Alentejo Blue (6 page)

Stanton looked in the rear-view mirror as he started the engine. The Potts family lined up at the edge of the trench, bathed in syrupy light. Sadness, like a rolling fog, closed in on him. I must stay away from them, he thought.

China banged on the side of the truck. ‘Mate,’ he shouted, as if proposing a pub crawl. ‘Let’s go.’ Stanton put the engine into first and let the truck crawl forward until he felt the resistance. ‘Let’s go. Go!’ called China. Stanton moved into second and pressed gently on the accelerator. The truck made a sudden lurch.

‘Good fucking God!’ China yelled. Chrissie covered her face with her hands. The puppy jumped out of Jay’s arms and ran for the house. Ruby moved forward with a curious expression, as if smiling through a great amount of pain.

‘Christ,’ said Stanton when he saw what had happened.

‘Cool,’ said Jay. ‘Look at all them maggots.’

China began to laugh. He bent double and held his knees and laughed until he caught a coughing fit. The cow’s head lay on the ground with the rope round its neck, spilling maggots and a fat black tongue.

‘They went
flying
,’ said Jay. ‘Maggot bomb. You should’ve seen it.’

Ruby crouched over the head. She seemed to be speaking to it. Little rolls of fat splayed out under her knees. Abruptly she got up and walked away.

Chrissie finished vomiting into the trench. She wiped the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand, tugged her skirt down and smoothed the lap. ‘I don’t know about anyone else,’ she said, patting her hair like a hostess whose guests have arrived a little early, ‘but I could use a drink.’

They sat inside on high-backed leather-padded chairs and drank Stanton’s Macieira. Ruby disappeared and Jay played on the floor with the puppy. China smoked a joint and spread himself across his seat like a man preparing to hold court. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said and tapped ash on the floor. ‘People look at me and they think –’ he made a humming noise – ‘they think what a washout. What a sad fucking sack.’ He held up a hand as if to stay protests. ‘I know that. I ain’t stupid. But I tell you something for free. All the things I wanted to do, I gone and done ’em. I never said to meself – hang on, China, what’s Auntie Maude going to say? Fuck Auntie Maude, if you’ll pardon the expression.’ He lifted the puppy on the end of his foot and tossed her gently back towards his son. ‘All right, some of the things I done are not that clever. Drugs are not clever. But I done ’em because
I
wanted to, my choice like. Cleaned me act up now, of course.’ He leaned across and poured another drink. Chrissie kicked off her sandal and massaged her foot. Her eyes met Stanton’s for a moment, then they both looked away.

‘What does he want all them goats for? That’s what people say. Forty goats I got. You’ll see ’em later. They know their way home and when it starts to get dark they always find the way. Jay’ll go and get them if they don’t. Won’t you, Jay? I had the money, so I got ’em. People don’t like that. You see –’ He paused to toke hard and keep the smoke held in. Stanton thought, this is his favourite speech and it has to be savoured. ‘If you have a desire, act on it – my personal philosophy of life. How many people do you see what are happy, truly happy?’

Stanton showed his palms.

‘No, mate. You don’t. You don’t see ’em because they’re gravediggers. Burying their desires, the whole fucking lot. So fuck Auntie Maude I say. Fuck the village. Fuck the lot. My personal philosophy. That dog’s just pissed on the floor, Chrissie.’

‘Jay,’ said Chrissie, flexing her ankle.

‘Run and get the goats, Jay,’ said China. ‘I’m going to show our guest around.’

There was a pig in the first caravan. A little sink in there and a folding table. The windows had curtains too, a sophistication which the house lacked. The pig was expecting, China explained. He had to take her away from her mate, give her a little privacy now. The other two caravans were entirely derelict but the way China saw it they’d be restored, get back on the road one day. They picked a path through goat dung, cowpats and chicken shit. Stanton was beginning to itch. He thought of Chrissie’s arms. Three sheep stood uncertainly at the edge of a makeshift wooden pen, as if they had forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. China was going to kill one next week. If you had animals it wasn’t right to let someone else do the killing. First time he’d tried to kill something it was a duck for Christmas – there’s one there now – he’d used an air rifle, thought a single shot would do it but no, he’d filled it full of lead in the end, fucker wouldn’t die, their internal organs are that small, hard to get a direct hit you see, Chrissie wouldn’t cook it, they had hotdogs out of a tin. The swimming pool had become a landfill, the rubbish piled almost to the top. There were another two pigs chained to a pole outside a falling down outbuilding, performing a porcine morris dance. ‘That’s it,’ said China, his eyes even redder from the grass. ‘The chicken house is up the other end, but you don’t need to see that.’

‘Nice place,’ said Stanton. ‘It’s got . . .’

‘Potential,’ said China. ‘Hear that? Jay’s back with the goats.’

The bells were low and rich and full of honey. They walked back in time to see Jay run down the slope and through the herd, flapping his arms and grinning. Ruby was there, wearing a cleanish dress and the butterfly sunglasses though it was nearly dusk. Stanton faced her directly, the others at his back. He was close enough to smell her, but for the stink from the cow and the shit. There was something about this place that made you stop caring about anything. Her tongue flickered out and touched the mole above her lip. ‘Are you going somewhere?’ said Stanton, silently. She watched his lips. ‘Yes,’ she said in her ugly nasal voice. ‘I’m going.’

Chrissie came outside. ‘One of these days,’ she said, petulant, ‘she’ll get herself killed.’ She had a bucket of chicken feed in her hand. ‘Want to come with me?’ Chrissie gestured vaguely at China and Jay moving among the goats, meaning they were occupied.

He walked behind her watching the way her backside moved beneath the thin fabric of her skirt, the ridges rising and falling on her calves, the red rings of bites around her ankles. His throat began to ache. They passed round the side of the willow to the furthest outbuilding. The sky was turning red. Her lips were hideous orange. She put the bucket down and took a step back, kicking it over. He kissed her without taking her in his arms. She did not seem surprised. She did not attempt to hold him but her tongue was active, forceful. Brandy and a sharp tang of vomit. ‘Back there,’ he said and went up to the wall. He turned her round and lifted her skirt and made short work of it. He reached forward briefly and circled her wrists with his hands, the scabs pressed into his palms. She did not cry out or move her hips or even deepen her breath. ‘Thank you,’ he said and zipped his trousers. Behind them the chickens pecked the ground. When he went to the truck and untied the rope the calf stood over the severed head and cried.

He went straight to his notebooks and flicked back and forth to find the place where he had listed Blake quotations, all those he thought he might be able to use. Here it was on the fourteenth page.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.
He poured a drink, turned on his computer and worked long into the night.

Jay came the day after next. It was the usual time but Stanton was still writing. ‘I’m getting behind,’ he said. ‘Tell you what, give me a few days, I’ll come over and see you.’

‘Don’t matter,’ said Jay, turning. His Manchester United top hung almost to his knees.

Stanton followed him out. ‘You understand, right?’

‘Don’t matter.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want you to come.’

Jay stopped. Without turning he said, ‘Yes it is.’

Stanton suppressed a sigh. How did he end up looking after this boy? He’d had enough. ‘Listen, the reason I came out here . . . Look at me, Jay. Look.’

But the boy would not.

Stanton squeezed the back of his neck. Too many hours in front of the screen. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I think I could use a break. How about a Coke?’

‘Don’t matter,’ said the boy.

‘Will you stop saying that? Stop being a baby and get yourself a drink. It’s
doesn’t,
anyway. And it does.’

They sat on the terrace steps, not speaking. Jay pulled a long string of gum out of his mouth, wrapped it round a finger and sucked it back for another chew. He crouched low to watch ants. He turned over a beetle that had got stuck on its back.

‘How’s the puppy?’ asked Stanton.

‘She ran away.’ Jay scratched in the dust with a twig.

‘She might come back.’

‘No,’ said Jay. ‘They never do.’

Stanton searched for something wise or comforting to say. ‘Got any spare gum?’ he said.

‘No. Tina’s having babies soon. She’s the pig.’

‘Great.’ He wondered if Dieter was right about Ruby, and if Jay knew. ‘Jay, don’t you have any friends around here? Your own age, I mean.’

‘At school,’ said Jay. ‘Only see them at school, really. Thought you said it’s
doesn’t,
anyway.’

‘What I said . . . never mind.’

Jay stood up. ‘That’s me mum’s car.’

Chrissie had on a floppy straw hat and a long skirt. She’s dressed up, thought Stanton.

‘I’ve told you about bothering Harry.’

‘I invited him.’

‘Watch this, Mum.’ Jay ran up to the terrace. ‘I can walk on my hands now. Been practising.’

‘Don’t show off, Jay,’ said Chrissie.

‘Look, Mum. See this.’

‘All right, Jay. We’ve all seen it.’

‘Very good,’ said Stanton. ‘Well done.’

‘Your dad wants you,’ said Chrissie. ‘He needs some help.’

‘What with?’

‘How should I know?’ said Chrissie, whining. ‘You best get going.’

Jay rubbed his head. ‘How about you?’

‘How about me? You can walk back. I’m on my way to the shops.’

‘How about you?’ said Jay.

‘Kids!’ She tried a laugh. ‘I’ll be going in a minute. I’m just having a word with Harry first.’

Jay stayed where he was.

Stanton smiled and rocked on his heels. Someone told him once that the children of alcoholics become adept at sensing mood swings, reading body language.

‘I’ll wait for you at the car,’ said Jay. ‘You can give me a lift back to the road.’

‘Well,’ said Stanton. Thank God the boy had stayed.

Chrissie tipped her head to one side. ‘I could kill him.’

‘So,’ said Stanton, ‘you’re going shopping.’

Chrissie rubbed her arms. ‘You bastard,’ she said softly, getting up.

A forest fire burned for three days and nights on the hills that hid the sea. A firefighter was hurt, only slightly. The newspaper reported sixty-seven dead in the heatwave. Stanton kept a bottle of water on his desk and it grew warm before he had finished a page.

Eventually he came to a lull. He went out and bought a football for Jay and a vase for Chrissie and a bottle of
cachaca
and a bag of limes to make
caipirinhas.
He picked up a pair of sunglasses with diamanté studs along the arms but put them back again.

‘Mate,’ said China, who had come out at the sound of the truck, ‘let’s have a fucking drink.’

He had thought of it as a visit to see Jay but he realized now that it wasn’t.

‘Been out all day with the goats,’ said China. ‘Something special like. People don’t realize.’

Chrissie took the vase without a word. Jay whooped at the sight of the football, which made Stanton feel bad. Ruby, thankfully, was out. He explained how to make the
caipirinhas
with lime juice and sugar and plenty of ice and Chrissie went to the kitchen. She set doilies on the tray, one under each glass.

‘Blinding,’ said China. ‘Jay, take that fucking ball outside.’

‘What do you like about them?’ said Stanton. ‘The goats.’ He watched China spread against his chair, the slight tremor in his hand as he brought the glass to his lips. It was China he had come for; some atavistic instinct he appealed to, a desire to see the demons at work.

‘Goats,’ said China, his voice dragging like a broken exhaust, ‘you look at ’em long enough you see the universe. Good and evil, love and war, God and the Devil. Know what I mean?’

‘For God’s sake,’ said Chrissie.

‘Shut up,’ said China, not quite shouting. ‘Who asked you? Where’s my lighter? There’s one billy . . .’ He leaned forward so that Stanton could see the scarlet rims of his eyes. ‘He don’t know when to stop. He’s so horny I daren’t turn my back on him.’ He slapped his thigh and hooted, a little spray of snot landing in his lap. ‘We think we’re that much better than animals but I tell you something for free – you watch ’em long enough you learn a lot. A goat with the horn is like a man with a mission. Made by the same Creator to the same design. Yes, you certainly learn a lot.’ He lit the joint and passed it to Stanton.