The Kingdom by the Sea

by Robert Westall

  “We do nature study,” shouted Harry, suddenly furious, for no reason he could quite work out. “We watch birds an’… foxes.”

  “Yes, of course. Nature study, of course. You must take me to see all these birds and foxes, some evening…” He fed Harry a third bit of Mars Bar, holding it so high that he forced Harry’s head back. “And… you do other things with Corporal Blenkinsop…”

  “Like what?” Harry wondered why he was getting so angry and flustered. “We watched gannets,” he added lamely, after a silence.

  “Of course. Gannets…”

  Just then, there was the crunch of boots on the road outside. Boots approaching at a trot, not a walk.

  “Hup two three, hup two three,” came Artie’s urgent voice.

  Harry took a quick peep at Merman’s face.

  The look on Merman’s face was indescribable.

  All the men came barging into the barrack room, hitting each other with wet towels again.

  “Hello, Corporal Merman. Fancy finding you here.” Artie’s eyes took in, in one glance, the two of them sitting on the bed, the sliced Mars Bar. “Coming for a walk, Harry?”

  Harry came like a flash. As they left, Artie shouted back at Merman, “If they ever catch you at it, Merman, they won’t just take away your two little stripes. They’ll put you away in Colchester for five bloody years.”

  They walked along the road. The silence was heavy, like the dark grey sky.

  “I don’t like him,” said Harry timidly.

  “Quite right, son. Never go near him. When I realised what he might be up to, I couldn’t get the lads back quick enough. They did the whole return journey at the double, just for you. I hope you’re honoured.”

  “What is he up to?”

  “Never you mind, son. I wouldn’t foul up your mind by telling you. Just stay away from him, right?”

  “Right.”

  But nothing did seem to go right, that afternoon. Harry could tell that Artie was very very angry, and that seemed to frighten all the birds and animals away.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harry wakened on Sunday morning, feeling blackly miserable. It wasn’t just that it was pouring with rain outside, though that didn’t help. He just felt all wrong, jangled, jumbled up inside, and he couldn’t tell what was wrong at all.

  Except it was about Merman. He could think of nothing but Merman. He tried to think about Artie, or the incoherent Scotsman, or the man who danced on the end of his bed; but whatever he tried to think about, Merman kept sliding back into his mind. What did Merman want? He was like nobody Harry had ever met before. He was used to kind people, like Artie. He was used to brutal people, like the farmer with the shotgun. He had even met one or two people who were a bit nutty, like Joseph. And selfish people, who didn’t give two damns about you.

  But Merman wasn’t any of those. Merman wanted something off him, and he just didn’t know what. It made him feel very unsafe. So unsafe and miserable that he just got the fire going, munched a miserable bit of breakfast, and lay on, snug and warm inside his blankets. He cuddled Don a bit and then Don got tired and mooched off for a walk.

  He heard footsteps coming along the path. Leapt up, cursing himself for a careless idiot. The person passing would notice the smoke from the chimney and come and look in. After all his carefulness, his hiding place was discovered.

  Then he recognised the scrunch of hobnailed boots. A soldier. It must be Artie, come to see what was the matter with him. Artie would listen to him, explain the odd way he felt. Artie would make things better.

  He looked up with an attempt at a grin, as the doorway darkened.

  But it wasn’t Artie. It was Corporal Merman.

  “There you are,” said Merman. “Snug in your little nest.”

  Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He just screwed up in a ball, inside his blankets, and stared at Merman, trying to read his face in the half-light. Merman was smiling; it wasn’t a very nice smile. It was a sort of smirky triumphant smile, pretending to be friendly.

  “Very comfy you’ve made yourself. You and Corporal Blenkinsop.” Merman came and sat down close to him, as he had the other time. There was nothing that Harry could do about it. Merman was between him and the door.

  “I’ll bet you have a lot of fun in here,” said Merman. “With your nature studies.” He sort of sniggered to himself.

  “We don’t come in here much,” said Harry. “We go for walks.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose Corporal Blenkinsop minds where you go. As long as you’re kind to him.”

  Harry thought that was a very strange thing to say. You weren’t kind to adults. You liked them. Or obeyed them. You weren’t kind to them.

  “We’re mates,” he said at last.

  “Of course you are,” said Merman. “Just as you and I are going to be mates.” He put a cold damp hand on Harry’s bare arm. It was horrible, like touching a dead fish.

  “I choose my own mates,” said Harry, pulling his arm away. He blurted it out, and then wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to get Merman angry; he thought he might turn nasty. But he couldn’t stand Merman hovering over him like that; touching him.

  “Choosy, are we?” said Merman. He didn’t seem annoyed; more excited. “I wouldn’t get too choosy if I was you. Or you and your mate Corporal Blenkinsop might end up in a great deal of trouble with the police. Corporal Blenkinsop might end up going to prison.”

  “What we done?” squeaked Harry. His mind flew across all the things he had done. Lying to the chip-shop man, hitting the farmer, eating army grub. Not having a licence for Don. How could they send Artie to prison for things like that?

  “But that doesn’t have to happen,” said Corporal Merman. “Not if you’re as kind to me as you have been to Corporal Blenkinsop.” He took hold of Harry’s arm and squeezed it again. A painful nip.

  Harry went berserk. He pulled his arm away, and tried to kick out at Merman. But the blankets hindered him, and Merman just edged out of the way, laughing. But it did knock the blankets wide, exposing Harry’s legs and underpants. And Harry caught Merman’s eyes drifting down to his underpants, and he pulled the blankets back round himself, desperately. He’d suddenly got Merman’s number. Merman was like the dirty boys at school. The ones who hung around the toilets and messed about with you when you went for a pee. Poking you in the back while you were busy, and making you pee all over your shoes. Or making remarks about you, or trying to grab your balls, which hurt like hell. Only they never went very far in the toilets, because there might always be somebody else coming in, who might run and tell tales to the teacher.

  He was alone with Merman. Well, nearly alone. Suddenly he was yelling for Don, at the top of his voice.

  “That won’t do you any good,” said Merman. “You haven’t got a licence for that dog, have you? If I tell the police, they’ll come and take your dog away. I don’t think he’s really your dog anyway… I think he’s a stray. Or you stole him…”

  Harry heard Don bark on the beach. Getting nearer. Then silence. No sound of paws. No more barks. No Don. Hope died.

  “Your dog’s not coming,” said Merman. “He’s got better things to do. Perhaps he’s found a bitch on heat…” Again, that smirk. Again, his hand reaching for Harry’s arm.

  “C’mon,” Merman wheedled. “You’ve only got to be nice to me. It won’t take long. I can bring you things. Sweets. Mars Bars. Things for your dog…”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” shouted Harry.

  Then the doorway darkened again. Don was standing there. Don was growling, a deep rumble that was half-choked.

  Because a hand was hooked tight round Don’s collar.

  Artie’s hand.

  Artie didn’t look at Harry. He avoided Harry’s look. He said to Merman, “Come outside, you filthy bastard. I’m going to give you a hiding you won’t forget to your dying day.” Harry could hardly recognise it was Artie. Artie looked hardly human.

  Merman tr
ied to bluster. Merman’s voice shook, but he tried to sound reasonable.

  “I’m not wanting anything you haven’t done,” he said. “You sneaking along to this kid, morning and night. I saw you. I followed you here. You’re crazy for the kid. You couldn’t get enough of him.”

  “Come out,” said Artie in a dreadful voice. “Come out or I’ll let this dog loose on you. And then I’ll drag you out and deal with what the dog’s left…”

  “No need to take it that way. We’ve both seen plenty of it in the Army.

  “Plenty of what?” Artie turned to Harry. “Have I ever touched you, Harry?”

  “Only to bandage me leg,” said Harry. He turned to Merman. “I sprained my ankle. He was looking after me.”

  Something seemed to flicker out and die in Merman’s eyes. Leaving him looking pale and ill.

  “All right, I was wrong,” he said to Artie. “How was I to know? Be reasonable…”

  Harry felt a tiny flicker of sympathy for him; only a tiny flicker. Because he looked so… lost.

  The next second, Artie had let go of the dog and grabbed Merman, and was dragging him on his knees out of the pillbox. The dog was barking wildly, and Artie was swearing like a man possessed.

  Harry was still trying to quieten Don when he heard the first blows. Harry didn’t try to follow. He just sat listening to the sounds of the fighting and Artie swearing, and remembering the lost look on Merman’s face.

  Then he heard Merman screaming and sobbing. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.” Terror drove him out of the pillbox. To see Merman on the ground, and Artie with a boot raised.

  “Stop it, Artie. You’ll kill him!”

  There was a trickle of blood down Artie’s face from a cut lip. But Merman was writhing on the ground with his hands over his face, and his hands were red with blood. Harry flung himself at Artie; grabbed him round the legs shouting, “Stop it, stop it.”

  At last, Artie relaxed, and stood still, just panting and slobbering. Then he licked the cut on his mouth, and drew a hand across his face. And looked down at Harry, and said, “Hullo, kid. It’s you.” His face still looked very strange.

  “You coulda killed him,” said Harry.

  Artie sat down heavily on the grass. “Aye, mebbe you’re right. I wouldn’t want to swing for that bugger - he’s not worth it.” He was still taking deep shuddering breaths.

  “Merman didn’t hurt me, honest! He was just pestering me.”

  “I know, lad. I followed him from the camp, the dirty bastard. Saw him going along the cliff. Nobody walks along the cliffs this weather. So I knew he was coming after you. I knew he’d spotted your hiding place. He must have seen me coming here, when you were poorly wi’ your leg.

  “You mean - all the time he was talking to me, you were listening?”

  “Aye. I had to make sure what he was up to, the dirty bastard. Had to wait for him to show his hand. That’s why I hung on to your dog, when you called him. I had to hear what he was sayin’ to you…”

  “WHY?”

  “Because he was jealous!” It was a new creaky voice. They both turned and stared. Merman had hauled himself to his feet. His face was hideous, a mask of brown drying blood. “He was jealous. Because he wants the same thing from you as me. Only he was scared to ask for it.”

  “You filthy bastard.” Artie leapt to his feet and made for Merman again. But Harry clung to Artie’s legs, and tripped Artie up, so he fell full length. And Merman went staggering off along the cliff top, like a drunken scarecrow. When he was at a safe distance, he turned and shouted, “I’ll get you for this. Both of you.”

  Then he staggered away out of sight.

  They sat on a long time, staring at the sea, Artie dabbing at his cut mouth with a clean white handkerchief that slowly turned into a bouquet of bloodstains, getting fainter and fainter.

  Finally, Artie said, “I’d never have touched you, Harry. You know that. Not like he thought. It’s just his twisted mind. He thinks everybody is like he is.”

  “I know,” said Harry miserably. “You’re a married man with a son my age.”

  “That doesn’t mean much,” said Artie bitterly. “So is he. I feel sorry for his wife.” Then he shrugged, and said, “We’re sitting here like a couple of loonies, getting ourselves soaked. Let’s get out of the weather.”

  They went back into the pillbox, and Harry made up the fire. They tried to get the bloodspots out of Artie’s battledress jacket, but they wouldn’t come out.

  “Will you get in trouble?” asked Harry.

  “What? A corporal having a fight wi’ a corporal? Happens all the time, in this man’s army. It’ll cost me for a new battledress, that’s all. ‘Less I can scrounge one from the quartermaster. But it’s the end of a perfect friendship, our Harry. You can’t stay here. He can make trouble for you.”

  “Why? What’ve I done?”

  “Sleeping rough. Stealing a dog. You’ve got to move on, son. He’ll probably be on the phone to the police, the moment he gets himself cleaned up. Anonymous phone call, of course. No names, no pack-drill. Look, you get packed up and get to that road over yonder. I’ll walk back to camp an’ borrow a thirty-hundredweight and set you on your road. Where were you goin’, when we first met?”

  “Holy Island. Lindisfarne.”

  “Right. Lindisfarne it is. Unless the tide’s in.”

  But the tide was in. Lindisfarne was an island, cut off by a mile of sea, almost hidden, a grey long flat shadow in the teeming rain.

  “I’ve got to get back to camp,” said Artie. “I’m on guard duty in an hour, and me kit’s filthy. But I can’t leave you out in this…”

  He sat with his hands clenched round the steering wheel, chewing at his teeth, the lines deepening on his face. Harry knew he was in agony; like a fox caught by its leg in a trap, and the trap was the Army. If Artie wasn’t on duty in an hour, he’d be in real trouble; lose his stripes, maybe get sent to the glasshouse.

  He must let Artie out of the trap; it was the one good thing to do, though it felt like stepping off the edge of the world.

  He said, gently, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, “Find me a thick hawthorn hedge. Under a tree. That’ll keep me dry.”

  Artie looked at him; his eyes were grateful and very ashamed. “Ye’re a good kid. I wish I could take you home to my missus. She’d look after you. This bloody awful war…”

  They had to drive around quite a lot, to find a hawthorn hedge with a tree. But they found one at last, and Artie lifted down all his kit, gave Don a last rough desperate pat, shook hands and drove away without looking back. It was only after the truck had vanished that Harry realised he had something pressed into his right hand, after Artie’s last handshake. A little wad of dirty paper. He opened it up, and saw three very oily pound notes. And heard again Artie’s last desperate words.

  “Keep in touch, son. Let me know you’re getting on all right.”

  Three pounds. That was a whole week’s wages for Artie. More. How would he afford his fags now? And Harry didn’t even need the money. He had plenty of money. When he got settled again, he would write to Artie, and send the money back.

  Meanwhile, he was getting wet. With no means of getting dry again. That was the only thing that made sense at the moment.

  Harry forced his way into the hedge. It was quite dry in there; lots of dry leaf-mould, with only a few prickles.

  He curled up tight with Don, smelling the doggy smell of him for comfort, driving his face into Don’s fur, to block the world out. And he slept; a queer jerky sleep full of dreams that switched from one scene to another. Sometimes he was sea-coaling on the beach with Joseph; sometimes walking through the woods with Artie; sometimes back at his own house, staring at the little blue flames licking up from the bricks that had once been home; and sometimes on the beach before the war, building sandcastles. But always, Merman was somewhere about, Merman with his bleeding face, wanting…

  Then he would jolt awake, and see the dull grey
sky showing through the dark green hawthorn leaves, and hear the endless sound of the rain, and know that Merman was far away. Like everything else. Everything was far away, except the world, which was a big black cold hole now, reaching in with icy fingers to steal his very life.

  Then he would bury his face in Don’s warm fur and sleep again.

  It was the sunset that woke him, shining in through the leaves. A magnificent sunset. It had stopped raining, and the pilot’s watch said four hours had passed. Six o’clock.

  Above his head, the hedge and big tree were dripping. Right on to his head. They had kept him dry till now, but they were going to make him very wet, if he stayed much longer.

  Nothing for it but to get on the move again. And he was ravenous.

  He stumped along, head down, not wanting to look at the world. Don ran ahead, full of life, questing for food without a care in the world.

  Once again, Harry wished he was a dog.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He walked up the rain-soaked road, towards the sunset, which was a lovely lemon-yellow, and turning the road lemon-yellow too, so he seemed to walk on the light, on sky. It lifted him a little; above the dense mass of misery about Artie. While the sunset lasted, he felt he could keep going, could almost fly above his troubles. But he knew that when the dark came, he’d plunge deep, deep back into them. Keep walking; keep walking away from them.

  Around him, the fields were empty. But there was a house ahead, where the road met the sky. A house with two chimneys smoking. They must be rich, to have two fires going at once, in wartime. He imagined a table laid for supper, with cloth serviettes and heavy silver knives and forks, like they had in Carrick’s Cafe, in Newcastle. Pork pie and chips - big fat Carrick’s chips. The thought was a mistake - his belly filled up suddenly with the fizzy liquid of hunger. But he went on with his fantasy about the house. It was the house of somebody he knew - they were waiting for him to come home.

  Oddly enough, at that point (and he was still a hundred yards away), the figure of a woman came out of the garden gate, and stood in the road, watching. Only she was in silhouette against the sunset, and he couldn’t tell if she was staring at him or away from him. But he could tell from the way her elbows stuck out that her hands were clasped tight together. She was waiting for somebody, and anxious as well. He still had the absurd idea she was waiting for him; but it must be somebody out of sight, beyond the brow of the hill, for there was no one on the road behind him. He’d checked.