Copper Kingdom (40 page)

‘What is it, is Dad worse?' she asked, her heart beginning to beat rapidly. Her hands were clenched so tightly against the arms of her chair that the knuckles showed white. She breathed a little more easily as Rosa shook her head.

‘No, it's not that, it's just that tomorrow, they're sending Davie home.' The silence stretched long and empty and Mali felt fear mingling with her relief. She did not know if she was strong enough to face Dad every day, knowing that his life was in ruins.

Davie stared out of the bedroom window into the shadowed court below and the voices of the children playing in the cold cobbled street made the house seem silent and empty, closing him in. He lay back on his pillows, not quite sure where he was. He knew he had been sick for a long time for he well remembered lying in the infirmary with the nurses and doctors fussing over him. And he must still be sick, for see how his hands, old man's hands, trembled incessantly.

He felt he should rise from his bed, for surely he must be going to work in the copper, otherwise he would have no wages to buy bread for Jinny and their baby Mali. He pushed back the bedclothes and saw that he was bandaged heavily and gasped as though a jug of cold water had been flung into his face. Memories teased at his mind but he pushed them away, falling back into bed, weak tears running down his cheeks.

Time passed slowly and he heard a movement downstairs, so he wasn't quite alone after all, Jinny was there looking after him. He pushed himself upright once more and though his arms trembled, he managed to maintain his balance. He was sitting up straight, staring at himself in the mirror, or was it himself?

This creature confronting him was old and grey, a man without life or substance and Davie felt nothing but disgust as he stared at the reflection wavering before his eyes.

The thought crept into his mind and grew larger, dominating him, and he knew it was the goal to which he must put all his strength. He must try to remember what it was.

There were footsteps on the stairs and then the door opened but it was not Jinny who came to him, this was a girl with straight bright hair and plump breasts, and she was smiling at him as though she feared him.

‘Davie, why aren't you resting? It's me, Rosa. Don't you know me now that you are properly awake?'

Something stirred in his mind but he did not want it to be roused so he shook his head. He felt ashamed suddenly, wishing to hide himself, wanting this girl, this stranger, to leave him alone, but she was pushing him back into bed, bringing water to wash him as though he was a baby.

‘I'll get you some nice dinner soon, Davie love.' She smiled and brushed back his hair. ‘It's rabbit stew, your favourite, and you must eat it all up and grow strong again for Rosie.'

He turned his face away and stared at the wall and a line of black dampness caught his eye, taking his mind off the nearness of the girl. He stared at the damp patch, making up patterns in his head and he thought he could see the devil. Yes, there was his beard, and his cloven hooves, and Davie was suddenly too tired to think any more.

She went away, closing the door softly behind her, and he sighed with relief. But soon, it seemed, she was back. Smiling down at him with blank eyes. He obediently ate the food she spooned into his mouth for he knew he must grow strong to face the task he had set himself, but what was it? The thought that had been so clear eluded him now.

‘There, you'll be well and strong for me, soon, Davie boyo.' She put her cheek against his and he looked away from her pink smoothness with difficulty, she had been sent by the devil to try him, that much was clear.

‘Get thee behind me Satan.' He whispered the words so that she would not hear them.

‘What did you say? Oh speak to me Davie, tell me you're feeling better.' He looked up at her briefly, afeared of her.

‘I'm getting better,' he said, his voice hoarse, and the words were like a lesson repeated, without meaning or substance. He must humour her or she could inflict pain, terrible pain, even now he felt a burning in his back and legs and in his vitals.

‘I'm getting better,' he said again and saw the woman smile so he knew she was pleased. He heard her footsteps hurrying down the stairs and he groaned as he lay back on the pillows.

‘Jinny.' He spoke his wife's name, wanting her, needing her strength. But she did not come to him.

When he next opened his eyes, darkness had fallen but the gas light was on, throwing a soft glow over his bed. He saw the bowl of soup standing thick and unpalatable on the table beside his bed. He stared upwards and memory came like flood water.

Jinny was gone, he had married her and filled her belly with child and in the bringing forth of his daughter, Jinny's light and joyfulness had been extinguished for she had never recovered her strength after the difficult, tearing birth. The doctor had made it abundantly clear that there must be no more babies and Jinny had cried bitterly, feeling she'd failed her husband. But it was his fault and Davie knew it in spite of well-meaning neighbours talking of the will of God.

At first their marriage had been one of passion and love and laughter, they had enjoyed each other, but then Jinny had begun to miss her farmland home on the green slopes of the valley twenty miles removed from Sweyn's Eye, and though she returned home on visits, it was not enough and she became thinner and some of her joy and laughter vanished. Until she had learned that she was to have a child, then her cup of happiness had overflowed and the next few months were the happiest Davie had ever known.

As the years had passed and their child had grown up to womanhood, Jinny had become weaker, as though her role in life was ended, and so it was that the lung disease had found a ready victim, taking Jinny with such ease that Davie had known his wife no longer wanted or needed to live.

He saw the door slowly open then and his eyes were riveted on the vision entering the room. He felt warmth and happiness burst inside him as he reached out his arms to her.

‘Jinny,' he said softly and she drew nearer to him, taking his hand in hers, rubbing his cheek, kissing the top of his head, and there were tears spilling down over him.

‘It's me, Dad, Mali.' Her voice trembled and Davie's image of his wife wavered in his mind and disappointment was hard and cold as stone lying upon him, crushing him.

‘Mali.' He said her name and she sat carefully beside him, looking up now into his face, her eyes, green like sunlit pools, staring into his.

‘You are going to be well, Dad, quite soon now, for I'm going to look after you.'

Her voice was strong and vibrant, so alive that it hurt Davie's senses for he was half shadow, ready to move through the gates of this world and into the next. He knew his daughter would never willingly relinquish him to the darkness for which he craved and so it must be done in secret; his escape from the soft prison of his bed needed cunning.

He was aware of Mali kissing his cheek, he felt her love but he did not know the words to speak to this girl whose strong hold on life seemed to anchor him. He smelled the soft clean smell of her and as her silken hair touched his hands, he knew that she too must be released from the burden that was himself.

‘Rosa's making you a cup of tea, hot and sweet as you like it, Dad,' Mali said gently.

He heard her words distantly for he felt as though his sight was fading and he knew that reality must not be allowed to draw too close.

He lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, and he felt he knew every line of it, every crack formed a pattern for him to study. At his side he heard his daughter sigh and felt her distress but he could not help her, how could he when he could not even help himself?

He must have slept then for dawn was creeping into Sweyn's Eye when he awoke. He heard a milkman rein his horse, calling to the creature loudly as though to waken the dead. Boots were ringing against the cobbles, men going to work in the copper sheds. Davie raised his head a little, feeling the heat of the furnace on his face, lifting in his mind's eye the weight of his ladle, tipping with skill and strength as befitted a man, a whole, living man.

His daughter brought him breakfast, slops, bread soaked in milk, baby's food. But he ate it willingly enough for today he meant to carry out his plan of escape and for that he needed to be clever.

‘Will you be all right with Rosa for an hour, Dad?' Mali asked. He noticed then that she was very smart in a thick coat that seemed to hang loose from her shoulders as though it was several sizes too big for her.

She brushed back his hair and he chewed on some bread, not wanting to make the effort of replying to her question. She moved away from him at last, carrying the tray awkwardly.

‘I shan't be long, Dad, just got to get some books to work on at home, right? The doctor is coming to see you later on today and we must have you looking your best for his visit so I'll give you a shave.' She was making an effort to smile. ‘You could do with a real good scrape, that beard of yours is growing almost down to your knees.'

He tried hard to listen for the banging of the door but he was very tired, he wondered if there had been some medicine put in with the bread and milk, something that would make him sleep, for his eyes were closing, the sounds of the street outside fading into the distance and he could not fight the weariness that washed over him like the sea over pebbles on a beach.

Davie roused himself from the dream that he was on a ship with the wind rising and the sea running swift and deep against the bows. He could feel the waves pounding, hear the wind screaming but perhaps the noises were only inside his own head.

But then there was Jinny's voice and she was calling him to come to her but he could not see her through the storm. He sat up abruptly and the taut burned flesh of his back tugged at him painfully.

Jinny was buried in the cemetery, he remembered now that she lay quietly at rest beneath the tree growing on the slopes of Kilvey Hill. She was removed from the stench of sulphur, hidden behind the bulk of the mountain.

He realised now that the pounding he'd heard was the rain on the window and he thought fretfully that the downpour would undo all the good work he had done on the grave. The rain would be turning the soft banks into slurry and the power of the wind and rain combined might even be enough to disturb Jinny's resting place.

It took him a long time to find a pair of trousers and when he did, they hung on his thin frame like washing on a clothes line. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, exhausted with his efforts, and then he folded his thick leather belt around his belly and took a deep breath before hoisting himself to a precarious but upright position.

The stairs were steeper than he'd remembered them, dark and full of shadows. He was fearful of going on but he could not return to his bed and become a lifelong prisoner.

He moved downwards one step at a time, sitting awkwardly on the thinness of his haunches, trying to ignore the searing pain that racked his body. He was determined to go to Jinny, for only she could want him the way he was.

There was no one in the kitchen but he could hear voices outside the open front door. Slowly he made his way past the table, scrubbed and white, glowing up at him like dead bones. And then he was in the yard and the rain was tumbling down upon his bare head as if God himself was crying tears, Davie thought.

The wind was high and Davie moaned as he suddenly realised that he could never make his way to the cemetery unaided. His face crumpled and he remained still, not knowing what to do next.

It was the soft neighing of a horse that gave him his answer. Outside in the lane was Tom Murphy's fish cart and there was Big Jim standing patiently between the shafts. Now Davie could go to the graveyard, travelling in the same manner as his Jinny had done. He took the broom from against the wall and tucked it beneath his arm using it as a crutch.

He did not notice the stink of fish or the coldness of the silvery scales clinging to his clothing. As he struggled, with jerky, ungainly movements into the cart he trembled with weakness. But as soon as he got the reins in his hands, he clucked his tongue and reluctantly, the animal moved forward.

Through the wind, Davie heard Jinny's voice encouraging him, urging him on, and he did not notice the spiteful rain beating down on his unprotected head. His nightshirt was soon clinging to his thin body but it was not an unpleasant feeling.

He drove between the slag heaps and down to the river, taking the bridge easily for he felt a new power in him, a fresh strength now that his goal was in sight. The hill rose above him, the craggy summit shrouded in mist. ‘I'm coming Jinny.' He breathed the words and laughed as the wind lifted his damp hair from his forehead.

He drove Big Jim now as if he was young again, he felt he was going courting, a lover hurrying impatiently to meet his girl. He would soon be lying with his Jinny and she would hold him in her arms and soothe his pain. They would cling together as they had done in the first, happy years of their marriage, they would never be parted again, not for the whole of eternity.

He lifted his head triumphantly as the gates of the cemetery came into view.

‘I'm here, Jinny,' he cried.

Marble headstones stood out sharp and grey against the wet grass and drunkenly, wooden crosses leaned over as though bent beneath the battering rain. Davie stumbled down from the cart and moving forward, slowly, painfully, he gave Big Jim a slap.

‘Go home boyo,' he said softly. ‘I've no need of you now.'

He did not see the large Richardson vault, the resting place of the rich and dead, he saw nothing but the hill and the tree and the ground beneath which his Jinny lay.