1
Angus knelt by the bog. He sank a little. The tree close by was knotted. A very old tree. Not wise though, not wise like Angus. Gertrude thought she was so clever. Ha, just wait. Just you wait Gertrude, thought Angus. He sank a little more. In the bog, below the wet grassed surface, lay treasure. Angus knew this because Gertrude had told him. Gold. Silver. Probably Myrrh. Angus had not even a notion of what Probably Myrrh was. He sank a little deeper. Pushing a whole stick-thin arm into the spongy earth he squelched forward.
Gertrude sat back. The fire crackled. She checked the time by the Big Clock. Half past nine.
Arthur leant forward over his jigsaw.
Astrid ran from the house screaming ‘ANGUS!! ANGUS!! ANGUS??!’
Gertrude turned her head to the noise then turned her face to the fire. Her cheeks glowed pink. Her hands reddened.
Arthur leapt to attention. Jigsaw disintegration.
Arthur slowed to a jog as he neared the bog. He heard Astrid speak low and strong reassurance.
He saw Angus in her arms.
Angus smelt terribly of bog but was far from dead.
Exactly how far no one could say.
Dully Arthur realized he had to have thought death a possibility in order to have noticed it not being the case. Less dully he realized Angus being not-dead could only be the work of Gertrude who often became bored and, having no apparent sense of morality, or perhaps simply mortality, would amuse herself by jeopardizing the life of the nearest thing. Cat. Dog. Spider plant. Angus.
The front room swelled hotly with the humid remains of Angus’ sinking. Astrid fed him honey and milk by the teaspoon, tears stuck silver on her too-white cheeks. Gertrude looked on from the green chair. Arthur finished his jigsaw and noticed that no one had spoken for three and a half hours. Sometimes Arthur felt his head would implode from the weight of silence in the air. Arthur dreamt of conversations.
Astrid parcelled Angus in blankets and set his drowsy hot head down on the blue cushion. Gertrude cleared her throat loudly and left the room.
Arthur stood in the hallway staring at the coat rack. His father's wax jacket held a world; his mother's sheepskin a comfort. Astrid caught his arm and gently shook him. ‘We must make her stop this Arthur.’ ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’ ‘You suppose I’m right?! –Angus could have died out there today and you suppose I’m right? What’s the matter with you Arthur, you’re the oldest- you need to take responsibility. I can’t bear this anymore…’ Astrid’s voice weakened. Arthur took the sheepskin off its hook and buried his face in its soft torn lining. He pressed his back against the wall and slid to the floor, where he stayed until the next day.
2
Arthur had grown up well. His body matched its expectations and his mind gave him carefully rationed lots of thought. However, putting this combination to use on his siblings seemed a wholly unacceptable proposition. He knew he could run and tumble with Angus. Pass afternoons between the pond and the old willow sketching fowl with Astrid. Gertrude could be driven up to town to shop for sharp pairs of shoe and boot. As a lot of four they could travel to the coast and be blustered along the shingle shore and into the café once favoured by his mother and father. There they could reasonably sip tea from cracked cups and Angus would snooze in Astrid’s lap, his face rosy from the spritz and spray of the East coast.
He would rather run alone. He would rather not sketch. He would rather a trip to town end in the purchase of a good piece of meat for dinner. The only option seemed to be the coast. At least if they were all together he could alleviate his guilt at previous inattentions to all three in only one strenuous day.
Astrid packed a lunch of three lots of quartered fish paste sandwiches and three green apples. Gertrude did not eat. Angus chattered over anticipated seagulls. Arthur sat heavily at the wheel of the Morris Minor. They drove six streets to the motorway. After the motorway they drove four streets to the sea.
The great grey sea.
Gertrude had worn deliberately inappropriate shoes at which Astrid glanced; furious & frequent. Angus ran about his three elders pointing out tattered blue strings of once-was fishing net, popping polips of seaweed with his red Kickered feet. ‘Your lace is undone…’ said Astrid, once. She made no move to kneel and retie. Arthur instead knelt; with de-gloved hands he made of the wet stranded laces a bow.
Away and back. Away and back. Away and back ran Angus, as though himself tidal.
Gertrude kept her face stony as the cliffs and spoke not one word.
Astrid held her ellipsis of language but hummed meaning toward the waves.
Arthur watched shingle as he walked.
Arthur said they should stop to eat the sandwiches. They did not sit down. There was no rug. The sandwiches were eaten from the foil in which Astrid had wrapped them. Gertrude smoked a long cigarette and slowly walked toward the broiling gunmetal. A thin plume of pewter behind her. Angus pulled faces as he ate. He felt certain that there could be no more hateful combination than fish paste sandwiches and cigarette smoke.
Sandwiches finished, Astrid handed out the apples.
Gertrude was very close to the sea. It spoiled Astrid’s sense of fairness that Gertrude could stay so steady on such a shifting surface in so inappropriate footwear.
The curl of Gertrude’s cigarette smoke mocked the straight whip of the wind.
The four moved along the beach. Three apple cores were lost to the shingle. One cigarette stub jollied away on foamy salt water.
At the café they sat by the counter, the three elder siblings lacking the attention and imagination to see that Angus would have enjoyed a table by the window. The waitress brought them a large pot of tea with a small jug of icy milk and four white cups with four saucers and four teaspoons, the tray upon which the collection sat was opaque with fractured bunches of beneath-the-surface daffodils. Astrid poured the tea and Angus added the milk. None of the four took sugar. All four stirred. Three mindlessly as habit and one with the tinkering joy of childhood.
No cake was ordered. None was wanted. Sweet things were unnecessary.
3
Arthur lifted Angus from Astrid’s lap.
Angus felt himself lifted by Arthur from Astrid’s lap.
Gertrude waited outside the café. She thought about drowning Astrid.
Astrid paid for the tea and went to the toilet. She cried and bit on her right fist until she felt calm again. The calmness was a veneer easily crazed. She thought about drowning Gertrude.
The beach seemed longer walking back. Arthur still carried Angus. He enjoyed the weight of the boy in his arms- he did not say to himself, ‘I enjoy the weight of the boy in my arms.’ He thought empty practicalities of petrol, loft insulation, his father’s greenhouse; an untended structure overtaken by straining pale and fruitless tomato vines.
In the car a cold salted damp was slowly replaced by a slumber of warmth. Arthur drove steadily as three slept.
Angus felt a great sense of achievement at having successfully foxed his way all along the beach in Arthur’s arms. He watched his older brother through slitted eyes and felt so grand a swell of love that he had to truly close his eyes for fear of a sissy teared spill. Before he fell to a sea washed sleep Angus thought of his mother and how uncertain he was of her face these days. He had tried to draw her last Thursday when Astrid gave him the paper and pencils he had asked for on the Tuesday. Drifting now he thought he recalled her smile.
4
The night pressed thick against the humming glass. Angus pressed his left cheek hard against it. His teeth rattled, his tongue tickled. A lick of hair against his forehead made an O. Astrid slept. Gertrude stared hard ahead. Arthur took the final seven corners of their journey too quickly. Seven times Angus felt hard glass against hard skull. He liked it, he was not easily hurt. He had no room to be easily hurt. He did not wish to be over comforted by Astrid. He disliked her tears, they fell too easily. Gravel crunched. The car slowed. Stopped. Arthur tumbled Angus out of the car, grabbed, lifted, swung, and arched him briefly into the night. Angus wriggled free. Arthur’s playfulness was unexpected. Astrid and Gertrude went as shadows toward the dark house. Arthur got back into the car. ‘I’ll not be long little brother, look after those sisters of ours old chap!’ ….Angus smiled at Arthur’s smile.
No comments:
Post a Comment