Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

‘But what of your father’s croft?’ she said.

‘I have lately had a change of heart,’ I muttered.

Flora looked askance at me. ‘And what do you intend to do in Glasgow?’

Archibald answered on my behalf: ‘There is no end to the opportunities there for an enterprising young fellow like Roddy.’

At this Flora and Ishbel glanced at each other and began to laugh. We reached the stone bridge that traverses the burn. The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees and sparkled on the water. We came to a natural pause and stood the four of us on the path looking at one another for some moments. Then quite suddenly Archibald took Ishbel by the arm and led her onto the bridge, saying that there was something he would like to show her. They leant over the water, their bodies quite close together and Archibald pointed to something in the river and spoke in hushed tones to her. Flora and I stood looking at each other. I felt most ill at ease and conscious of my state of inebriation. Over Flora’s shoulder I saw Archibald look towards me and with a movement of his head spurred me to action.

I asked Flora if she would like to walk a little farther with me. She did not object and we set off along the path by the burn. After some yards, I could not resist the temptation to look over my shoulder at Archibald, who was by that time leaning in so close to Ishbel that his lips might have been touching her neck. Flora too glanced over her shoulder, as if she did not wish to be out of sight of her friend. Although we had been alone together before there was now a tension between us which had not previously existed. I expected Flora to make some remark or other, but she did not do so, and, as I could think of nothing to say, the silence thickened between us. The path was narrow and we were obliged to walk so close together that Flora’s sleeve brushed my arm. Remembering Archibald’s advice, I told Flora that her dress was very becoming. Presently the path reached a dip which was thick with mud. Flora took the opportunity to propose that we turn back.

I suggested instead that we might sit down for a moment. There was a large rock by the burn and this we used as a bench. Not wishing to let the silence grow between us again, I told Flora that Archibald and I had earlier visited the inn and shared some tankards of ale.

‘I can see that you have been drinking,’ said Flora, ‘and I can only imagine what your father will do when he finds out.’

I responded by saying that my father need never know and, in any case, it was worth it to spend some time in the company of such a fine fellow as Archibald.

Flora then said that she did not like him and that she did not think he was a suitable friend for me. I was quite offended on my friend’s behalf, but I did not say so and we once again lapsed into silence. Perhaps Flora sensed that she had hurt my feelings, for it was she who spoke next.

‘So you have had a change of heart?’ she said, referring to our earlier conversation. ‘I thought you were quite married to Culduie.’

Perhaps it was her use of the word ‘married’ that loosened my tongue, but I then embarked quite spontaneously on a declaration of my feelings.

‘It is not Culduie to which I wish to be married, but you,’ I said. ‘I would go to Glasgow or to Canada or anywhere to be with you.’

Flora looked quite taken aback. The colour had risen to my cheeks and I immediately regretted my outburst.

‘Roddy,’ she said, ‘I am quite sure that when you are older you will find a wife, but it will not be me.’

I felt tears spring to my eyes and in order that Flora would not see them, I took her by the shoulders and buried my head into her hair. For a moment I felt the skin of Flora’s neck against my lips and inhaled her smell. I felt a great coursing in my groin. Flora pushed her elbow into my chest and shoved me from her with some violence. She then slapped me hard across the face and, in my shock, I slipped from the rock and landed on my backside in the moss. Flora got to her feet and ran off through the trees. I lay there for some time with my hand to my cheek. Eventually I sat upright and wiped the tears from my face with the sleeve of my shirt, before retracing my steps along the path. Archibald was waiting for me by the bridge, smoking his pipe. To my relief, Flora and Ishbel had gone.

I felt terribly downhearted by what had occurred, but Archibald seemed to find it very amusing. As we made our way back towards the village he recounted the incident over and over again, with ever more elaborate embellishments, so that I greatly regretted confiding in him. I kept my eyes fixed on the road beneath our feet. Flora was right, I was no more than a silly boy. Archibald must have seen that I was downcast, for he ceased his bantering and put his arm around my shoulder.

‘Come on, old chap,’ he said. ‘All the better for you to strike out for Glasgow unencumbered.’

I was in no mood to listen to his commiserations, not only because his words seemed quite hollow, but also because I felt he had played a quite deliberate role in my rejection. I tried to shrug off his arm, but he kept me in a firm grip. Tears stung my eyes. Archibald came to a sudden halt and we stood face to face. I turned my head away, expecting him to mock me, but he did not do so, instead, making a series of apologies for his insensitivity towards what he called my ‘finer feelings’. I felt somewhat appeased and wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand.

‘What you need, my friend,’ he said, slapping me on the shoulder, ‘is a good jug of ale.’

I forced a smile and we set off again towards the inn. I took the shilling Jetta had given me from my pocket and showed it to him.

‘We shall get as drunk as lords,’ Archibald declared.

The inn was even more crammed with bodies than before, but Archibald navigated the throng with ease, dragging me behind him by the sleeve of my jacket. A fiddler and accordionist were playing reels in the corner. Before long we were settled at a table with tankards in our hands and I felt considerably cheered.

‘To them that like us!’ Archibald cried.

All the men around us raised their tankards and repeated Archibald’s toast and I felt proud to be in the company of such a fellow. I regretted telling him that I would be leaving for Glasgow, as I wished to remain friends with him and meet him every evening at the inn to quaff great quantities of ale. We were soon singing and swilling our beer with gusto. I had no idea of the price of a pint of ale or whether my shilling would meet the cost, but I was quite indifferent to such considerations. Archibald climbed onto a chair and led the company in a song and was roundly cheered. Tankards appeared in our hands with great frequency and I felt a surge of fellow-feeling towards my compatriots. The incident with Flora and the miseries of my family were quite forgotten. I had discovered the union of men. In order to express my high spirits, I climbed onto a table and poured a tankard of ale over my head. I then began to jig to the fiddler’s tune, hoisting my hands above my head and spinning like a top. The men below stamped and beat time on the tables until I lost my footing and crashed to the floor. I picked myself up to great cheers and continued my jig. It was at that moment that I saw Lachlan Broad standing before me with several of his kinsmen. I felt suddenly foolish and ceased my capering. The stamping which had accompanied me petered out. Voices called upon me to continue, but I had no wish to make a further spectacle of myself. My shirt was soaked through with ale and my hair was plastered to my head.

Lachlan Broad took a single step across the floor towards me.

‘Come on, Roddy Black, do not stop on my account.’

He called to the musicians to strike up a tune. The men around me were clapping for me to begin, but I remained fixed to the spot. Lachlan Broad took a pot of ale from one of his kinsmen and, to great applause, threw it over my face.