in his ears. His eyes adjust to the gloom. There is a tangle of hazel clustered with nuts and he pulls one off to chew. Where is she then? There is a click from somewhere and a warbler trembles out a note. 'Mary?' His voice sounds unnaturally loud. The wood holds itself in case he calls again. Through the trees he can see the bright juicy meadow belonging to Mr Creasy. He usually puts his bull in there, a great black beast of a thing. Walter crouches to catch a glimpse of it but sees only the waving white faces of the meadowsweet. Usually when you are looking for a bull it is standing directly behind you.
'Wally Wally Wallflower,
Growing up so high.
We're all ladies,
And we shall have to die.'
Walter spins around and around but she is nowhere to be seen.
'Except Ena Kirton,
She's no relation.
She can go and turn her back,
To all the congregation.'
He will spank her, he decides, when he finds her. Teach her a lesson.
'Marry in September's shine,
Your living will be rich and fine.'
Mary arrives suddenly. She falls from the tree as if she has unexpectedly lost her footing. There is a crash of foliage and a surprisingly loud thud, and there she is, fallen to earth, stunned, winded, staring up at an indifferent God. Walter rushes to her and kicks her in the calf.
'That'll teach you.'
She has no breath, only panic and surprise. Her mouth is open though no air or words can come. Her hands jerk at her sides. Walter stares. He has seen a rabbit look like this; shot in the head, not cleanly, it danced about for a time. Walter wonders whether she is dying; he decides not. He kneels down beside her. Her hat has fallen some feet away and her blue dress is twisted up around her waist, revealing her woollen knickers and pale thighs scored with scratches all the way down to her gumboots. Her body stiffens and her teeth clench. Her face pulls to the side, as if she is travelling at high speed. Walter detects something curious; she trembles as if she were powered by the Electric Company. Her eyes slide. Walter waits. He knows to wait while she is fitting. Her face is hot when he touches it, sticky. He imagines she may die one day in more or less this way, with a crash and thud.
He bends down to kiss her. He knows he oughtn't. She tastes sour and salty and she smells of sweat, tree lichen, laundry soap. She is his own angel fallen from the sky. 'Mary Mary, quite contrary,' he tells her. She is handsome, he thinks, in spite of it all. She moves her arm quickly behind his neck. She pulls him down and astonishes him as she pushes her warm tongue all the way inside his mouth.
Walter got himself caught with his mouth open once before; head flung back, his .410 between his knees. Bird scaring was not bad employment, Walter did not mind it when he was younger. It was boring, that was all. You had to fire to keep yourself awake more than frighten the birds, but eventually, especially in good weather, you would fall asleep. The man who found him was the same man who hired him, and he let him have it hard on both ears with his fists. Walter went home deaf in one ear, reeling as if he'd just got off a boat. On Valley Road he decided he would not go directly home. He found Mary by the cow byre with a butterfly net and a tobacco pouch and showed her his reddened ears and she squeezed them to see exactly how painful they were and she laughed.
'Tell me how much you love me and all that,' she instructed.
'I'm bloody deaf. I'm telling nothing.'
Mary wrapped his head in her scarf made cold from a dip in the water trough. 'Tell me or be sorry.'
Walter closed his eyes and made up something fancy out of nowhere. Daft words. She would not ever tell him, not on your nellie, no. She would not tell him how soothing were his idiot words.
Walter and Mary walk the lane home, between the stubble fields. Most are already gleaned, with just a few women and children now left in the big field gathering the loose corn. They would keep going with their sacks until
'Wally Wally Wallflower,
Growing up so high.
We're all ladies,
And we shall have to die.'
Walter spins around and around but she is nowhere to be seen.
'Except Ena Kirton,
She's no relation.
She can go and turn her back,
To all the congregation.'
He will spank her, he decides, when he finds her. Teach her a lesson.
'Marry in September's shine,
Your living will be rich and fine.'
Mary arrives suddenly. She falls from the tree as if she has unexpectedly lost her footing. There is a crash of foliage and a surprisingly loud thud, and there she is, fallen to earth, stunned, winded, staring up at an indifferent God. Walter rushes to her and kicks her in the calf.
'That'll teach you.'
She has no breath, only panic and surprise. Her mouth is open though no air or words can come. Her hands jerk at her sides. Walter stares. He has seen a rabbit look like this; shot in the head, not cleanly, it danced about for a time. Walter wonders whether she is dying; he decides not. He kneels down beside her. Her hat has fallen some feet away and her blue dress is twisted up around her waist, revealing her woollen knickers and pale thighs scored with scratches all the way down to her gumboots. Her body stiffens and her teeth clench. Her face pulls to the side, as if she is travelling at high speed. Walter detects something curious; she trembles as if she were powered by the Electric Company. Her eyes slide. Walter waits. He knows to wait while she is fitting. Her face is hot when he touches it, sticky. He imagines she may die one day in more or less this way, with a crash and thud.
He bends down to kiss her. He knows he oughtn't. She tastes sour and salty and she smells of sweat, tree lichen, laundry soap. She is his own angel fallen from the sky. 'Mary Mary, quite contrary,' he tells her. She is handsome, he thinks, in spite of it all. She moves her arm quickly behind his neck. She pulls him down and astonishes him as she pushes her warm tongue all the way inside his mouth.
Walter got himself caught with his mouth open once before; head flung back, his .410 between his knees. Bird scaring was not bad employment, Walter did not mind it when he was younger. It was boring, that was all. You had to fire to keep yourself awake more than frighten the birds, but eventually, especially in good weather, you would fall asleep. The man who found him was the same man who hired him, and he let him have it hard on both ears with his fists. Walter went home deaf in one ear, reeling as if he'd just got off a boat. On Valley Road he decided he would not go directly home. He found Mary by the cow byre with a butterfly net and a tobacco pouch and showed her his reddened ears and she squeezed them to see exactly how painful they were and she laughed.
'Tell me how much you love me and all that,' she instructed.
'I'm bloody deaf. I'm telling nothing.'
Mary wrapped his head in her scarf made cold from a dip in the water trough. 'Tell me or be sorry.'
Walter closed his eyes and made up something fancy out of nowhere. Daft words. She would not ever tell him, not on your nellie, no. She would not tell him how soothing were his idiot words.
Walter and Mary walk the lane home, between the stubble fields. Most are already gleaned, with just a few women and children now left in the big field gathering the loose corn. They would keep going with their sacks until
Similar Books
