THE VILLAGE : Part 17 - His Hammock Skills Were Rusty.

This is St Michael's Mount, Cornwall. The picture was taken just before sunset. Sometimes, depending on the weather and atmospheric conditions, you can witness a beautiful phenomenon as the sun disappears below the horizon. There is an unmistakable flash of green light. Blink and you will miss it. I have only ever witnessed it in Cornwall, so I don't know if it occurs anywhere else.

(The copyright for this image is the property of The Cornwall Guide)

There is a question that pretty much everybody who has ever existed has asked themselves, at one time or another. That question is: Am I being paranoid? The answer is invariably yes. This answer can lead to another closely related question: Am I being paranoid enough? That's the one that really gets to you. We are all conscious of that feeling that sometimes comes over us. The feeling you are being watched. Someone or something is monitoring you. It's inescapable for everyone except the terminally stupid. Of course we are being watched and monitored. That's how society works. You have to know who people are, where they live and what they do in order to extort tax from them. We have all been classified, categorized, labeled and graded for centuries at least. The modern fashion is to make us all complicit in this. Data analysis or Informatics is used exhaustively. Your phone tells anyone, with the correct software, exactly where you are. Other systems tabulate exactly what you buy. It's all linked together in the biggest invasion of privacy that has ever taken place. We accept it though. Some of us are even stupid enough to be surprised when it bites us on the ass. We didn't know about this or that. We didn't understand that such and such would happen. The fact is you should have known. It's like being surprised that if you put your hand in a working blender, it hurts.

Michael, due to unforeseen weather and a sudden burst of energy, had set the hammock up. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the cows were shitting. You needed the breeze to swirl in the right direction to get the full effect. That dairy farm might be a quarter of a mile away, but it had a long reach. Growing up with this, among other stenches, led to a kind of synergy with these odors. They became comforting at lower levels, while still overwhelming in the upper reaches. Say on a hot, still day a hundred yards from that slurry pit. They call it slurry because shit doesn't sound as nice. It still smells the same though. On those days, in those conditions, you received the full effect. The one that made your eyes water and your nose run. Not today though. Not on his watch. After a long hard day of driving around collecting and lending books, a man needed some me time. That's why he'd finished half a day early today. Instead of hanging around at each of his stops he'd been ever so slightly proactive. technically this was bending, if not breaking, some of his cardinal rules of idleness. His customers, were they still customers or had they become clients or service users or nomadic spoon cleansers? Anyway the people who used his disservice had been split on his new streamlined service. About half of them hated it. Half of them loved it though. Unfortunately some of them might now expect this. They were due to be disappointed. Michael was on a mission. The mission being to spend the whole afternoon and a long evening lying on his hammock in the back garden. There he'd pretend to read Ulysses yet again.

He had a passion for books and some knowledge of them, due to his working with them. In a mainly custodial capacity that is. Well over 80% of his merchandise he wouldn't personally touch with a slurry covered stick. Thus it could more accurately be stated that he had a passion for certain books, those he'd be bothered to read, and a respect for all books. Much though he hated their cloying prose, Michael would never be capable of destroying a historical romance. Damaging a book, even by writing something in the margin, was against everything he believed in. Actually it was everything he believed in, now that he thought about it. That was the trouble with Ulysses. When you pretended to read it the urge to do something else was overwhelming. Anything other than reading it suddenly became alluring. Right now for instance he'd found a scrap of paper blown in on the wind. One he could stick onto the end of his nose then blow off. The trick was to catch it again. That errant breeze could rob him of his new toy, if he wasn't careful.

He'd been aware since he'd first set the hammock up. Michael knew he was being watched. The usual list of prime suspects came up on his internal Rolodex. Doogie and Doidge could be dismissed. Having finished their work for Tall Girl, they'd moved on to Deveraux House, which was on the other side of the village. There was no way they'd be dicking about over here. Sophie's mother, Penelope, was too much of an attraction. Both in looks and personality. Penny was a people person. You met her and instantly knew it was your duty to never let her down. In the knowledge she'd never let you down. Nothing needed saying on the subject. Sophie was attending one of her medical appointments in Plymouth. A consequence of her head trauma all those years ago. Always nothing to report. Always the concern there would be. Stephanie had stepped into the breach at St Erile Primary School. Mrs Cole had resigned citing irreconcilable differences with the head. That was the rumor at least. In truth nobody knew why she'd left after teaching there for over ten years. Things like this created big waves in a small community where everyone knew everyone else.

How did he know he was being watched? Was it some primitive survival instinct? Did he possess special powers? Or perhaps it was because he'd seen the foliage moving and heard the bushes rustling. We will never know. It's a mystery, like poached eggs. The three top picks were accounted for. Merv the Perv was strictly hetero, so no danger of him taking Michael's underwear off the washing line. Besides which he'd been going cold turkey for the last year or so. That particular involuntary celibate, or Incel, was relatively harmless even at his worst. Michael knew little of that world, he himself being voluntarily celibate. Now if he told himself often enough there was a chance he'd actually believe it. Big Jeff might be doing some job or other that required he pass through. He'd make himself known though. Maybe it was a rival library van gang. Muscling in on his turf. Tomorrow there'd be a severed pigs head nailed to his front door. Oh bugger he'd lost the piece of paper. A gust had carried it over towards the swing they'd set up for Amy. Well Luke had set it up. Michael had given him permission then charged rent for the use of the ground.

He shouldn't let this get to him. So he hadn't. It was something to think about. This was St Erile. Fellow inhabitants knew what you were doing five minutes before you did. This was a place where you could be walking home encountering knowing looks, grins and smiles. They knew what was waiting for you at home. Your partner or parents had heard what you'd been up to. It had been something to occupy his mind while he caught paper. He might never again find a piece of paper that would be as good for catching and blowing. Those were the risks you took in the paper catching game. He'd read a bit more. Take his mind off taking his mind off things. Try as he might it was impossible. James Joyce was a literary genius but Christ did he go on. No matter how hard Michael tried to force those brilliant words into his ignorant brain they refused to stick. This was pointless. Boy what he'd do for a suitable piece of paper right now.

Against his better judgement Michael sat up. Then he tried it again and this time succeeded. His hammock skills were rusty. Now that scrap had been fluttering around a steel upright on the swing for quite a while. That meant that as soon as he approached it the frigging thing would fly away. Now should he try to fetch it back, knowing the 100% chance of failure? Alternatively he could watch it stay there for the next few hours. Either approach had its risks. For example if he didn't get up and chase it across the garden he'd never know if it would have been retrievable. How the hell was he supposed to choose between 47 different pasta sauces when he couldn't decide between 2 simple alternatives? Yet despite that he survived. Decision made. Michael would lie back down and turn so he was facing away from the swing. Rusty hammock skills almost tipped him out. It had been a long time since he'd rolled out of a hammock. He could still remember having done so. The last time he brought the hammock out.

The bushes moved with the breeze. Then they moved without the breeze. Whoever was hiding there was staying low to the ground. Maybe he should let them know he knew. Perhaps if he called them out they'd either reveal themselves or run away. They might even attack him. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that someone intended him harm. He'd upset a lot of people in his time. A little smile crossed his generally impassive face. Yep he'd definitely offended a huge number of people. Without the help of social media either. All those people he'd offended had been really offended. So many more he could offend. So little time left to do so. Right another decision made. This was indeed a momentous day. He was on a roll here. Michael tried to keep his decisions few and far between. Operating almost exclusively on ingrained habit. Always coffee first thing for example. The horror of a bacon free breakfast avoided each morning. Now he knew his aversion to decisions was a wise decision. You mistakenly made one and it would always lead to another. Now he couldn't decide what to say. It really did look like there was no way to end his prevarication. Thank God for that at least.

Stern or humorous? Threatening or pacifying? Then there was the task of ensuring that every word had been hand selected then fitted into a really good sentence. Neutral had an appeal. It sort of cut out the need to pick a particular specification. The movement continued. Moving deeper into the garden. Heading towards the tree at the bottom. That could be the ultimate destination. It would make a pretty good snipers perch. His head in the cross hairs. While he hadn't run out of distractions and mental tangents Michael didn't want to waste any more on what could be one of Shiner Trenouth's goats. They were tricky little bastards and they'd broken out before. They could eat brambles and thorns like they were orange segments. Ah bugger it.

"Is there somebody there?" That had to be about the weakest opening he'd thought of.
"No."
That was the voice of a child if he wasn't mistaken.
"Shouldn't you be in school?"
"I runned away."
"Right, so I'm talking to a bush that should be at school. Tell me Mr Bush why did you run away from school?"
"I'm not a Mr Bush I'm a little girl."
A little girl with an accent he thought.
"Emma? You know you shouldn't really be here don't you. Ms Young, Darcy, your auntie she'll be worried about you."
"I can't go back. Bad things will happen."
"You wait here. I'll call your auntie and she can come over."
"No. I'll run away more."
"Ah. Well that changes things. What are you doing here? I mean, what plans do you have for your running away."
"I'm going to live in the tree house where nobody can find me."
"Oh great. The thing is Emma, the thing is you see that to you this is a bit of adventure. To me it's fifteen years for kidnapping and the rest of my life on a register. Do you want me to go to jail?"
It took her a lot longer to answer that than he was entirely comfortable with.
"No. I don't want nobody to go to jail because of me. I don't want Darcy to go to jail most of all."
It was hardly a surprise to find out where he lay in that particular hierarchy. If it came down to it he was collateral damage. That kid had her head screwed on.
"Okay, okay." Expressed in the form of not being okay by any stretch. "Why do you think your auntie will go to jail?"
"Because of me."
He'd walked into that. Unfamiliarity with child logic had caught him out.
"Right." Maybe if he screamed loud enough she'd flee in terror? That wouldn't look good on the police report though. "What did you do that will send your auntie Darcy to prison?"
Would a sweetheart or a darling have worked better. He didn't know. Children didn't have a manual you could read. That was one of their major flaws.
"I didn't have any lunch money."
Why was it that something so trivial made him feel so strange. His eyes felt full of something. There were funny sensations in his chest. Hopefully it was a heart attack. The other alternative was far too horrific for him to even contemplate. Michael took a deep breath.
"I don't know what it's like in America, Emma, but over here you cannot be jailed for not having lunch money. Please tell me what happened?"
"I didn't have lunch money. Mr Goodman told me I was bad for not bringing my lunch money. He said it would serve me right if I didn't have lunch. He told me to tell the class why I'd forgot my lunch money. I told him we didn't have any. He said that if Darcy didn't have lunch money he should call social services. They'll take me away and I seen them take a mommy to jail once. She cried."
"Did Mr Goodman actually say that your auntie should go to jail?"
"Yes. He said child endangerment does it."
"Are you hungry?"
His voice shook. That wasn't good. It wouldn't help Emma. Keep the beast caged. No telling what it might do.
"Yes. I didn't have any lunch. I ran away before."
"Well I'm going indoors now. I'm making something to eat. You're welcome to join me if you like."
It was a risk. Possibly a stupid risk. He knew nothing of children this small. How this would play out was anybodies guess. Michael made sure the tasty aroma went out through the kitchen window into the back garden. When he was about to give up hope Emma appeared. He didn't say anything. She looked at the plate of food he'd left on the table. He nodded. She sat and ate.
"I want to go home. I can't."
"Of course you can. You know Amy don't you." Emma chewed and bobbed her head. "Well she'll tell you I'm good at things. I will make sure your auntie doesn't go to jail. I know the policemen and I know the judge. I promise you, you'll be fine. Cross my heart and hope to die. Do you believe me?" Her little head bobbed again. "I'm going to call your auntie if that's alright. Let her know where you are and to come and pick you up."

It was a difficult call. She hated his guts for many excellent reasons. Michael gave a brief summary of what had happened. Minutes later, breathless and harassed, Auntie Darcy showed up. There was some hugging and tears. This woman knew stuff about things, She didn't scold or threaten a small child, she cautioned and advised her. Those others were for different purposes he surmised. They were leaving at last. She thanked him. That felt odd as well. As she stepped through the door he thought he had to say something. This can't have been easy for her.

"Ms Young?"
She turned on him. All fire and anger.
"Yeah I know. I dropped the ball. I'm not fit to look after a child. Let me tell you Mr high and mighty...
He spoke softly and clearly.
"Oh no Ms Young. No fault attaches to you. I only wanted you to know there'll be a reckoning."
The anger sputtered but didn't die out completely.
"I guess there will be but I've already got my hands full dealing with one. So I'm sorry. Okay."
That was aimed at herself more than him.
"You misunderstood me. This is all down to Principal Goodman. He has been measured and found wanting. There will be a reckoning and he will regret what he did for the rest of his miserable life. Emma is a credit to you."
"Bul.... Sorry. People like him do what they want.They get away with it to. Look I have to go."
It might have seemed he was watching them depart. He wasn't. He was watching the beast. It had to be kept caged. No telling what it might do.