A History Maker (14 page)

Yes, he had come to this small room at the age of five. Most children were given a bigger room when they left their chosen granny at that age, sharing it with two or three others. They slept, played, squabbled together until puberty, when each wanted, and was given, a room of their own to entertain privately invited guests.
Wat had never wanted another room. He wanted attractive nieces and young aunts to stand outside his little room and say timidly, “Wat, O Wattie, please let me in.”

He found cruel pleasure in imagining their sufferings when they heard him say very coldly and casually, “Leave me alone, I'm busy.”

Unluckily the only girl who had begged to enter his room was a tall awkward eleven-year-old lassie from Mountbenger who visited him when he was nine. She had been so awkward and unattractive — so like himself — that there was no satisfaction in keeping her out. She had sat for hours on his floor but eventually stopped coming because he answered her questions with monosyllables, said nothing else to her, never looked at her and went on reading or playing with his screen as if alone. Later he heard she had grown into a uniquely intelligent and attractive woman, so her dull remarks to him had been caused by shyness. He still fantasized about excluding women who loved him. When twelve he had refused an offer of a bigger room, saying he would soon be leaving for the satellites as soon as possible so must get used to cramped spaces. He bitterly enjoyed the sorrowing wonder with which the mother heard this crisp, quiet statement. It had proved he was cared for. But those he most wanted had never cared much
for him. Kittock had not wanted him near her. Nan was more of a mother than an equal. Annie had talked to him as if she was an older sister. He had certainly loved them but none (except Kittock, perhaps) had occupied his mind as wholly as the woman in the tent who had treated him with absolute contempt.

“Why am I a perverse bugger?” he whispered then noticed someone on the veranda watching him.

It was Kittock. She nodded without smiling and turned and walked back to the tower. He put his shoes on and scribbled a note:
A political
matter — someone you do not know is
listening to us
.

His room lacked a door onto the veranda. He caught up with her in the living-room library he had not visited for over twenty years. She stood facing him, hands clasped before her in perfect silence. He said, “You're angry?” She nodded.

“Why?”

She took his first note from her pocket, showed
it to him, lifted a plate from the Aga and dropped it inside saying, “I never mothered you.”

He humbly shrugged his shoulders and handed her the second note. She read it, looked at him, smiled and burned that too. She said kindly,

“Sit down Wattie. If false folk are listening the truth cannae hurt you. You arenae false.” It was what he wanted to hear.

“Are ye sure?” he said, thankfully sitting, “I met a very bad woman last night, Kittock.”

“I think ye met a woman who was bad to you, Wattie.”

“If what she said is right she wants to be bad to everyone and I love her, Kittock!” said Wat with a wild chuckle, “There's been naething like me since José fell for Carmen. I'm corrupted!”

She brewed and served camomile tea while he talked, then she sat opposite and gave him such full attention that he felt as safe at home with her as when he was three. She asked questions which helped him recall details, like the colour of Delilah's eyes. He also told her the news he had gathered through the telecom, growing excited about it.

“Surely there's more than one of her, Kittock? The public eye presenters and telecom gurus and commanders broadcasting just now all
seem part of her conspiracy, but so do I — the worst part. An hour ago a veteran strategist called me
the spearhead of a great new
movement restoring manly courage to its
ancient prestige
— he predicted that in a year we'll be battling in leagued armies as big as those of the defunct nations and based on the same territories.
Weapons and war rules must
be modified for larger areas of manoeuvre,
he said, but only the commons will be
seriously encroached upon
. A woman asked if this meant future battles would not only be fought on the commons, but also for them. He said
Why not? Territorial instincts will add
zest to manly contests and in no way
endanger our houses
. Why are so many so sure of this? Why are only a few women worried about it? I must fight this daftness — ”

“Fight it?”

“Speak against it. Every commander in Scotland will be at a banquet after the circus tonight with nearly a hundred foreign champions. As guest of honour I'll be expected to make a speech. What if I tell the world that there is a conspiracy against the safety of our homes?”

“You will sound like a quotation from a history book,” mused Kittock, “At first the whole audience will think you a fearmongering maniac from the worst period of human history. Then
your sincerity will move folk who like you, and others who also fear the effect of the bigger armies, to start a crusade, a witch hunt, a police force to denounce or arrest plotters. The folk any such force arrested or threatened to arrest would mostly be innocent, of course. The new police force, like previous ones, would become the evil it was created to prevent and would provoke a resistance exactly like it. That would delight the puddock you met in the wood.”

“Shall I kill her and then myself, Kittock?”

“I believe she would like that too, Wattie. Finish your tea while I think.”

He sipped lukewarm tea, watched her ponder and relaxed into the comfort of the high-backed armchair. Since explaining his problem to her he was enjoying a pleasant drowsiness. The colour of a winking light on his wristcom showed three people had left urgent messages and a fourth wanted to talk to him at once. He let the winking light hypnotize him into shallow sleep which suddenly deepened and banquet, Wat,” said Kittock loudly. He yawned and muttered, “I didnae catch that.”

“Don't go to that circus and banquet. Don't even speak to these people, let Jenny do it for you. Tell him you've a viral infection, but don't say you cannae go. Say you won't go, and mean it.”

He took the ticket from his pocket, re-read the message, sighed and said, “All right mother, though it will be hard. Every bit of me but my common sense hungers for that woman.”

“Stand firm. Hold on to your common sense and she'll come to you,” said Kittock grimly,

“I won't let you out of my sight today, tonight or tomorrow, Wat. Stop looking excited! She can only harm ye.”

“I told you I'm corrupted, mother,” said Wat with a despairing smile, “I know she can only harm me so my only hope is she needs me to do it to. Why are ye sure she'll come?”

“I'll tell you when we've seen the great-grannies of Dryhope,” said Kittock, standing, “Come! We must tell them everything.”

“Why?” asked Wat, perplexed, “What use are a wheen of old housewives to anybody but the bairns they care for? I ken they like knowing all about everything but gossip won't save the world — or save me either.”

“Sometimes you have fewer brains than a headless hen Wat Dryhope! You always thought too little of the women who bred and nursed you because you wanted danger, not safety — that's why you fell in love with me, and history books, and going to the stars, and warfare, and with Delilah Puddock. I wish I could have made you a gangrel, Wat. That life has all the healthy danger a sane man needs and no time for communal crazes and elite conspiracies. Among settled people it's the great-grannies who stop these things becoming dangerous. Their gossip has been the only government and police the world has needed for more than a century — if you're ignorant of that then you don't know what keeps modern society stable. If
she
is as ignorant as you in that respect (and she may be, you and she were very alike) we can stop her doing much damage.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The bonny, merciless puddock you met in the woods, Lulu Dancy, who was sweet on you when you were wee.” Wat jumped up and walked to and fro saying,

“That scrawny, lanky thing? She wasnae a Lulu — they cried her … What was it …?”

“Meg Mountbenger. You paid her no attention so she came to me, asked all about you and read the books you read. I got her hooked on
books. She borrowed more than anyone I ever knew, history, art, poetry and novels. A very clever lass she became and a good looker with it, but she was scunnered by the Ettrick lads after you and didnae care much for her aunts and grannies either. She became an artist and went to the stars. She was one of the team designing the hollow world, K20, but she loved sounds and appearances more than solid forms so changed her name to what it is now, returned to earth and joined Cellini's Cloud Circus last year — what's suddenly right with ye, Wattie?” With tears on his cheeks he said hoarsely, “I've never been happier. She needs me like I need her! There was hatred in what she did with me last night but nothing calculating, nothing political! It's a miracle that she's needed me all these years. I'll go to her.”

Kittock grasped his hands and tried to keep him seated saying, “And she wasnae false when she said she wanted to restore poverty and greedy governments! Does her brand of nooky mean more to ye than the proper feeding of the world's bairns? The safety of our sisters, aunts and grannies? The happiness of Annie, Nan and your other kind sweethearts?”

“She cannae hurt them,” said Wat impatiently pulling his hands free, getting up and going toward the door, “And I'll stop her if she tries
to, that's a promise Kittock.”

On an agonized note Kittock cried, “
She's a
neo-sapience Wat!
”

He stared then asked how she knew.

“Guess,” she said, smiling mournfully.

“You're one too?”

She nodded.

After a moment he spoke casually, like a man prepared to spend a few more minutes with a stranger. He was pleased to see this hurt her.

“When I was wee you told me the earth is the seed bed of the universe — that folk who choose immortality must leave the earth to prevent overcrowding. Immortals break that rule?”

“I'm no immortal now,” said Kittock humbly, “I shogged off the insanity of rejuvenation when I returned to earth. I was sixty years abroad in the universe before admitting how much I hated eternity and infinity, how much I needed the world's wonderful big smallness. The Dryhope grannies (some of them my daughters) let me sneak back to this outhouse where I crowd nobody and take nothing from the powerplant but poultry food and books for the gangrels. But Meg Mountbenger is another kind of woman altogether. She's also your …”

A rushing noise like distant wind had been
coming nearer and suddenly surrounded the tower with a deafening, steady roar. The door at the foot of the spiral stairs burst open, a blast of warm air came out carrying a cloud of dust, feathers and four pigeons who tumbled and fluttered overhead before settling in window slits and book shelves. Wat and Kittock, partly blinded by dust, rushed to push the door shut but before they reached it the pressure of the blast eased and the roaring, though still continuous, lessened enough for the noise of hearty male voices and descending footsteps to be heard from above.