by Paul Beatty
He quoted facts and figures at me but my mind shut them out. Then he would get angry, frustrated, grieving about what he saw. He would shout that we had fallen from grace, from paradise to empty lives in hell. We had to return to Eden or die.
Sometimes I would stand with my man. At the gates of a power station I stood with a placard. I cheered him when he told us that it was our selfishness and greed that was killing nature. I cheered when he accused me of squeezing and exploiting the earth like a filthy harlot. I cheered when he pleaded with us to see that our lungs were filled with pollution, our blood poisoned by toxins and our minds cluttered with useless information.
Even when we were alone, it was the same. He pleaded with me. How could I be happy when nature suffered from our actions: the cutting down of the forests, the fouling of the seas with oil, the balance of climate wrecked by carbon dioxide belched from our industries. Then he would weep and I would hold him and stroke his hair; tell him all I wanted was his peace of mind.
Then one morning I went into my garden, into a corner where white snowdrops grew; a patch that returned each year. I was proud of their beauty and glad that they were with me. I went that morning to see them again. But instead of the delicate curve of the heads towards the good earth, their stems were bent and twisted. I bent down and lifted some of the blooms gently upwards; they shed their petals and disintegrated. With my fingers I loosened the soil around them. Their bulbs were rotten, their flowering not a sign of health and promise but a last desperate act of defiance. Then I believed and I too wept.
That changed me but unlike him, who was all fire in his fear, I did not rally and chafe against my impotence. I did not go his way, throwing myself towards the doom I perceived, as if my body and anger could prevent it. I was cold but looked for escape. I reasoned that even in the past when disaster had come a remnant had survived. And if a remnant survived then I would be part of it. So I searched and I found Winter’s Hill.
I had become aware of it through stories in our group. They argued about it. They called it escapist and labelled its members traitors to the cause but it sounded practical to me. I saw an article in a magazine with an address. I wrote and asked to visit.
I found a farm below the moorland, with pollution-free air with people growing crops together. At the end of two days I asked to stay and even he was peaceful enough not to fight. So we stayed, built our own house from thatch and cob. Dug our fair share and settled.
Those years on the farm were fulfilling. Thirty grown-ups living together had their disagreements but we settled them in the Council.
As he became more contented he gave in to me and we had the children I had always wanted. Charlie was born in the spring of the second year, Alison two years later.
The Winter’s Hill community was led by James. He had gathered the other first members together: Naomi and Jacob, Dina and Andrew, Chloe and Christopher. Winter’s Hill was James’s dream and every tree stump and field expressed his ideas. His vision of Winter’s Hill was not as a way of escape, nor a base for protest but a place to preserve the best of the past and to rediscover how to live without technology. It was a place where we ate the food we grew, but we would invent as well and not just be locked into the past.
At first, as the temperatures dropped, we adapted and changed our patterns of farming a bit here, a bit there. When troubles hit the cities we watched and waited. Even when we heard that food there was scarce we were not afraid. Then suddenly it was time to go.
Today we put all we had on the wagon. James set light to the farmhouse and we left. He destroyed it as a symbol to all of us that there was now no going back.
Day 4
It was not that we were out of touch. We did not live cut off. We were always in touch with the outside world through the radio and the people we met occasionally from the surrounding farms. But we were self-sufficient and we expected that there would be a crisis of some sort; that was why we were at Winter’s Hill. So, though we heard the news about the calculations, the predictions of the models, the confirmation of the expeditions, we did not panic. We took it in our stride and waited.
The cold came quickly. At first it was nothing more than a poor April; a snap, nothing more. A blip in the weather, the people on the radio and in the cities all said. But it lasted long enough that so many birds died their bodies had to be cleared with shovels from the city streets.
Then winter came back more quickly. After a short summer there was heavy snow out east. And so it went over the next few years. Each year winter was earlier. Each year it was deeper. Each year there were signs not even the city people could ignore.
When the scientists had first made their predictions people thought they were mad. So they denied that there was a possibility of disaster and continued. Now here were things they could see and they were fearful. Panic set in.
The rich were the first to move. There were reports of groups of boats, some privately owned, others hired, gathering in out-of-the-way places in the summer months. They set off south to Africa or the Mediterranean, anywhere warm where the cold would not come. We waited.
Next, food was rationed in the cities. This helped for a few seasons but eventually there was not enough food coming out of the farms to feed the cities under any circumstances. The ration was cut to hunger levels. There were street riots which undermined the economy so that the government could no longer buy food on the world markets. They prevented money leaving the country and banned migration. More riots followed and this time the army opened fire on the rioters, killing hundreds. Airports were taken under military control. Ports were closed with blockades of armed ships but the coast was long and there was always somewhere to get away. Finally, the army took over.
Then the cities’ councils made independent arrangements with local army commanders. Together they mobilised the people and were successful in pulling in more food from the countryside near themselves, but this divided the army and without a united army, any vestige of national government collapsed.
Chapter 8
‘If you don’t want a fucking hole in your head get over here now!’
Robert had clearly decided to deal with the problem of having lost face with his men the day before by all-out bullying and bluster. The subject of his wrath was one of the men he had set last night as a guard on the boat to take care of me. The unfortunate man was trying to row the skiff to the shore to bring Robert and the rest of the group back on board. Try as he might the guard, who was not one of the ones I had trained to row, could only navigate round and round in circles.
Robert was beside himself but the rest of his men were beginning to see the funny side. Every crossed oar or crab caught had started to be accompanied by a cheer or laughter. The more the men laughed, the worse the man rowed and the angrier Robert became. Finally, he took out his pistol.
‘I warned you,’ he shouted and fired in the skiff’s general direction.
‘Angus. Have you got a line you could throw him?’ I shouted. Though Robert might not be trying too hard to cause the rower any bodily harm, I didn‘t want my skiff full of holes by accident. Angus looked round. Then I saw him run back to where what baggage they had was waiting, rummage round a bit and emerge with a rope. He got back to the shore just in time to stop Robert firing again. After a well-aimed throw of the rope, that the man in the skiff caught, he was able to pull the boat to the shore. One of my trainees took over and Robert, with The Lady and his spear-carrier got back to the boat first. As soon as he was on board he bustled up to me all bullying and nervous anger.
‘How far we from yem friends?’
‘Bout hundred and sixty kilometres that way,’ I pointed out to sea.
‘How long it take us?’
‘Tomorrow midday.’
‘That include night sailing do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You told me you no sail at night?’
‘I can’t sail at night near the coast but once we’re out there,’ I waved my arm at
the open sea, insisting he look at the empty grey sky and flat space. ‘Nuthin hit us out there; water deep. But me will need someone to steer me, I need sleep. Angus would be good choice.’
‘We get there tomorrow in time to attack?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’ A bit of obsequiousness never came amiss.
After ferrying everyone on board, we got going about an hour later. Not that it worried me, the longer the better. I put my compass in its place on the rail next to the tiller and once away from the shoreline, with the sail up and trimmed, I steered southwest. Twenty hours on that heading would bring us in sight of the far coast. The sky was overcast but looked fair enough, and the wind was steady from the northwest. There was only a light, even swell and the boat was already making good speed.
I hoisted the small slave sail and coupled it to the tiller mechanism. With this steering sail engaged the tiller would automatically respond to small changes in wind direction and the helmsman was left only to take account of slow variations that might take us off course due to current or tide. After dark I expected the wind to veer to the east, at which time the slave sail and the tiller mechanism would have to be realigned, but that done, with a bit of luck, any change in wind direction would make very little difference to our progress.
Angus came to join me. ‘Robert say you want see me.’ So Robert had paid attention.
‘Yes, member this,’ I showed him the compass again. Angus nodded with interest. ‘Me teach you how use to take boat as far as you like.’ Angus smiled, he was fascinated by the boat and I intended to use that to my advantage. ‘You see markings on disk?’ I indicated the letters and the pointed triangles that marked the compass direction, ‘And this line.’ I pointed to the compass graticule. ‘Me want you to keep that line between this mark and this mark, by using the tiller.’ I indicated the S, then the W. ‘D’y think you can do that?’
‘Well, me try,’ said Angus.
‘Good. Start now while me piss. Just take the tiller and gently move it to keep the line where I showed you. I’ll be back quick.’
I went off the back of the boat and got down on to the small lavatory platform below the transom. By ducking down no one on deck could see me unless they looked directly over the rail. Quickly I took my watch from my pocket, wound it and noted the time. Then having relieved myself I went back to join Angus.
‘Any trouble?’ I said to the guard.
‘No…’ He paused. ‘…But me thinking, don’t me have to watch the wind do to the sail like.’
‘Yes. But the small sail do most that at present. Me show you how to read the wind without it in a bit. Me get you controlling the rudder properly then me can get sleep before dark. Me take over from you when the sun sets.’
Angus was as natural a sailor as I had thought him. After half an hour I took down the slave sail so he had to cope with wind and current variations together. He rapidly learned to watch what the boat was doing and to be slow with the tiller and not panic if a wave took the boat off course. A couple of times he heaved a bit hard and the sail lost wind but I felt sure enough of him to get about the boat and look to some of the ropes and pulleys that I hadn’t been able to check before we had left the city. Halfway through the afternoon, I hoisted the slave sail again and gave the boat entirely over to him. Then I told Robert I was going to sleep in the hold and left the deck, but sleep was not the main thing on my mind.
From a locker in the hold I took a hammock and slung it between two beams amidships. Then I dug out a pillow and a couple of blankets. When I was sure no one was likely to check up on me I pulled out some of the barrels at the far end of the hold, uncovering a small hatch in the floor which I opened. After a bit of fishing round in the bilge water I pulled out a sealed trunk, dried it off with rag from the locker, opened its catches and dialled a code number into a keypad on its lid. There was whirring sound and a click.
Inside there were various emergency materials sealed in oilskin bags. In one there was a thirty-five centimetre hunting-knife with a flat double blade, one side serrated, the other plain-edged. I checked it was sharp, put it back in its scabbard and hid it in the bottom of the hammock under the blankets. Then I put the rest of the bags back in the trunk and hid it again under the false floor panel, finishing off by carefully and quietly moving the barrels back. I took off my boots and swung myself into the hammock. Some sleep was essential; it was going to be a long night, with an even longer day to follow.
The sun was nearly on the horizon when I came back on deck to relieve Angus. My watch told me that we had been running for nearly ten hours and even if Angus had drifted off course, I estimated we were halfway across the channel. Certainly, there was no sign of land on either horizon. I checked round. Only one or two of the guards were still seasick but the unease of yesterday had returned, no doubt accentuated by being out of sight of land. Robert was not on deck nor was The Lady. The cabin door was shut.
I wandered over to Angus. ‘Any trouble?’
‘Nufin me couldn’t sort out.’ The guard was pleased with himself. ‘I could go on for hours doing this if yen want?’ He seemed hopeful that he get to continue to use his newly discovered skill.
‘I’d let you with pleasure if it was day, but it’s a different problem at night: especially if there’s no moonlight. Well done anyway. If you like, I’ll show you a bit more when we get near the coast again after sunrise,’ and I took over from him at the tiller.
Gradually the sun went down and half an hour after it had gone, the stars were out in the blackest of blackest skies before moonrise. The wind backed to the east as I had thought it would, and the boat settled down for the night, guards sleeping where they could. I wound the electric torch and strapped it to the rail so I could see the compass. Gradually over the next hour, before the moon rose, I brought the boat onto a northwest course. Then I took a small piece of iron from my pocket, slid it round the edge of the compass box until it appeared that the boat was in fact on the original southwest heading. Then I wedged the iron home between the box and its place in the rail so it didn’t show. The moon rose. Now it was only a matter of time and seeing where we came out on the northern shore.
Leonard was the first to wake. After stretching he wandered back to the tiller.
‘Fine morning Trader?’
‘Not bad.’ I was non-committal though it was in reality it was a very fine morning. I did not feel as easy with Leonard as I did with Angus, I sensed the violent streak that had made this man stand by and watch a woman and baby killed because she resisted his desire to rape her. Leonard looked out to sea across the prow.
‘Is that what me think it Trader?’
‘Depends what you think it.’
‘Land?’
‘Yes, from there all round to there…’ I traced the curve of the huge bay. On the right was what appeared to be a small island but I knew it was attached to the mainland by a causeway. From there was a low grey line, with pale green hills beyond. Further round, white cliffs rose up until the arc was completed in the distance by one cliff, higher than the rest, which seemed to wear a gold cap.
‘Not long now. Me go and check my rifle.’
‘Me do that, if I was you. As you go past the cabin door, tell Robert we land in about two hours.’
I checked the course of the boat. The prow was dead in line with the point where the great stone beach, the grey line I had shown Leonard, met the cliffs. From here, it looked like a solid line but in fact there was a gap at that end. Through that gap a river flowed out from a set of lagoons behind the beach, lagoons which offered a safe anchorage in any storm. Once through, by sailing a little east, we would reach the point where the same river came down from the hills. We would anchor there and then follow the river on foot as it climbed up and round on to an exposed moor, wide to the open sky.
Robert was addressing his men on the bank of the river. ‘In hour we see our target. It rich, it peaceful, it poorly defended. Tonight we eat much food. Take many women.’ The men
cheered and whooped, glad for the promise of better times, glad to be on firm ground and done with sailing.
‘Leonard will check rifles. Angus give you bullets you need. Make every shot count. But remember we need the people afterwards; they grow food, make cloth. No unnecessary killing.’
The crowd broke up as the guards started to check their rifles and bandoliers were handed out. Robert came over to me.
‘I want you out in front Ostlander, where me see you. If anything go wrong you get me bullet in your back. Understand?’
‘Yes My Lord,’ I said lowering my eyes to ensure he thought me afraid. ‘What you do with The Lady?’
‘No business you but since you ask, she stay me.’ Angus came up to us.
‘Everythin’ ready, sir.’
‘Good we start.’
I led off with Roberts’s spear-bearer. It was warm and if there was any breeze it did not get down under the trees to the level of the river. After about a kilometre, the path steepened and the track became single-file only. I began to sweat but I plugged on as best I could.
It took us a little less than an hour to climb up onto the open moorland, where the river was reduced to a collection of small streams. As soon as the terrain became more open, four of the guards spilt off into two teams scouting wide of us and a little in front. We continued to climb on to the rounded flank of the moor then quite suddenly there it was on the skyline.
It towered over us, three tiers of banks, the last bigger than the first. I had no idea how old it was but the way large, dead trees grew out of its sides in places made me think it must be very old indeed. Maybe older than the cities. On the third bank there was a series of watch towers. The guards threw themselves flat on the grass when they saw them.
Robert pulled me down next to him, ‘If this trap, Trader, you dead.’
