by Magnus Mills
'Yes, but only as a friend,' I replied.
'You were never friendly to him!'
'I was.'
'No you weren't!' she cried. 'And now he's gone and you deserve it!'
Next moment she had turned away and was stalking homeward. I wanted to go after her and find out what fault I was supposed to be guilty of now, but there were one or two things I needed to do first. Quickly I counted the pieces of tin to see what still remained, then I checked the rope was secure, grabbed the basket and set off in pursuit.
It was remarkable how far she'd got in that short time. I judged she'd covered a couple of hundred yards already, which was some distance considering her earlier complaint that she couldn't walk any faster! She marched along with such a determined stride that anyone would have thought she was trying to put as much space between us as possible.
For my part I had no intention of exerting myself just to catch up, so I strolled along at a normal pace, knowing that I was bound to overhaul her eventually. This actually took longer than I'd estimated, and it wasn't until we were nearly home that I got close enough to speak.
'I deserve what, exactly?' I asked.
'You deserve to be left on your own!' replied Mary Petrie.
'What, just because I criticized Simon Painter once or twice?'
'Don't drag Simon into it!' she snapped. 'At least he cares about other people! All you care about is yourself and your silly little house of tin!'
She was still making no effort to slow down, but pressed on with her eyes looking straight ahead. The house in question was now in full view.
'What's silly about it?' I enquired.
'It's all silly! Look at it! Sticking up in the middle of nowhere, miles from anyone else!'
'But that's why it's so perfect!'
'You really believe that, don't you?' she said. 'You really think you're living some sort of enviable existence. That's the reason you keep going over to Simon's all the time: you just can't accept that he could ever dream of moving away. Oh no, there can't be anywhere better than here because this is the centre of the world! Everyone else must be wrong! How can they not want to live on a cold, windy and desolate plain, in a silly little house of tin where you have to shovel sand every morning and bolt the door to stop it flying open?'
Suddenly Mary Petrie stopped in her tracks and faced me.
'I'll tell you why you're here,' she said. 'You're here because you think it makes you different. You think this silly little tinpot life of yours, this self-imposed isolation, makes you more interesting than other people. Don't you? Eh? You're convinced that if everybody had the chance then they too would live in a house built entirely from tin. You can't see that all you're doing is playing, the same as Simon, Steve and Philip were playing before they grew out of it! You're playing at being a loner who can get by without anyone else. That's why you cut yourself off like some recluse! You couldn't find a cabin in a canyon so you chose this place instead. A gleaming, grey, two-storey edifice with a sloping roof and a tin-plate chimney! You believe it's a fortress, but I'll tell you something: it's tinny and it's temporary and one of these days it's going to fall down about your ears!'
When she'd finished speaking she stood glaring at me with her hands on her hips and her eyes ablaze.
I waited a moment and then said, 'So you don't like my corrugated dwelling?'
Mary Petrie sighed. 'You still don't understand,' she said. 'What I mean is, it's not where you are that counts but who you're with.'
'Does that mean I shouldn't go to Simon Painter's any more?'
'Of course not, but try to pay me some attention too.'
'Alright then.'
Her look softened. She sighed again and turned towards the house. I watched as she walked the remaining distance before disappearing inside, then spent a few minutes pondering what she'd said. The gist of it, as far as I could gather, was that the whole place was on the verge of collapse. Obviously I didn't want her to feel insecure, so I gave it a quick examination for structural weakness. As I expected there was nothing wrong at all, but I thought it better not to go inside straightaway as she obviously needed time to herself. Instead, therefore, I waited around while the pale afternoon light began to fade.
This was a time of day I'd always enjoyed, when I could watch the horizon being gradually encroached by gloom. The air felt slightly warmer than usual, suggesting that the wind had veered a little. A glance at the weathercock told the same story. The vane had been pointing steadfastly west-south-west ever since we'd fixed it to the roof. Now, however, it had swung towards Simon Painter's house. In former times this would have allowed the futile clanging of a bell to drift into our hearing. Lately, of course, there was nothing but the moan of the wind, which at last appeared to be losing some of its harshness. There was less sand being borne along with it than usual, and I glanced idly towards the house to see if any needed clearing away. As I did so a distant movement caught my eye. It was far away to the north, where a dense bank of clouds was settling down for the night. I peered into the dimness, trying to work out what I'd seen. Then, after a few more moments had passed, I spied a remote and solitary figure wandering slowly from east to west.
10
Eventually the morning came for my final trip to Simon Painter's. Several more days had gone by, and the pile of tin had continued steadily to diminish. In the end there were just three items left.
Before I set off with the provisions, Mary Petrie said, 'Are you going to try to see them today?'
'I don't think so,' I replied. 'What would we talk about?'
'Well, they're your friends,' she said. 'Surely you can think of something.'
'Not at the moment, I can't, no.'
'So you're going to leave it, are you?'
'Probably.'
'Suit yourself then, but I tell you, you'll regret it.'
Several times recently she'd urged me to time my visits so that I'd be there when they arrived, but unfortunately I still remained unable to face them. In fact, the longer I left it the more difficult it seemed to become. Today, as Mary Petrie was trying to point out, was my last chance to confirm our friendship. After that we were likely to drift even further apart.
Arriving at Simon's, I looked at what was left of his house. Besides the three pieces of tin, the only reminder that it had ever existed was a faint rectangle marked in the sand. His flagpole, the bell and the rest of his personal possessions had been removed on intervening days, and now there was almost nothing. With some misgivings I placed the basket in a safe position, and went home.
When I got back Mary Petrie was still out on her daily walk, so I poured some coffee and went to wait on the doorstep. The wind had continued to lessen during the past week, and there was now little danger of sand coming into the house. As a matter of fact, the weather had taken a general turn for the better. I was almost prepared to say that spring had come at last!
After a while I saw Mary Petrie in the distance. She'd been following her normal circuit of the house, keeping it only just in sight, and now she was on her way back. As a gesture of goodwill I went inside and put some fresh coffee on the stove. When she arrived a few minutes later, it was almost ready.
'I saw some people earlier,' she said. Three women, I think, but they were quite a long way off.'
Quickly I moved to the door and looked out.
'Where are they now?' I asked.
'Oh, they'll have gone,' she replied. 'That was about an hour ago.'
'Which direction were they going?'
'It's hard to say really. They looked as if they were just sort of roaming around.'
'Well, which way roughly?'
'I don't know!' she snapped. 'Over there somewhere!'
She waved her arm towards the doorway, which meant anywhere generally to the west.
'Oh,' I said. 'Right.'
I didn't bother to enquire further, because Mary Petrie quite often lost patience if I asked too many questions. A similar thing had happened some months befor
e when she'd come home and told me about an unusual cloud formation she'd noticed. Apparently it resembled a bird, but when I asked if she meant a bird in flight, or just perching, she'd flared up and announced that it didn't matter what sort of bird it was! Furthermore, she said she wouldn't bother to tell me next time she saw anything of interest.
Today's sighting was the same. As far as she was concerned she'd seen some women, they'd gone, and that was that. The subject was closed.
Nevertheless, I was curious about who they could be. It wasn't unusual for people to turn up on the plain from time to time, even in a location as far out as ours. This was mainly much later in the season, though, when the weather had got warm enough to call summer. Such newcomers often pictured themselves as pioneers, or even explorers, just because they happened to be camping in the wilds for a few weeks. Yet as soon as the cold wind returned they'd disappear and wouldn't be seen again.
The three women spotted by Mary Petrie, on the other hand, had arrived within days of winter coming to an end. The same applied for the wandering individual I'd observed the other evening. It struck me that this part of the world was becoming quite crowded for the time of year, and I pondered what was bringing them all in our direction.
'I think we'll have these shutters open,' said Mary Petrie a little later. 'Let some light in for a change.'
This was intended as an instruction to me, of course, and I had to spend an hour or two going round the outside of the house trying to get them all unfastened. In truth, I'd been hoping to avoid the question of the shutters because I knew some of them to be badly jammed. During previous years I'd found it much more convenient simply to prop the door open in mild conditions, and leave the shutters as they were. Mary Petrie had other ideas. Things had to be done correctly, in her opinion, which meant the shutters should be open and the door closed.
When I'd finally completed the task of unjamming catches and getting hinges oiled, it was quite late in the afternoon. For a while I considered not going to Simon Painter's to collect the basket until next morning, but in the end I decided a stroll would be a good idea. There was a gentle breeze blowing throughout the house, not a speck of sand anywhere, and Mary Petrie was busy arranging her vases of dried grass. With a general feeling of well-being I set off on my short journey.
In former times, when I approached Simon Painter's place the first thing I would see would be his captive balloon, followed soon afterwards by the flagpole, the chimney and then the upper part of his roof. These I would register in a casual way as I drew nearer. More recently I had become accustomed to finding a depleted pile of tin waiting for me. Today I expected to see only a basket containing an empty flask. I was surprised, therefore, when I suddenly noticed that there were three people standing where the house used to be.
For a moment I hesitated in my step, thinking it was Simon, Steve and Philip. They were still a good distance away, but I could tell from their movements that they'd already seen me coming. For this reason I felt I had no choice but to continue towards them. It was only then that I saw it was three women. They were all looking at me as I walked up, so I adopted a proprietorial air and headed directly for the basket, which had been placed on the ground nearby.
'Do you want something?' one of them asked, as I picked it up.
'I've just come to collect this,' I replied. 'I brought it here earlier for some friends of mine.'
'But now you're taking it away.'
'Yes,' I said. 'It's empty. Well, it's not actually empty, but it's got an empty flask inside.'
'Where are these friends then?'
'They were moving the house that used to be here. They've gone now.'
It seemed wrong having to explain myself to these three women. After all, they were the strangers, not me. The one who was asking all the questions seemed especially hostile, so I was relieved when another one spoke in a friendlier tone.
'Oh well,' she said. 'I expect you've got as much right to be here as we have.'
Thanks,' I heard myself say. The three of them seemed to relax slightly, so I carried on the conversation by pointing to the rectangular mark on the ground. 'The house was right here. It was built entirely from tin.'
'So why has the owner moved?' asked the third woman.
'He fancied a change, that's all.'
They glanced at each other, and the second one even managed a smile.
'Good place to live, is it?' she enquired.
'Yes,' I said. 'Great.'
'Cos we're looking for somewhere.'
'Oh, right. Well, you won't find anywhere better than this.'
I then explained in length about how the house had faced west-south-west, which is where the prevailing wind came from, and how I lived about three miles away in one direction, while there were also a couple of other people living further towards the west. Meanwhile they all stood around, gazing at the rectangle, the sky and the horizon. Occasionally they even gazed at me.
When I'd finished speaking, the first one said, 'Where does that go?'
She was pointing at something that had come into existence over the past few weeks, namely, the beginnings of a trail. It followed the route taken each day by Simon, Steve and Philip, and consisted of no more than a collection of footprints. Even so, it appeared to lead to some far-off destination, and I could understand the interest it must have aroused in the three women.
'It doesn't go anywhere really,' I said. 'It's all just wilderness from here.'
'Wilderness?'
'Yes, you know. More of the same.'
In that instant a look passed between them that I wasn't supposed to recognize. It was one of pity, and I knew that for some reason they all felt sorry for me. Awkwardly, I opened the basket as if to check the contents. Then I closed it again. Meanwhile, the three women seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement. Lying on the ground were several bags, which they now began to gather up.
'We'll probably have a look along there,' said the second one, nodding towards the trail. 'Seems quite promising.'
She started walking and the others closed in behind.
'Bye,' I said.
'Bye,' they all replied.
I watched as they went, and wondered what it was they expected to find. Then I picked up the basket, took a last look at the rectangular mark, and started for home. When I got back Mary Petrie was engaged with closing all the shutters for the night. Some of these had been quite difficult to open, and I was impressed with how she was coping on her own. There was only one left to do, so I reached up and held it while she released the catch. Next thing it was securely fastened down.
'Thanks,' she said. 'It's a big improvement having shutters that work.'
'Good,' I replied. 'By the way, I saw those three women you told me about. They were looking at Simon Painter's old place.'
'Thinking of settling there, are they?'
'No,' I said. 'I think they gave it some serious consideration, but in the end they decided to move on.'
'Seeking they know not what,' she remarked, before going inside.
It was dusk now and the gentle breeze of the day was beginning to freshen slightly. Despite my previous objections to having a weathercock on the roof, I'd begun to find it fairly interesting in a casual sort of way, and I tended to glance at it quite often. This evening I noticed that it was still pointing towards the west, as it had done for several days now. For the time being the prevailing wind had ceased, but I was certain this change was only temporary.
11
The opening of the shutters soon became a daily ritual in my house of tin. It was done each morning before breakfast, at the command of Mary Petrie. There were exceptions, of course, such as when the wind gusted up and blew the sand around as if summer had never come. On those occasions the whole place remained firmly battened down. Most days, however, the weather was good. Therefore, the shutters were opened and the light let in.
I had no objection to this as it gave me plenty to do. More importantly, it kept Mary
Petrie happy as she continued her improvements to the interior. There were now vases and pictures everywhere, downstairs and up, as well as the further comforts she had produced from her trunk. We drank our coffee, for example, not from enamelled mugs as had long been my custom, but from china cups and saucers. At night we slept beneath a feather eiderdown.
With the shutters open the house was pleasant, bright and airy, yet after a while there appeared an unforeseen side effect. For some reason the increased ventilation caused the stove to emit more smoke than it had previously. Soon there were deposits of soot appearing on the walls, and Mary Petrie demanded that something should be done about it.
'We can't do anything,' I said. 'It's unavoidable.'
'Don't give me that,' she answered, opening the door and going outside. A moment later she was back. 'The chimney's too short. We'll have to have a longer one.'
'Wouldn't it be easier just to close the shutters again?' I suggested. 'That's obviously what's causing it.'
'I don't want them closed!' she exclaimed. 'They're much better open at this time of year. What it needs is a longer chimney!'
'How do you know?'
'I just do!!'
The look on her face confirmed that she was certain of this, so I immediately gave up arguing.
'That must have been why Steve Treacle lengthened his chimney,' I remarked. 'I wondered what he did that for.'
'So he could show you how to do it, could he?' asked Mary Petrie.
'Oh yes, he's got all the stuff over there.'
'Well, you'll have to go and see him then.'
'I can't really, can I?' I protested. 'Not the way things are at present.'
'I don't care about that!' she said. 'I'm not putting up with all this soot when there's a perfectly simple solution! It's only pride that's keeping you away from Steve, and Philip for that matter, so you can get yourself over there tomorrow!'
The following day I set forth in the sunshine bearing gifts. I'd decided overnight that there would have to be one for each of my remaining neighbours, and that the best thing to take would be some cakes.
