Land of Milk & Honey

by William Taylor

  Jake slept. Occasionally he would stir restlessly. Not often. Not even the noise of the house, the old doctor’s surgery or a trail of patients crunching up the gravel drive and gossiping in the waiting-room next door disturbed him. From time to time James McGregor would come into the room and check on him.

  The doctor phoned the police. ‘Bit irregular, by-passing my local chap, Jim, but I’ll take your word for it,’ the inspector said. ‘Your word’s always been good enough for me. I’ll make it in the morning and bring a couple of my boys with me. You think the lad will be up to talking?’ And then, ‘Twist Molly Henderson’s arm, will you? I could go a round or two with her date scones.’

  Early evening and Robert, the newspaper boy, cycled up the doctor’s drive and knocked on the door.

  ‘Yes? What d’you want?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘Come to see about that boy I rescued. Will he live?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Mind your own business,’ said the doctor. ‘Why aren’t you at school.’

  ‘It’s six o’clock! They have to let us out sometimes, Dr Mac.’

  ‘More’s the pity. And what d’you mean, you rescued?’

  ‘Couldn’t have done it by yourself, not even with old Mrs H. givin’ you a hand.’

  ‘I heard that, Robert,’ Mrs Henderson came out. ‘That’s enough of the old!’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Henderson,’ said Robert.

  ‘That’s all right, Robert,’ she smiled. ‘I forgive you,’ and she disappeared.

  ‘And while you’re here, uninvited and littering my doorstep, I have a bone to pick with you, you grinning layabout,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Look, Dr Mac, it’s not my fault you got a jungle in your front garden,’ Robert anticipated. ‘I do my best. Mum says I have to do my best for you because you delivered me. The settlers spent about a hundred years knocking down the bush and here you are growing it all again. Don’t blame me if you can never find your paper,’ he grinned. ‘Besides, look at it another way. Gives you a bit of exercise and that’s supposed to be good. You should know, you’re a doctor.’

  ‘Exercise be damned,’ said James McGregor. ‘It’s my bloody morning paper I need!

  ‘How’s the boy? Is he up the hospital? I’m not goin’ up there to see him with old…’

  ‘I’m not surprised. I bet you fire her paper in the right place! The boy is still here.’

  ‘Was he too far gone to move up the hill? When’s he gonna die? He was pretty bashed up, eh? I reckon someone done it to him.’

  ‘He’ll be all right, given a little time.’ The doctor looked at his newspaper boy. ‘Thank you for your help this morning, Robert. You’re right. The old lady’n me, we couldn’t have done it without your strong arms and legs. He’s sleeping. Come on. You can check for yourself he’s not dead.’

  ‘Don’t look too good to me,’ said Robert, looking down on Jake. ‘You sure he’s not dead? Can I take his pulse? I know how.’

  ‘No. Take my professional word for it, Robert. Now, then, off with you.’

  II

  At around midnight Molly Henderson tiptoed into Jake’s room. The light was dim. James McGregor sat in a chair by Jake’s bedside. He had fallen asleep, head back and lightly snoring and his glasses askew, over one ear and off the other. The morning newspaper lay spread on the floor. The woman smiled at something else; at some time or another the boy’s badly cut and scratched hand had met up with that of the old doctor, almost a handshake grip.

  She woke him gently. ‘Come on, Jim, off to bed with you. I’ll take over.’ She looked at Jake. ‘Poor little sausage hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is, and if he wakes up I’ll call you. I’ll have an extra hour or so in the morning and you can get your own breakfast.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the doctor. ‘He’s resting easy enough now. The pain’ll give him gyp when he does wake.’ He looked up. ‘Thank you, Molly. He muttered more about this kitten book, the Sambo one. Seems the only thing on his mind that surfaces.’ The old man got to his feet.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Molly Henderson. ‘If my memory serves me right, Little Black Sambo is definitely a kiddie’s story about a little black feller in Africa.’

  ‘Who knows,’ said the doctor. ‘Is there a cuppa out there?’

  Daylight crept into the room soon after six in the morning. Jake woke. He lay absolutely still, as wary as ever. His body burned, pained, tortured. He turned his head one way and then the other. Where was he? How had he got here? And who was this old woman sitting asleep in a chair next to his bed? He turned slowly to get a closer look and the pain blasted through him. ‘Shit!’ he said, quite loudly.

  Molly woke, started. ‘Shhh…shhh…’

  Jake’s mouth worked and then in a hoarse croak he said. ‘Sorry, missus.’

  ‘Don’t talk, love,’ she said. ‘Here, I’ll get you something to whet your whistle. No, you just stay where you are, I’ll see you get a few mouthfuls.’ Gently, she supported his head and helped him to drink a little water.’

  ‘Where am I?’ he whispered.

  She told him.

  ‘I hurt all over.’

  ‘I know, love. You just lie back now.’

  Then he started up in the bed. The pain was excruciating and he screamed, his eyes started from their sockets and he reminded her again of a hunted and wounded animal. ‘Th…th…they’re not…here for me,’ in a terrified stammer.

  ‘Shhhh,’ she soothed. ‘There’s no one here, love, except for me and the doctor—and here he is right now. No one here, luvey. No one at all. You’re safe.’

  He slumped back. ‘I hurt,’ and he looked up at both of them from helpless, pain-filled eyes.

  ‘And I can do something about that, my friend. Might hurt just a bit more before it feels better but I’ve got a feeling you’re man enough to take it. Let’s be having a look at you now.’

  ‘Don’t you…’ Jake held up a hand. ‘Don’t put me back to sleep. I don’t want to be asleep when they come for me…No!’ He coughed, exhausted by his effort.

  ‘Listen, boy,’ the old doctor spoke seriously, almost sternly. ‘No one is coming for you that you don’t want. Believe me,’ he smiled. ‘Trust me. Might just be one old lady and one old man—but no one’ll be getting past either of us!’

  For the first time in a very long time Jake smiled. A glimmer of a smile, but a smile for all that. ‘I…believe you, sir,’ he said.

  ‘What’s your name, lad?’

  ‘Jacob John Neill.’

  ‘Good name. Jacob John Neill, you say. Midlands?’

  ‘Coventry.’

  ‘Hmm. Should’ve picked it. Not been here long, have you? Been on a farm?’

  He started to cry.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, boy.’

  ‘Stop interrogating him, Jim,’ said Molly Henderson. ‘If you ask me, this young man is ready for a bit more sustenance than water and glucose. I’ll just pop through and scramble him up an egg and maybe a little warmed milk. You do something to make him a bit more comfortable and leave your questions until later,’ she ordered.

  ‘Women,’ said the doctor, winking at Jake. ‘One day you’ll learn it pays to do exactly what they tell you, Jacob John Neill. How old are you?’

  ‘Nearly fifteen, sir.’

  ‘Hell’s bells, boy! She’d better do half a dozen eggs. Got to get a bit of padding on this frame of yours. You’re almost a man!’ For all his pain, Jake smiled broadly at James McGregor. ‘Now, to wipe that grin off your face,’ said the doctor. ‘I’ve got to have a look at you. It’ll hurt.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Jake.

  ‘Hah! No it’s not. I mean, it will hurt. I’ve got to look at my stitching and cobbling of yesterday…’

  ‘Was I here yesterday? What was I doing here yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, you were here yesterday. We gathered up the wreckage of you from my front garden in the early hours of yesterday morning. You smashed a perfectly fine hydrangea, you destructive little devil. You’ll pa
y for it!’

  Jake grinned. ‘I haven’t got any money.’

  ‘I’d take it out of your hide, that’s if you had any left! Now turn over and get ready to hurt a bit. While I’m doing this I’m going to ask you some questions, just a few. I don’t want you jumping out of the little bit of your skin that’s left if I say something that brings up a bad memory. There is no one outside that door,’ he pointed. ‘No one out there who’s going to take you anywhere you don’t want to go.’

  The doctor worked and questioned. Jake squeaked, squealed and answered as best he could. James McGregor hadn’t lied. It hurt. ‘Right, then, Jacob John Neill, turn back over. And now,’ he uncovered the boy. ‘Maybe you could tell me what’s happened to this fellow down here,’ he pointed at Jake’s penis.

  For a moment Jake was silent and he trembled. He looked at the man. ‘Do I have to…’ The old doctor nodded. Jake’s lip trembled. He looked down at himself, looked at the doctor again and then told him what had happened.

  James McGregor turned from the boy’s bed for a moment, his eyes closed. He turned back to Jake and smiled, ‘Never you mind, boy. You’re still all there and it will heal quicker than you think. Try and eat a little something of what Mrs Henderson has cooked and then I’ll rub in a few salves and potions and fill you with a few pills for this and that. Now then, I hear old Molly trudging this way. Just one last thing…later this morning the police will be here…’

  There was an indrawn breath from Jake, a scream and a flinching away as if he had been struck. ‘Nooooo…’ One long drawn out cry.

  ‘Stop it, boy!’ the doctor was loud and very firm. ‘It will not be, I repeat, not be the constable you tell me took you back to the farm. Do you understand?’

  Jake blinked a couple of times and began to relax. ‘I…I understand. They won’t take me…’

  ‘No, Jacob. No one will be taking you anywhere for some long time, and most definitely not until you’ve healed. And now, my fine young fellow, force as much of this fine fare down that gullet of yours as it will take. We’ve got to get you back on your feet before you wear out your backside!’

  Jake grinned again. ‘Is it all right if I ask something?’

  ‘Fire ahead.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘James McGregor. Doctor of this parish.’

  ‘Are you Mrs McGregor?’ he asked Molly.

  ‘No, lad,’ she laughed. ‘There are some things not even I’m game for!’

  ‘Where am I?’ he asked.

  ‘In the doctor’s house,’ said Molly Henderson.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean, what place is this?’

  ‘Of course,’ and she smiled. ‘Weatherley. Nice enough little spot. Now, then, you get that egg down you—or as much as you can manage.’

  There were three policemen. Two old ones and a young one. Inspector, sergeant and constable. The doctor ushered them into Jake’s room. The boy was dozing but his rest was fitful, painful, and he was alert, on-guard within seconds.

  ‘Inspector Davis, this is Jacob John Neill, although I think he likes to be called Jake,’ said the doctor. ‘Jake, these gentlemen have a few questions for you. They already know a little bit from me but they have to hear of your er…adventures, from your own mouth. Right?’

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Jake.’

  ‘Now then, boy,’ the inspector began. ‘What’ve we got here? Just tell me in your own words everything that’s happened. The good doctor here tells me you’re in a bit of a mess. Seems to me you must have some sort of guardian angel,’ he smiled at Jake. ‘Ending up as you did in his pride and joy—his front garden! Did you know where you were? No, don’t bother answering that. Start from the beginning, don’t leave anything out and don’t worry if you see these two fellows taking notes.’

  Jake told his story. Hesitant, stumbling, sometimes stammering…and then, when he saw there was nothing to fear, his confidence grew.

  His audience listened attentively. Occasionally Bob Davis would ask the boy to repeat a fragment. Sometimes he would question. The sergeant and constable wrote plentiful notes.

  Jake’s story ended with the thrashing he had received at the hands of the Pearsons, father and son. No amount of prompting could winkle from him what he had endured or, indeed, how he had achieved the feat of getting from the Pearson farm to this bed in the home of Dr James McGregor. Jake’s memory of his trek was well-clouded.

  ‘Right, then,’ said the inspector. ‘That will do for going on with,’ he beckoned to his team. ‘One or two things before we leave here,’ and he gave a series of orders. ‘And now, Jim, we’ll polish off a few of your Molly’s fine scones and then be on our way. Maybe you could spare Molly to come out to the farm with us, Jim? She can sort the boy’s belongings, his bits and pieces. He won’t be going back there,’ he spoke firmly.

  ‘We’ll leave you for a while, lad,’ said James McGregor. ‘Get some rest. I’ll check up, or Nurse Green will, between our paying customers for the morning. OK?’ he looked down, and then remembered. ‘Just one little thing. This Sambo you’ve been gabbling on about in your sleep…book of yours, is it? Seems to have been a treasure of some sort. I’ll have Mrs Henderson check on it for you when she goes out there.’

  Jake blinked, as if uncomprehending. He looked into the faces of the three police, and most particularly at that of the young constable, a broad and pleasant face that smiled at him very slightly. The boy shivered, almost imperceptibly, and then said, ‘Don’…don’…don’t know what it could…must’ve been just a bad dream, I think.’

  III

  The day passed and Jake went on sleeping. They checked on him, doctor and nurse, from time to time, but otherwise left him alone. It was late afternoon when he stirred, woken by the noise of people arriving at the house. This time there was little wariness in his waking. Jake was beginning to feel safer.

  Doctor and police inspector came into his room. ‘I’ll not trouble you much more just now, boy. I thought you would like to know what has happened. We’ve made three arrests—you understand what that means?’

  Jake nodded.

  ‘Mr Pearson, his son, Darcy, and the son’s friend Gary Miller, the mechanic boy, all will face charges. One of the three, the son, faces very serious charges. They’re on their way now, down to the city, along with my sergeant and the local chappie who’ll be staying down there for the time being. Young Jackson, who was here with me this morning, will take over up here temporarily. He’ll be in to see you later. I’m picking the magistrate or justices will make sure the Pearson lad will be held in custody. It’s likely the other two will be given bail. Now, lad, bail is when…’

  ‘I know what bail means, sir,’ said Jake.

  ‘So there, Bob,’ said the doctor, smiling.

  ‘Bright customer you’ve got here, Jim,’ said the cop, winking. ‘Just one more thing, boy. Now, don’t you worry, it is beyond the realm of possibility that any responsible authority would return you to that farm. Understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There is one painful thing I’m going to ask you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve got Mrs Pearson out in the car. I think it is important that she sees for herself the damage that’s been done to you by her menfolk. Are you feeling up to it?’

  ‘You…you mean, see her?’

  The policeman nodded. ‘Yes. Just for a moment or two. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be here, and I shall ask Mrs Henderson to be in here, too. Another woman, you know.’

  ‘This way, Eunice. Through here,’ he heard Molly Henderson.

  Jake looked straight ahead. His heart pounded. It pounded right up into his throat and he thought it would jump from his body. He knew she was there but he wouldn’t look at her and was thankful when James McGregor indicated for him to lie on his stomach. Thankful, too, for the pain that came with the removal of bandage and dressing. The pain distracted.

  She said nothing. Stony-faced and still. And then, as the doctor s
tood aside and indicated the damage, there was one long in-drawn breath, a gasp. Jake heard her being taken from his room. She hadn’t spoken to him and he hadn’t spoken to her. He heard her say, ‘Are you positive he couldn’t have done it to himself?’

  ‘Only if he were a professional contortionist, madam!’ the inspector barked. ‘Even then I suggest you ask yourself why anyone would want to do something like that to themselves!’

  Jake thought she had gone and slowly turned over. She was in the doorway, looking straight at him. She looked different from how he had ever seen her look before. Her mouth was open. He could see she had been crying. ‘My boy,’ she said, to no one in particular, ‘My Darcy is a good boy. He is…he wouldn’t have…couldn’t have…’ She didn’t finish.

  He’d never seen a bathroom like it before. Not in all his born days. It was just about a house in itself—the Buckingham Palace of bathrooms! For all his pains and discomforts he explored every corner. Two bowls for washing your face and a bath big enough to swim in—except he couldn’t swim. He could learn to swim in this one!

  ‘Everything all right, love,’ Mrs Henderson knocked, called out.

  ‘Yes. Yes thank you,’ and, hastily, ‘but could you please tell me where the lavatory is? Is it outside?’

  ‘No, love. Try the other door. The cream one. Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No,’ very quick.

  He pissed. He had held it back as long as he could, not trusting what might come. He knew he’d wet in his bed, but at least that had been while he slept. It wasn’t as sore this time and Jake breathed a long and satisfied sigh of enormous relief. The sticky brown ointment applied by the old doctor was working its magic. Back in the bathroom he examined himself in the mirror. The reflection that looked back wasn’t reassuring. The tousled head of fair hair was matted, hard to the touch. The scratches on his face were livid, and made more so by whatever it was the doctor had rubbed into the broken skin. One of his ears had been torn and he could see James McGregor’s stitching and a band of painting in some orange-red stuff that extended over and down one cheek. And his eyes? It was a bit hard to see whether he had any.