"Well," I said, "he obviously felt you had something against him, but how do you know Harry did what you say he did?"
"I'll tell you. I woke up about three o'clock this morning, as Doggo was howling. I thought he needed to go out, so I went down to open the back door. Before I did so I looked out of the window, it was moonlight, and I could see Harry Haskins slashing about with a spade."
I interrupted. "One minute. Are you sure it was Harry?"
"I know him well enough. Besides, he was limping with his bad leg. I could see then why Doggo was making such a noise, and I didn't see why I shouldn't let him loose. So I opened the back door and he ran out. I heard a shout, and a thud, and then there was silence. I ran into the garden in time to see Harry Haskins struggling through the gate into the field. I could have caught him, but there was Doggo lying on the path. I bent down to him, but he was dead."
Once more Jeremy Jenkins was overcome with crying. At last he said, "And now this morning I discovered that my whole garden is ruined -- everything chopped down or trampled down. What are you going to do about it, Mr Longstone?"
"I'm very sorry indeed. It's a terrible thing to happen. I'll certainly go and see Harry first thing this morning."
I put the kettle on, and we had a cup of tea before he left. I watched him walk slowly down the path, dragging his feet, his head bowed. I wasn't looking forward to an interview with Harry Haskins, but I went to his house immediately after breakfast.
His wife opened the door to me. "Harry guessed you'd come," was all she said, as she motioned me to come in.
"Here's Mr Longstone!" she called out, and Harry came in limping from the kitchen.
His first words were, "I suppose you've heard his story."
I nodded, and he went on, "But I don't suppose hers told you everything."
"He told me you did it, and he told me you didn't like him."
"Yes, I did it, and I don't like him. But there's more behind it than that."
"Tell him, Harry," said his wife, who had stayed in the room with us.
I listened without interrupting while Harry told me his side of the story. "You know we're both gardeners. Somehow his garden is always better than mine, and he rubs it in with the neighbours. He brings some of them round to the field at the back to look over the fence, first at his garden and then at mine. I know his crops are better. I think he must have some magic about him. He's a silly little man, and his garden is the one thing that gives him status, apart from that weird creature that he had as a pet."
He paused, and suggested to his wife that she should make a pot of tea. She went out, but left the door open.
"I cut my leg badly the other day, and it wouldn't heal. That man calls himself a healer. Maybe he is, and I've heard he's done some people good. But I've also heard of some funny goings-on in his front room when the curtains are drawn. He talks about laying on of hands, but I wouldn't let my wife have his hands laid on her if she was alone."
The kettle must have already been on the boil, for at this moment his wife came back with a tray. She stirred the pot, and poured out three cups.
"I think we can all do with a cup," she said, as she handed one to me and helped me to a generous spoonful of sugar.
Harry rattled his spoon round noisily in his cup, swallowed down a mouthful, and went on. "My leg was hurting, and I thought it might be worth letting byegones be byegones and seeing if that Jenkins fellow could do me any good. But would you believe it, he turned me down flat. Just said he couldn't do it. I don't mind telling you, I was angry. I told him I didn't think much of his claims if he wouldn't even try. So he put one hand on my leg, but I guess he switched his magic off first, because it didn't make the slightest difference. I felt mad that I'd humbled myself to come round to him and he'd simply gloated over me. And before I left he had the cheek to take me to the window, and suggest that I might like to see his garden."
Harry rattled the spoon in his cup again before taking another gulp of tea. I sipped mine.
"I couldn't sleep last night. My leg was hurting bad, and I thought it might help if I got up and walked round a bit. I looked out of my bedroom window which looks out over the gardens, and in the moonlight I saw the tops of plants in Jeremy Jenkins' garden, some sort of sweetcorn I think, and I just went mad. My wife takes sleeping pills and she was fast asleep. I went downstairs and out of the back door. I took a spade from the shed, and went along to his garden."
He had another gulp of tea.
"I began to lay about me with my spade, and then that blessed creature began to howl and throw himself against the kitchen door. I knew he couldn't get at me, so I went on hitting and trampling. Of course Jeremy Jenkins woke up, and suddenly the door opened and the creature came straight at me. I only thought of defending myself, and took a swing at it with my spade. I must have hit it on the side of the head as it sprang at me, and it dropped to the ground. The only thing left was to escape before Jenkins caught me, and that's what I did."
The two stories posed a problem. I could imagine the insignificant little man boosting his image with his healing, and maybe feeding his vanity with women who came to him, and also his pride in the creature he had tamed. But now I had listened to the story of the strong man who believed he had been baited by the little man with his magic, and who thought his plea for healing had been deliberately spurned out of spite.
Quite honestly I didn't know what to do. Perhaps it was cowardly, but I felt I must throw the responsibility back on Satan. I might try the council, but I remembered that I was no longer persona grata with them. In any case, I would need Satan's advice.
CHAPTER 23
Kathleen looked in at lunchtime, and we had a couple of boiled eggs and toast together. My usual cooking wasn't elaborate. Naturally she had heard the news, since nothing else had been talked about in the library. She told me that opinions were divided over the two men. Some were upset that the doggo had been killed. It had been a favourite with the children. Others disliked Jenkins, and didn't mind him being taken down a peg.
Kathleen added her own comment. "I must say I'm not keen on Jeremy Jenkins myself. A woman often has an intuitive sense for these things that a man doesn't have. I wouldn't trust myself alone with him in his front room."
"Do you feel like that about all men?" I asked.
"Fishing for compliments, are you, Mr Longstone? Well, perhaps not all men."
I responded in kind. "Now who are you getting at, Miss Ryecroft, I wonder?"
She blew a kiss across the table.
* * *
I was surprised that Satan didn't open the line at the usual time. His observers had obviously told him what had happened, and I wondered whether he himself was puzzled over what action to take. When he communicated next day, I asked him what I should do.
"Nothing," he said. "If our community is to run smoothly, we must let the trouble die down. Once you start interfering, people will begin to take sides actively, and whichever side you take you'll get some of the blame. That won't be good for you as my deputy. It would have been better if it had never happened, but once it has, ignore it."
"Suppose both men appeal to the council?"
"They won't. They've both got things that they wouldn't like to be made public in court. Let them be."
I had anticipated Satan's answer, because, before he came through, a more serious tragedy happened. Soon after midnight I was woken by shouts of "Fire!"
I flung on some clothes and dashed out into the street. Not far off I could see flames leaping up from a house. As I came nearer, I saw it was the house occupied by Joe Penny the printer and his wife Margaret, the couple whose daughter Pat was living with Tom Broadwood in the Stuckeys' empty house.
As I ran, I could glimpse figures silhouetted against the flames. The house was well alight when I reached it, and neighbours clustered in the road well away from the heat. Two or three were running up with buckets of water, and I realised that Satan had slipped up over the provision of hydrants
and hoses.
At that moment, a figure staggered out of the door and collapsed on the path. I could see a flame on the bottom of his pyjama jacket, and two of us dashed forward and tore it off his back. We dragged him to the gate in a state of semi-consciousness.
"Where's Margaret?" I shouted.
Someone in the crowd shouted back, "She's not come out."
A girl's voice called, "It's my mum. She's still in there."
The front door was still open after Joe had burst out, and we could see flames roaring up the stairs. It seemed impossible for anyone to get to the bedroom that way.
"Fetch a ladder, someone!" I called. "The window's our only hope."
"Right! I know where I can get one," a voice shouted.
But just then the girl's voice cried out again, "No, Tom, no! Not you! Please, someone, save my mum!"
Next moment a figure dashed past me, and young Tom Broadwood flung himself through the door. I could see a narrow strip by the wall that was still free from the flames which had crept up the banisters. Up this space and out of my sight Tom struggled. We waited for an eternity.
Then a face at the window, and another face beside the first. Tom had his prospective mother-in-law in his arms. He freed one arm to raise the window, and looked down on us below. I don't know what he could have done if the ladder had not arrived at this moment.
"Carry her down," Tom shouted, and the man with the ladder climbed clumsily up and somehow took hold of the unconscious woman, and came half sliding down with her. Tom followed. In the light of the flames I could see that his face was blackened, and he put his hand to his head as soon as he was on the ground.
Dr Jenkins had arrived, and examined Joe on the ground. Now he came over to Margaret his wife, and knelt down by her. He had a torch, which he placed on the grass, while he put his stethoscope to her chest. Then he shone the torch on her eyes.
Pat Penny had flung herself on Tom at the foot of the ladder, and it was a minute or two before she came to where the doctor was bending over her mother.
"Are they all right, doc?" she asked anxiously, as she looked first at her mother, and then across at her father.
"Your father will be all right when we've treated his burns. And yours too, young man," looking at Tom.
"Isn't my mum all right too?"
The doctor got up slowly, and put his hands on Pat's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. I knew she had a bad heart, and the shock's been too much for her."
Pat fell on her knees and kissed her mother's face again and again. Tears glistened in Tom's eyes. He put his arms round Pat and drew her to her feet. She looked down once more before burying her face on his shoulder, and moaning, "Why's she so cold when the fire's so hot?"
I admired Tom Broadwood, not only for his bravery but for the way he now took command. "Doctor, will you bring Dad to our house. He'll be living with us now, of course."
Pat looked up. "Yes, of course. He'll come to us."
"Thank you," the doctor said. "We'll see that he comes to you. But I'll need to see his burns first in my surgery -- and yours too, Tom."
CHAPTER 24
It was a tragic end to the night, and I was aware of an atmosphere of gloom over the village next day. I looked in to see Tom and Pat, and Pat's father, and found both the invalids much better. Young Pat was bustling about caring for them, while her father Joe lay on a couch. He had obviously been shattered by the death of Margaret his wife. I think Pat was sustained by relief at having Tom safe, and by the thought of his bravery. I promised to make all the arrangements for the funeral.
On the way out, I met Tom Broadwood's parents coming to the house. Pat had shown me to the door, and Tom's mother ran forward and threw her arms round her. They had not been on speaking terms ever since the time when Tom and Pat had gone to live together. Tom's father had his arm round Pat's waist as they went into the house.
The wretched lines of a hymn flickered into my mind. God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform. "Does Satan?" I wondered aloud.
I hadn't long to wait for an answer, for that afternoon Satan opened up the line again. Although the Prince of Priam had done all that I could expect, I somehow felt more reassured when dealing with Satan himself. Now I was able to question him about Jeremy Jenkins and Harry Haskins, and then about the fire.
"Why did you allow it?" I asked.
"How could I help it? I can't control all human folly. Joe and Margaret Penny pushed an armchair up against an electric fire without switching it off before they went to bed."
"Yes, but someone died, and Tom could easily have lost his life trying to rescue Margaret."
"The woman already had a bad heart, so I couldn't help her death. And Tom, I'm afraid, was a fool to risk his life."
"You don't really mean that."
"Of course I do. Why should he risk his life, especially for the woman who disliked him? If he'd done it for Pat, I might have understood a bit."
I must say I was astounded by this.
Satan went on, "You and I are setting up a viable community. This means that members must enjoy life for as long as possible. If, for example, you yourself had dashed into the flames and been killed, that would have been a big setback for me."
"Then you don't approve of sacrifice for others?"
"What's the point? All this idea of sacrifice owes a lot to the crazy fancies of Jesus. He wouldn't listen to me when I offered to give him all he wanted, and he went on to sacrifice himself for others, as he thought, on the cross. And what good did it do the others? A whole lot of them had to suffer too, and were martyred, with the same crazy notion of sacrifice."
I felt bound to intervene. "Christians would say it isn't just sacrifice in itself, but they are inspired by love."
"Love!" Satan snapped. "We've talked about that before. I don't understand love, though I admit that there's something called love that drives people to marry. I admit it, but can't understand it, because it's something physical, and I don't have a body."
"Not even when you materialise, as you have done when you've let me see and talk to you?"
"Maybe I could get somewhere near it. But I learnt my lesson long ago in the time of Noah. A whole lot of spirits liked the look of human girls, and materialised enough to have sexual intercourse with them, a thing that their natures didn't allow them to do amongst themselves as spirit beings. There was a lot of psychic energy being let loose at that time, even among the girls themselves, so there was plenty that the spirits could use for materialisation."
"You say you learnt a lesson from them."
"Yes. They put themselves into a position where they were neither human nor pure spirit, and they vanished into a kind of limbo. So I was unable to use them among my servants."
I couldn't resist showing off my knowledge of the book of Genesis and Peter's second New Testament letter. "I remember Peter says that those spirits were imprisoned in Tartarus."
I wondered how Satan would take this quoting of the Bible, but I need not have worried. He said, "I can quote Scripture too. Jude in his letter says they are kept in chains in the darkness."
"I've read these things in the Bible, but imagined they were just superstition."
"Take it from me, they're true. The Bible contains plenty of facts. The trouble is that the writers, who recorded them, felt bound to overlay them with theories about a so-called God. They were wrong. You need to take the facts, yes, but leave God out. Some of your own theologians have done that. Isn't that why you yourself threw over what you were pleased to call The Faith?"
"Yes," I said. "I found God was dead, so his place in the Bible was all imagination."
Before I had time to argue further and give the matter some thought, Satan quickly changed the subject.
"You'll find the doctor is coming to see you. You remember that the council commissioned him to ask you to bring me here for everyone to interview. While I was away, my deputy muddled the doctor's mind so that he
kept forgetting what he had to do, but now I'm ready."
"You mean, I can tell Dr Faber you'll come."
"Yes, but I'm not going to be at anyone's beck and call. I'll appear when I wish, and not before. I know a lot of people here think I don't really exist, and won't believe in me until they see me. So tell them I'll appear, but they won't know until just beforehand. Then I shall need psychic power from you and Kathleen to help a big materialisation."
I heard no more. The line was dead.
* * *
Dr Faber chose to speak at the funeral. He expressed a hope of survival after death, but concentrated on praising Tom Broadwood's bravery and expressing our sympathy with Joe Penny and his daughter Pat for their loss. It was a relief to me not to have to speak. Afterwards, Tom Broadwood and Pat Penny wanted to discuss marriage.
Sure enough, the doctor looked in to see me next morning. He sat in "Satan's" armchair.
"I've had a lot on my mind lately," he began, "and I've kept forgetting a request I was asked to put to you."
"Go on," I said.
"Well, I can remember it now. Quite a lot of us are anxious to meet your master. There are a few things we want to ask him. In fact, I'm afraid there are two or three who don't believe he really exists, and that you're using this imaginary person to back up your own ideas, and save yourself from blame if things go wrong."
"Very flattering, I'm sure," I said with a smile. "So I've all these terrific powers? I only wish I had!"
"If it's not you, we want to see this superman of yours. He appears to be a miracle worker, so surely he can do for himself what he did for us, and bring himself here."
"All right. As a matter of fact he has already promised to come, and you will all see him."
Peter Faber leaned forward in his chair. "That's good news. That's what we want to hear. When will it be?"
"He doesn't know, but he's promised to come when he can."
"Not very satisfactory, but I suppose we'll have to be content with that. These scientists are often quite unpredictable. Well, I'll tell the others what you've told me."
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