Bebo

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	walking on very thin ice... Chapter one of Plying the devil with gin..
	The mud was sticking to my boots, making them heavier than when I left this morning. Up ahead in the distance I could see the top of the vans, smoke billowing and waving high into the desolate hills. I don't know why I came back, I have thought about it a lot, but I guess it is something I could and maybe should never ever answer. I listened to the noise of the people at the hole, hearing the laughter made me remember that although things were hard there was still room to smile. Moving towards the burn with the huge iron pot I watched a water vole slip down the embankment into the water. The water felt icy cold on my dirty muck encrusted fingers, I rubbed them through the water and dried them on the Hessian sack tied round my waist. It was a nice place, peaceful, from where I stood beside the water I could see the forest where the deer ran and the bluebells grew, a place I knew inside out from my childhood. Returning to task I gently filled the pot careful not to disturb the shingle and set the silt free. My arms ached as I yanked it onto my hip and gently walked back to the hole. Johan had been seeing to the fire and we passed each other silently on the path, I know he was suspicious of me and I don't blame him but his arrogance made me nervous and perhaps a little guilty. Just then a flame of red appeared it was Raven Johan's youngest. An unfortunate name for this red haired swift footed child. All his other children were dark as the night but this little one stood out, her beauty and perfection masked bellow the muck and grime. She held a slow worm in her grimy hands and giggled a toothless grin towards me. I placed the water pot on the ground and edged slowly towards my niece. She held the offering towards me and I gently took hold of the creature. "It's my snake" she hissed "but you can hold him….if you want" I studied the snake! I could have told her it was a lizard really but perhaps I would spoil my chance of the only way I knew to be once again kin to Johan. "what a beautiful snake, what a treasure" I smiled. She grabbed the worm from me and shook her head, "It's a bloody worm you idiot" with that she ran into the ferns, I could see the small red fiery head forging it's way to the old stone dyke, presumably to free her catch. Laughing I hitched the iron pot once again onto my hip and limped back towards the hole. As I neared the people around the hole the silence frightened me, all eyes were on me and an old lady stepped forward, it was Maud. She had looked this old in my childhood and just seemed the same all these years on, clearing her throat she mumbled, then in the loudest voice I had heard in some time she asked, "have you forgotten our ways" I averted my eyes which was custom and mumbled "no, I washed my hands and thanked the river before I even took a sip " I heard sniggering all around and I looked and all the men folk and all the boys were looking away and all the woman were looking hard at me, it suddenly dawned on me "I'm not on mam" she shook her head and signalled one of the sniggering youths forward to take the pot. I had forgotten that women were not allowed to be involved in the preparation of food or water at their time of the month, and if I had forgotten that then my transition back to my family was going to be more difficult than I thought. Edging my way to the back of the women I sat myself on a free rock, I knew I would be fed last and I cast my Mother a loving look as she passed amongst the men folk giving them broth, she turned her eyes away which stung me deep inside. Cathy my youngest sister, whom I had never met before followed nimbly behind my mother passing out hunks of warm soda bread, I recognised the frock she wore as it had been mine a long time before and I stared at the embroidered pocket that my mother had stitched to cover the hole I once made as I tried to climb the dyke on a shortcut to fetch milk. That was when I learned to sew, she didn’t let me learn on my dress, I was six, I was given a rabbit sack and made to practice until my fingers hurt. They still have that rabbit sack, I saw it in the cabin. Maybe they kept it as a memory of me thinking I would never come home or maybe just because they never threw anything away. After the men had eaten and made their way back to the hole my mother sat herself down beside the other woman folk and my sister and her friend passed out the soup and bread, like I expected I was last. I tried to smile at Cathy but she turned her eyes towards my Mother who seemed to be watching above her enamel mug. I gave thanks to the god of crops and gave thanks to the god of water I gave thanks to the god of life and finally tried my broth. It tasted warm and spicy, was flavoured with wild garlic and chives, the meat was fleshy and tasty and the potatoes small and sweet, the soda bread was cut thinly and was warm and soft inside. I ate slowly savouring the flavours and watching the woman and girls sitting, eating and chatting. I really felt like I did not belong, but belong I did and I wanted so hard to be trusted again but I had shamed my people. It would take time, perhaps a long time, but I had plenty, it was all I had after all. The hole wasn't really a hole as such, it was a field that sat lower than the rest and every year all the drainage had to be dug, however the landowner paid well. Then the field would be turned over and ploughed and the potatoes planted, we had been doing it for generations and we had the use of the cabin, which wasn't really a cabin but simply a wood shed that had once stored turnips when the land housed sheep. I remember fondly the year we were given the cabin, I was ten and I imagined as we cleaned the floor, living in a house like that, putting nails on the wall for pictures instead of for pots and pans, I dug a little flower bed and my father laughed, I soon forgot about the flower bed when the bluebells appeared nothing could ever match that, the forest floor dressed in blue. The cabin was in use by only the eldest of our people, the ones that could not manage the nightly walk across the fields to our camp, sometimes a woman heavy in pregnancy would stay there with her family at other times a feverish child. I myself have no recollection of every spending a night there but I do believe that when my brother died we all stayed there to await my fathers return with the doctor. I can't remember much about that day, he was younger than me and I had walked a short way to the burn when I heard all the screaming, it seems that Simon had made a swing with some bailing twine that he had found discarded in a cupboard in the cabin, the bigger boys told him it wouldn't hold, he bet them it would. He had tied it high in the silver birch tree and had threaded a stick in as a seat, he swung several times before the rope gave, it wasn't far to drop but the angle he fell and the rocks under the water ensured he never smiled again. That tree is known as the weeping tree and we never go there, my brother Johan wanted to chop the tree down but my Father explained that it was not the trees fault, it had not killed Simon nor had the burn, it was simply Simon had chosen not to listen and because of that he had lost his life. The clattering of the mugs brought me back to the scene around me, young Kristy, a cousin of mine stretched out to take my mug, she smiled a little and I smiled back and handed her the empty vessel. I could smell the clay pipes being lit and was dying for a cigarette, I had none and even if I did I wouldn't dare light one in front of my Mother. I turned and old Maud motioned me over towards the fire, she was masking the tea, that was always left to the most senior of the group. "let me read your cup " she snarled. I was afraid, if she saw the past, if she saw my life, if she saw my books, the things I had left behind I would once again be cast aside, asked to leave, return to city life and live with my shame forever. "not yet Maud, please, not yet" "what are you feart of you hussy, you think I dinnae ken, the likes of you lass, you are not the first nor the last" she sniggered and spat deeply into the fire. I watched her spit and swear I saw the darkest, darkest night of my life, just then some heavy drops of rain fell. I got up and walked towards the others and my aunty Eliza offered me the pipe, I looked to my Mother and she gave me the nod so I took the pipe, I wanted to wipe the end but that would have been an insult, everything I did I had to be aware I was after all walking on very thin ice. The rain seemed to just disappear as some of the younger kids returned to the camp, they would be last to eat, ensuring they stayed quiet beside the fire until it was time to leave. I wondered who would tell them stories now that Tam was gone, when I was young his tales kept me enthralled for hours, sometimes I woke up at home in our van like magic, as if I had been transported to my bed on the wings of a fairytale, it wasn't as romantic as that though, I found that out as I got older and had to help lug those sleeping bundles into the back of the trundle cart. There were a few small toddlers around and a tiny little baby wrapped in a shawl, the older girls took charge of them, using lick and spit to clean their grubby faces and a small basin to wash their hands before helping them with the blessing. The children sat still by the fire allowing this to go on, knowing that to protest would result in a scowl and no supper. The bowls of soda bread and warm milk were given and a handful of sweet berries to each of the tots. While the baby slept soundly burbing milky burps from a small rosebud mouth. It was a beautiful sight just watching the children taking care of their charges beside the fire, listening to the scrape of the spoons on the wooden bowls, bowls carved and turned from the very trees of bluebell woods. The digging was finishing now and some of the older men were just edging into the camp, there was a lot of work still to be done before we cleared off. All the spades and pick axes had to be washed and dried and any loose heads re pegged, this was always done at the end of every shift to save the time at the start of the next work day. It was starting to get dark and several tilly lamps were lit, Hector the large Clydesdale was brought into the encampment to be hitched when the time came. The woman folk were shaking out blankets and gathering pots and tins, I looked around for a story teller but could not see one, I did not want to ask in case there was a reason I did not know about so I busied myself packing dishes on to the trundle truck Before I could say a thing all the small children were bundled into the truck along with Maud and a few of the elders, it wasn't quiet dark but it was that time in between, the time when we thought about our kin who went before, a time for silence and not a lot more. It feared me as I walked silently behind my brethren, somehow I had ended again, at the end as I knew I would, the noises emitted from those in front was mumbled but sure as I marched beside the clanking truck, inside my head I marched to the brother song and the tunes of god, while in reality I listened to the sound of hooves, of hearts of very tired men, this was my family, my blood and now I had to give them my applause, small though it was… Washing my boots before I entered the van, giving praise to the god of life I once again seeked salvation, while in my heart I knew I was a traitor. My Mother stood stiffly at the door of the van, Cathy, my young sister stood close by, Johan's back was visible to me and young Raven stood solid, her hair ablaze beside her father. I was torn between running and leaving quietly but Raven looked me square in the eye and mouthed something in contempt, if I tell the truth that's what made me stay. In a way I am glad I did. My mother removed her apron and moved slowly towards the van, I followed uninvited, sure that she would tell me if I was not invited into the hearth of the home. I turned and watched Johan and Raven back off into the night, neither one looked back which gave me hope, perhaps not. My sister Cathy lay snaked around a younger sibling I did not recognise, perhaps it was a brother but then again, maybe not, I inched my way onto the other mattress, the one that lay vacant and thought of my life before I chose to return. I pulled the thick blanket over my aching bones and prayed to our gods, for all the things I loved, but when I thought about it the things I craved were gone, the only thing I knew that were now real were my kin, and my blood. I expect that is why the dreams came, in torment, real, and sore. I cried deeply that first night and on subsequent others, nobody asked why, they either did not care or they did not hear I heard my mother in the middle of the night, she spoke broken Gaelic "shhh nicridhe shhh" hush my darling hush. It comforted me a little to know she would talk to me in sleep, but still she refused to acknowledge me in the light of the day. I do not think I slept that night I merely lay in rest, I knew that Raven was my way in, Johan was my brother and I wanted so much more than an insolent look of arrogance, a feverant look and no more. I know also I had crossed him in my youth and I did not want forgiveness just acceptance, I was back and that was that. I remember when he was born, I do not think it was long after me, he was a breach baby and came out with his sack intact, I had sat with my Mother as she screamed in dying pain, my father was in Tayside along with all the men, fishing. So the story goes. Maud and aunty Jinny had told me to leave but in my infant ignorance I refused and stayed. I still to this day remember what I saw as auld Maud tore the sack and the water spilled on me, he did not cry for hours, or so it seemed to me, my darling dark haired brother had simply died in there. I remember what my Mother said as she thrashed in pain "devil take this castrophe. .it is all that I can bare" then the next thing I knew he was suckling at her breast, I watched his small chest expand and saw him look at me, from that day on Johan was my world and I was his, well until Kirk came and I lost everything. Somehow he can not forgive me, I know in my heart what I had done had caused him more pain than it could me, I had left, gone, could not hear the scorn, the vicious tongues, but Johan suffered the venom every day, they took it out on him, lashed him because of my crimes and in time life became easier but now I was back and he remembered the years he was belittled and scorned, that is why he can not forgive. The death of my Father was subsequently sore, they blamed me and my shame for him giving up on life, nobody has yet spoken to me about this, but deep inside I know. So, yes I lie here beneath blankets and sacking, dressed in my day clothes, my boots outside, I churn it all over night after night and pray someone will talk to me and sort all this out. More than anything I pray to once more see that smile, the one gifted to me the day Johan was born, the silent small smile of my brother Johan. Yet I know in my disgrace I can't have that love, that mutual respect, I lost it all when I stole sweet Kirk, my blue eyed cousin only in birth. I don't think I slept much that night but my aching bones wanted to move, I had heard my Mother leave the van earlier and knew that breakfast would be prepared, I wasn't expected to help in that, not like before. I had lost my place with my family and I just had to be patient and hope that in time I would once again become a part of it. As I walked towards the bath house, I remembered the swallows that year, we found one on the ground, poor thing. Swallows can't fly from the floor, they swoop and swirl through the sky and into the trees and the eaves of the buildings , they catch insects in flight. It lay dazed by the corrugated shed my father had built years before as a storage place for tools and things. Most of the men chose to keep their own tools safe below their vans so the shed became unused and some of the younger woman started using it to bathe in. I marvelled at that swallow, I had only ever saw them in flight and in pictures but when I held it in my hands and felt the panting in its chest I wanted to set it free. The other swallows swooped and circled as I held the small bird in my hand. I threw it into the air and it fell heavily to the ground. I remember running to my Father in tears and he explained that the poor thing would be better off in a pie.. horrified I took to the woods where I met Kirk and his dog Bogart, he saw my tears and sauntered over. Somehow I fell in love that day, just the way he listened as I cried and showed him the small bird. He took it from my hand and climbed into a tree and left the bird on a small shelf where the owl chicks often sat at night, as he shimmied down again I watched in amazement as my swallow joined the others in flight. A couple of girls were leaving the bath house as I arrived, they looked at me and laughed at me , linking arms, heads together. My stomach was flaring up again and I had no medication, I had wrongly assumed that being free from the stress of the city I would also be free from the crippling pains. I held my breath and swallowed my saliva over and over until the spasms passed, there was no-one here that would help me I just had to get on with things , there was a small mirror inside the shed and I could see that my skin looked pale and my eyes dark, I had a look of my mother and just hoped that in time she would accept me back into the family, I really needed her that was after all why I was here. Kirk was gone now, so was our Samuel, he had hardly grasped a breath, but these people knew nothing, I might in time tell them but then again I might not, they after all would tell me that it was gods way….seven weeks .I do not think so. So here I am my breast still leaking, my heart aching and I can not tell a soul. Walking back from my morning wash I listened to my mother singing, her voice was more than the dawn chorus, I knew in my heart she sang for my father, how could I tell her I sympathised, I, after all had lost something precious, but to them my loss was in fact just a curse. I chosen to walk a boundary, I had lost it all…. My Mother was sitting on the steps of our home when I turned into the path, she acknowledged me and stood slightly to the left so I may pass, she knows I am in torment but she chooses to distance herself, no one yet has mentioned my Kirk. He was sunny and funny and worked hard, I remember the night Samuel was born, he stood by my shoulder and talked and whispered and held tight as I screamed and begged a way out, I remember the tears as they spilled down his face, his gypsy eyes, he held his small son and thanked our lord, his son, his world… It was not easy in the early weeks , what with Sam's colic, his hernia, his low birth weight, his floppy muscles and his elfin looks, there were so many tests and all the running back and forth, genetist's and psychologists, we were totally drained. It didn't last long though, and now I wished it had. That day, I can not even bear to think about it, we had another letter, it came from a doctor, one who wanted to know all about us, Kirk read the letter as he held Samuel after his first feed, he threw the letter across the table and looked me in the eye. He never said a word but in my heart I just knew he hurt. As I supped my porridge my Mother and my young sister came and sat by me "you wont be going to the field today lass, there stuff you need to see to here, and I will be with you" I nodded, but if she thought I would be telling her anything she was well wrong , I was in no way ready, Sam and Kirk were only two weeks buried and I was here because at the end of the day I didn't know what else to do, I had come back to speak to Johan, I believed he would just somehow be there. He wasn't but I would not speak about my torment until my brother acknowledged me, and I guess that might be a long time... a long long time...
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