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I took my ear away from the plastic while Eric guffawed。 'Listen; Eric…' I began。
'How're ye doin'? How's things? Howzithingin'? Are you well? Howzitgon? Andyerself? Wotchermait。 Like where's your head at this moment in time ? Where are you in' from? Christ; Frank; do you know why Volvos whistle? Well; neither do I; but who cares? What did Trotsky say ? 〃I need Stalin like I need a hole in the head。〃 Ha ha ha ha ha! Actually I don't like these German cars; their headlights are too close together。 Are ye well; Frankie?'
'Eric…'
'To bed; to sleep; perchance to masturbate。 Ah; there's the rub! Ho ho ho!'
'Eric;' I said; looking round and up the stairs to make sure my father was nowhere in evidence。 'Will you shut up!'
'What?' Eric said; in a small; hurt voice。
'The dog;' I hissed。 'I saw that dog today。 The one down by the new house。 I was there。 I saw it。'
'What dog?' Eric said; sounding perplexed。 I could hear him sigh heavily; and something clattered in the background。
'Don't try to mess me around; Eric; I saw it。 I want you to stop; understand? No more dogs。 Can you hear me? Do you get it? Well?'
'What? What dogs?'
'You heard。 You're too close。 No more dogs。 Leave them alone。 And no kids; either。 No worms。 Just forget about it。 e and see us if you want to…that'd be nice…but no worms; no burning dogs。 I'm serious; Eric。 You'd better believe it。'
'Believe what? What are you talking about?' he said in a plaintive voice。
'You heard;' I said; and put the phone down。 I stood by the telephone; looking upstairs。 In a few seconds it rang again。 I picked it up; heard pips go; and replaced it on the cradle。 I stayed there for a few more minutes; but nothing else happened。
As I started to go back to the lounge my father came along from the study; wiping his hands on a cloth; followed by odd smells; his eyes wide。
'Who was that?'
'Just Jamie;' I said; 'putting on a funny voice。'
'Hnnh;' he said; apparently relieved; and went back。
Apart from his curry repeating on him my father was very quiet。 When the evening started to cool I went out; just once round the island。 Clouds were ing in off the sea; closing the sky like a door and trapping the day's heat over the island。 Thunder rumbled on the other side of the hills; without light。 I slept fitfully; lying sweating and tossing and turning on my bed; until a bloodshot dawn rose over the sands of the island。
11 : The Prodigal
I WOKE from my last bout of restless sleep with the duvet on the floor beside the bed。 Nevertheless; I was sweating。 I got up; had a shower; shaved carefully; and climbed into the loft before the heat up there got too severe。
In the loft it was very stuffy。 I opened the skylights and stuck my head out; surveying the land behind and the sea in front with my binoculars。 It was still overcast; the light seemed tired and the breeze tasted stale。 I tinkered with the Factory a bit; feeding the ants and the spider and the Venus; checking wires; dusting the glass over the face; testing batteries and oiling doors and other mechanisms; all more to reassure myself than anything else。 I dusted the altar as well as arranged everything on it carefully; using a ruler to make sure all the little jars and other pieces were arranged perfectly symmetrically on it。
I was sweating again by the time I came down; but couldn't be bothered having another shower。 My father was up; and made breakfast while I watched some Saturday…morning television。 We ate in silence。 I took a tour round the island in the morning; going to the Bunker and getting the Head Bag so I could do any necessary repair work to the Poles as I made my way round。
It took me longer than usual to plete the circuit because I kept stopping and going to the top of the nearest tall dune to look out over the approaches。 I never did see anything。 The heads on the Sacrifice Poles were in fairly good repair。 I had to replace a couple of mice heads; but that was about all。 The other heads and the streamers were intact。 I found a dead gull lying on the mainland face of a dune; opposite the island's centre。 I took the head and buried the rest near a Pole。 I put the head; which was starting to smell; in a plastic bag and stuffed it in the Head Bag with the dried ones。
I heard then saw the birds go up as somebody came along the path; but I knew it was only Mrs Clamp。 I climbed a dune to watch; and saw her pedalling over the bridge with her ancient delivery…bike。 I took another look over the pasture land and dunes beyond; once she had disappeared round the dune before the house; but there was nothing; just sheep and gulls。 Smoke came from the dump; and I could just hear the steady grumble of an old diesel on the railway line。 The sky stayed overcast but bright; and the wind sticky and uncertain。 Out to sea I could make out golden slivers near the horizon where the water glittered under breaks in the cloud; but they were far; far out。
I pleted my round of the Sacrifice Poles; then spent half an hour near the old winch indulging in a bit of target practice。 I set up a few cans on the rusty iron of the drum housing; went back thirty metres and brought them all down with my catapult; using only three extra steelies for the six cans。 I set them up again once I had recovered all but one of the big ball…bearings; went back to the same position and threw pebbles at the cans; this time taking fourteen shots before all the cans were down。 I ended up throwing the knife at a tree by the old sheep…pen a few times and was pleased to find I was judging the number of tumbles well; the blade whacking into the much…cut bark straight each time。
Back in the house I washed; changed my shirt and then appeared in the kitchen in time for Mrs Clamp serving up the first course; which for some reason was piping…hot broth。 I waved a slice of soft; smelly white bread over it while Mrs Clamp bent to the bowl and slurped noisily and my father crumbled wholemeal bread; which appeared to have wood shavings in it; over his plate。
'And how are you; Mrs Clamp?' I asked pleasantly。
'Oh; I'm all right; ' Mrs Clamp said; drawing her brows together like a snagged end of wool being unravelled from a sock。 She pleted the frown and directed it at the dripping spoon just under her chin; telling it: 'Oh; yes; I'm all right。'
'Isn't it hot?' I said; and hummed。 I went on flapping the bread over my soup while my father looked at me darkly。
'It's summer;' Mrs Clamp explained。
'Oh; yes;' I said。 'I'd forgotten。'
'Frank;' my father said rather unclearly; his mouth full of vegetables and wood shavings; 'I don't suppose you recall the capacity of these spoons; do you?'
'A quarter…gill?' I suggested innocently。 He glowered and sipped some more soup。 I kept on flapping; stopping only to disturb the brown skin that was forming over the surface of my broth。 Mrs Clamp sipped again。
'And how are things in the town; Mrs Clamp?'