The Plague Tales

by Ann Benson

  His dog stood next to him, his head tilted curiously, wondering what his master was looking at. “They’re here, old chum,” he said, and patted the dog’s head. “They’re finally here.”

  He watched the two women intently as they got out of their rented car. They were both well dressed; he thought anyway that there was a look of prosperity about them. The taller one was clearly older than the small one. Her dark hair was chin length, casually cut, and tinged with a bit of gray at the temple. She had a pleasant face, but wore an expression of quiet worry; he saw the telltale tiny lines between her eyebrows and wondered what this handsome and obviously blessed woman had to worry about. She had long slender fingers, he noticed, and her hands moved gracefully as she unfolded a map. The other one was younger, petite and red haired, and her face was a mass of freckles. One leads, the other follows, he thought.

  As he watched them move closer together, the differences between them seemed more pronounced. They studied the map for a moment, pointing here and there and exchanging a few comments he could not hear. Then they walked the length of the pathway, both wobbling a little in their dressy shoes as they proceeded over the worn stones of the path to the cottage door. He smiled, liking the looks of them, and admitted to himself that he was eager for some company. He had made only a few friends throughout the years. Now the closest of them had gone quite simple with age, leaving the caretaker with little opportunity to satisfy his need for occasional society.

  He had gone to the grocer’s for a tin of biscuits, a rare treat in his normally mean household, and had set out the best of his linen and service. He’d had to refold the napkins to hide a few spots; he hoped they wouldn’t notice when they used them. It had occurred to him as he laid out the accoutrements of proper hospitality that these might be his last callers, and though his upbringing had been odd and isolated, it was nevertheless quite proper. He was sad that he could not give them what they had come to get, but was determined to give them the most graciously rendered disappointment he could arrange. He only wished that he knew better how to care for his home now that his mother was gone. He hadn’t properly cleaned it, and it was beginning to look a bit of a mess.

  The anticipated knock finally came. He left the window and shuffled to the wood plank door. He opened it to two very feminine smiles of anticipation.

  “Mr. Sarin? Robert Sarin?” the tall one asked.

  “Indeed.” He smiled and nodded.

  “I’m Janie Crowe and this is my assistant, Caroline Porter.”

  “Come in, please,” he said, gesturing inward. The tall one had to stoop to enter; the small one stepped nimbly over the threshold without bending. He motioned them to sit, but as they headed for the chairs, he noticed that there were things scattered all over them. He shuffled over to the chairs, saying, “Oh, sorry, let me get those,” and quickly scooped up what he could, a pair of socks and a sweater, the dog’s leash, which he hadn’t hung on the wall as his mother always did, a soiled plate with a fork resting in its center. Once everyone was comfortably settled, pleasantries were exchanged and they partook of the modest refreshment.

  “Mr. Sarin,” Janie began when they’d all set their teacups back into the saucers, “I’m grateful that you agreed to give me the opportunity to pursue this matter further. As I explained on the phone, I’m conducting an archaeological survey of this section of London.” She nodded in Caroline’s direction. “Miss Porter is assisting me in that endeavor. We need to collect a meter-deep plug about ten centimeters in diameter, which will be divided into layers and analyzed for purposes of scientific research.”

  Scientific research, she thought to herself. It was the most effective catchphrase in her persuasive repertoire. Janie knew from past experience that very few people could resist the feeling of importance gained by participating in “scientific research.” To her disappointment it didn’t have the desired convincing effect on Sarin.

  He set his teacup back in its saucer and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. But as I’ve already told you, I’m afraid that it will be quite impossible.”

  Janie furrowed her brow involuntarily. “Mr. Sarin, if I cannot acquire this last sample, all my previous results will be invalidated. This is very important to me. I’m sure you know that travel between the United States and Britain is quite difficult these days. Might I ask why you cannot accommodate me? It seems a rather rigid position, considering the simplicity of my request.”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence; he struggled with himself over what he could reasonably offer as an explanation. He knew he wasn’t good at thinking; his mother had told him so. He would give them the reasons, the ones he’d memorized in his childhood, the same ones he’d had no occasion to use until now when he was well into his dotage. They could never be expected to understand. He himself sometimes did not understand, though his whole life had been spent in the study of this place and its history. There were days when he devoted many hours to wondering about the care that had been put into this rocky field over the centuries. A branch would fall, and it would be dragged away in the night. Somehow the acorns were always picked up, though he himself never saw to it. People other than himself, people he rarely saw and hardly knew, were devoted to it as well.

  “Mrs. Crowe,” he began carefully, for he wanted badly to do a good job of explaining, “no one has ever disturbed the soil here. It is a condition of the will by which the property was deeded to the city of London that the ground never be broken. This cottage and the immediately surrounding gardens were built prior to the deeding, and are exempt from the restrictions, but since then nothing of the sort has been done.”

  Janie ran through her options mentally. She was quite unaccustomed to obstacles such as this. Sarin’s refusal seemed to carry the weight of some unnamed higher authority, and she was stumped.

  “Have you ever been told a reason for this restriction? It seems rather extreme.”

  He was diplomatic in his response, more diplomatic than one might expect from a man with his limited faculties. “I couldn’t say what the reason is.” Wouldn’t say, he thought to himself, although he knew the reason like he knew the king’s first name. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help to you in that area.”

  The silence that followed was weighted with finality. There was nowhere to go from here. It was the mandate of someone long dead and the caretaker could not countermand it even if he were of a mind to do so, which Janie doubted he was. She placed her teacup on the table, and stood up slowly, straightening her skirt as she did so. Caroline followed her lead and rose, her eyes darting anxiously back and forth between Janie and the caretaker, waiting to see who would make the next move. The old man remained seated for just a moment after they stood, staring off to the side and making small silent movements with his lips, little rehearsals of phrasing. Caroline looked at Janie, who showed her own confusion with a shrug.

  “Well,” Janie said, hoping it would get his attention, “I appreciate your time and the lovely refreshments. Perhaps we shall meet again sometime.”

  Her words worked in the intended manner. Sarin rose up slowly and responded with great care. “I’m quite sure we shall. And I’m really very sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  “Thank you,” Janie said, and they left.

  Outside in the car Janie sat fuming behind the wheel for a moment and stared out at the field. She needed this sample to validate all the others, and if she didn’t get it, she’d have to start the thesis process all over again.

  “We’ll steal it,” she said, and turned the key.

  Janie and Caroline stood at the edge of the field waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, both dressed in black with sooted faces to match. Yet despite the cleverness of their attire, Janie felt very small and humble as she and Caroline proceeded toward the center of the field, placing each foot carefully, testing the darkness for unseen obstacles. Janie carried the long metal soil plugger, and Caroline the canvas bag in
which they would stow the soil sample. The field was bumpy, and despite her careful steps, Janie stumbled; she lost her balance momentarily, and as she struggled to regain it, the soil plugger clanged against a rock. Unimpeded by trees or buildings, the sound echoed out over the field like a clarion announcing their arrival.

  Mouthing silent curses, Caroline quickly reached out and grabbed the tube to still its vibration. They stood in silence, their hearts beating wildly, and squinted through the darkness, searching for signs that they might have been discovered. There was nothing to see but the silhouettes of the two massive oaks and the clumps of trees around the perimeter, some hiding the small cottage from easy view.

  Yet Janie imagined the presence of unseen watchers. She could feel them, like stalking animals, encircling their position on the field. But there were no golden pairs of eyes, no breath sounds, and no low growls; the only sounds were occasional city noises, so she touched Caroline’s arm and they proceeded, their senses on full alert, toward the place where they expected to find the beeper.

  Thank God we surveyed before we approached Sarin, Janie thought, and thank God it hasn’t rained since we positioned the beeper. Its thin sound came out of the darkness, faint but clear, so they turned in the direction of its apparent origin and headed toward it.

  At ground zero they quickly assembled the plugger, and began twisting it down into the rocky earth. It was hard physical work, and soon both women were sweating despite the night’s relative coolness. When the plugger was finally submerged to the proper depth, they stopped to rest for a few minutes.

  Across the field in the old stone house the caretaker woke from a rather extended afternoon nap. He took a quick look at his watch, and cursed himself for having slept right through the best part of the evening. He hadn’t realized, when he sat down in his rocking chair, how much the encounter with the two women earlier in the day had taken out of him. For several hours he’d slept like the dead.

  He went to the basin and splashed his face with some cool water, then dried it briskly on a rough towel. His dog was still lying quietly by the door, waiting patiently for his “afternoon” walk.

  Sarin offered his patient companion a bowl of fresh water, and the dog lapped it up, looking afterward at his master with something akin to a smile. The leash was lying on the floor where Sarin had dropped it earlier to make room for his visitors to sit down, and the dog pointed to it with his nose, his tail wagging furiously.

  “All right, my friend, I understand,” Sarin said. He wondered why he never had any difficulty communicating with his canine companion, when human beings were such a challenge. “I’ll just get a sweater and we’ll be off.” He tucked a pipe and some matches into his pocket, and the pair went out for an evening walk.

  The dog sniffed about for a bit, looking for just the right spot to leave his mark. He lifted his leg and christened a low shrub, then moved on eagerly. The caretaker struggled along behind him, slowed by the stiffness of his aged joints. The perimeter of the field was about half an hour’s walk, providing they came upon no unexpected distractions requiring attention, like teenagers smoking their smelly dope or other such nonsense.

  Their progress was undisturbed until the dog suddenly stopped and turned his head toward something out on the open area. He raised up his ears, cocking his head slightly, and hushed his panting. Somewhere high overhead a hawk shrieked out its predatory intent, and the confused dog looked up, first into the sky, then at his master, who reached down and patted him reassuringly on the head. They continued circling the field, experiencing no more interruptions until ten minutes later, when the dog raised his ears and whined again.

  “What’s this?” asked the caretaker, pulling the leash up short. “Is something out there, chum?” The dog strained against the restriction and tried to pull the old man toward the center of the field. The caretaker followed his lead, and was soon puffing to keep up.

  Caroline stood up and stretched, ready to begin the removal process after their short rest, when her attention was grabbed by something bright in the distance on the other side of the field. She squinted, and her focus sharpened. A flashlight! She tapped Janie’s shoulder and whispered, “Over there! Look! A light!”

  “Shit!” Janie muttered under her breath. “He must have heard us when I banged the plugger! If he sees either of our faces, we’re screwed.” She looked around in the darkness and saw a group of trees that might provide some cover, if they could reach them soon enough. She grabbed Caroline by the arm and began leading her in that direction.

  “The plugger!” Caroline whispered urgently. “What if he sees it?”

  “Then he sees it. There’s nothing we can do about that now. The handle’s about as far down as it can go, so he might not. Let’s just hope he’s too simple to figure out what it is, if he does.”

  They scurried to the trees and looked back toward the place where they’d left the buried plugger. After ducking behind a large tree trunk, Janie let out the breath she’d been holding, unaware, since fleeing from the dig site on the field. They stood and watched as Sarin and his dog walked around the area in a random path, searching for something in a very disorganized manner. And though Janie knew that stealing a tubeful of dirt was scarcely illegal, Sarin’s pointed refusal to allow it made the act of digging up this small bit of earth seem terribly immoral to her, an outright and blatant affront to the old man’s dignity. She felt more ashamed than afraid, as if she were violating some ancient and obscure code of honor.

  And as the minutes passed, and Sarin continued his aimless meanderings in the dark, Janie began to feel inexplicably cold, as if icy fingers were walking one over the other up her spine. Goose bumps rose up on her appendages, though they were all clothed. There was only a light wind, yet all around them the leaves began to rustle. Her senses issued strange warnings to her body, a feeling that they were not alone on the edge of the field.

  She looked around quickly to see if her goose bumps spoke the truth. There was no one to be seen, just dark pillars of wood topped by unruly masses of swaying leaves, but Janie could not slow her heartbeat or stifle its insistent pounding in her ears. She could not stanch the cold sweat now dripping down between her breasts.

  Finally the light stopped its meandering path, and was still. They heard the caretaker’s dog panting as it strained against the leash, and then the old man called out, his voice defiant, “I know you’re out there. I know it.” Then his tone softened, and he said more quietly, “I wish you would just leave me alone.” He turned, his shoulders slumped in silhouette, and headed back toward the cottage, the dog at his side, and was soon gone from view.

  Janie stepped out from behind her tree and Caroline followed close behind her. They stole back out onto the field as quickly and quietly as they could, and pulled up the plugger with its treasured earthen contents. When it was safely stowed in a canvas bag they headed out, and as she turned the key in the door lock of the car, Janie was overwhelmed with relief that the task was behind them. But a nagging undertone of something else disrupted her peace of mind, a terrible, shameful feeling that she had done something she simply shouldn’t have done.

  Sarin sat trembling on his shabby divan, the faithful dog at his feet. He’d added another sweater, but could not seem to get warm. Tonight he would allow the dog to sleep on top of the bedcover, a rare treat for his companion. He spoke aloud to the dog, having no one else with whom he could share his fears.

  “They’ve come at last, old friend,” he said, “but there’s nothing in the book about what I should do! It just says there shouldn’t be any digging.… Oh dear, oh my …” he moaned. “Mother always said they would come, I just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.… I’m not ready yet.…”

  Old fool, he thought to himself, you’ve had a lifetime to prepare and still you’re not ready? He thought about his mother, who had prepared for their coming before him, and was glad she had passed over so she wouldn’t see his cowardice when the critical time finally arrived
. “Americans,” he said to the dog. “I know so little about Americans! Now they’ve taken their bit of dirt and gone away again, and I don’t remember what I’m supposed to do now!” Tears of frustration filled his eyes, the wet rage of a very simple man who faced a very complex task, one which he was expected, by demanding ancestors, to complete successfully. How disappointed they would be to see me now, he thought.

  “They’ll be back again, I’m sure of it,” he said to the dog. “I just don’t know when.” He reached over and sank his fingers into the warm ruff of fur around the retriever’s neck, and gripped it like a child afraid of losing his way. “We’ll just have to try to be ready for them when they come again.”

  Two days later, Janie awoke from a fitful sleep to the shrill double ring of the telephone. She threw off the bedclothes and stumbled barefoot over the cold floor to the phone. She exchanged greetings with the lab technician on the other end of the line. Hearing the undisguised enthusiasm in his voice, she listened carefully through her early-morning haze to be sure she understood him, for he was talking very fast. She could imagine wild gesticulations at the other end of the line, rapid hand movements intended to convey his excitement. She grunted out a few sleepy but appropriate questions, heard his animated response, then politely ended the conversation. She pulled on a pair of socks and padded noiselessly to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face, then warmed a cup of yesterday’s leftover coffee in the microwave and brought it with her to the phone.

  She dialed Caroline’s suite. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” she said to her assistant. “We’ve got some unexpected work to do. There was something other than just dirt in that last tube.”