Locked Door Shuttered Windows

by J Stafford Wright

  The others agreed that something should be done, provided it could be done without undue risk. After all, I seemed to have some secret power. Sugden suggested that they should call my bluff and make a unanimous demand to speak to this mysterious boss. If nothing happened, they would know I was romancing and sheltering behind an imaginary figure. If he appeared, as he surely could -- since he had projected them all here -- they could talk to him frankly about anything they had on their minds, and hopefully get straight answers. They agreed that the doctor should see me about this.

  When the Prince of Priam told me what had been decided, I was worried that I couldn't consult Satan personally. I knew I couldn't give the doctor an immediate answer off my own bat. However, the Prince assured me he would keep Dr Faber from seeing me.

  "How can you do that?" I asked.

  "It's not difficult. I'll confuse his mind, so that every time he sets out to see you, he'll forget what he was intending to do."

  "But suppose he meets me in the road."

  "He'll forget what he wanted to say."

  And this is what happened.

  Meanwhile trouble blew up over money tokens. Everyone was entitled to draw tokens to the value of 600 points a month. This may not sound much, but the prices in the shop were fixed very low, and for example tins of food were no more than one or two points, except for luxury foods. It was possible to earn more by working on the farm or helping elsewhere. There was a standard wage of four points an hour. The employer didn't pay in tokens, but gave a note of the hours worked to be cashed at the bank. The employer himself was trusted to keep a note of the hours that he himself worked, less payment that he received for his services, such as, in the farmer's case, the sale of milk and vegetables.

  By this time there was a noticeable difference between richer and poorer. Those who employed others, and those who worked for them, had many more tokens than housewives who couldn't take a job, or people who couldn't or wouldn't work. Those with more tokens apparently didn't trouble to save, but went in for expensive luxuries.

  The result was that some were flashing their flamboyant life style, so that others, although they had sufficient, were being given a sense of inferiority. A deputation of wives came to see me. They asked for a bigger monthly ration. In return, I asked how many were actually in debt.

  No one admitted to this, but one woman spoke up. "It's not fair, you see. Look at all the money some of them have. They're buying all sorts of things we can't afford."

  I happened to look out of the window, and noticed a teenager whom I knew had been in regular work at the farm, and who must consequently have drawn a lot of tokens. I tapped on the window and beckoned him in. He looked round at the deputation in surprise.

  "We're discussing having more tokens," I said.

  "Suits me," he answered with a grin.

  "I know you're working, but we think we should give more tokens for those people who aren't."

  "If it's more for them, it's more for me, isn't it?"

  "Why, you're not short."

  "Maybe not short. But I can always do with more, can't I?"

  "So can these people."

  "Okay. If you raise their cash, you'll have to raise mine too. Don't forget that! Tata!" He went out, and slammed the door.

  "Selfish pig," shouted one woman. The rest murmured agreement.

  I didn't know what to say, but I promised that I would raise the matter with the Master who was ultimately responsible for our being here. They went away reluctantly.

  I was not prepared for another deputation late in the afternoon. These were the "rich". The teenager had evidently told them about his morning experience.

  Jim Token, the farmer, seemed to be the representative. He was a member of the council that had recently criticised me.

  He began, "We understand you're considering raising the monthly tokens. That'll include ours, won't it?"

  "Nothing's decided yet. But obviously, if the amount is raised, yours will be too."

  "Then what about our work money. Will that be raised?"

  "I don't see why it should be. The proposal is to help those who aren't able to earn extra."

  "That wouldn't be fair. It'd upset the differential between us."

  "Look," I said, "you've been able to afford all sorts of extras that these others don't have. Have you ever thought of buying one or two of these extras, like some special food or fancy clothes, for those who can't afford them?"

  "Why should we? We've worked hard for these things for ourselves. Why should we give them away?"

  "I'm sorry you take that line," I said. "I can only say that the two things will be considered together when I contact our higher authority."

  "In other words, you're passing the buck. But I tell you what. If we don't get what we want, you'll have a strike on your hands. So far as I'm concerned, I'll pour the milk down the drain. And I know the workers at the power station will pull the switches, and there's no one else who can look after the turbines."

  "We'll deal with that when the matter's decided, but I must say I don't like your attitude."

  "Nor I yours."

  "Then," I said with some heat, "there's nothing more to discuss."

  I showed them to the door.

  * * *

  Money came up again when a young widow with two young children was taken ill. She was Mrs Agnes Brown, who had a house at the end of the village. I had accepted her because Satan had told me to choose a mixed group to make up the community. She had some health problems, for which Dr Faber prescribed complete rest in bed for a few days.

  It was the doctor who came to see me about her. I was amused when he began, "I know there was something I wanted to ask you, but for the moment I've forgotten it. But there is one thing. Mrs Brown isn't at all well. I needn't go into technicalities, but she'll be all right if she can rest in bed and be relieved of the children for a few days. She doesn't need intensive nursing."

  "That needn't be much of a problem," I said. "I'm sure her neighbours will keep an eye on her, and one of them will take the children."

  "Yes, that's what I thought. I'm sure that back home any of the neighbours would have done it. But something's happened to the people here. They won't move a finger unless they're paid for it."

  "I'm sorry about that."

  "I suggested that they might do it for love, but one of them told me that love wasn't cash. And I know they're not badly off."

  "Do you think they should be paid?"

  "If you think payment is the only solution, then do it, John. But the rule, as you know, is that the employer must give a paper to say how many hours have been worked. Agnes Brown is hardly an employer. Looking after her children will be an informal arrangement. I suppose it would be my responsibility to employ someone to keep an eye on her. But will I be the employer if the children join up with a neighbour's family? How many hours could they claim for? Twenty-four?"

  I would like to have had time to consult the Prince of Priam, but the matter was urgent.

  I nodded. "We'd better give way now, though goodness knows whether we're setting a precedent. I should think a twelve hour day would be fair for the reckoning, but of course deduct for school hours."

  "I'll suggest that, and I don't imagine it'll be difficult to get help now that money is involved. Of course, it's a matter of principle. Otherwise there doesn't seem to be any shortage of tokens."

  He hesitated a moment, and then went on, "I gather you're under some pressure to increase the payment for all work. Is it likely to go through?"

  "Not if I can help it, but I may be overruled."

  "In that case, you won't mind if I make an adjustment for myself and my wife. I've been charging for my surgery hours, morning and early evening, and for any calls I've made. But you'll appreciate the fact that, even if I'm not called out, I'm on duty all the time. I'd thought of twenty-four hours, but I'd be happy to settle for twelve. Also, Sarah pointed out that although she's my wife, she's been acting as my unof
ficial secretary, and has to be ready to deal with visitors at any time. So shall we say twelve hours for her?"

  He bent down to pick up his bag. There was nothing I could say but Yes. I began to wonder what my own duties were? Twelve hours perhaps? It was up to the self-employed to give an honest answer. In fact, I had not drawn anything beyond my basic 600 tokens. But I was the agent, and it was hardly right that the agent should not draw what lesser men were drawing. Twelve hours pay was about right for the responsibilities I carried.

  * * *

  An hour later I looked out of the window, and involuntarily cried out, "Oh no! Not another deputation."

  Two women bustled up to the door. I let them in, and one of them came straight to the point.

  "Did you tell the doc to get Mrs Higgins and Mrs Davis to look after Agnes Brown and her kids?"

  "I knew he was asking someone, but I didn't know who. What's the trouble?"

  "We'd have done it if he'd given us the chance."

  "You mean he didn't ask you?"

  "Well, yes, he asked us this morning, but he didn't say we'd be paid."

  "So you said No."

  "Well, yes," said her companion. "But he's paying those others. He ought to have given us another chance."

  "I don't see it," I said. "He probably thought you meant it when you refused."

  "So we did. But then we weren't being paid."

  "I'm sorry. The doctor's in charge of the case, and I can't interfere."

  "We thought you were the boss. It's not good enough. We all know why the doc chose those two. They're educated, like he is. They belong to the group that reads literature and that sort of stuff. We don't."

  They got up, and pushed out of the door before I could show them out.

  CHAPTER 20

  This was not the end of the Agnes Brown affair. Three days later Dr Faber came again. Mrs Brown was going downhill and believed she was dying. She was in a state of acute depression and distress.

  "I don't believe she's critical, but although she's still young, she's terrified of dying," the doctor explained. "If she goes on like this she may very well worry herself into the grave. Can you go and see her?"

  "Have you been able to help her at all?"

  He gave a half smile. "I talked to her about survival along the lines that I talked to you before Bill Stuckey's funeral."

  "That was no good?" I asked.

  "She said it was all talk, and she wanted something to cling on to."

  "I can't see I could say any more than you did. Probably not as much."

  "But at least you're an authority figure, the nearest she can get to a priest."

  That made me jump. "A poor sort of priest, when I don't believe in God. But I suppose I ought to go, though heaven knows what I'm to say."

  The doctor smiled. "Heaven knows? You're almost a priest already!"

  I must admit I was too much of a coward to go alone. I thought of Kathleen Ryecroft as a possible helper. Perhaps as two psychically gifted partners we might be able to sense something that would help. I called at the library and explained the situation, and we arranged to go together at six o'clock.

  Kathleen was waiting outside the house when I arrived. We agreed that she would go in first, and ask Mrs Brown whether she could do anything to help. I would come in after waiting two or three minutes.

  When I went in, Kathleen was talking to Mrs Higgins whom the doctor had engaged to take care of the children for the time being.

  Kathleen looked at me and said, "Oh, Mr Longstone, I was just telling Mrs Higgins that I'd take over, while she sees to her husband's supper."

  Agnes Brown called from the bed, "You'll stay too, Mr Longstone, won't you?"

  "Of course I will. Mrs Higgins will be back later."

  Mrs Higgins looked round the room to check everything before leaving. She pointed to a bottle of medicine and a glass on the chest of drawers. "She won't be due for a dose till I get back."

  "All right, Mrs Higgins, I'll stay on until you come."

  After Mrs Higgins left, Agnes Brown began to turn restlessly in bed, but every so often she stared hard at each of us. We sat silently by her side, until she spoke. I heard desperation in her young voice.

  "I'm dying, you know."

  Kathleen said, "I believe you'll get better."

  And I added, "The doctor told me so."

  "They always say that to try to cheer you up. But I know what I know."

  "Are you worried about your children?" I asked.

  "Yes, I am. But I'm sure they'll be looked after. People are kind. But everything's so dark. I'm going out into the dark. Can't you give me any hope?"

  "There's always hope," I said.

  "Not when you're dying. No one's ever come back from the dead to tell us."

  "But we can still hope," Kathleen insisted.

  Agnes Brown stayed silent for a minute, and then said in a tense voice, "I've not been all I should. I've been remembering things I wish I'd never done. What's going to happen to me?"

  I thought of what the doctor had called me. "A sort of priest." A priest hears confessions, doesn't he?

  Agnes Brown was moaning, "I want to be forgiven. It's all so dark. Tell me I'm forgiven. Can't you do something for me, Mr Longstone? I'm dying, and it's all so dark."

  Kathleen caught my arm. "Do something, John. You must, before it's too late. Can't you sense the darkness?"

  And certainly I could. A heavy cloud filled the room. I could smell evil, and a barrier of even deeper darkness came between me and the bed.

  "You must, John, you must."

  Kathleen's voice came to me from a distance. My mouth felt as though a hand was pressed over it to stop me from speaking. I knew the powers of darkness were against me.

  Agnes Brown called again, "John," and her voice seeming to come from a distance was more desperate than ever. This time she called me by my Christian name. My Christian name. And I had once been a priest.

  I fought my way to the bedside and laid my hands on the young widow's head. With all my might I forced the words through the barrier. "Agnes Brown, your sins are forgiven."

  The darkness vanished. The pressure had gone. Kathleen was crying. And Agnes Brown's face was happy. She sat up in bed, and stretched out her arms towards someone whom we couldn't see.

  "Oh miss," she called, and her voice sounded like the voice of a young child, "it's just like you told us in the Sunday school. I'm coming now."

  Her voice returned to its normal tones. "Thank you, thank you!" she said, seizing my hand. "I'm happy now."

  And she began to sing, once more in the voice of a child, "Safe in the arms of Jesus."

  She had hardly sung the first line when she fell back on the pillow. I didn't need to touch her to know that she was dead.

  Kathleen and I looked at each other. On occasions like this one tends to break the tension by some irrelevant remark. It may not have been entirely irrelevant, but Kathleen said, "I've not thought of it before, but John is your Christian name. Your Christian name."

  "I prefer to think of it as my first name." I was anxious to change the subject, because she had echoed the exact words that had occurred to me a minute earlier. "What are we to do now?"

  "Obviously we must fetch the doctor, but I'm sure she's dead."

  We stared down at Agnes Brown. Kathleen put her head down, and tried to hear her heart. When she stood up, she said, "I can't hear anything. I'm sure she's dead. But if you like, I'll stay here while you go for Dr Faber."

  I nodded, and went out. Fortunately, there was no one in the road to ask questions. When I told the doctor, he was frankly surprised.

  "I hadn't expected her to go, certainly not so soon. Could you say anything to help her?"

  "I did my best," I said. "Kathleen Ryecroft was there too, and she helped."

  "Ah well, I'll go along in case there's anything I can do. You'd better come with me." He picked up his bag.

  Kathleen was sitting quietly in one of the chair
s. Dr Faber made a quick examination, and drew the sheet over the face of the dead woman.

  "We'll lock up the house for the time being. Longstone here will doubtless arrange the funeral. But would you, Miss Ryecroft, be able to break the news to the children? A woman could probably do it better than a man. And we must see whether Mrs Davis will keep on mothering them. Mrs Higgins will see to what needs to be done here if I ask her."

  We went out together. The doctor locked up and took the key to Mrs Higgins. Kathleen went to Mrs Davis to see the children, and try to help them through the first shock. I asked her to come to my house afterwards.

  It was getting dusk when she came. She was obviously under strain, and tired, and I had the kettle boiling for a pot of tea. She sank back in the armchair opposite to mine, and covered her face with her hands.

  "You're tired, aren't you!" I said, rather obviously. "You've been through a lot. How are the children?"

  "Better than I had expected. Do you know, it was almost as though they were half expecting something of the sort. Mrs Davis is going to keep them."

  Kathleen seemed to be going over something in her mind as she sipped her tea. Presently she looked at me over the top of her cup. "What really happened just now?"

  "It's obvious," I said. "Mrs Brown was hallucinated, and went back to her childhood. It can be done under hypnotism. You can suggest a person to be back at the age say, of six, and they will talk to some invisible person in the voice of a child, as they did at that age."

  "Then you don't think she really saw her Sunday school teacher coming to welcome her as she was dying."

  "Just hallucination," I said.

  "I don't like to ask you, but were you just pretending when you told her that her sins were forgiven?"

  It wasn't easy to answer. Was I pretending -- or not? "Remember, I was once a priest, and I knew what comforted people. So I thought I would say the words."

  "But were her sins forgiven? And what did she mean by 'safe in the arms of Jesus'?"

  "It's an old hymn, and she evidently remembered it from Sunday school. And I've no idea about her sins."

  "Then who did she think had forgiven them?"

  "God, I suppose. I slipped up in choosing her. I hadn't realised that childhood religion can last so long, even when it's been dropped."

  Kathleen put her cup down noisily on its saucer. Her face flushed. "Then I think you're a hypocrite."