by Stan Mason
‘Where is the village inn here?’ I enquired flatly, expecting a reasonable answer to my request.
‘There isn’t one,’ she replied sharply. ‘No one in the village imbibes alcohol. It’s vitally important that we do not drink it.’
‘Why not? People like their little tipple.’ I was becoming impatient with the issue. ‘Surely the life of every village lies in the public house... it’s the local inn!’
‘Not in Keppelberg it doesn’t!’ she snarled as though I had insulted her personally. ‘Why do you ask so many questions?’
‘Why is this village so different to any other in Britain?’ I cut in.
‘I’ll not even attempt to answer that one,’ she snapped ‘All I can tell you is to get away from here for your own safety... before it’s too late!’
Her comment was most sinister but, before I could ask her what she meant by that, she turned on her heel and walked away into the distance. I wasn’t angry at her insistence that I should leave the village. In fact it reinforced my will to remain. I could not understand why she should be so vehement about my departure.
It was time to have my evening meal and I made my way to the cafeteria. Before I arrived there, the young McBain boy came running towards me along the path. I expected him to hurry past but he stopped as he reached me and took hold of my arm firmly.
‘Sir,’ he cried out in a squeaky voice. ‘You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to help all of us! You must!’
‘What’s your name?’ I asked with concern. Surely there couldn’t be an emergency in Keppelberg with only me to deal with it. I looked around to check whether any of the houses were on fire but nothing led me to believe that this was so.
‘It’s Robert,’ he told me, breathing heavily from the effort of running along the path. ‘You must help me!’
‘You’re Robert McBain,’ I responded slowly. Bridget McBain’s son. What do you need me to help you with?’ Is it your homework?’ He suddenly went silent as though a curtain fell in front of his eyes and he became very uncertain of what he wanted to say. My words seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of him because he fell completely silent. ‘Come on, lad!’ I urged. ‘Spit it out! It’s no use bottling it up inside you!’
He shook his head. ‘No... I can’t tell you,’ he replied as though guided by an invisible force. ‘You wouldn’t believe me. You’re a stranger in the village. You wouldn’t understand.’
The hairs on the back of my head stood on end as anger began to rise within me. If anyone referred to me as a stranger again I would gladly throttle them.
‘Try me... I might understand.’ I retorted.
‘No... you wouldn’t! You’re a stranger!‘
‘Goddam it!’ I swore. ‘I’m a Briton with every right to be here. Every right. I was born in this country, so I’m not a stranger!’ I turned to the boy so that he was facing me directly. ‘Now tell me what your problem is or forever hold your peace! I’ll not be messed about!’
He grimaced as if he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t find the right words, then he turned to run back along the path to his home. I followed him until I came to the McBain house and knocked on the door. Bridget answered and stared at me in surprise.
‘Is there something you want?’ she asked in her cool lilting manner that sent an emotional shiver running down my spine.
‘Your son, Robert, stopped me on my way to the cafeteria,’ I told her frankly. ‘He seemed very upset but he wouldn’t speak to me about it. Is he all right?’
‘Yes... he’s fine,’ she responded. ‘Come inside and see for yourself.’
I paused and then decided to take her up on the offer. There was no harm in having a cup of tea with the woman. She was so lovely to look at it would be a pleasure to be in her company. She led me into the small lounge and sat opposite me. It was still strange to me to enter a room without a television set or a hi-fi, or a telephone and nothing electronic.
‘What do you do with yourself in the evenings?’ I asked politely.
‘I read, ‘ she replied. ‘There’s a wealth of good books here. On one evening each month there’s a dance at the village hall.’
‘Did you use to go there with your husband?’
‘No... he couldn’t dance. I sat listening to the music.’
‘You must miss him.’
‘Quite the contrary. Living with him was no fun at all. He gave up on me a long time ago.’
‘Surely not!’ I cut in with surprise. I could not imagine anyone giving up on a twenty seven year old woman who looked quite as beautiful. The man had to be insane or blind. ‘There’s something that’s bothering me,’ I carried on. ‘You have no electricity in the village, no motor vehicles and you’re self sufficient for food. But where does the money come to buy seeds and any goods you need to buy? Who pays for the goods and how do they do it without money?’
‘The benefactor looks after us,’ she said simply.
‘The benefactor?’ I echoed puzzled. ‘Who’s he?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied innocently. ‘You’ll have to ask Mr. Townsend that question if you want to know the answer.’
I started to become frustrated again because every avenue of enquiry seemed to branch off to another one. There were no straight answers to anything in this place!
‘When’s your husband’s funeral?’ I enquired trying to keep the conversation going.
‘He’s already been buried,’ she answered sadly. ‘They took his body away before you came.’
‘But isn’t there going to be a funeral. Some kind of a wake afterwards to celebrate his life?’
‘What for?’ she replied. ‘He’s dead and they buried him.’
I made a mental note to visit the churchyard to search for his grave the following day to determine that he had been buried there. It all sounded so weird.
‘How long were you married?’ I carried on. I assessed that the boy was eleven and that she was about twenty-seven, so she had married when she was about sixteen or so.
‘Too long,’ she replied dourly which astonished me. Her comment indicated that she had little love for her late husband during the time they lived together.
I was lost for words for a while and then the boy entered the room. He stared at me bleakly from the doorway as though he wanted to trust me with his problem. His young voice rang out in my head. ‘You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to help us! You must!’ If only he could bring himself to tell me what was troubling him!
‘This village puzzles me,’ I confided, trying to keep an even tone in my voice. ‘There’s no television, no computers or hi-fis. No newspapers... no telephones... no village inn because no one’s allowed to drink... no cinema... everyone’s employed and no one leaves the village to go anywhere else. You tell me that a benefactor, whoever he might be, provides all the money you need. It’s so Victorian. I don’t get it.’
‘You don’t have to, Mr. Ross.,’ she told me casually. ‘You don’t live here. You’re not a member of our community.’
‘What would you say if I told you I intended to stay... despite the hostility shown to me by some of the folk here?’
She stared at me for almost half a minute before replying.
‘Are you propositioning me, Mr. Ross?’ she ventured. ‘Do you think you might want to live with me?’
Her question took my breath away. I would have loved to have said it but she did it for me. She had taken the bull by the horns and opened up our lives as easily as one handles a picnic on the grass.
‘Firstly, ‘ I began in a new light, ‘I want you to call me Sam. Secondly, it was the last thing in my mind to hitch up with a woman... not for some time yet anyway... but you are so attractive I want to take you in my arms and hug you day and night. I’m sorry that you’re grieving having just buried your husband.
..’
‘I’m not grieving,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m glad he’s gone. We actually disliked each other. The marriage was arranged many years ago much to my distaste. I was forced to marry him.’
‘I see, ‘ I managed to say. ‘I wanted to give you time to get over the shock. I didn’t want to take advantage. I mean the moment I saw you, I became besotted. You are truly beautiful and I’m in love with you.’ I’d spoken my mind and there was no doubt she knew how I felt about her.
She smiled at me wistfully. ‘I think you’re very handsome, You have a strong face, a good physique, and I feel that I can trust you.’
‘What are you saying?’ I challenged not quite grasping the nettle.
‘I think it would be a good idea for us to live together to see whether we could make a match,’ she returned brazenly. ‘That’s if you’re willing to become part of our community. You realise that once we start a relationship, you will not be allowed to leave the village for any reason whatsoever.’
‘Why’s that?’ I demanded. ‘Why won’t I be allowed to leave?’ I became quite concerned with her comment.
‘I can’t answer that question at this particular time,’ she responded although I knew that she could. ‘There’s a reason for everything and if you remain here you’ll find out eventually.
‘I’m sure I will,’ I said, rising as I decided it was time for me to leave.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked with surprise showing on her face.
‘To the cafeteria to get myself something to eat,’ I replied truthfully.
She stared at the clock on the mantel shelf. ‘It’s closed,’ she informed me. ‘The cafeteria closes early here.’ I grimaced which cause her to laugh. ‘You’re quite amusing, did you know that? I’ve watched your expressions and I think they’re funny.’
I didn’t know how to take that remark but I let it pass without responding. ‘Is there no other place to dine?’
‘Yes,’ she said with a smile touching her lovely lips. ‘You can dine here with me and Robert.’
‘I wouldn’t want to put you out,’ I advanced stupidly although I was becoming hungry and the idea sounded good.
‘You won’t starve in my house, I assure you. And there’s something else. Where are you going to sleep tonight?’
‘I was going back to the police station to ask if they’d let me stay in one of the cells.’
‘You’ll sleep here,’ she said flatly. You can either sleep in my bed with me or on the couch here. It’s quite comfortable.’
I wondered how she knew that but recognised she had probably argued with her husband and had slept on it. Nonetheless, this woman wasted no time dithering about political correctness. I could sleep with her in her bed. A wave of lust started to envelop me and I paused to recover my poise. I was sitting in a house with a very attractive widow who obviously regarded me as her next catch. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be captured so quickly. It was all going too fast for me.
After dinner, I helped Robert with his homework using a pencil and paper. The history he had learned went up to the Boer War and no further. He had no idea about the First or the Second World Wars. As far as he was concerned they hadn’t happened. With the mathematics, I rued the fact that there was no calculator and I had to work out the figures in my head.
At eight o’clock that evening, Robert went to bed, leaving me alone with his mother. We talked generally although I avoided asking any awkward questions which I knew would bring me no cogent answers, We spoke as a man and a woman ready to court each other until an hour later Bridget yawned and looked slightly tired.
‘Are you going to sleep with me or on the couch,’ she asked wearily.
I thought for a moment, wondering whether I would weaken, before I remembered that her husband had only just been buried.
‘Let me take the couch for tonight,’ I uttered kicking myself for the missed opportunity.
‘I’ll fetch you a blanket,’ she offered. She left the room to return with one a few minutes later.
We stood staring at each other for a brief instant and I thought that she was going to kiss me but the moment quickly passed and neither of us moved to commitment. She was clearly in the forefront of my mind by now due mainly to both of us flirting with each other. It embarrassed me to feel so close to a woman who had just buried her husband but she told me it had been an arranged marriage... one which she resented.
I undressed, taking off all my clothes, and made myself as comfortable as possible on the couch. It seemed to me to be a size too small but beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was far better than the flea-bitten straw mattress in the police cell I fell asleep and started to dream to be awoken at two-thirty in the morning. There was a slight rustle and, having been on alert in Basra for two -and-a-half years, I awoke in an instant pulling the blanket away and reaching for my nonexistent machine-gun. I looked up to see Bridget entered the room. She was wearing a dressing-gown and she moved towards me swiftly. As she opened the garment, I could see that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. She flipped it off her shoulders and embraced me firmly. The slenderness of her body almost caused me to drool and the adrenalin surged rapidly through my body. I caressed her full soft breasts, rubbing my fingers slowly over her nipples. Her head went back in ecstasy and I stroked the back of her neck which seemed to be one of her erogenous zones. I ran my finger down her spine which tended to heighten her sensitivity. The foreplay continued for a while and I kept kissing her all over her body before her soft lips brushed against mine. Eventually, I moved my hand downwards between her legs, gently running my forefinger over her clitoris. She sighed and gasped as I did so and I continued the action which excited her greatly. After a short while, her hand came between my legs to hold me firmly, stroking me gently before placing me inside her. We moved up and down in harmony for quite some time, our passions rising to elevated heights, until mutual satisfaction occurred at the very same time. Bridget uttered a gasp of unholy euphoric emotion while, at the same moment, I felt a tremendous sensation of relief. We hugged each other warmly, basking in the moonlight of sensuality, continuing to kiss and embrace, staring at each other’s silhouette in the darkness.
‘That was wonderful!’ she gasped joyously. ‘Can we do it again?’
‘If you want to,’ I told her hesitantly although I wasn’t certain it would be quite as lasting or exciting as the first time. ‘You’re very experienced for a young woman,’ I muttered, kissing her on her ear. She laughed loudly. ‘And we’re crazy to have unprotected sex. That session was so emotional, so perfect, you might have become pregnant.’
‘Pregnant!’ she guffawed. ‘At my age!’
‘What do you mean? Everything she said was an enigma to me.
‘How old do you think I am?’ She began to throw caution to the winds in her euphoria.
I paused briefly to reflect. ‘I’m pretty good at working out people’s ages. I reckon you’re about twenty-seven or twenty-eight.’
‘Well you’d better think again,’ she revealed much to my horror. ‘I’m eighty-seven nearly eighty-eight.’
I began to laugh, hugging her even more tightly. ‘Now who’s the funny one,’ I joked easily. ‘I ought to spank your bottom for having me on. Now come on! Twenty-seven or twenty-eight?’
‘No,’ she persisted shaking her head defiantly. ‘I’m eighty-seven.’
Her voice had the touch of certainty which sent shivers down my spine. I released her quickly so that she fell on to the floor, staring in the dim light at her face. I could see from her expression that she was telling the truth but I had difficulty in processing the information. She looked so young... so vibrant! And then I remembered that her son had told me he was forty-two years old. It was enough to make my hair turn white. What the hell was going on in this place? I had been in Basra facing death every day b
eing shot at and in constant danger of being killed or maimed by a land mine. However it was nothing like the situation I was facing in this village, I stood up covering myself with the blanket. She could have been my grandmother. There was no way I could bring myself to make love with her again. Knowing that she was eighty-seven, I was certain not to be able to close my eyes and get to sleep again that night.
‘Why do you say you’re that old,’ I managed to say, hoping that she might withdraw the comment and tell me it was all a joke.
‘Because it’s the truth. I was born almost eighty-eight years ago.’ She seemed to be quite stunned at my reaction without understanding my concern. After all, her sexual activity was that of a young woman.
‘This is all a wind-up, isn’t it?’ I exclaimed with all the adrenalin draining out of my body. ‘I mean we made wild passionate love with each other. It was wonderful. The best performance of a twenty-seven year old woman. What’s going on, Bridget?’
‘I can’t tell you any more,’ she insisted, becoming upset by my adverse attitude. ‘Please don’t ask me. All I want is for you to make love to me again.’
After her declaration, making love to an eighty-seven year old woman was the last thing I wanted to do. Then she realised that she had been too audacious in revealing her age and, against her better judgement, she decided to retract the statement.
‘I was only kidding,’ she laughed, pushing her hand across my chin playfully. ‘How could I be eighty-seven when I look like this? Look at my face, look at my skin!’
I looked at her suspiciously not knowing what to think. She had been so positive in her declaration that, now she had retracted the statement, I wondered whether she was telling the truth. She certainly looked no more than twenty-seven.
‘Come on!’ she urged laying back on the couch seductively. ‘Come back to me again, handsome, I want you!’
