The Kimota Anthology Part 2

And it was hard going, because the rope had worn and snapped so many times that the seat had been repositioned too high for any of them to reach it with ease. When, finally, they got fed up and started to move on, Kelly turned toward him and called out, "Are you coming, or what?"

It was the closest to an invitation that he was going to get. He ran to catch up.

Michael was telling the others about a one-legged cat he'd once seen.

"A one-legged cat?" Sam said.

Jason, who seemed to have a permanent cold and whose nickname was Silversleeves because of his habit of relieving it on his pullover, said, "I've seen cats and dogs with three legs, but I've never seen a cat with just one."

"Well," Michael said uncomfortably, "this was."

It was obvious that what he'd had in mind was a three-legged animal, but now he was in a corner and he felt obliged to defend it. Better to try to persist in a mistake, the logic went, than to face the derision involved in admitting one in the presence of elders.

Sam said, "How did it manage to walk?"

"I don't know," Michael said. "It just did."

Kelly said, "What do you call a one-legged cat?"

"Pogo!" Jason said, and everyone except for Sam hooted and cackled for as long as they could force it. Sam looked dark.

"Snot f.u.kkin funny at all," he said, with grievance.

Dylan, just happy to be along, said nothing.

They were trooping down a narrow cut with bushes to either side. Without warning, something burst out onto the path ahead of them. It was a black and white sheepdog with a pale wall-eye, and it must have been attracted by the noise they were making. Kelly gave a shriek.

"It's all right," Dylan said quickly. "I know it."

"He looks mad," Michael said, grateful to the point of eagerness for any change of subject. "Look at his eyes."

"It's a she," Dylan said. "Those are just ordinary eyes for that kind of dog. Look at her tail."

The tail was wagging.

"Come on, Sherry," Dylan said.

But the sheepdog, having checked them out and finding them of limited interest, dodged his outstretched hand and headed off and away. She was a neighbour's dog, forever escaping and coming down here to hunt for rabbits. Her owner would set out looking for her, blowing a special whistle which the dog would ignore. Sometimes she'd drag home the day's catch, to audible effect.

Dylan said, belatedly, "That's how you tell with a dog. You look at the tail."

"That's only for normal dogs," Jason said. "Dogs that get out here go funny."

"They don't go funny," Kelly said. "Our Rex used to run all over around here."

"I know, and then your dad had to have him put to sleep."

"He did not. Our Rex went to live on a farm."

They walked on up to the crest of the hill. There they sat in a line, looking down onto the river. It was some way below them. Where it turned, a brown foam gathered and piled. From here, it looked like dirty snow that lifted and moved when the wind blew.

Jason wiped his nose in the usual way, and told them about a local dog he'd heard of whose puppies had been born without any eyes. This had been years and years ago, but for some reason people were starting to talk about it again.

He said, "One of women from the big posh houses came knocking on the door last week. She was trying to get everyone to go to a meeting about it."

Sam said, "If it really was dangerous, they wouldn't allow anybody down here."

Dylan said nothing, knowing that by 'the posh houses' they meant the road on which he lived. The newer council housing was almost right alongside. Both sets of residents stayed aloof. The people in the big houses were still trying to get the street layout altered so the council residents wouldn't cut through. The council tenants accused the private residents of wanting to put up a dividing wall.

Kelly said, "Them in the posh houses are always trying to get you to join something or sign something. Our dad always sends them off."

Jason said, "My dad says there's all sorts under the soil out here. Before it was fields, it was all mines and factories that got pulled down."

"I know there was mines," Kelly said. "That's what those fenced bits are."

"There was a battery place and a dye works as well. That's why all that orange and green stuff comes bubbling up when it rains."

Dylan's interest in the subject was waning already. There were trees, there was gra.s.s. All was fine. End of story. Could he hear a whistle? Jason was saying, "Then the dogs probably go home and lick their paws after they've walked in it. Then they go all strange and then they die. It's poison."

"It's not poison," Kelly said. "I've supped some of that."

"You don't know."

"I know more than you."

"My b.u.m's all damp," Michael said, and so they got up and moved on.

Walking down the side of the hill, Dylan looked across the fields and saw the figure of Mr Johnson, Sherry's owner. He was alone. He lowered the dog whistle, and Dylan guessed that he was staring in their direction although at this distance it was impossible to be sure. He wondered whether he ought to wave, but he didn't.

Dylan felt guilty for a while. But the guilt pa.s.sed as they continued to descend, and Mr Johnson was lost from sight.

Kelly, whose grandfather had been a miner, was talking about the pit shaft heads that dotted the reclaimed industrial area underlying the country park. To Dylan, these were no more than occasional fenced squares about the size of a small vegetable garden, all in unexpected places on otherwise featureless slopes.

Kelly said, "The tunnels are all underneath us. They go for miles."

"They're supposed to have been filled in," Sam objected.

"They're not," Kelly said. "There's all sorts down there. There's a town."

"You liar."

"It's for the politicians if there's another war," she said. "It's got streets and shops and everything, but it's completely deserted. They used the miners to dig it all out and then they sacked them all to keep it secret." Dylan said, "Is that true?"

She turned to him. "You can see it, if you find the right place to go in," she said. "They've got hidden doors. I can show you one."

A few minutes later, they were climbing the next hill toward one of the shaft heads. Like the others, it was no more than a dozen metres square and contained by a wooden rail fence with barbed wire strung along the top and between the rails. Inside the square Dylan could see tall gra.s.ses and young, stunted saplings. As they were making their way up toward it, Kelly was whispering something to each of the others in turn.

It looked secure, but one of the fenceposts had been splintered at its base. It went over when Jason pushed, and the wire went with it. It didn't go all the way to the ground, but it was low enough for them all to be able to pick their way over. Michael got one of his socks caught on a barb, and squalled until Kelly pulled him free.

Dylan was scared and excited, both at once. Scared at being caught somewhere that he wasn't supposed to be. Excited for exactly the same reason. There didn't seem to be much else to get worked up about. The shaft had been capped with concrete pillars like railway sleepers, and the cap filled over with several feet of dirt. What had happened here was that two of the pillars had crumbled and dropped, and the dirt had collapsed downward through the opening. The result was a depression in the middle of the square, and it was deep enough for the five of them to descend into. At the bottom of the depression was the way in.

"It's not like a trapdoor," Dylan said. "That's just a hole."

"It's a hole where the trapdoor used to be," Kelly said. "There are stairs inside."

"It's dark."

"There's a light you can switch on. Don't you want to see it?"

Dylan looked around. He realised that only he and Kelly had descended to the opening. The others were all back up at the top. Suddenly selfconscious, he said, "No, thanks."

"You're the only one here who's not seen it," Kelly said. "Don't be such a baby."

He could feel himself starting to blush. "I'm not," he said. "I'm just not that interested."

"I'll come in with you," she said. "Go on."

He had to duck to get under the rusty wires that were sticking out from the fallen concrete sections. He'd go in as far as the daylight reached, and no farther. Kelly was close behind him. She was still talking about how there were stairs and a light switch somewhere inside. It didn't look likely. The s.p.a.ce beyond the hole formed a dark chamber. It looked as if the gypsies had used it to dump stuff. There was a car wheel with a bald tyre on it, and some bags of refuse that were split and seeping.

"Feel for the switch," Kelly said from behind him. "It's on that wall."

"There isn't a wall." There was only rubble.

"You're not looking properly. When we get down there, you can just walk into any of the shops and play with all the things in them. It's great. There's no-one around who can stop you."

Enticing as the prospect was, he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. Steadying himself on the uncertain footing, he started to turn. Let her find the switch herself, if she was so certain it was there. He was certain now that she'd only brought him down here to make fun of his readiness to believe.

"Hey," she said. "Look at this."

She was silhouetted against the daylight. All that he could see was that she'd pulled her knickers down to around her knees and she was holding the lower part of her dress up high with both hands.

He didn't know what to do. There was braying laughter from outside and he could hear one of them saying, "She's doing it! She's really doing it! Have a look down and see his face!" The outlines of their heads bobbed in and out of the entranceway, and Dylan felt trapped and scared.

"Stop it!" he said.

Kelly hauled up her knickers and turned, as if to run with the others and leave him there. She didn't see where she was going. As she spun around she went straight into one of the dropped beams, whacking her head into it at eyebrow level. She stopped. She'd made no sound, other than the cricket-ball crack of bone against concrete. Then she dropped with a certain grace, and landed with none.

There was a silence. Then the others started to call to her.

"Kelly?" Sam called.

And Jason shouted, "What's going on?"

"She's banged her head," Dylan shouted back. "You've got to come and help." But n.o.body came down. He could hear them talking outside. There was urgency and concern in their tone, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Come on," he called out to them, but still n.o.body came.

He had to do something. Kelly was lying in the rubbish. He got hold of her under the arms, and started to drag her out. Would she need an ambulance? He was wondering how one could ever get in here, given that every track into the park had been blocked. To get one at all, somebody would have to call for it. That meant a lurch into the world of responsibility. The very thought made him feel sick.

Kelly's dress caught on something and when he struggled to pull it free, it tore. He hadn't looked at her too closely. She might have been dead, for all he knew. But as he was dragging her, she suddenly revived and started to cry, as if he'd jogged some wires that had sparked her back into life. Once started, she wouldn't stop.

Outside, she sat on the ground bawling while the rest of them stood around her and watched. Her forehead was cut and the rest of her looked pretty wretched.

Michael said, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Dylan said.

"Our mam'll go mad."

Still crying, Kelly was arranging her torn dress over her scratched and dirty legs in a belated act of modesty. She was putting out the same loud, sobbing note, over and over. Her face was all twisted up and streaked with clean teary tracks through the grime. She sat on the pressed-down gra.s.s, looking utterly helpless.

Dylan wondered aloud whether they ought to call someone to come out for her, hoping that someone else would volunteer, but this was quickly deemed unthinkable.

Jason turned to look down at Michael and said, "You're going to have to take her home."

Michael, stricken, looked up at each of them. "I'll get killed when mam sees her," he said.

"You'll get killed if you just leave her here screaming her head off," Sam pointed out.

They all tried to help her to stand, and she beat their hands away the first time but then couldn't manage to get up on her own. They raised her to her feet. She was bawling too much even to say what hurt.

The four of them went off one way, in the direction of the Estate, and Dylan went another in order to pick up the path that would lead him toward home. He watched them as they crossed the lower fields, and could hear Kelly all the way. She never let up.

Dylan re-entered the garden using the same route by which he'd left it. His book was gone from the shed, so his absence had definitely been discovered.

He got back into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom without being seen. Some of his clothes were dirty and so he quietly changed them, opening and closing his drawers and the wardrobe door with elaborate slowness. He hid the soiled clothing under the bed, and then he sat on the coverlet and waited for his mother to find him.

She found him.

"I looked all over for you," she said from the doorway. "Where did you get to?"

"Just on a walk," he said. She was obviously displeased with him. "You don't ever leave the garden without telling me first," she said. "Especially not to go down to the Ponds. What's out there has brought us enough unhappiness. How many times have I got to say it?"

"Sorry."

"It's always sorry. But it never sinks in, does it?"

She left him and went back downstairs, and he sat alone in his room for a while. He looked at his model aeroplanes, hanging from the ceiling on lengths of fis.h.i.+ng line so that you could squint a little and they'd look as if they were actually in flight. They never moved, but their shadows pa.s.sed across the walls again and again as the days went by.

Mostly he could put things out of his mind, once they'd happened. Without immediacy, it was as if they faded and left no stain. But the hurt of Kelly and the others turning on him as they had. . . for some reason, this seemed to be something that wouldn't go away.

He lay back. The hurt s.h.i.+fted. But still it stayed with him.

Visitors came calling, some time later. He heard their m.u.f.fled voices down below. He wondered. He wondered who it was. Then he thought he heard his name. n.o.body called for him, but after a few minutes he heard his mother coming up the stairs. He tensed as she approached his room along the landing.

He'd expected her to be angry, but she wasn't. Just very, very deliberate. She sat on the bed, and his heart dived in despair. He'd known scenes like this before, but only rarely. When loved ones died, or his pets "went away". The serious moments, where his life took some kind of a turn that he hadn't asked for and couldn't control.

She said, "I'm going to ask you something. I want you to tell me the truth."