The Village by Stan Mason Page A

a dance at the village hall.’
    â€˜Did you use to go there with your husband?’
    â€˜No... he couldn’t dance. I sit listening to the music.’
    â€˜You must miss him.’
    â€˜Quite the contrary. Living with him was no fun at all. He gave up on me a long time ago.’
    â€˜Surely not!’ I cut in with surprise. I could not imagine anyone giving up on a twenty seven year old woman who looked quite as beautiful. The man had to be insane or blind. ‘There’s something that’s bothering me,’ I carried on. ‘You have no electricity in the village, no motor vehicles and you’re self sufficient for food. But where does the money come to buy seeds and any goods you need to buy? Who pays for the goods and how do they do it without money?’
    â€˜The benefactor looks after us,’ she said simply.
    â€˜The benefactor?’ I echoed puzzled. ‘Who’s he?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ she replied innocently. ‘You’ll have to ask Mr. Townsend that question if you want to know the answer.’
    I started to become frustrated again because every avenue of enquiry seemed to branch off to another one. There were no straight answers to anything in this place!
    â€˜When’s your husband’s funeral?’ I enquired trying to keep the conversation going.
    â€˜He’s already been buried,’ she answered sadly. ‘They took his body away before you came.’
    â€˜But isn’t there going to be a funeral. Some kind of a wake afterwards to celebrate his life?’
    â€˜What for?’ she replied. ‘He’s dead and they buried him.’
    I made a mental note to visit the churchyard to search for his grave the following day to determine that he had been buried there. It all sounded so weird.
    â€˜How long were you married?’ I carried on. I assessed that the boy was eleven and that she was about twenty-seven, so she had married when she was about sixteen or so.
    â€˜Too long,’ she replied dourly which astonished me. Her comment indicated that she had little love for her late husband during the time they lived together.
    I was lost for words for a while and then the boy entered the room. He stared at me bleakly from the doorway as though he wanted to trust me with his problem. His young voice rang out in my head. ‘You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to help us! You must!’ If only he could bring himself to tell me what was troubling him!
    â€˜This village puzzles me,’ I confided, trying to keep an even tone in my voice. ‘There’s no television, no computers, no dvds or hi-fis. No newspapers... no telephones... no village inn because no one’s allowed to drink... no cinema... everyone’s employed and no one leaves the village to go anywhere else. You tell me that a benefactor, whoever he might be, provides any money you need. It’s all so Victorian. I don’t get it.’
    â€˜You don’t have to, Mr. Ross.,’ she told me casually. ‘You don’t live here. You’re not a member of our community.’
    â€˜What would you say if I told you I intended to stay... despite the hostility shown to me by some of the folk?’
    She stared at me for almost half a minute before replying.
    â€˜Are you propositioning me, Mr. Ross?’ she ventured. ‘Do you think you might want to live with me here?’
    Her question took my breath away. I would have loved to have said it but she did it for me. She had taken the bull by the horns and opened up our lives as easily as one handles a picnic on the grass,
    â€˜Firstly, ‘ I began in a new light, ‘I want you to call me Sam. Secondly, it was the last thing in my mind to hitch up with a woman... not for some time yet anyway... but you are so attractive I want to take you in my arms and hug you day and night. I’m sorry that you’re grieving having just buried your