The Man in the Moss (38 page)

CHAPTER III

The Moss was like a warm bath, and he left it with
regret.
           
Knowing, all the same, that he
must. That there was nothing to be accomplished by wallowing.
           
So he strode out. And when he
glanced behind him, what he saw took away his breath.

           
For
it was no longer a black and steaming peat bog but a vast, sparkling lake, an
ecstatic expanse of blue and silver reaching serenely to the far hills.

           
Its
water was alive. Quiescent, undemanding, but surely a radiant, living element.
No, not merely living ...
undying.
Immortal.

           
And
the water was a womanly element. Light and placid, recumbent. Generous, if she
had a mind to be. If you pleased her.

           
He
felt tufts of grass crisp and warm under his wet feet and was embarrassed,
thinking he would surely besmirch it with filthy peat deposits from his
bog-soiled body. But when he looked down at himself he saw that his skin was
fresh and clean - not from the bog, but from the lake, of course.

           
And
he was naked. Of course. Quite natural.

           
He
stood at the tip of a peninsula. He thought at first it was a green island
because the mound which rose, soft as a breast, from its centre was concealing
the hills behind. But as he ascended the rise, new slopes purpled into being,
and when he reached the summit, the surrounding hills were an amphitheatre.

           
In
the middle of which he stood.

           
Naked.

           
Appraised.

'Shade the light! Shade it, damn you!'
           
'What with?'

           
'
Your hand, jacket, anything ... You poor little sod, you're really frightened,
aren't you ... ?'
           
'No, it's just ...'

           
'Don't
be ... Easier than you expected, surely, wasn't it? Soil's lovely and loose,
obviously replaced in haste, everyone shit-scared, like you. Look, why don't
you get the ropes? We can have this one out and into the Range Rover before we
start on the other, OK?'

           
'All
right. Now?'

           
'Got
a firm grip, have we? You let it go and -I promise you, cock - we'll put you
down there and bury you alive.'
           
' Yes, all right, yes, I've
got it.'
           
'OK, now. Pull.'

           
'Oh
...agh ... Where shall I ... ?'

           
'Just
at the side will do. Right. Fine. Now, let's have the lid off.'

           
'What...?'

           
'Have
a little look at him, eh? Hah! See that ... not even nailed down, they really
were in a panic, weren't they? To think I was once almost in awe of these
little people. How wrong can ... Oh, now ... Oh, look at that.'

           
'Oh!'

           
'Go
on. Have a better look. Get closer. Put your fingers on his eyes.'

           
'I
can't, I ...Oh, God, how did I get into this?'
           
'No good asking Him, my
friend, you've cut all your ties in that direction. .

Ernie Dawber was soon aware of Something Happening in
the churchyard.

           
A
light sleeper, Ernie. Eyes and ears of the community, twenty-four hours a day.
The headmaster's house overlooked the playground on the one side, and from the
landing window there was no hiding-place at all for a pair of eight-year-olds
sharing a packet of Embassy Gold.

           
Ernie's
replacement as head teacher came from Glossop and had not been prepared for
such dedication. In fact he'd said, more or less, that if they made him live
over the shop, as it were, they could stick the job. He was a good lad, though,
generally speaking, so the Education Authority had accepted his terms, allowed
him to commute from Across the Moss ... and sold the house to Ernie.

           
Who
couldn't have had a better retirement present. He was always on hand - and more
than pleased - to take groups of kids on nature rambles or do a spot of relief
teaching in the classroom in an emergency.

           
And
he could still watch the generations pass by. Through the landing window ...
the schoolyard. While through the back bedroom window, on the other side of the
house ... the graveyard. Full circle.

           
So
all it took was the clink of a shovel, and Ernie Dawber was awake and up at the
window.

           
They
were being very quiet about it - as usual. He couldn't see much, just shadows
criss-crossing through torchbeams, up at the top end, where the churchyard met
the moor. Where Matt Castle had finally been planted and the earth piled at
last on top of him.

           
Ernie
watched for just over half an hour, and then the torches were extinguished.

           
'By
'eck,' he said, half-admiringly, hopping over the freezing oilcloth back to
bed, 'tha's got a nerve. Ma.'

           
He
remembered Joel Beard. What, really, could he have done? If their stupid curate
was determined to spend the night in the little cellar under the church, how
could he stop him?

           
Maybe
the Rector's fears were unfounded. Maybe his experience and that of the Bishop
all those years ago ... Well, they were sensitive men. Not all clergymen were,
by any means, and this lad certainly looked, well, not dense exactly, that
wasn't quite the word. Dogmatic, set in his beliefs. Blind to other realities.

           
But
at least, tucked up in his cell, he wouldn't be aware of what was happening up
in the churchyard.

           
And
that was a small mercy, Ernie thought, getting into bed. He felt a trifle dizzy
but decided to disregard it.

He thought he recognized the naked woman on the hill.
There was
something
about her, the
way she looked at him, the way she smiled.

           
The
way she seemed to say,
 
Are you man enough?

           
He
stood above her. Confident of his superior strength, his muscular limbs, his
halo of golden curls. Their power over women. Oh, he was man enough.

           
For
had he not fallen into the black peat and emerged from clear water, as clear as
the Sea of Galilee? And had not the peat been washed from him?

           
Now
the female lay in the grass before him, close to the summit of the green mound,
her legs spread. He knew what she wanted.

           
Her
wild hair was spread over the grass. Hair which reflected the light, changing
like water. Hair which rippled like the lake.

           
He
smiled his most superior smile. 'I know what you want.' Disdainful.

           
And
if there was no disdain in the reaction of his body, this was another
demonstration of his power. Proof that he certainly was man enough.

           
But,
gently, she shook her head.

           
First,
you must recognize me for what I am. And then worship me.

The lights were tiny, some distance away, a short
procession of them. Torches, lanterns, Tilley lamps; whatever, people were
carrying them, and they were carrying them openly across Sam Davis's farmland,
and Sam gripped the bedroom window ledge, bloody mad now.

           
'Right!'

           
'No!'

           
'I'm
gettin' shotgun ...'
           
'Sam,
no
... !'

           
'Shurrup,'
he rasped. 'You'll wake kids.'
           
'I'm not letting you.' He
heard her pull the cord to the light over the bed.

           
'Look
...' Sam turned his back on the window. Esther, all white-faced and
rabbit-eyed, sitting up in bed, blankets clutched to her chin. 'They're makin'
a bloody fool o' me, yon buggers,' he whispered. 'Don't even hide their bloody
lights no more.'

           
'We
should never've come here.'

           
'Oh,
don't bloody start wi' that again.'

           
'Why
d'you think it were so cheap? It's a bad place, Sam.'

           
'It's
the best
we'll
bloody get.'

           
'Nobody
wanted it, and I don't just mean the land.'

           
'Aye,'
he said. 'I know you don't mean the bloody land, rubbish as it is.'

           
'I'm
scared,' she said, all small-voiced. 'It's an awful thing t'be scared of your
own home, Sam.'

           
He
snatched a glance out of the window; the lights had stopped moving, they'd be
clustered up there in a circle of their own around what was left of the stone
circle.

           
'Sam!'

           
'
Shurrup!'

           
'Aren't
you
scared? Really. Aren't y—'

           
'Listen.
What it does to me ... it just makes me tampin' mad. Been goin' on weeks,
months ... and what have I done about it? Tell me that? Am I going t'stand here
for ever, like an owd woman, frickened t'dearth?'

           
'You
went to the vicar. That new feller's coming tomorrow. You said he were coming
tomorrow.'

           
'Waste
of bloody time.
And
the coppers. I
keep telling yer. Couldn't even charge um wi' trespass 'cause it's got to be
trespass wi' intent to do summat illegal, and worshipping the devil int even a
criminal offence no more - sooner bloody nick you for a bald tyre. Bastards.
Useless bastards. All of um.'

           
Kept
saying it. Kept repeating it because he could hardly believe it, the things you
could get away with. Was he supposed to sit around, with his finger up his
arse, while them bastards up there were shagging each other front and back and
sacrificing his beasts? No bloody
way
!

           
'You
go out there,' Esther said, 'and I'm ringing the police, and I'll ring the
bloody vicarage too and tell um where you are, I don't care what time of night
it is.'

           
'Oh,
shit!' Sam advanced on the bed, spreading his arms wide, cold by now in just
his underpants. 'Bloody
hell
, woman.
What do
you
suggest I do, then?'

           
'Come
back to bed,' Esther said, trying her best to smile through the nerves that
were making her face twitch. 'Please, Sam. Don't look. Just thank God they're
up there and we're down here. Please. We'll talk about it tomorrow.'

           
'Well,
thanks very much for your contribution.' Sam sighed. '"We'll talk about it
tomorrow." Fucking Nora.'

           
He
took one last glance.

           
The
circle of light did not move.

           
'I've
had it wi' talk,' Sam said.

First you must recognize me. For what I am.

           
'Recognize
you?' He laughed. 'For what you are?'

           
He
stood above her, looking down on her. The elongated shadow of his penis divided
her lolling breasts like a sword.

           
'I
know
what you are,' he said. 'I know
precisely
what you are.'

           
He
saw a blue calm in her eyes that was as deep as the lake, and for a moment it
threatened to dilute his resolve.
           
Then he heard himself say,
'How
dare
you?'
           
She lay below him, placid,
compliant.

           
'You're
just a whore. How dare you seek my recognition? You're just a ... a cunt.'