The Restraint of Beasts

by Magnus Mills

  “Oh Richard,” she said. “I think there’s been a terrible mistake.”

  “It’s alright,” he replied. “I’m home now. What happened?”

  “Oh dear. I don’t know how to tell you.”

  “Has someone died?”

  “No, no. It’s about the electric guitar.”

  “What about it?”

  Mrs Campbell hesitated and then said, “A man from the catalogue came and took it away.”

  ∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧

  Thirteen

  Richie went quite pale. “You mean it’s gone?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “When?”

  “This morning.”

  “Didn’t you pay the instalments?”

  “I kept them all up to date, but we didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s what your employer told us.”

  “What, Donald?”

  “He didn’t give his name, but he said he hadn’t heard from you for quite some time. Therefore he didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “Therefore?” said Richie.

  At this point his mother began weeping.

  “Oh Richard!” she wailed. “We didn’t mind you having the guitar! Really! We’d have got used to it soon enough. Your father could go out and see to the cows, and I’ve got my Reading Circle. Please don’t think we did it on purpose!”

  As Richie tried to comfort his mother, and she him, I noticed Mr Campbell quietly regarding the scene from an outhouse doorway. When he saw me looking he withdrew again.

  ♦

  “As soon as I turned my back for five minutes,” said Richie. “Gone.”

  That night, as the three of us sat in the Crown Hotel, Tam listened solemnly while Richie told him his bad news.

  “The man from the catalogue took everything, did he?” he asked at length.

  “Everything. The guitar, the amp. Even the instruction manual.”

  “For fuck sake.”

  “I’d only had it a few weeks,” said Richie. “I’ll probably never see it again.”

  “At least you won’t have to pay off any more instalments,” I pointed out as a sort of consolation.

  Tam considered the case and then passed judgement. “This wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t had to go to England,” he announced.

  “Yeah, but Donald’s behind it all,” I added.

  “He’s getting worse and worse,” said Richie.

  We all agreed about that.

  “And to think they only started off building fruit cages,” said Tam.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The company.”

  “Did they?”

  “That was before your time. Or yours, Rich. Raspberries mainly.”

  “To stop them escaping?” asked Richie.

  “Er…no. Not really…no.”

  Tam went to the bar to get three more pints, and on returning said, “Christmas Eve tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I suppose we’ve got to go into work, have we?”

  “Suppose so,” I replied. “Donald hasn’t said anything.”

  “Fuck sake.”

  “Maybe he’ll let us finish early,” I suggested.

  “Huh,” said Tam.

  ♦

  Christmas Eve didn’t start particularly well. It would probably have been alright if Donald hadn’t intercepted us almost as soon as we arrived for work. This gave us no chance to prepare ourselves for what he had in mind. We were sitting in the truck while Tam and Richie had a pre-work smoke, carefully watching Donald’s office door as the minutes passed. When they’d finished we were going to go and report for duty, but Donald got to us first. He suddenly approached from the direction of the tool store, and next moment he was peering at us through the cab window as we sat there side by side.

  “Have you been out to the Demonstration Fence since we last spoke?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I replied.

  “I’m surprised,” said Donald. “It’s in your own best interests to become familiar with the technique as quickly as possible. Our schedules have been brought forward and you’ll be on your own very soon.”

  “Will we?”

  “Very soon indeed. It’s imperative you understand how to build a permanent electric high-tensile fence. I hope you’re all wearing your rubber boots again today?”

  We confirmed that we were.

  “Good,” said Donald. “It looks like rain so you’d better don your waterproofs. I’ll be back in a moment and then we can have another lesson.”

  We got out of the cab and started scrabbling about putting on our wet weather gear while Donald disappeared into his office. The condition of Tam’s leather jacket had got beyond a joke. Apparently he’d put it in his father’s boiler room to dry out overnight, and now the fabric was desiccated and even less resistant to rain than before. Still, the jacket was all Tam had so he stuck with it. Donald, of course, was perfectly equipped. When he emerged from his office he was wearing a complete set of waterproofs, complete with hood, and a pair of thick-soled rubber boots. He signalled for us to follow him and we again set off across the fields. I noticed there was no sign of Ralph this morning. It had started raining by the time we got to the Demonstration Fence, and standing there in the wet, it appeared even brighter and newer than it had on the previous occasion.

  “So,” said Donald. “Where does the electricity come from?”

  Good question. The Demonstration Fence resembled an ordinary high-tensile fence in every way. Only the yellow warning signs showed that it was different. It stood alone and apparently unconnected to anything else. We watched as beads of rainwater gathered along the wires before dropping into the grass.

  “Suppose it must come from underground,” I suggested.

  “Correct,” said Donald. He led us to one end of the fence and indicated a black cable emerging from beneath the turf.

  “Insulation is provided by a hardened rubber sheath,” he explained, reaching for the cable, taking hold, and disconnecting it from the fence.

  “By the way,” he went on. “This is the sort of tension you should be achieving on all occasions.” Donald seized a fence wire and pulled it towards him. There was hardly any give at all.

  I was about to test the tension for myself, but changed my mind.

  “You’re quite safe,” said Donald. “The power’s not connected. Even if it were, your rubber boots would protect you from all but the slightest shock.”

  “I don’t trust it yet,” I replied.

  “Come, come,” said Donald. “You’re in more danger of being struck by lightning on a day like this.”

  I looked at the black cable, to check that it had definitely been disconnected from the fence. Then I breathed in and gripped the wire.

  “Hmm. Quite tight,” I said, letting go again.

  “Yes, I’m quite pleased with it,” said Donald, and he began carrying out yet another thorough examination of the fence. I was beginning to come to the conclusion that he was obsessed with the thing. He tested the tension of each wire, and ran his hand over the timber to ensure the joinery was perfect. Finally, he stood at one end and genuflected, glancing along the line of posts to see that it was straight. When Donald was satisfied he reconnected the electricity.

  “Now there’s a quick and simple way of finding out whether the power is switched on,” he said.

  Donald bent down to the ground and broke off a blade of grass. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he touched the top fence wire. At once a faint ticking sound could be heard. Donald moved the blade up a little, and the ticking grew louder. Then he turned to Tam.

  “Do you want to try?” he said.

  All the time we’d been at the Demonstration Fence, Tam and Richie had remained somewhat aloof, keeping well clear of the structure and not taking part in any of the tests.

  “It’s OK,” said Tam. “We usually let our foreman do that k
ind of thing.”

  “And what if your foreman ever leaves the company?” asked Donald. “What will you do then?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “You’re not afraid of this fence, are you?”

  “No, no,” replied Tam, breaking off a blade of grass and gingerly touching it to the fence.

  “Good,” said Donald. He glanced at me. “The question was purely hypothetical, of course. I don’t ever expect you to leave.”

  This was very reassuring.

  “Now there’s a small task I’d like you to carry out over the next few days,” Donald continued. “I want you to dig a trench from here to the company premises, so we can put the cable deeper underground.”

  “Isn’t it deep enough already?” I said.

  “Oh no,” said Donald. “Nowhere near deep enough. It’s barely beneath the surface at present, placed there as a temporary measure. Quite unsatisfactory. I want it buried deeper.”

  “How deep?”

  “So that it can be forgotten about.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know how to bury things, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, ‘spose.”

  “Good. Besides, it’ll give you all something useful to do over Christmas.”

  I was aware of a wave of disappointment flowing between Tam, Richie and myself.

  “All you’ll need is a spade each,” said Donald, “and while we’re in the tool store I have something else to show you.”

  He led us back to the company yard and opened the door to the store room. At once the ticking noise could be heard again. We went inside, and as our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we could make out a metal box mounted on the wall, on which a small orange light was flashing.

  Apart from the ticking noise, the tool store was a quiet place, a sort of inner sanctum of the fencing trade. Rows and rows of tools lined the walls, most of them familiar to us. There were large post hammers, all with wooden shafts and identical cast iron heads. There were deep-digging tools, some in the form of simple long-handled spades, others doubled into tongs. Nearby stood steel spikes which could be used for piercing starter holes in the ground, or for levering out awkward stones. Hanging from hooks on the wall were sets of wire-pulling devices, complete with chain winch and gripper. There were boxes in the corner containing brand new gear still wrapped in stiff greaseproof paper and not yet assembled for use. Other tools had been tried and rejected, such as the deep diggers which opened the ‘wrong way’ and which no one could get used to. Finally there was the unrecognizable specialist equipment, acquired for some particular reason or other, but whose purpose was not apparent.

  And now there was something new in the tool store. A metal box ticking on the wall with an orange flashing light.

  “This is the transformer,” said Donald. “One of these can deliver electricity for an entire network of fences.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Several miles actually. Mr Hall was most impressed.”

  The transformer continued ticking, but all else was silent.

  “Who?”

  “Mr Hall. That’s the new client. He’s shown a great deal of interest in the Demonstration Fence.”

  “So he’s been here, has he?” I managed to say. Tam and Richie remained very, very quiet.

  “He attended a demonstration, yes,” replied Donald. “It seems that the permanent electric high-tensile fence matches his requirements perfectly. Mr Hall is just the type of person I had in mind when I devised the system.”

  “Is that where we’re going after Christmas?” I asked.

  “Correct.” Donald cast his eye along the rows of equipment lining the wall and then said, “By the way, I take it your personal tool sets are all intact?”

  There was a pause and then Tam said, “I need a new hammer.”

  “That comes as no surprise,” said Donald. He stepped towards a bench by the wall, on top of which was a drawer full of hammers. “Would you like to select one?”

  Tam picked one at random and said, “This’ll do me.”

  Donald took the hammer and balanced it carefully in his hand.

  “I’m surprised,” he remarked. “I’d have thought someone of your experience would have been a little more discerning.”

  Tam lifted a second hammer from the box.

  “Alright. This one,” he said.

  “That’s better,” said Donald. “Of course, you understand the cost will be deducted from your wages?”

  “Thought so,” said Tam.

  Now Donald turned to Richie, who was leaning against a stack of cardboard boxes.

  “May I?” he said.

  Richie quickly moved out of the way, and Donald lifted a box down. Inside were a dozen or so leather belts, each with small loops attached. He chose two and gave them to Tam and Richie. (As foreman, I already possessed such a belt.)

  “These should help to prevent any further loss of equipment,” said Donald.

  The belts were well made, each loop designed to carry a certain item, such as a hammer, wood chisel or pair of wire cutters.

  “They’ll also make you look more professional,” he continued. “This is only the first stage of our future plans. In the forthcoming year there will be a simple uniform for you to wear. The designs are not yet complete, but I have in mind some sort of overall bearing the company insignia.”

  Tam had already fastened his belt and fitted the new hammer into an appropriate loop. Meanwhile, Richie stood awkwardly holding his in one hand.

  “Are these going to be deducted from our wages as well?” he said at last.

  “No,” replied Donald. “Consider them to be a Christmas gift from the company.”

  “Thanks,” they both mumbled. Donald fitted the lid back onto the box and replaced it on the stack. Then he turned to me.

  “So.”

  “Do you want us to start the trench today?” I asked.

  “The sooner you start the sooner you’ll finish,” he replied. “Don’t forget your spades.” And with that he left us. We stood in stunned silence in the tool store as he crossed the yard back to his office. Then, without a word we each took a spade and trooped out into the rain, through the gate and across the field.

  It was only when we were well away from the company premises that Tam spoke at last. “For fucking fuck’s fucking sake,” he said. Richie and I knew exactly what he meant.

  And so on that soaking wet winter day we began digging our trench. We dug it deep and we dug it straight. We worked with rain running down our necks and our hair bedraggled. Mud clung to our boots, the turf became slippy, and rainwater ran freely along the bottom of the trench. Daylight began to fail early, but still we pressed on, knowing that Donald could make an appearance at any moment. It was only when the coming of darkness made it impossible to do any more work that we packed in.

  “What a fucking way to spend Christmas Eve,” said Tam. “We could have been in the pub all afternoon.”

  “This is worse than last year,” said Richie.

  “What happened last year? I can’t remember.”

  “We had to go to Robert’s house for a glass of sherry.”

  “Oh that’s right. I forgot about that. Got a fag, Rich?”

  Richie found his cigarettes in a dry place beneath his waterproof, and squeezed into his soaking jeans for the lighter. I realized for the first time that I no longer found the ritual irritating.

  When we got back to the yard the light was on in Donald’s office. We discussed calling in to say ‘good-night’ and even ‘Have a nice Christmas’, but none of us was really in the mood.

  “Fuck it,” said Tam. “Let’s go home.”

  ♦

  What sort of Christmas was it going to be? Not only was there that trench to complete when we came back, which was two or three more days’ work at least, but we also had the prospect of facing Mr Hall again. Nobody had mentioned Mr Hall all afternoon because it just didn’t bear thinking about. We’d worry about that when the
time came, and no sooner. In the meantime, the lights of the Crown Hotel offered some consolation. Even Donald couldn’t expect us to work Christmas Day and Boxing Day, and I seemed to spend much of the festive season in the Crown with Tam and Richie. So did a large part of the local population, including Morag Paterson.

  On Boxing Day night Richie, Billy and I were sitting at one of the large tables waiting for Tam to come back from the bar with a round of drinks. He’d got engaged in a conversation with Morag and was taking his time, but who could blame him? I’m sure I’d have done the same thing if I had her full attention. The Crown Hotel was certainly a better place with her there.

  In the end Billy lost patience and shouted, “Hurry up, Tam!”

  Unfortunately this triggered off an incident involving their father. Mr Finlayson had been sitting alone at the end of the bar for most of the evening. Apparently unaware of his sons’ presence, he was gazing at the mirror behind the whisky bottles, his right hand holding a pint of heavy, his left hand gripping the counter. When he heard Billy’s voice he looked round and caught sight of Tam standing further along the bar, still talking to Morag Paterson. Next moment he was on his feet and lurching towards them.

  “Here we go again,” murmured Billy.

  Mr Finlayson had plainly been drinking a lot, and swayed to and fro as he stood facing Tam.

  “We could have done all the fencing round here!” he roared.

  “Who?” said Tam.

  “Us! Me! And your brothers!”

  “What’s he talking about?” said Morag, giggling. Half the pub was now listening to the exchange.