Sacred Hunger by Barry Unsworth Page B

Billy’s mind. Sullivan made no further attempt at conversation. He played ‘I’ll Away No More” at a brisk pace and followed it with “Sweet William”. There was dancing; the small space was crowded with people jostling together. Eve laughed a lot and touched him intimately. The drink and the dancing had brought colour to her face. After a while she excused herself with a tender smile. “I’ll just be away for a piss, darlin”,” she said. ‘I’ll be with you again before you can shake yer peg.”
    But she did not come back; and this defection changed the quality of everything in a strange and sudden way.
    The fiddle fell silent. There were fewer people in the room and these only men. The landlord’s looks grew sullen and disdainful. Billy was sweating and asked for ale but this came slowly and when it came was sour and thin.
    These various factors combined to turn his mood ugly. Such sudden lowerings are difficult to take with equanimity, even for milder temperaments than Billy’s. It is one thing to know that pleasure is fleeting, youth ephemeral and the grave just round the corner; it is quite another to have it brought home to you all in the space of five minutes. “What taplash piss is this?”’ he said. “You have served me wi” the washings o’ the casks.” And he splashed the rest of his beer down on to the stone floor.
    ‘now that was the act of a out-and-out swine,” the landlord said. “I see I was mistaken in you. You can pay up your score and get out. There is three shillings and four pence on the slate.”
    “That is robbery, you fat bouger,” Billy said. “If I come round that bleddy counter you’ll be right sorry. Where is Sullivan? Shipmate, let’s you an” me cast off from here. I have got money, I will stand treat.”
    But it was precisely at this lordly moment that Billy found he had no money, none at all: the purse was gone from his pocket. And when in the shock of this discovery he looked at the landlord’s face and saw the ugly complacency on it, he knew with that power of divination that descends on the cheated, instant and terrible, like a dark afflatus, that from the moment of walking into this ale-house he had been among actors. ‘My purse,” he said. “That Irish crack has stole my purse. We could catch her yet, before she gets it to her scully.” He made a movement away from the counter.
    “No you don’t,” the landlord said. “Cover the door. What purse? I never saw no purse.
    Anyone here see a purse? Catch a hold of him, lads.”
    He had started round the counter. Two men moved on Billy, one from either side. He put a hand to his hip pocket but the knife was gone too.
    Drink and shock had slowed him but he had time to throw his tankard into the first man’s face and hear it strike against the teeth, time to take two steps and land a hard kick on the landlord’s kneecap. He was staggered by a wide-angled blow to the side of the head, evaded another by some instinctive cunning of the body, struck back and missed, slipped on the wet flags, recovered. A body fell against him and he struck at it, only to realize it was on its way floorwards anyway, and not by his doing. He took another jolting blow to the face. Someone caught at his arms from behind.
    “Well, my mannikin, how goes it now?”’
    Billy could feel blood running into his mouth.
    Someone was groaning behind him. There was a man lying on the floor. Through a bitter film of moisture he saw the smiling face of the man who had baited him. He had a gold band in one ear and smelled of coconut oil. “Scut-head,” Billy said. He made a violent effort to free his right arm so as to strike at the face before him. Without ceasing to smile the man gave him a blow in the stomach which cut off his wind completely.
    “All right,” he said, when he could speak.
    “I’m done. Let me sit down.”
    “Scut-head, is it?”’ the other said softly.
    His eyes were shining. With the outer edge of his hand he