The Standing Water

by David Castleton

  ‘Amen.’ Jonathon murmured.

  The rain still crashed. If anything, it got stronger. Maybe the Lord’s wrath couldn’t be placated.

  We worked until Jonathon had to go home for tea. The ship was really taking shape – a couple more days and we might have it seaworthy, if the Lord gave us that long. As my family sat eating around our kitchen table, my mind mumbled more prayers, begging God to stop the downpour, reassuring Him we’d put the glove back. But still He flung down His waters.

  ‘I really hope those sandbags hold,’ Dad said ominously.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum, ‘if this rain doesn’t stop, we could have half the house flooded!’

  It would be far worse than that. I’d read my Bible – soon all our houses could be under miles of standing water. I prayed to God once more – apologising for our theft, all our other sins. I said sorry on Jonathon’s behalf for him trying to murder his brother, urged the Lord not to hold back with His righteous punishment for that. I just begged Him not to drown us all. It did occur to me that Jonathon attempting to bump off his sibling was quite a small offence compared to the Lord’s desire to drown everyone, but I pushed this thought from my mind and went on with my silent pleading.

  That night I lay listening to the water pounding and burbling. For some moments, it thudded especially hard, smashing the roof so strongly I was sure the tiles would break and the rain would gush through and drown me right there in my bed. Then the downpour – ceased. It took my ears some time to get used to the silence. The absence of noise seemed bizarre – a weird void after days of gurgling water and pelting rain. I didn’t let my hopes grow too much. There’d been times in the last week when the deluge had stopped for maybe thirty minutes or an hour. But as I lay there, so tense I couldn’t sleep, there was no sign of the rain starting again. There was a strange peace to that pause – not simply a sense that God’s mighty forces were re-gathering, just resting before they unleashed more rain. It was a peace that stretched far into the night’s blackness. I thanked God, prayed this really was the end of His deluge. A deep feeling told me it was – I had few doubts about the greatness of God’s mercy. I pictured the spreading land outside: the miles of flat fields with their dark lakes, Marcus’s engorged pond – its growth halted before it could swamp the sinful pub or Weirton’s seat of wickedness in the school. I thought of the quiet pools and marshes on the way to Salton, all the soaked sleepers in the earth – the Scots, the corpses and skeletons in the churchyard. And not one more drop came from above. A little later, I heard beats and patters, but these weren’t caused by rain. The rolls and rattles of the Drummer Boy were drifting across the land. As his rhythms swelled, as they filled the night, I again thanked God, thanked Him the Drummer hadn’t drowned in his tunnel. Of course, I wasn’t sure if spooks could drown, having no bodies, but still I praised the Lord for saving my ghostly friend. The Drummer went on with his clunks and clatters. They spoke of hope – hope that the downpour had really ended, hope in our battle to withstand Weirton, which I supposed – if Emberfield wasn’t to be drowned – must now go on. As those rhythms faded, I surrendered to sleep.

  Walking to school the next day, I saw the most wondrous sight. Just like in the Bible, God had given us a rainbow. I tried to count all the seven colours legend said it should contain, but in their brilliance they merged with one another. That glorious half-halo straddled Emberfield, and I knew it was a sign of God’s peace. There it was, above shivering sheep and drenched dunghills, above the lakes in the fields, above the two streams that still ran – though less quickly, less swollen – down our main street. I looked out for the other bits of the Bible story – for the raven Noah had set loose, that dark wilful bird that had never returned to its master, for the obedient dove that had come back bearing its branch of peace. I can’t say I saw either of them, but there were plenty of birds wheeling in the sky so I supposed those two fliers – one black, one white – could have been among them. In assembly, Weirton too celebrated the rainbow.

  ‘Look, children!’ He flung his finger at the window, at that amazing sight shimmering beyond the glass. ‘Look at God’s great sign of forgiveness! The floods are going down and the rainbow has appeared. Let us hope and pray it is just like in the Bible – that the rainbow is a symbol of God’s great mercy and peace, a promise He will not drown our sinful world!’

  As Perkins and Leigh swapped a look, I thought some more about that heavenly sign. I’d heard a legend that if you journeyed to a rainbow’s end, you’d find a pot of gold guarded by a dwarf. Such treasure could prove useful. Maybe if the rainbow was still there after we’d hung the glove back in the church, we could try to get to where it finished. Its end had to be a long way off. Maybe the journey would take us so far from Emberfield we’d never get back. With the riches we’d find, we could live the rest of our lives as kings in some distant country, many miles from Weirton’s swooping palm. But I had to push such thoughts away as we stood and filed from the hall, headed to our classes.

  Chapter Forty-one

  The Diary of James Ronald Weirton

  Thursday, 6th October, 1983

  Thought more about that incident last night as I sat in my room, TV blaring to drown out Sandra striding and muttering outside and the attack of whinging Nick had embarked on. My mind shifted between amusement and fury. Couldn’t get rid of the image of old Davis standing on the deck of the Ark, or being ordered by Noah to go below and feed the tigers and giraffes. Wondered if he’d tease them in the way he does the kids when serving sweets. Those scamps Browning and Watson should be on stage, both those buffoons in a damned double act! But then my mind would seize on the sheer cheek of what they’d dared to say and my anger would rise once more. Vision of our decaying society would appear. A lack of respect for adults among the young, the refusal to learn from their guidance, is the whole root of that.

  Another night of bad dreams, including one about the damned pond. Dreamt of it growing as the rain lashed, but far more quickly than it ever really could. I was teaching in the school – I’d sometimes glance out of the window and each time those waters were closer, but then I’d forget about them, the way you do in dreams, only to be shocked when I saw how much the flood had spread. Dream ended with us all trapped in the school as the brown waters rose against the windows. The pressure of that liquid shattered the glass, and all that filthy fluid came surging in. I jerked upright, panting in my bed. Didn’t help that I woke to hear the rain smashing with the most incredible violence on the roof. Meant it took even longer to get my brain back to reality.

  Had the council on the phone after I got up – practically begging me not to go in, to give the kids the day off. Told them ‘day’ and ‘off’ are two words I never use together, told them I’d faced down bears and wrestled bulls so I had no namby-pamby fear of getting a bit wet. Not sure what they made of that. Heard about more flooded villages on the morning news, and as I drove in I began to wonder whether the council had a point. Rain was torrential, thought the car might float away as I edged it over that ford. Driving into Emberfield, I doubted the sodden sandbags would hold out much longer. Whatever happens, it’s clear the man up in heaven is displeased with us. If this unrelenting deluge isn’t divine revenge, I don’t know what is.

  Took the assembly as usual though kids and teachers couldn’t help flicking glances at the downpour outside. Set my class some work then strode next door to reprimand our two comedians. Gave a good thundering speech about respect for elders, yelled out the details of the sin committed by those lads. The most immense rage surged up as I did so – surprising even myself. I was leaping, bashing my thighs while at the same time God’s fury pelted from heaven. My heart thudded and raced, but I was beyond worrying about that. I readied myself to leap at Ryan. I felt that strange force again – it weighted my body, making it difficult to pounce. A voice nagged somewhere in the storm of my mind, insisting on restraint. But, with an eruption of anger, I cast off that caution and hurled myself across the room.
I crashed down in front of Ryan, grabbed his wrist, wrenched him up. I was soon pounding away, slipping into a trance. Maybe it was the rhythm of the rain that lulled me into it. But all I could think of was the need to thrash that boy, to beat from him whatever sins were making God hurl down His deluge. On and on I battered, in the desperate hope each strike would shudder up to God’s ears in heaven, be heard above the rain, be seen by Him as an atonement. Maybe it was all a bit illogical, now I think about it, but at the time I had no doubts about what I had to do. I thrashed and thrashed him, ignoring the sweat streaming down my face and gushing from my underarms, ignoring my lips which grasped for breath almost as much as the boy’s did, ignoring my heart’s manic tempo. Whack after whack I powered down until my holding arm ached and trembled, and my walloping arm felt sapped of strength, but even then I managed to slam a few more blows into the boy before I lowered him. It was time to suffer for my excess. My heart galloped as I supported my sagging bulk on shivering arms, arms that rested on shaking knees. I struggled to suck in breath. I could feel my face glow, not only glow but burn yet it was my heart I was most worried about. I remembered the doc’s words about avoiding sudden strenuous exertion. Too late now, I thought. The bashing of my ticker slowed, but its racing thuds were replaced with ominous booms. And the damned heart was aching – punishing my rashness with a dull persistent pain. Blasted ribs damned tight. Couldn’t stop my hands inching up to clutch that part of my chest – as if such an action would have helped anything! Thankfully, those booms began to lose their force, my breathing steadied and I straightened up. The lad looked little better off than me – red and weeping, he struggled to stand on springy legs. Knew that feeling from my childhood – limbs out of your control. Well, this wasn’t the time to show sympathy. Ordered the lad back to his chair, watched him bounce and stagger. Good lesson for the others, I supposed. Then I remembered – by God! – I’d another one to do.

  Jonathon Browning sat, his big eyes gazing at me, expectant and terrified. However exhausted I felt, however much my body protested, I’d no choice but to go on. Would have been bad form not to – let alone unfair to wallop the life out of one boy and give his partner in crime just a few smacks. Body still shaking, I summoned up all my strength, rolled out a forceful denunciation and leapt at Jonathon. Soon had the boy in the air – however stiff my arm was, however much it ached, I flung it mercilessly down. I struggled with the first whacks, but then my tiredness fell away and I was back in my trance, beating in time with the rain’s rhythms. Again I found myself hoping God would hear, that each impact would float up to Him. That hope made me hit Jonathon harder. I was determined my blows would be louder than the deluge, which – at that very moment – re-gathered its forces and smashed down with even more fury. Thought it would break the damned roof. On and on I laboured; the boy pitched and swung until I simply couldn’t thrash him any longer. I ploughed a couple of super-hard ones into him and set the lad down. Went through the same routine as before – bent over, I rasped in breath as I sweated and my face shone. Only it was even worse this time – my body shuddered so much and my head was so woozy I was amazed I could keep standing. My heart boomed and raced, showing little desire to slow. I could just tell something was not OK. That ache in my heart came stronger, my ribs tightened more, couldn’t prevent my hand clutching them. But eventually my heart stopped its rushing; the pain got less. I forced my body to straighten. I sent Jonathon back to his seat, rumbled out a few more admonishments about how we should respect others, gesturing out of the window to show I wasn’t the only one displeased by such sins. The class seemed gobsmacked, Perkins too. I congratulated myself at having put on such an impressive performance. I do sometimes wonder why – despite the hidings I dish out – the kids continue being naughty, why their violence doesn’t cease. Perhaps I need to batter them harder – they’re tough rascals, these northern country lads, got to knock the stuffing out of them to get any result. Well, I managed that today. Not a trace of a smirk on the lips of Stubbs or Johnson. Showed them how serious the consequences of our sins can be.

  No other major incidents before home-time. Had to wade through the pond again – again I couldn’t stop myself staring into it. I’ll admit the drive back to Goldhill was scary – the lane was like a winding torrent. When I inched my car across that ford, I felt the damned water shift my vehicle. Really wondered if I’d make it to the other side. But I did, and I got home – to my family’s wonderful welcome. Sandra has a new tactic – she and the boy are ignoring me. Prefer that to the lad making a scene. With my exhaustion, with my limbs aching after today’s little show, I doubt I’d be able to lift him an inch off the ground.

  I’ll say one thing about those thrashings – perhaps those thoughts I had about them appeasing the Lord weren’t so eccentric. And the reason is this – the downpour has ceased. An eerie dripping quiet reigns. Even in Goldhill, the rain’s been relentless over the last days. Got accustomed to its constant bashing. I’ve a feeling this is more than a pause – the air seems infused with a strange peace. I flick on the TV, catch the weather and have my suspicions confirmed. Area of low pressure moving away, no rain expected. Can’t help wondering if it’s because we’ve convinced the Lord we can deal with our own sins. Maybe He did hear some of my blows – they were loud enough! No human, of course, can peer into the mind of God, but – as the vicar keeps saying – the Lord does work His will through some mysterious paths.

  Friday, 7th October, 1983

  Had a pleasant journey to work – God had garlanded the heavens with a rainbow. Fair took my breath away – the Lord’s sign of peace, just like after the Flood in the Bible! Even found myself looking for a raven and a pigeon clasping an olive branch though – God knows – we have few enough of such trees round Emberfield! The rainbow was beautiful – looked solid yet brittle, like candy, like you could just break a bit off. Felt like turning the car around, driving to its end to search for the mythical pot of gold. Thought about what I could do with such loot – no more Emberfield, no more teaching, buy some land in some proper countryside, be free forever from these damned soggy plains. But, alas, we live in a world without leprechauns and hidden treasure. It was towards the blasted school I kept the car pointed.

  Still, the end of the floods and the rainbow seemed to have lightened everyone’s mood. And why shouldn’t we feel happy about God’s great sign of forgiveness? Spoke to the kids about it in assembly – making clear the similarities between our current situation and the one described in God’s Holy Word. Kids seemed to take it in, but I spotted Perkins and Leigh exchanging another look. Don’t those dunderheads realise we’re employed in a Christian school and it’s part of our job to expound the Scriptures in a way the children can understand? Well, there can’t have been a more practical demonstration of God’s fury than what we’ve seen in the last three weeks or so!

  Home-time. Still had to wade through Marcus’s pond, but when I got in the car it was all a lot better. I merrily swerved down the drying lane, sending up sprays from the puddles that still lurked at the side. Those lakes in the fields will take time to dry out though, as will the graveyard. Won’t be sticking Lucy in their anytime soon. But it felt great not to be cowering under heaven’s bombardment. Even heard birds singing – singing instead of just perching miserably wrapped in their soaked wings. Felt my whole body relax. Might have to take the doc’s advice, have some recreation, go fishing when the river levels have gone down. It’d get me out of this house, away from its awful atmosphere.

  Sunday, 16th October, 1983

  Had Rodney on the phone. Skip in his voice told me he had good news. You wouldn’t believe it, but that damned gauntlet’s found its way back into Salton Church. Maybe those thieves had some decency after all and couldn’t live with their guilt or – more likely – they were petrified by God pelting His anger down and were frightened into putting it back. Maybe that’s why God sent the floods in the first place. Not sure what to think. I’m glad that item has been rest
ored to God’s house, but I’m not comfortable having that glove anywhere near me. Hope it doesn’t start intruding into my dreams again let alone my briefcase! Hope I won’t have any hallucinations like that for a while! Easier, I think, to keep a calm mind without the constant sound of rain battering. Even that damned pond’s retreating from the road – spares my nerves not having to wade through that every day. Just got the cold end of autumn then winter coming up. Depressing – bare trees and hedgerows, stark black earth. But there’s no use in wishing I was elsewhere – got my role in life, my duties. The last weeks have shown how truly mighty God is – just have to pray to Him to give me the strength to get through.

  Chapter Forty-two

  As we supposed much of Salton would be underwater, we waited a week-or-so for the floods to go down then – one Saturday – we set out. Jonathon repeated his mother’s sneers at the council houses as we passed their flaking fences and marshy gardens. We walked by the Big School – its fields still bearing large lakes. We came to Salton’s gates – each column was surrounded by a puddle, the lions topping them looked even more worn and bedraggled after their drenching. We walked along the puddle-pitted path, past boggy fields and swampy woods till we came to the Bunt. We stood on the bridge as the still-swollen river hurtled. I stared at that brown torrent.

  ‘Good job you didn’t push your brother off here when the stream was like this,’ I said. ‘He’d have been a goner!’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jonathon, ‘it would have been as dangerous as shoving him into Marcus’s pond.’

  ‘Strange God still hasn’t punished you,’ I said. ‘I keep wondering when He’s gonna brand His mark on you, make you a wanderer on the earth.’