As soon as he did that, the wall started to fall down.
3
LUKE
It was like an earthquake. It is a horrible feeling to have caused an earthquake. The wavering and heaving were to some extent under David’s feet, and the compost shifted and quivered like quicksand. That would have been enough to send David leaping down from it. But he could see that the wavering and heaving was stronger near the wall. He knew the wall was going to come down and that it was his fault. He tried to run toward it.
“No, no!” he said. “Stop it! I didn’t mean it!”
The solid ground came up in ripples under his feet and made him stumble. In front of him, the wall rippled too. He could hear the bricks grinding as they swayed up and down. The top of the wall made a crazy outline against the hot blue sky, wagging up and down, with bricks coming loose and lifting, then banging back into place again, and mortar spurting from between them. After that, there was so much dust and mortar that he could hardly see the wall, and he had to hold his arm over his head against the rubble raining down on him. The heaving underfoot went fiercely on. The wall could take no more and fell, backward from David, in three slow, sulky bangs, into the garden behind Uncle Bernard’s, and set loose even more dust as it went.
The next second, the gravel was covered with angry orange flames, pale and vicious-looking in the sun and dust. David backed out from them desperately, until his shoulders hit the hedge and held him up. But the flames had gone by then. They just flared through the dust as if someone had dropped a match in a pool of petrol, and then went out. David was sure his curse had punctured a gas-main. He looked the heaving ground over hurriedly, to try and locate the leak before going to confess and get help. He saw a round thing, something like a pipe and at least as thick as his arm, writhing among the rubble, and he thought it was a gas-pipe. It was covered with an ugly mosaic pattern which glittered in the sun. There were others, too, farther off, and if David had not known they were gas-pipes, he would have sworn they were snakes—snakes somehow swimming in the rippling ground, as if it were water.
Then the thing nearest David surfaced, shaking clattering small stones off its blunt head, and saw David. It reared up as tall as he was, hissing furiously. David found himself face to face with a very large snake indeed, with a head as flat as Mrs. Thirsk’s feet, a forked flicking tongue, and yellow eyes which seemed to be made of skin. He could see its fangs, and the poison sacs at the top of them, and he was sure there was poison dripping from those fangs.
David lost his head. He made a frantic sideways dash along the hedge and seized the spade from the compost. The snake struck after him and missed. It was still half under the gravel, which hampered its movements, fortunately for David, and the ground was not heaving so much now. David turned round with the spade in both hands, and hit the snake a hearty smack with it. He did not kill it, but he made it recoil. So he hit it again. Meanwhile, at least two other snakes were moving toward him, slowly and with difficulty, as if the ground were getting harder every second. David hit the first snake again, and then aimed a swipe at the next two, to discourage them. But the first snake reared up again as he did so, and he had to concentrate on that.
He would never have managed alone. But, while David beat away at the first snake, he heard somebody else busily battering at a snake in the distance. There was so much dust and confusion still, that he never saw the person clearly while the battle lasted. He assumed it was Cousin Ronald at first. Then he caught glimpses of a shape much taller and thinner than Cousin Ronald’s and he thought it must be Aunt Dot. But he had little time to think. The ground was hardening all the time and he simply hammered the snakes back into it. If he hit them often enough, he discovered, they went back under the gravel and stayed there. The real trouble was to do it before the next snake could reach him, and that was where the other person helped. It was not until David had smacked the last length of the last snake well and truly into the earth that he realized this person was a complete stranger.
They stood looking at one another in the settling dust, David leaning on the spade and the stranger propped on the hoe he must have fetched from the shed beyond the hedge. David was shaking all over. The stranger was panting rather, but not in the least upset. He looked jaunty. He even laughed a little, as if snakes were a bit of a joke. He was not as tall as David had thought—only about David’s height—and he seemed a year or so older than David.
“Thanks,” David said to him gratefully.
“Thank you,” replied the stranger, jauntily smiling. “I’m Luke. Who are you?”
“David Allard,” said David. “I live in that house there. Do you—?” He meant to ask if Luke lived in the house beyond the broken wall, but he turned to point as he said it and after that he could think of nothing but what a hideous mess it was. The wall was in three long heaps—an utter ruin, lying on the neatly mown grass of the neat and respectable orchard belonging to the neat and respectable house David could just see down among the trees. David thought it was a miracle that nobody had come out of that house—or Uncle Bernard’s—with loud shouts of fury. Or not yet. “Oh dear,” David said miserably.
“A bit of a ruin, isn’t it?” Luke agreed.
“Yes, and I did it,” David said. “I shall get into trouble.” Which was putting it mildly, he thought.
Luke laughed, and jumped onto the nearest heap of wall to look at it more closely. “Did you really do this?” he said. “How?”
David followed Luke over to the wall, thinking that Luke must be a trespasser and nothing to do with the neat and respectable house after all. He was wearing cast-off looking clothes, much like David’s, and he was covered with brick dust, cement dust and what seemed to be soot. And it was plain he did not care two hoots about the broken wall. He sat himself down on a convenient heap of bricks and patted another to show David where to sit too.
“Explain,” he said, and folded his arms, ready to listen, with a very engaging look of interest. Luke had a sharp and freckly face, under the dirt, and a burn or something on one cheek, probably from those sudden flames. His hair seemed to be red. At any rate, he had those kind of red-brown eyes that only go with red hair. David rather took to him.
“I did it trying to curse,” David confessed, and sat down too, though he could not help taking a nervous look at the respectable house first.
“Don’t worry. They’re out, or they’d have been up here raving half an hour ago,” Luke said, which proved to David that he was certainly only a trespasser. “Now, explain. Whom were you cursing?”
“All my horrible relations,” David said. It was a relief to talk about it. He told Luke how his relations did not want him, how they were planning to send him to Mr. Scrum so that they could go to Scarborough, about Mrs. Thirsk, the food and the chewing gum, and about the row at lunch. Luke listened sympathetically, but it was when David came to the cursing part that he grew really interested.
“What did you say?” he asked. “Can you remember?”
David thought, and was forced to shake his head. “No. It’s gone. But I suppose it was some kind of curse if it knocked the wall down.”
Luke smiled. “No. It wasn’t a curse.”
“How do you know? It brought out a load of snakes too, didn’t it?”
“But it wasn’t a curse, all the same,” said Luke.
David was a little annoyed. For one thing, Luke could not possibly know, and, for another, although it would have been a relief not to have uttered a curse after all, it was plain to David that his words had had a powerful effect of some kind. “What was it then?” he said challengingly.
“Unlocking words. The opposite of a curse, if you like,” Luke said, as if he really knew. David said nothing. He thought Luke was trying to make him feel less guilty about the ruin they were sitting on. Luke smiled. “You don’t believe me, do you?” David shook his head. “Oh well,” said Luke. “But they were, and I’m truly grateful to you. You let me out of a really horrible pr
ison.” He smiled happily and pointed with one slightly blistered finger to the ground under the wall.
This was too much for David, who, after all, had been there to see that nothing but flames and snakes had come from the ground. “Pull the other leg,” he said.
Luke looked at him with one eyebrow up and a mischievous, calculating look on his filthy face. He seemed to be deciding just how much nonsense David could be brought to swallow. Then he laughed. “Have it your own way,” he said. “But I am grateful, and I’ll do anything I can in return.”
“Thanks,” David said disbelievingly. “Then I suppose you can help me stand this wall up again.”
Luke looked at David in that shrewd and mischievous way again. “I might,” he said. “Shall we see what we can do?”
“Oh do let’s,” David said sarcastically.
Luke jumped up briskly. “Come on, then. You take the other end of this and help me lift it.” He stooped and put his hands to a section of brickwork, where the wall had come down still cemented together. “Come on,” he said. “Don’t look so glum about it.”
So David, feeling hopeless about it, got up slowly and wandered to the other end of the joined piece of wall. He put his hands to it and found the bricks coming loose as he touched them.
“Heave!” Luke said cheerfully.
David heaved, not very hard. But he must have heaved harder than he thought, because he managed to raise the whole section. Luke lifted his end, and together they carried a whole chunk of wall, grinding and bending, and laid it down in one piece by the compost heap.
“There, you see?” said Luke, and went jumping gaily back across the bricks. “Now this bit.”
In a remarkably short time, they had all the complete sections of wall laid out in order on the gravel. When these were moved, they found there had been a tree growing up against the back of the wall—part of the neat orchard—and the wall had crushed it as it went over. They looked at it, Luke laughing and David glum. Luke shook his head.
“It’s dead,” said David.
“Yes, but we can fake it a bit,” Luke said. “You pull that branch straight.”
They spread the tree out until it looked the right shape for a tree again. Then Luke lifted it in his arms and thumped the broken trunk into the soft ground until it stood upright. Its leaves were withering and wilting still, but it looked as if it were growing.
“Can’t bring the dead to life, I’m afraid,” said Luke, “but they might think it died from natural causes, with luck.”
Then they rebuilt the wall. David had never imagined it could be so easy. True, they worked hard and sweat trickled through the dirt on their faces, but they laughed and whistled as well, and the wall grew in leaps and bounds. As they worked, David came to like Luke more and more. He was fun. He made jokes all the time, and no difficulty seemed to dismay him. Some of his jokes were complete nonsense, mostly because he chose to keep up the pretense that David had let him out of prison. “My chains,” he said, as they staggered under the largest section of wall, “were a good hundred times heavier than this.” Then again, when they got to the most difficult part, which was slotting the newly rebuilt wall into the jagged ends of the walls at the sides of the garden, Luke said something odd. David was doing the slotting, while Luke held the wall tilted for him. He could see Luke’s muscles standing out in knots.
“Are you sure you can hold it?” David asked.
“Nothing like so heavy as a bowl of venom,” Luke panted cheerfully. David laughed.
Once the wall was slotted in, they were finished. It was not perfect. The upper courses of bricks wandered up and down a little, and because they had used no cement, there were places where you could look through to the orchard. But it stood solidly. David and Luke were very proud of it.
“Not bad, considering neither of us ever built a wall before,” Luke said. “What shall we do now?”
David looked at his watch and found it was nearly supper time. “I shall have to go in,” he said mournfully. “They get furious if I’m late.” He was very dejected. He remembered he was in disgrace and about to be sent to Mr. Scrum on Tuesday. It was too bad, now that he had met Luke. “Can you come out after supper?” he asked, thinking he must see as much of Luke as he could while he had the chance.
“Of course,” said Luke. “Whenever you want. Just kindle a flame and I’ll be with you.”
“Meet you here then,” said David.
“As you like,” said Luke. David turned to go and Luke, laughing, but trying to look solemn, raised one hand like in mock salute. “Farewell, oh my benefactor,” said he.
“Oh do shut up about that!” David said, and ran down the garden laughing.
4
THE THIRD TROUBLE
David was filthy. He had to wash and climb into more of Cousin Ronald’s wide castoffs before he dared to go down to supper. The odd thing about washing in a hurry is that soap and water only loosen the dirt. Most of it comes off on the towel afterward. David looked rather nervously at the reddish-black smears on Mrs. Thirsk’s bright white towel, but he was in too much of a hurry to do anything about it. The gong had gone before he started to wash.
He hurried downstairs, thinking about Luke and Luke’s odd jokes. If Luke had not come along, there was no doubt David would at this moment be crawling downstairs in the most hideous state of guilt, wondering how he was going to confess to having cursed a wall down. As it was, he felt much better. Rebuilding the wall had wiped away his misery and also the horror of the way the curse had worked. He thought of the flames and the snakes, but all they did was to remind him of Luke’s joke about kindling a flame. David grinned as he came to the bottom of the stairs, because someone—Astrid probably—had left a box of matches on the stand beside the gong. David slipped them into his pocket as he passed. If Luke wanted him to strike a match as a signal, then he would. But it was no good asking for matches. That would only remind his relations to forbid him to have them.
He went into the dining room. Astrid was saying: “And my leg never left me in peace, the whole afternoon.”
“Both my legs,” said Uncle Bernard. Then he saw David in the doorway and abandoned the contest. David walked to his place and sat down in a silence heavier and nastier than any he had known. It was clear the row was still going on. Unless, David thought rather nervously as he picked up his soup spoon, they had found out about the wall and were angry about that now. The soup was burned. David could see black bits floating in it. It tasted burned.
Cousin Ronald broke the silence at last by saying reproachfully: “We are waiting to hear you say sorry, David.”
“Sorry,” David said, wondering why they could not have told him that straightaway.
There was another heavy silence.
“We want to hear you apologize,” said Aunt Dot.
“I apologize then,” said David.
“I don’t call that an apology,” said Uncle Bernard.
“Well, I said sorry and I said I apologize,” David pointed out. “What else do you want me to say?”
“You might take back your words,” suggested Astrid.
“All right. I take them back,” David said, hoping this would now mean peace. But he thought as he said it that it was just like Astrid to say the silliest thing of the lot. “How can you take back words anyway? I mean, once you’ve said them they’ve gone, haven’t they, and—?”
“That will do,” said Cousin Ronald. There was more silence, broken by the reluctant clinking of spoons, during which David began to wish that his curse had really been a curse and working at this moment. Then Cousin Ronald cleared his throat and said: “David, there is something we have to tell you. We have decided, solely on your account, not to go to Scarborough after all. We shall stay here, and you shall stay with us.”
David could hardly believe his ears. “You mean not go to Mr. Scrum?”
“I mean not go to Mr. Scrum,” said Cousin Ronald.
“Oh, brilliant!” said David. His r
elief and delight and gratitude were so enormous that he could almost have hugged Cousin Ronald. “Thanks!” What a good thing it had not been a curse! Now he was free to do what he liked and see as much of Luke as he could. “That’s marvelous!” David beamed round the table at his relations. They looked solemnly and reproachfully back.
“David,” Cousin Ronald said reproachfully, “I hope you realize that we are all making a considerable sacrifice for your benefit. Scarborough meant a lot to us. We will say no more about your rudeness at lunch, but what we would like to hear from you in return is a proper expression of thanks to us for all we have done for you.”
Under such a speech as this, most people’s gratitude would wither rather. David’s did. “I said Thanks,” he protested. “But I’ll say it again if you like.”
“What you say is beside the point, child,” Aunt Dot told him austerely. “All we want is that you should feel in your heart, honestly and sincerely, what it means to be grateful for once.”
“Then what do you want me to do?” David asked rather desperately.
“I sometimes think,” said Uncle Bernard vigorously, “that you were born without a scrap of gratitude or common good feeling, boy.”
“But I do feel grateful,” said David. “I’m ever so grateful for not going to Mr. Scrum, really!”
“Grateful for not going to Mr. Scrum!” said Astrid. “Listen to him! Does it matter to him that we’re deprived of our holiday? Not a bit. David wouldn’t turn a hair if I were to drop dead at his feet.”
“Yes I would. Anyone would,” said David. He thought about what he would feel if Astrid did actually chance to drop dead at his feet. “I’d be very surprised, and I’d think you were pretending at first. But when I began to believe it I’d get a doctor to make sure you really were dead.”
“Aren’t we chivalrous!” Astrid said crossly.
Eight Days of Luke Page 3
