by Alan Watts
“Yeah,” Robert added, ducking back slightly, “an’ you know what that means.”
“So where are your wages then? I expected them, yes…”
She didn’t get any further. Bob grabbed Robert round the neck, with one arm, and the carving knife with the other and growled, as he held the blade to his throat, “Now get them coins, now, or I’ll fillet the little runt!” His eyes glinted madly.
Lil had frozen solid and, seeing the terror in her son’s eyes, rasped, “You harm a single hair on his head, they won’t have to hang you, I’ll…”
He pressed the blade even harder, eyes glowering, and she was backing off slowly towards the fireplace. She turned and lifted one of the tiles on the hearth, reached inside a hole underneath and pulled out a small leather bag. It was bulging with coins, more than a week’s worth. With a seething and terrified look in her eyes, she tossed the bag to him, and it chinked as it struck the boards.
Bob grinned as he shoved the boy away. He picked it up; it was deliciously heavy. He tossed it up and down a couple of times and whacked the knife into the table, where it stood quivering. He headed for the door, feeling as though he’d struck gold.
Nine
Bob stayed away all the rest of that day and the next, and it was pretty obvious that by then, every penny had gone on booze.
Lil had a deadline to aim for. March 25th, the day when King would be along for the rent.
By that time, she not only had to scrape together the two pounds for it, but enough to feed them too, for it also became more clear with every passing day that Bob really had been sacked from the factory.
She knew something else too, that if the worst came to the worst, he would conveniently be out of the way when the knock came and she would never see him again.
The day she and Robert were taken into the workhouse, they would be separated, as it was deemed inappropriate that parent and offspring should work together, in case of sentiment impinging on their productivity.
If that happened, her life might as well be over.
The days began to blur into one, with that terrible day looming ever closer, and every so often, Bob did turn up, but only for money, food or sex.
A sort of nerve war ensued, where he would demand payment, knowing she had been sitting at the ball from dawn to dusk. He beat her up on three occasions, the last time raping her on the parlour floor when she refused him, and knocking one of her back teeth out.
After this, and by now in fear of hers and Robert’s lives, she started hiding about two thirds of the money in one place, and conveniently letting him ‘find’ the rest, after an often violent tussle, so as to dampen his suspicions.
And then, before she knew it, there was just one day left to go.
Today was March the 24, a Sunday, and she had not managed to scrape the money together. She had only amassed about three quarters, and short of stealing the rest, had no idea how to get it. People would take a very dim view if she sat outside with her ball on the Sabbath; not that she would earn enough anyway.
Bob had staggered home from the Dog and Duck at midday, so drunk he could barely stand up and had stood outside the front door, shouting in each direction that he would take on any man who could fight.
Nobody obliged and most laughed. He had been sick, reeled indoors, and fallen asleep in one of the armchairs, where a bomb wouldn’t shift him.
Lil had gone to church, where she sometimes sang solo, and taken Robert with her. She had worn her best dress for the occasion, and a floral bonnet, though both had nourished the moths. She had felt her cheeks flush as she saw Michael O’Driscoll watching her, trying hard to avoid his gaze.
Determined her only son would be a credit to her, Lil had dressed Robert in a clean, pressed shirt, and trousers, and combed his hair just so.
His shoes, old as they were, were polished, and he had found his weekly dip in the tin bath that hung on the back door, a more harrowing ordeal than normal, made worse by the fact that he increasingly couldn’t see much point. After all, you only got dirty again.
He had pointed this out, and the fact that Lenny only washed about once a month, and she had told him to be quiet, as she had used a scrubbing brush on his back, which had set his teeth on edge, and said that now his skin tingled as if it were alive. Lil laughed and squeezed his hand gently.
His face had turned crimson when Lenny, Dick and Nigel saw him, an effect heightened by the white of his shirt. They had started taunting, calling him a drip, a pansy, a flower, and every other insult they could lay their tongues to, with a lady present, until Lil told them to shut up, and him, to ignore them.
They had run off laughing, sticking two fingers up at Mrs O’Brien, who was cleaning her windows.
Lil and Robert came back at two to find Bob still asleep, with dried vomit down his shirt and trousers. She’d done again a lot of thinking whilst in church, and was determined her only son would not end up like him.
***
Robert was therefore soon sitting at the table, looking down at an open Bible, trying hard to ignore his father’s disgusting excesses.
“David and Goliath,” his mother told him, “from the Book of Samuel in the Old Testament. I want you to read it and tell me what you learn, for it will have a bearing on your future life.”
Robert sighed as he regarded the page, and yawned. His idea of fun was not sitting here reading this boring drivel, but being out there with his mates, teasing Big Molly, or stealing sweets from the grocer’s, MacPherson’s on Cross Street, not because they wanted sweets, but because Mr MacPherson himself would chase them.
He smirked as saw in his mind’s eye that great red face in that mass of white beard, yelling threats as he chased them, unclipping his thick belt as he ran. He always seemed to get one.
Then there was school.
What greater fun was there than pushing the goody-goodies over in the puddle of piss that never seemed to drain away in the toilets, or stuffing Mr Myer’s cane up the stove pipe, as Dick had done, and watching him go berserk when…?
“So, what can you tell me?”
His mother was suddenly at his side, wiping her hands down an apron, and he jumped, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
“Well, he killed ’im with a stone from a sling.”
He couldn’t believe that he’d actually waded through the words.
Perhaps the vivid colour illustration in the upper left hand corner had helped, of a little pansy in what looked like a frock, standing before a giant. The pansy looked like one of the goody-goodies.
“Yes,” Lil replied, as a series of grunts came from the corner of the room, “But what is the point of the tale?”
“Er… dunno.”
“Everything in the Bible has a point, even if it is not immediately obvious. I’ll tell you how I interpret it. I think it demonstrates that however small and insignificant you may feel, you can still overcome obstacles that seem like mountains. Look around you.”
Robert complied wondering what was the point of looking around the same old room.
“Horrible, isn’t it?” Lil asked him. “But with monumental effort and endeavour, you can do much better.”
“What’s endeavour?”
“Doing your best, trying to rise above, conquering. There are many other passages in the Bible, from which you can learn, even if you are not religious. That’s why I always call it the book of common sense.”
Lil gave him another passage to read, this time about Samson and Delilah, saying that this would demonstrate that even out of something as rotten as their own existence, good could still come.
She picked her newspaper and finally left him to it when there came a knock at the door. Lil nodded at Robert to open it.
Certain it would be Sergeant Sharp, the only person left, after his mother, who Robert had any respect for, he hesitated.
“Well, open it then!” she told him.
He did, with visions of Borstal and the birch, to find Mr King instead, rent book in hand,
and felt that same strange relief as a month ago, when he had thought it would be Mrs O’Brien.
King was alone for once, without the muscle, but as he took his pen from the book’s spine, it was clear that, for whatever reason, rent day had come a day early.
Lil stood and King smiled a slobbery smile, removing his bowler hat.
She lifted the crystal ball off its ring, handed it to Robert, picked up the money she had hidden beneath and said, “I’ll have the remainder by next Saturday.”
King’s smile vanished, and that soft voice, almost a wheeze, issued forth.
“The rent, madam, for your tenure, is two pounds…”
“Yes, I understand, but we have temporarily fallen on hard times. We have never once defaulted, in all the six years we have been here. I am a woman of my word, I will…”
“Please don’t bandy excuses, madam. The terms of the lease are quite clear…”
Robert snapped, “Look, she ain’t got it! She sez she’ll get it, an’ she will.”
“Robert, that’s quite enough. Mr King is well within his rights to demand the agreed…”
“No, he ain’t. This place is a loada shit! He never does a fing to improve it. Lenny’s place ain’t much better. It’s so damp, ’is mum’s got the consumption. Gone into a sanatorium. Prob’ly die.”
He looked at the chain to King’s gold fob watch, hanging over his food-stuffed corpulence and added, “Sides, he’s so rich, he don’t need…”
“Your lad would profit from a few good rump cuts, Mrs Smith. Our new children’s overseer will oblige when you come knocking. We’ll make it our first task.”
He walked in to take the money, but Robert stepped in front.
Unused to such defiance, King nearly blundered into him, but Robert stood his ground.
It wasn’t until he was up close that he could see just how repulsive King really was. His greying, plastered down hair looked as though it had been cut round with a pudding bowl. His face was crimson, his lips like sausages and his double chin so restricted by his winged collar, Robert didn’t see how he could breathe, as he glared at him through small, watery eyes.
His breath reeked so badly, Robert winced, feeling sick.
“Get out of my way, boy,” he hissed, “or, by God, I’ll have my men thrash you and your whore of a mother so hard, you’ll crawl, not walk, for our sanctuary.”
His cheeks had flushed purple.
“Yeah? Well, your thugs ain’t ’ere, so what…”
King pushed him to one side, and a short tussle ensued, before he shoved the boy backwards into the wall, winding him, before marching forward. Robert tightened his fingers around the ball and threw it at King with all his might.
When it struck the back of his skull, there was a sickening crunch, like an egg breaking.
It dropped to the boards with a thud, and King seemed to stand still for a long time, though his arms had suddenly become rigid. The rent book fell from one hand, and the bowler hat from the other, rolling in a circle before coming to a halt.
Lil staggered back, her mouth dropping open, as King’s eyes rolled up into their sockets, exposing the whites.
He tottered from side to side and Robert felt the bile coming up into his throat, as he saw that King had a deep, ball-shaped dent in the back of his head.
As young as he was, he knew King would die.
King started moaning, “Gaaah… gaaah!” in between hitched breaths.
Then he dropped like a sack of spuds and crashed in a tangle of arms and legs on the floor. There he lay, bucking and twitching, hands clenching and unclenching.
The “Gaaahhh!” sound was getting ever louder, as spit ran from the corners of his mouth, while blood snaked its way out of his left ear and dripped onto the floor. Through it all, Bob slept on, still without a care in the world.
Robert stared at his mother, taking nothing in but the horror in her eyes. She stood up and clenched her arms around Robert, whispering, “Please God, forgive me for what I am about to do.”
Ten
Seeing a shaft of sunlight cutting through the dusty air, she stumbled over the twitching body to close the door before anybody looked in.
She hadn’t anticipated Robert’s reaction, until he started shaking, though at least King had stopped saying, “Gaaah!” Thank God.
Now, the only sounds in the room were of Bob’s breathing, interrupted every so often by little burps and farts, and Robert snivelling.
After several attempts to get his mouth working, he whispered, “I fink he’s a goner.”
Lil watched the spreading puddle of blood and spit, as Robert wiped his streaming nose on his sleeve. A fly was crawling over one of King’s glazed eyes.
Without saying anything, Lil knelt and felt for his pulse. There was none.
Robert’s voice was broken and scared. “I didn’t mean to kill him, ’onest. I only meant to ’urt him, ’cos he was ’urtin’ you. Tryin’ to take all yer money, and, and…”
His voice was rising, becoming hysterical, so she put her finger to her lips, and whispered, “Sssh! Keep your voice down.”
She ushered him into the kitchen, and crouched before him, so they were the same height.
“I didn’t mean…”
“Be quiet! Only the good Lord can be your judge. Have you any idea what you’ve done?”
He looked at her, baffled.
“You have broken the Sixth Commandment. Thou shalt not…”
“I didn’t mean it! It were an accident, honest!”
He was shaking even more, his eyes darting this way and that.
“I told you to remain silent!”
Scared, she gripped his shoulders and stared into his eyes.
He wiped both them and his nose, and blurted, “They’re gonna hang me, aren’t they? They’ll make me swing for it.”
He tried to pull away, but she held him fast. Tears were pouring down his face.
“Don’t be silly! Do you really think I would let that happen? But if you don’t keep your mouth shut, and do as I say, they will probably transport you to the colonies to slave for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”
His face blanched even more. “No!”
She had meant to scare him, because right now she needed him scared, and to tell the truth, she wasn’t sure what they would do with him, at only nine years old. But that of course, was purely academic. With what she had in mind, the boy was completely innocent, and upset only at the terrible carnage.
“Now what I want you to do,” she told him, “is this. You must run off directly and find Sergeant Sharp. This is his patch, so he will be hereabouts somewhere. I don’t want anybody else to come, only him. Understood?”
He nodded.
“You must tell him to come quickly, as you think your father has accidentally, remember that word whatever you do, accidentally killed the landlord, by striking him with the ball, as they quarrelled over the rent.”
Shock and disbelief spread across the boy’s face.
“Can’t we just bury ’im in the yard? That way…”
She shook her head gently and looked once more into his eyes, glad to still be able to see the innocence. It hadn’t occurred to him that people may have witnessed King entering the house.
“Just cut along and do as you’re told.”
He backed his way to the door, his eyes not leaving the body for an instant. When he had gone, she sat down to calm herself. She knew it wouldn’t take long before he returned with the Sergeant.
Calm and composed, she stood up and moving with swiftness and precision, went through the pockets of King’s jacket and waistcoat. She found more money in his purse than she had seen in her lifetime and pulled out the most of it, leaving a decent bundle in, to dampen any suspicion.
The Bible might espouse goodness to others, she thought, as she counted the notes, but in all her study of it, it had never shown her how to survive.
She turfed out his trouser pockets, her palm outstret
ched to catch the loose change. The last thing she needed was Bob to wake up. There was so much, she wondered how the lining had not worn through with the weight. Then, as she frisked him further, his gold fob watch slid out of the little pocket on his waistcoat and swung back and forth on his belly.
She gulped, as she looked at the scrolled engraving on its face. Fully aware of its probable worth, her heart began to thud, as temptation gnawed at her.
She unbuttoned the waistcoat, threaded the watch’s chain out of the button hole and flicked it open, just as she heard Sergeant Sharp saying to Robert, beyond the door, “… fer the ’igh jump lad, any mischief!”
Shaking, she snapped the watch shut, and after briefly fumbling to thread the chain back, and failing, she hid it in her knitting on the mantelpiece.
She was stepping away from it, guiltily, as the door opened and in strode Sharp, who was so big and beefy, he blotted out most of the sunlight.
He was, without doubt, a damn good cop, and known by his superiors and peers as a ‘steady man’. He wasn’t overburdened with brains though, which was precisely why Lil had summoned him.
***
Sharp seemed to be surveying the scene with a knowing look in his eyes, while his nose wrinkled against the reek of the house. He looked at Bob too, remembering what the boy had told him. Then Sharp’s gaze fixed once more upon the reason for his presence, the body of Mr King. Sharp knew he was despised, though it was a flimsy defence, unlikely to save a man like Fighting Bob a one-way trip to prison, or maybe even the gallows.
Without any further ado, Sharp marched up to him and wakened him in the only way he knew how; with several truncheon pokes in the ribs. At first Bob made grunting noises. Then he batted the truncheon away, growling, “Gerraway from me, yer bitch. Piss off!”
Then, when he opened his eyes and saw who his true tormentor was, he turned paper white with shock.
He sat up gingerly, his bulging eyes on the varnished stick, blinking away the effects of the drink, and scratching some lice in his hair. He still didn’t fully come to his sense, until Sharp said to Robert, “Off you go now, lad. Go and play wi’ yer mates,” and then, to his father, “Bob Smiff, I’m arrestin’ you for the murder of…”
