first time I resolved to defy him. With the benefit of hindsight, however, I am forced to admit that it would have been prudent to heed his advice.

I went outside and sat on the bench, hoping that my sister would join me, but she did not do so. The following morning, when Father was out of the house, I asked Jetta where she had been the previous evening. She replied without looking up from her chores that she had been visiting Carmina Smoke. I knew that this was not true, as she had come from beyond the Smoke’s house, but I did not say so. Instead I asked if Kenny Smoke had been home. Jetta stopped what she was doing and fixed me with a serious stare.

‘I already have one father,’ she said. ‘I do not need another. There are some things which do not concern you, Roddy.’ She then handed me a bannock and ordered me out from under her feet. I felt quite sad as I had never known Jetta to keep a secret from me, although had she been in the habit of doing so, I would hardly have known about it. Perhaps she kept all sorts of secrets from me.