Bruach Blend (17 page)

‘You!' I gasped, and for the moment that was all I could say. Astonishingly love had found a way, for there in the small wedge of space between the open door and the wall stood Sheila and Lachy, now releasing themselves from a tight and sweaty embrace and giggling unashamedly at my discovery of them. This then was where the couple had disappeared to earlier in the evening and suddenly recollecting Erchy's remark and its accompanying wink I realized it was only I who had been ignorant of the fact. Whether they had been too absorbed to notice the departure of the rest of the company or whether they were hoping I would go to my bed without discovering them I do not know but they were in no way abashed as they bade me an exultant farewell.

As the sound of their mutual teasing and chuckling receded, I closed the door and leaned back against the support of the staircase, ready to give way to the laughter which was already beginning to dispel my initial consternation.

Rowan piddled on the mat as he waited.

‘How's life?' I greeted Erchy and Tearlaich as we waited along with a disordered queue of Bruachites for our turn to be served at the weekly grocery van.

‘Ach, no bad,' said Erchy.

‘Pretty good,' said Tearlaich. ‘Mind I have to complain a bit at times but only enough to show good manners just.'

‘Who's complainin'?' asked Morag, stepping down from the van and stuffing loaves of wrapped bread into a flour sack. ‘Indeed you men is always after findin' somethin' to be girnin' about.'

Tearlaich looked resigned. ‘I wasn't complainin' for one,' he repudiated.

‘I'm feelin' like doin' some complainin' then,' said Erchy.

‘An' what would be upsettin' you?' Morag asked.

‘Not what but who,' Erchy told her. ‘It's that man Shamus Mor that's upsettin' me.'

‘Shamus Mor? Angus Ruag's half-brother?'

‘Himself.' Erchy nodded.

‘Ach, that man,' said Morag. ‘You're no tellin' me he's back again?'

‘He is so,' said Erchy, and directed at me a fragmentary wink in recognition of shared knowledge.

‘Well indeed, but Bruach was well rid of that man when he took himself off,' declaimed Morag. ‘They tell me he's been hoppin' about since like a hen on a hot girdle; Australia an' Canada an' the Dear knows where an' never stayin' more than a wee whiley in any one place.'

‘Well, he'll be stayin' where he's goin' now,' said Erchy positively, and when she turned to him with a sceptical expression he announced exultantly, ‘He's dead!'

‘Dead?' echoed Morag. ‘Why did I no' hear of it then?'

‘Because you were too taken up with that woman that's stayin' with Janet, likely,' Erchy retorted. ‘Indeed wasn't all the women there? We took a look in at the window an' you were listenin' to her as keen as if she was after tellin' you where you would find a cask or two of whisky.'

‘What woman's that?' interpolated Tearlaich, as if the village was beset by strange women.

‘Ach, the one you were sayin' yourself has the look of a heifer that's missed the bull,' Erchy reminded him.

‘The diagression,' Morag elucidated.

‘What's a diagression?' asked Tearlaich.

‘Like a missionary,' Erchy took it upon himself to explain, ‘but instead of tellin' you everythin' you do or fancy doin' is wicked she tells you everythin' you eat or want to eat is goin' to kill you.'

‘Aye, indeed,' endorsed Morag. ‘I believe she's wantin' us to eat grass the same as the cows.'

‘Not grass,' I corrected quietly. ‘Just green vegetables; cabbages and kale and things.'

‘Is she still here then?' asked Tearlaich. ‘I thought she was stayin' the one night just.'

‘That was the way of it but her car broke somethin',' said Morag.

‘Likely she's been tryin' to feed that cabbages,' suggested Erchy.

‘Whisht!' Morag whispered. ‘Here she comes this minute.' We composed our expressions as Janet and her guest approached.

I had already met the dietician, since I also had been one of the number of women who by open invitation had gathered at Janet's house the previous evening to listen to a talk about food and health. Whether our instructor had come in an official capacity or whether she had been prompted by her own concern for our well-being to try and persuade the Bruachites to reform their eating habits was not quite clear, but predictably, since strangers who had something to say were always welcome in Bruach, there was a fair gathering of women prepared to listen. As we expected, she advised eating more green vegetables, something which I certainly aspired to do. But how to obtain them? The answer came glibly: grow them, of course! A small patch of the croft would provide plenty of vegetables for a family. Why yes, indeed, the women agreed, turning to look at each other with pretended surprise as if this was the first time the suggestion had been put to them; as if they had not given up trying to grow them in the teeth of storms and the ravages of the cattle; as if they had not proved repeatedly that their families spurned green vegetables, even supposing they were able to procure them. But the Bruachites, making no attempt to disillusion her, listened with an interest which though feigned was tolerably convincing. For a time I was attentive to much of what she had to say, but unfortunately the woman was afflicted with a voice that whined on all evening, plaguing as draught through a keyhole, and growing restless I made my excuses and left early. It was my leaving early that had led to my being one jump ahead of Morag with the news of Shamus Mor's death, for on my way home I had met Erchy who had just received a message from the undertaker.

‘He fooar!' Janet greeted us as she and her visitor reached the van. There was a reciprocal chorus of, ‘He fooars!' but almost before they had rumbled away the ‘diagression' had pounced on Morag's sack of loaves.

‘Oh, my dear, but surely no family can eat that amount of bread in a week? It's most unhealthy,' she began, and then she saw Anna Beag coming away from the van with several packs of biscuits protruding from the top of her sack. ‘And biscuits!' she wailed, as if the sight of them was a personal affront. She assessed the waiting customers as if selecting more victims for her advice and the several bachelors who were shopping for their own needs were conscientious in their efforts to appear otherwise occupied. Undeterred, the ‘diagression', figuratively taking the centre of the stage, began haranguing us on our eating habits; and now the presence of men in the audience encouraged her to hold forth not only on food but also on the lethal effects of whisky and pipe-smoking. Some of the men looked startled; others rammed their empty pipes into their mouths so as to conceal their contemptuous smiles.

When she had finished there was an embarrassed lull for some minutes and then Erchy said sombrely, ‘Come to think of it, livin' is the unhealthiest thing we do; we all die of that sometime.'

The embarrassment was smoothed by laughter in which even the ‘diagression' joined somewhat tepidly and since it was now my turn to be served I heard no more of the discussion.

Later that evening we heard that the broken car had been ‘sorted' and the lady had left Bruach. At the ensuing ceilidh Janet expressed relief.

‘Indeed didn't Lachlan have to go back to the van when I got home to get bread and biscuits that I didn't dare put in my poc for fear the woman would start on me again,' she said.

‘I'm thinkin' the woman's daft,' observed Tearlaich casually.

‘Even supposin' she was daft it makes a change to listen to her all the same,' defended Morag.

‘Ach, the egg's not worth the cackle,' Murdoch summed up.

‘Well, she was pleased enough with Miss Peckwitt for sayin' she baked her own bread,' pursued Katy Beag. ‘An' she was after sayin' when we get the electric we would all be the better for bakin' our own bread, though when we would find the time to do it the Dear only knows,' she ended with a defiant chuckle.

‘I don't like the electric,' said Morag flatly. ‘There's no heart in it.'

‘It's no' heart but heat you'll get from it, you silly old cailleach,' Tearlaich told her.

‘No, but what I was meanin' was the light,' she explained. ‘It's no like lamplight. It's that quick it makes me jump.'

‘You want to be glad of anythin' that will make you jump at your age,' Tearlaich remarked searingly.

I found myself agreeing with Morag, for, though the necessarily slow lighting of an oil lamp, the initial dimness followed by the gradual turning-up of the wick, can be frustrating at times, I always felt it had the effect of politely introducing the daylight to the darkness rather than simply banishing it in a flash.

‘Well, the electric's comin', like it or not,' said Erchy. ‘An' I'm one that will be more than glad to see it.'

‘Miss Peckwitt has tse electric already,' Hector reminded them.

Behag nudged me, directing my attention to old Donald, who, with a severely disapproving expression, was staring down at the floor.

‘Only a fence,' I said, ‘and that's worked by batteries.' I had purchased the electric fence on the advice of a friend who had been staying with me in the summer and who, seeing the healthy young cabbages I had managed to grow in the small sheltered plot behind the cottage, had predicted that I would have some really stout-hearted cabbages for the winter.

‘Not a hope,' I told him. ‘It happens year after year. I've managed to provide them with a little more shelter this year but as soon as the crofts are open to the animals in the autumn they'll break in somehow and ravage the lot.'

He had then advised me to get an electric fence, explaining that once an animal had received a shock from the live wire it would never go near it again, even supposing the current was turned off. The fence need not be particularly robust, either, he assured me in answer to one of the doubts I raised. Convinced at last by his enthusiasm, I had written off to the mainland and ordered the fence which Erchy had helped me to erect and so far I was delighted with the results. The crofts had been open for some weeks now but still my cabbages remained unmolested, partly I suspect because it was the delight of the children of Bruach to bring their cows along, push their wet noses on to the live wire and watch the cows leap away at the shock. Since the current was not strong enough to harm the cow, the children's ploy, reprehensible though it may be considered, served the dual purpose of teaching the animals respect for the fence and at the same time preserving my cabbages. But reputedly, for he had not approached me in the matter, Old Donald was extremely angry with me, not because I had an electric fence but because I allowed that fence to work on the Sabbath. Had I switched it off on Saturday night and left it switched off until Monday morning he would have accepted the fence with the same interest and curiosity as the rest of the crofters, but Donald was numbered among the excessively devout of the village. The fence offended him greatly and, since I had no intention of switching off the current as he considered I should, it continued to offend him. As a consequence, though I forbore mentioning it to the ‘diagression', I still had some cabbages in my garden.

‘Aye, well, once the electric comes I daresay we'll all be gettin' shocks an' jumpin' about from one place to another the same as the cows,' said Janet.

‘Speakin' of shocks,' said Morag, ‘did you get the grave dug yet, Erchy, for Shamus Mor?'

‘I did so,' replied Erchy. ‘That's just what I was sayin' earlier on when we were at the van that I had somethin' to complain about. Why would a man that's lived most of his life some place else have to be brought here when he's dead so as to make us have to dig a grave for him? It's no right, I'm tellin' you. I was no more than a bairn when he left here so why should I have to dig his grave for him? A dead man canna give me a dram for my trouble, can he?' His voice was edged with outrage.

‘He has no' much in the way of relatives left but for Barbac that's married over in Rhuna, so who else would dig his grave?' asked Morag.

‘Damty sure it shouldn't be me,' said Erchy.

‘Right enough, it's bad when there's no one to give you a good dram for your trouble,' sympathized Murdoch. ‘But who was it asked you to dig the grave, then?'

‘The undertaker himself. He got word by telephone only last night that the corpse was on its way an' he was to make all the necessary arrangements. That's what he says he was told to do.'

‘Ach, then likely the undertaker will include a bottle of whisky in with the necessary arrangements,' Murdoch comforted. ‘After all, he'll need it for the minister.'

‘Who helped you with the diggin'?' asked Johnny. ‘I couldn't get myself seein' the mails was that late.'

‘Help? Indeed I did it mostly myself. Hector came for a wee while until he sprackled away after somethin' or other an' then there was young Hamish. He'd been learnin' how to kill a sheep in the mornin' so he hadn't much stomach left for diggin' a grave afterwards.' Erchy's eyes grew bright. ‘I had a bit of fun with him all the same,' he told us. ‘See, we'd been diggin' for a bit an' then I see we're liftin' a few bones out with the earth so I tell Hamish to put them back in. When I see he hasn't done it I look to find what he's doin' an' there's the loon pushin' the bones around an' tryin' will he lift them on his spade, as particular as if he was tryin' to lift pieces of shell out of a broken egg with a knife. “Dear God, Hamish!” I says to him. “Can you no pick them up in your fingers, he's only your grandfather.” Honest! I thought the lad would be sick in the hole he was diggin' the way he looked.'

‘You put Shamus Mor in the same grave with Angus Ruag that was young Hamish's grandfather?' cried Morag. ‘Whatever made you do that?'