It was black and white.
I wondered if it was following me.
The crane was standing on one leg just as Boson used to. I saw him in my mind-eye doing just that. He was standing with his manky hair like feathers down his back, knobbled knees like that bird’s, one leg tucked up under his arse.
‘
Don’t say arse anymore
,’ said the inside-voice.
‘I didn’t say it,’ I thought back at it straight-up. ‘I only thought it. Anyway, what’s it to you?’
‘
Moo doesn’t like the language
,’ it said.
‘Well, that’s true. She doesn’t like any of it anymore,’ I said under my breath. It was hard to talk with somebody inside your own head and keep it quiet from those outside it. Thinking my talk gave me a head-ague. I had to speak my words into the world. But the trouble with that was then other folk could hear.
‘
Stop being so smart
,’ it went on. ‘
You didn’t used to be like this.’
‘How do you know what I was like?’ I asked, somewhat stung. I’m not soft to folks and their teases, but what do you do if all the bile-talk is coming from inside your own head? ‘Who are you anyway?’
‘
I know you, Fermion Quirk,
’ said the voice. ‘
You and me have business.
Do you still have the book?’
Only us Quirks knew about the book of beasts. My heart filled to its core. I felt myself drift into stormy fogs.
‘Boson?’ I whispered.
‘
Well, what are you going to do
?’ the voice said again.
‘Fermion?’ Pa’s voice cut through the storm in my head, and the light dwindled to regular.
The crane picked its way back into the dappled thickets.
I turned to see my father’s eyes hidden in folds of questions.
‘All right there?’ is the only one he asked.
I nodded.
‘Faraway,’ I said. Pa sighed. He was relieved I wasn’t talking to the crane. I could tell.
We reached the cut after dark and before moonrise. Pa said we could have planned that better and set himself to kindle a flame, but I wasn’t bothered. I’m not frighted of the dark like some folk. By the end of some of the days we’ve had this summer, I was aching for the dark.
Moo always says it’s wilful and unwomanly for me not to be frighted, but Pa says that’s because she comes from Merton. Those townfolk are able to hold to all that rigmarole due to being crammed in together with lights and warmth and other folk just a few steps from their own thresholds. How would it be, he says, if the Quirks had been frighted of things that can’t be helped, like night?
Pa and me lit the fire. The moon rose soon after and the night came bright and still. We rolled our hedge-pig in the flames, and threw handfuls of nuts into the embers to get them good and smoky. The sky was dabbled with stars, and my belly full of hedge-pig. My teeth cracked the smoky hazels, and my mouth filled with a kind of content.
Then we laid ourselves back under the deep spread of night sky. The stars looked to be lamps, flickering faraway and all around. Up here there’s more sky than anything else.
‘They’re like little suns,’ I said, holding up my hands in a circle and squinting to look up through it. One bright star gleamed in the black circle of my hands. It made me sad.
‘They’re too small to be like the sun,’ said Pa. He built up the turf up over the embers and coughed. ‘Actually, they’re holes in the floor of Heaven.’
This was what Moo had told us when Boson and I had been children.
‘I thought Heaven was
perfect
,’ I said, smirky-like.
Pa was baffled. I often baffled him lately. I liked it.
‘If the floor of Heaven has holes, see,’ I pointed out slowly and clearly, like he was an Ancient-one or a baby. ‘It can hardly be perfect, can it?’
I threw the last hazels into my mouth and crunched at them loud and lip-smacking.
‘
Heishan!
’ said Pa but he was smiling. ‘Maybe that is what’s perfect in Heaven, brain-ague! If you didn’t have the holes, you wouldn’t have the stars.
See
.’
Plainly, a bit of the
I wondered if it was following me.
The crane was standing on one leg just as Boson used to. I saw him in my mind-eye doing just that. He was standing with his manky hair like feathers down his back, knobbled knees like that bird’s, one leg tucked up under his arse.
‘
Don’t say arse anymore
,’ said the inside-voice.
‘I didn’t say it,’ I thought back at it straight-up. ‘I only thought it. Anyway, what’s it to you?’
‘
Moo doesn’t like the language
,’ it said.
‘Well, that’s true. She doesn’t like any of it anymore,’ I said under my breath. It was hard to talk with somebody inside your own head and keep it quiet from those outside it. Thinking my talk gave me a head-ague. I had to speak my words into the world. But the trouble with that was then other folk could hear.
‘
Stop being so smart
,’ it went on. ‘
You didn’t used to be like this.’
‘How do you know what I was like?’ I asked, somewhat stung. I’m not soft to folks and their teases, but what do you do if all the bile-talk is coming from inside your own head? ‘Who are you anyway?’
‘
I know you, Fermion Quirk,
’ said the voice. ‘
You and me have business.
Do you still have the book?’
Only us Quirks knew about the book of beasts. My heart filled to its core. I felt myself drift into stormy fogs.
‘Boson?’ I whispered.
‘
Well, what are you going to do
?’ the voice said again.
‘Fermion?’ Pa’s voice cut through the storm in my head, and the light dwindled to regular.
The crane picked its way back into the dappled thickets.
I turned to see my father’s eyes hidden in folds of questions.
‘All right there?’ is the only one he asked.
I nodded.
‘Faraway,’ I said. Pa sighed. He was relieved I wasn’t talking to the crane. I could tell.
We reached the cut after dark and before moonrise. Pa said we could have planned that better and set himself to kindle a flame, but I wasn’t bothered. I’m not frighted of the dark like some folk. By the end of some of the days we’ve had this summer, I was aching for the dark.
Moo always says it’s wilful and unwomanly for me not to be frighted, but Pa says that’s because she comes from Merton. Those townfolk are able to hold to all that rigmarole due to being crammed in together with lights and warmth and other folk just a few steps from their own thresholds. How would it be, he says, if the Quirks had been frighted of things that can’t be helped, like night?
Pa and me lit the fire. The moon rose soon after and the night came bright and still. We rolled our hedge-pig in the flames, and threw handfuls of nuts into the embers to get them good and smoky. The sky was dabbled with stars, and my belly full of hedge-pig. My teeth cracked the smoky hazels, and my mouth filled with a kind of content.
Then we laid ourselves back under the deep spread of night sky. The stars looked to be lamps, flickering faraway and all around. Up here there’s more sky than anything else.
‘They’re like little suns,’ I said, holding up my hands in a circle and squinting to look up through it. One bright star gleamed in the black circle of my hands. It made me sad.
‘They’re too small to be like the sun,’ said Pa. He built up the turf up over the embers and coughed. ‘Actually, they’re holes in the floor of Heaven.’
This was what Moo had told us when Boson and I had been children.
‘I thought Heaven was
perfect
,’ I said, smirky-like.
Pa was baffled. I often baffled him lately. I liked it.
‘If the floor of Heaven has holes, see,’ I pointed out slowly and clearly, like he was an Ancient-one or a baby. ‘It can hardly be perfect, can it?’
I threw the last hazels into my mouth and crunched at them loud and lip-smacking.
‘
Heishan!
’ said Pa but he was smiling. ‘Maybe that is what’s perfect in Heaven, brain-ague! If you didn’t have the holes, you wouldn’t have the stars.
See
.’
Plainly, a bit of the
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