He learnt to separate the cream from the milk and haul the full cream cans to the stand down at the gate, one can at a time, using a sled built for the purpose. He stoked the fire that heated the water needed to scour the cream cans and the milking equipment, frequently scalding himself in the process. He sloshed through odorous oceans of cow effluent with scarcely a thought. He grew quicker, more adept—at both work and keeping out of the way of the hands and feet of old Pearson. No one thanked him for his efforts. The only signal that he was getting better was that he got more work to do and the other two did less. The day arrived when Clarrie Pearson didn’t turn up for the morning milking.
‘Well, well, well, well, well, Mister Pongo. Just you and me, now. Isn’t that going to be fun? Well, for me it is. I’ve been looking forward to this,’ Darcy Pearson announced. ‘I’m your boss now, and you’ll do exactly what I tell you. Right? Now get to bloody work, Pongo!’ He grinned happily as his boot connected with Jake’s backside. The milking shed world was now his oyster and he planned to make the most of it. For Darcy this was seventh heaven.
Jake’s nightmare deepened.
IV
He should have been warned. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be sucked in so easily, so readily. Never before had Darcy offered to haul the cream cans to the road. This time he did. ‘I’ll do it, mate. You just hose down the shit and I’ll come back and check you’ve done it properly. Don’t want the old man in a worse temper than usual when he checks up, do we?’ Darcy smiled, speaking softly in a tone of sweet consideration and reason.
‘OK.’ Jake didn’t look this strange gift-horse closely enough in the mouth.
When Darcy returned, he appeared satisfied. He took out his cigarettes, lit one for himself and then offered the pack to Jake. ‘Go on. You can have one, Pongo, but don’t expect them all the time.’
‘No thank you,’ said Jake.
‘Thought you told me you smoked?’
‘Only a little bit.’
‘Well you can make it a little bit more now. Go on. You’ve earned it. You just help yourself.’
Jake did. He lit up and drew in the smoke, felt dizzy and coughed. ‘I haven’t had one for a long time.’ In spite of an empty stomach, he enjoyed the smoke and the brief moment of strange familiarity with Darcy. ‘Not for quite a long while,’ he added.
‘I can tell. But don’t you worry about it,’ said Darcy, smiling. ‘Come on through here,’ he nodded towards the separator room. ‘Got an even better surprise for you through here. Big treat, and all for you. Oh, you’re going to love it.’
Jake heard the door close behind him and the turning of a key in a lock. ‘What…’ he turned, looked up into Darcy’s grinning face. Tricked. Tricked and trapped. Easy game for a young man of Darcy Pearson’s devious skills.
‘Said I got a little treat for you,’ he nodded. ‘You’re really going to enjoy this. We both are.’
On the concrete floor was a cardboard box. The contents were fully apparent; a litter of half a dozen squirming, crawling and mewling kittens, about four or five weeks old.
Jake knelt down. ‘Kittens,’ he said, and stretched out a finger to stroke one.
‘My word, you’re a bright one. Yes, indeed. Six of the little bastards, all ready and waiting.’
‘Waiting for what?’ he said dumbly, emptily. But Jake already knew.
‘Waiting for you to come along and give them a good home? No, not that, Pongo. These dear little kitties are waiting for you to kill them, you stupid little runt. And guess what? That’s exactly what you’re going to do while I watch. Torture them and kill them.’ Darcy was thoroughly enjoying himself, a broad, self-satisfied smile never leaving his face. He folded his arms and leaned against the door. ‘You’re going to kill them. Every last one,’ and happily drawing on his cigarette, he blew a splendid smoke ring.
‘Where’s their mother?’ Numb now.
‘God knows. Probably getting some old tom up her so she can make some more. Come on, Pongo. Get to work. I’m going to enjoy this.’
‘I’m not going to kill the kittens,’ said Jake, firmly.
‘Yes you are.’
‘No I’m not. You can kill me first but I’m not going to kill them. Go on. Kill me.’
‘I’m not going to kill you. Well, not yet, anyway.’ Darcy stretched. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to, but not when I can get this sort of fun out of you first. Tell you what, I’ll let you do them any way you like. I just want to see you do it.’
‘No. I won’t.’
‘Yes you will. And do you want to know why? I’ll tell you, because I’m a nice bloke. You don’t do them, I will, and I’m going to torture every one of those little kitties every which slow way you could ever dream of—and you’re going to be here with me while I do it and see it all. Believe me, I’m an expert cat killer. Understand?’
Jake got it. ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘Give them to me. I’ll look after them. I…I’ll give them some milk. I will. Please, Mr Pearson, I can’t kill them. I’ve never killed anything.’
Darcy smiled down at him. ‘Aw, poor kid. Haven’t you? You don’t know what fun you’ve been missing. Who knows, Pongo, you might enjoy it,’ and he picked up a kitten. ‘Here little kitty, kitty, kitty. What’ll I do to you, eh?’ he said tenderly, holding the little thing up to his face and blowing a plume of smoke directly into its tiny eyes.
‘No.’
‘I think I’ll slowly break your…’
‘I’ll do it!’ said Jake, yelling. ‘I’ll kill them for you!’
‘No, I feel like doing it myself now,’ and Darcy twisted the neck of the small and struggling creature until it broke.
Jake howled at him. ‘I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Let me do it. Please, I’ll kill them.’
‘Go on,’ Darcy said softly. ‘Do it, then. I knew you’d want to do it once you’d seen what fun it was.’
Jake breathed hard. He sweated, gritted his teeth, felt bile, phlegm in his throat. He picked up the first kitten, closed his eyes, breathed even harder. Quickly, very quickly, he took it by the back legs and with all his strength bashed its head onto the concrete floor. He repeated the action four more times. ‘They’re dead,’ he said dully. ‘Let me go.’
‘Bet you enjoyed it,’ said Darcy Pearson. ‘Here, mate. Have another smoke and we’ll go and see if we can find some more. Next lot we find, you just make sure you take a bit more time to do it. Oh, I could see in your face how much you loved doing it.’
Jake looked at him. ‘Yes. You’re right. I did like it. It was good. Now I’ve got to go. Please open the door. I’ve got to go to the dunny.’
Jake retched out his empty stomach and his heart. He wiped his hands on his overalls trying to rid himself of the feel of those small warm bundles of struggling fur. Tried to wipe from his mind the sight of six pathetic kitten bodies with lifeless eyes. ‘Please forgive me, dear God, because I had to do it. It was better for them that I did it. You have to believe me, God. It was better that I did it.’
Darcy Pearson had not quite extracted every ounce of personal pleasure from Jake’s agony. ‘Boy oh boy, Dad,’ he said, piling porridge into his bowl. ‘You should’ve seen what old Pongo did to a litter of kittens he cornered over in the shed. Worse than me, any day.’
‘I didn’t want…he made me…’
Old Pearson slapped Jake hard on the back. ‘Getting into our farm ways, eh, Pom?’ and he guffawed a hoarse laugh. ‘There’s another couple of litters over in the hay barn. The two of you can sort them out, too. Damn strays everywhere. Breeding bad as rabbits.’
‘Yeah, Dad. We will. We’ll get them together, won’t we, Pongo? Bet you can’t wait.’ Darcy turned to Jake and nudged him with his elbow.
‘If he has time to be playing around with cats he’s got time for more work,’ said Mrs Pearson. ‘Ragwort is starting to come through in those top paddocks. You can get to work on the end of a grubber before it gets any bigger and starts to spoil the milk.’
> Whatever ragwort might be, Jake didn’t care. Whatever a grubber was, he guessed he’d find out soon enough. Whatever both of them were, he knew it would mean more work for him. He filled his bowl with porridge and went through to the wash-house where at least he was rid of the Pearsons for a few minutes. Regardless of the sick feeling that would not leave his gut, he ate every last scrap.
He saw the tiny black shadow scurry along the wall of his room and under his bed. At first he thought it was a mouse or a rat, neither of which now worried him. Then he saw the small black shadow again. It was neither rat nor mouse. It was a kitten.
‘Come on. Here, kitty.’ He knelt down and peered under his bed. A tiny hiss came from a corner. ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’ It came to him. ‘Where did you come from? Did he put you in here?’ Jake shivered, stood, went to the door, checked. No one there. ‘I think you could be…I guess you are…one that got away from him. Come on, I won’t hurt you.’ Then the sick feeling thudded back into his gut. ‘Well, I don’t want to hurt you…’ He picked it up in gentle hands. So gentle. ‘Oh, you funny little thing,’ he said, as the kitten started to suck one of his fingers. ‘That’s not a tit, dummy. Won’t get anything from that.’ It went on sucking. ‘You stupid little kitty. You’re sucking at the hand that murdered your poor brothers and sisters…
‘Maybe I should kill you, too. Right now. It would kinder than if that bastard gets you and sucks you in with his big smile. Now I’m a bastard, too, but you don’t know that. I’m no better than him. Not really. But, you know what? I can’t do any more cat killing, not now. You’re OK with me…Better turn out the light before she screams. You’n me can go to bed and you just pray that I don’t squash you flat in the night and don’t squawk for food because there isn’t any. I’ll try and get you some milk in the morning, though God only knows how I’m going to do that! I just hope I can keep you alive…
‘You’ve got to go under the floor in the daytime ‘cos if you don’t, the bastard’ll get you. I know what I’m going to call you. You’re going to be Little Black Sambo. My mam read that to me when I was little…And I’m sorry for what I did to your brothers and sisters…but I guess you don’t know about that,’ Jake looked at the kitten. Little Black Sambo was fast asleep.
Presently, so was Jake, but not before remembering back to when he had a mother who read to him. For a moment or two he thought of her.
V
‘This came in the post for you last week,’ Mrs Pearson handed Jake an envelope. ‘I suppose you better have it, although I must say it’s a cheek on the part of the authorities to think they can expect me to deliver your letters.’ She didn’t specify which authorities. ‘It’s only out of the goodness of my heart I’m letting you have it. Not that it says much.’ Jake reached for his letter. ‘What d’you say?’
‘Thank you very much, Mrs Pearson,’ muttered Jake.
‘I would have thought someone living in the old country would know the King’s English better than your father seems to,’ she sniffed. ‘It would seem he doesn’t miss you too much.’
Jake saw his letter had been opened. He guessed it had been read by all three Pearsons. He said nothing more and shoved the letter in his pocket. ‘Thank you,’ he said again.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’
‘I haven’t got my glasses, Mrs Pearson. I’ll read it later.’
‘I can read it for you,’ she smirked.
‘I’ll read it later,’ he repeated.
‘Please yourself.’ She wiped the smirk from her face with a loud sniff.
The letter burnt a hole in his pocket but he wouldn’t give her, her husband or her son the pleasure of further invading what scrap of private world was left to him.
He knew the letter wouldn’t say much. He knew the limits of his father’s ability. It wouldn’t matter what was written. It would have been hard labour indeed, with God only knew which neighbour or friend being called in to give a hand with the spelling, addressing the envelope and, quite likely, making sure the stamp was stuck the right way up!
My dear son Jacob
How are you. I am well. It is getting cold even if it is still said to be summer and it’s not. How goes it with you in your new land. Is there a lot of milk and honey ha ha. I hope you be good for the good folks who give you a good place. You must let me know and right a letter soon so we know. I miss you more than we can say but one day we will see. You are in a best place.
The leg is coming on and I do well with it the wood one that is. Hop hop ha ha. When it gets me down I have a beer ha ha. Your old man can still get to fox and grapes hop hop.
Yours truly
Your loving father Jim
Over and over and over again, Jake turned his letter in his hand while Little Black Sambo played with the envelope. He read his letter ten times. He read it twenty times. He heard his father’s laugh. Hop hop ha ha! Even at the very worst of times, what a laugh. And then, for better or for worse, there was his mother, brushing Janny’s hair and knotting a scrap of pink ribbon into a little blonde top-knot…
That night Jake cried himself to sleep.
She was in a good mood. ‘Mr Pearson and me will be away for three days for the weekend. Darcy will be in charge and running things and you’ll do as he says at all times and make sure you pull your weight.’
‘Bet I have to do it all, Mum,’ said Darcy. ‘Can’t see why I can’t come, too.’
‘With just about the whole herd in milk there’s no way you can be spared, son,’ said his mother. ‘Besides, your father’n me need a break and you shouldn’t begrudge us a day or two for your cousin’s wedding. I’ve said you can have Gary come and stay to keep you company. There’s a big pot of braised beef and onions,’ she pointed to a saucepan on the coal range. ‘Get the boy to hot it up when you’re ready.’
‘You’ll have a damn sight better time than going to some tomfool wedding, boy,’ growled his father. ‘And I’ve promised to leave you a dozen.’
‘Geez, Dad. That’s not enough. Could you make it two?’ Darcy wheedled. ‘Please, Dad.’
‘Don’t want you and that fool Gary drunk as lords. You’ve got work to do.’
‘Don’t you worry, Dad. I’ll make sure Pongo here pulls his weight better than ever, just as Mum says.’ Darcy grinned at Jake, winked. ‘That’s going to be the best part of it.’ And then, more quietly and out of earshot of his parents, ‘Gary’n me have got a few surprises up our sleeves for the runty pom.’
Jake shivered.
‘Quite our own little royal wedding it’s going to be,’ Mrs Pearson got back on track. ‘All in the same year as Her Royal Highness. Such a pity Pamela isn’t able to wait. Did you ever see the royal family, boy?’ she turned to Jake. ‘Not that I suppose they’d ever bother about your ordinary bits of England. The little princesses, Elizabeth? Little Margaret Rose? I only wish I’d had a daughter.’
‘No,’ said Jake. ‘No, Mrs Pearson. I’ve never seen any of them.’
‘As I thought.’
‘The King came to Coventry after one lot of bombing, and Queen Elizabeth,’ said Jake.
‘Poor man. And so brave,’ said Mrs Pearson.
‘But we didn’t see him when he came.’
‘Well, I should think he had better things to do,’ said Mrs Pearson.
‘Gary’s bringing his motorbike. Thought we’d go shoot a few rabbits up the outcrops,’ said Darcy.
‘Plenty of ‘em up there,’ said his father. ‘Give the devils hell.’
‘And now the young Elizabeth getting married,’ said Mrs Pearson, finally helping herself to the stew.
‘Thought her name was Pammy,’ said Mr Pearson.
‘She means the princess, Dad,’ said Darcy. ‘Pammy’s the cousin who’s getting married.
‘Waste of bloody time, if you ask me,’ said his father. ‘You be careful with those rifles.’
‘Thought we’d use old Pongo digging out the rabbit holes so we can get the little buggers, too,’ said Darcy.
‘Good idea,’ said his father.
Mrs Pearson turned to Jake. ‘And you make sure you behave yourself and do whatever Darcy says.’
‘He’ll be doing what he’s told, Mum. You know you can trust me,’ said Darcy.
‘Yes. Well, that’s what your father and I are doing. Treating you like a responsible grown-up. No high jinks and nonsense.’ She shook her head. Three days is the longest we’ve ever left you. Not that it’s quite three days. Daddy and me will be leaving tomorrow lunchtime, Friday, and back by late afternoon on Sunday. Now come on, come on. Must get on with my ironing.’
Jake finally got his stew and took it to the wash-house. As ever, he ate automatically, neither relishing nor even tasting the food. It was a dry bread night and he wiped his plate clean down to the last drop of tasteless gravy. His mind was far away from the simple act of fuelling himself. His mind ranged over the grim prospects offered by the next three days and the agonies his tormentor had in store for him. Of one thing he was absolutely sure—Darcy Pearson would not be leaving him alone!
VI
It was heaven and it was bliss. Jake had almost a full day without any of them. More than worth the hard morning labour of polishing their car to within an inch of its life! Indeed, Jake enjoyed the change from dull routine and waxed and elbow-greased the dark red, pre-war Chevrolet to a gleaming finish that even Mrs Pearson found hard to fault. ‘It’ll do,’ she had grunted. This was the nearest she’d ever come to a word of praise. ‘The bride’s mother will be riding in it and I will most certainly not see my side of the family let down even if they haven’t got much of a car to call their own.’
Land of Milk & Honey Page 3
