A Scots Quair (87 page)

Then that daft thought went from her, she went down the stairs and into the kitchen, cold even there, the fire in the range had drooped to ash, she stirred it a little and Jock the cat purred a drowsy greeting a minute, grew silent; she sat and stared in the fading ash, alone and desperate—what would she do?

It was plain enough Ma wouldn't last long. And then— Chris hadn't enough money to carry on the house herself and whoever heired Ma mightn't want to come in with her. So out again, looking for some other thing in this weary life of Duncairn, seeking out some little shop, she supposed, somewhere where she and Ewan could bide and trauchle and fight with the going of the years, he wouldn't earn money of account for years. And so on and on, streets all about, slippery with slime, the reeking gutters of Paldy Parish, the weary glint of shop-fronts in the Mile—till she grew old and old and haggard, thin—who would have dreamed this for her long syne that night she wedded Ewan in Blawearie, just a night like this she minded now, lights, and Long Rob and Chae at the fiddle, dancing, warmth, the daftness of being young: they'd seemed eternal, to outlast the hills, those moments when Ewan had first ta'en her in his arms, naked, unshielded, unafraid, glad to be his and give and take for the fun and glory of being in love … all far away in the snowing years down the long Howe on Kinraddie's heights.

And she thought of the croft in the north wind's blow, of the snow driving about it this night lashing the joists and window-panes, the fly and scurry of the driving flakes about the Stones high up by the loch, the lost rigs sleeping under their covering, the peesies wheeping lost in the dark. Oh idiot, weeping to remember that, all things gone and lost and
herself afraid and afraid and a morning coming she was feared to face, lost and alone.

And again she got to her feet and wandered through the hush of the sleeping house, and stood in her own room, with the sickly flare of the gaslight behind her and looked at herself in the mirror, hands clenched, forgetting herself in a sudden wild woe that wouldn't stop though her mind clamoured it was daft, things would redd up in time, she wasn't hungry or starved, she had friends, she had Ewan….
SHE HAD NOTHING AT ALL
, she had never had anything, nothing in the world she'd believed in but change, unceasing and unstaying as time, light after light went down, hope and fear and hate, love that had lighted hours with a fire, hate freezing through to the blood of one's heart—Nothing endured, and this hour she stood as alone as she'd been when a quean in those wild, lost moments she climbed the heights of Blawearie brae. And she covered her face with her hands and sat down and so stayed there awhile and then rose and put on her clothes, coldly, mechanically, looking at the clock…. Trudging in the track of those little feet as a tethered beast that went round and round the tethering post in the midst of a park—

The Young League dance was fair in full swing, chaps had gone flocking to buy up tickets at Gowans and Gloag's and all over Footforthie, a tanner hop was a good enough chance to take your quean to on New Year's Eve. And she'd said
But
aren't those creatures Red?
and you said you were Bulgared if you knew, did it matter? And she said Reds were awful, they believed that women—och, stuff that you wouldn't speak about. And you said you wouldn't but these Reds were different, the head of them was a toff kind of sod, Ewan Tavendale—

And your quean said
Bob!
or
Will!
or
Leslie—don't use
those kind of words to me
, and you nearly went off your head at the runt, trying to make a lad speak genteel. But she turned up ready to go to the dance down in Long Hall, and there was that Tavendale, you'd never spoken to him, standing at the
door and taking the tickets and nodding to folk; and up on the platform Jake Forbes's band that was wee Jake Forbes all on his own, hard at it banging out the Omaha Pinks, Jake tootling away with his big white face like a bowl of lard on the melt by a fire, queans and chaps all over the floor, your quean looked the bonniest and awful posh, how the hell did queans manage to dress up like that?

Then the Pinks struck up and you gave her a grab, she hadn't on stays or much else below, and off you all went, slither and slide, one foot in and another out, like a cock with concussion, tweetle the flute. And Jake stood up and hit the drum and banged the bell and clattered the cymbals and looked as though with a bit of encouragement he'd have kicked hell out of the nearest wall. Christ, what a row: but it kittled you up.

It was cold outside but the chaps didn't heed, you took out your quean for a squeeze between dances, cold though it was, she breathed
You mustn't, not here
—to hell, she liked it. Then she'd fix up her dress and back you'd go, New Year coming fast, some of the chaps nipped over to the pub and brought back a gill of the real Mackay, kittling everybody up, you forgot you'd got sacked the day before, and father was cursing like hell and said he'd have to keep you on the pac … or that your job was a bloody stalemate with no chance of earning a penny piece more. Funny how fine your quean felt and smelt, other queans as well as you changed with chaps. And there was that toff Ewan Tavendale, only he didn't look a toff a bit, just one of the lads, he was dancing like hell when Jake put on a Schottische. Every body cried
Hooch!
and wakened up more, a daft old dance, not up to date, but you fair could swank and give a bit prance, in and out, now on your own quean's sleeve, now on that of the schoolteacher folk said was Red, only a kid, she was dressed in red, with black hair and a flaming skirt, she laughed and cried
Hook!
not
Hooch!
: she was English.

Jake quietened a minute to wipe his fat face and Ewan carried him something to drink; and Ewan called
The New
Year dance is next. Just a word to you all before it comes on. You
know who're the people who've got up this dance. They say we're
some kind of Reds: let them say. We're workers the same as all of
you are and as fond of taking a girl to a dance and giving her a
cuddle on the sly as the next. In fact, that's why we believe what
we do—that every one should have a decent life and time for
dancing and enjoying oneself and a decent house to go to at night,
decent food, decent beds. And the only way to get those things is
for the young workers of whatever party to join together and stop
the old squabbles and grab life's share with their thousand hands
. And he stopped and looked down at the chaps and queans, all kittled up as they looked, with flushed faces, the lasses bonny in that hour though they came from the stews of Paldy and Kirrieben and Footforthie, their thin antrin faces soft in the light:
And isn't it worth grabbing? And that's all the speech
. And as they cheered him and cried his name, the dirty, kind words of mates in the Shops, a great chap that Εwan, just one of themselves … it seemed to Ewan in a sudden minute that he would never be himself again, he'd never be ought but a bit of them, the flush on a thin white mill-girl's face, the arm and hand and the downbent face of a keelie from the reek of the Gallowgate, the blood and bones and flesh of them all, their thoughts and their doubts and their loves were his, all that they thought and lived in were his. And that Ewan Tavendale that once had been, the cool boy with the haughty soul and cool hands, apart and alone, self-reliant, self-centred, slipped away out of the room as he stared, slipped away and was lost from his life forever.

And then Ellen Johns was pulling at his arm:
Ewan, you look
funny, is there anything wrong?
and he moved and came out of that dreaming trance, and smiled at her, and Ellen's heart moved, not the cold smile at all, it might have been that of any kind boy.
Hello, Ellen. You look lovely tonight. Can I have
the next dance?
and she said, wide-eyed,
You can have them all
if you want them, Ewan
.

And he took her hand and drew her close and waved to Jake and Jake started it up,
tooootle
the flute,
claboomr
the drum, off they all went in the wheel of a waltz, winkle the
lights and Ellen's head close under Ewan's shoulder as they spun. And he looked down and suddenly smelled her hair, strange and sweet, and felt dizzy a minute, at the tickle of it up under his chin, at the touch of her up against him close, breast and belly and legs, soft, sweet, something ran with a torch and fired all his body. And Ellen looked up and saw his face, white, and suddenly knew what she'd always known, that she was his for as long as he liked, and
she
would like that till the day she died.

And she knew then that all the old stories were true, while they wheeled together, while they paused and rested, standing together so that they just touched, her hand touched his and his fingers closed on it, quick and glad—troubling fingers—Oh, all true that they'd sung in the olden times in this queer Scotland that had felt so alien, the dark, queer songs of lust and desire, of men and women and this daftness of love, dear daftness in soft Scotch speech, on Scotch lips—daftness like this that she felt for Ewan, and it didn't matter what he thought or did, whatever he might do or say or believe, the glory of it would last her forever….

Jake cried
A
last one ere Ne'ersday comes. What'll it be?
and they cried back
A reel!
, all the chaps smiling by then to their queans, the queans that had lost their clipped, frightened looks, their distrusts of men and hands and lips, forgetting the dark and the cold outbye and those dreary dawns that haunted Duncairn, thinking only of touches kind and shy, weak faces they loved, a moment to snatch when all this was over, somewhere, anyhow—to hell with risk when you liked him so well! And they flushed at their thoughts and said flyting things; and all lined up for the last of the reels; and Jake crashed out the tune, walloping the drum till it boomed like a bittern, tankle the melodeon, tootle the flute, and off they all went. Round and faster and faster still, Ewan with Ellen and holding her so she was frightened and struggled a wild-bird moment, Ewan lost in a queer, cruel flame of wonder, desire, and—heart-breaking—a passion of pity. Play on, Jake, play on, never stop, Ellen and I, Ellen and I….

And far away Thomson Tower clanged midnight across the toun and into Long Hall, the long dark hall where the League had its dance; and Jake stopped in the middle of his clatter of playing and they all stopped and laughed the queans pulled at their dresses, and Tavendale stood with the schoolteacher close, close as though glued, jammed up against Alick and Norman and their queans; and Jake cried out
Join hands—here's New Year:

And Ellen wished the mist would go from her eyes; and then they'd all stopped and the music was done and queans were being pushed into their coats, and coddled, and everybody crying goodnight.
A happy New Year! Good
night, then, Εwan. Goodnight to your lass—what's her name?
—Ellen? Ta-ta, Ellen
. And she cried
Ta-ta
, standing by Εwan, the mist quite gone, alive and tingling not heeding at all that some cried back
Hell, it's snowing like
Bulgary!

They left Jake to lock up the hall and went out, snow sheeting down on the snow-rimed streets, all around the lighted wynds of Ne'ersday, first foots and greetings and drams poured in tumblers, the bairns crying
Is't time to get
up?
and their mothers, tired, happy, crying back to them:
Mighty be here, get into your beds. You'll get all your presents on
New Year's Day—

But the streets were nearly deserted as they hurried, Ellen and Ewan, from the Cowgate's depth across the Mile and the Corn Market, the cold air blowing on Ellen's face, Ewan looked down and saw her face a winter flower and wanted to sing, wanted to stop and say idiot things, to stop and go mad and strip Ellen naked, the secret small cat, slow piece on piece, and kiss every piece a million times over, and hit her— hard, till it hurt, and kiss the hurts till cure and kisses and pain were one—mad, oh, mad as hell tonight!

And she tripped beside him, sweet, slim and demure in act and look, dark cool kitten, and inside was frightened at the wildness there. So up Windmill Steps through the sheet of
the snow, a corner with a mirror, here the snow failed, Ewan halted panting while she made to run on.

But he caught her arm and drew her down, she wriggled a little, the light on her face, startled, eyes like stars and yet drowsy, he drew her close to him and they suddenly gasped, with wonder and fear and as though their hearts broke and were shattered in the kiss, sweet, terrible, as their lips met at last.

Thin and lank, with a holy mouth and shifty eyes, she sat in the kitchen and had tea with Chris:
Eh me, and you think she
won't last the night?
And Chris said,
No, I don't think she will.
Another cup of tea, Miss Urquhart?
and Ma's niece Izey sniffled through her nose, godly, and pecked at her eyes with a hanky:
Have you had the minister up to see her?

Chris said No, she hadn't, Ma had told her in a wakeful moment that day she didn't want any of them sossing about, if St Peter needed a prayer for a passport he'd be bilked of another boarder, fegs. And Niece Izey held up her hands in horror,
But
you
don't believe that, do you, now?
and Chris said more or less, she didn't care, and Miss Urquhart drew in her shoggly mouth, prim:
I'm afraid we wouldn't get on very
well. I believe in God, I've no time for heathen
. And Chris said
No? That must be a comfort. Try a cake, Miss Urquhart
, and sat watching her eat, she herself couldn't, over tired with running up and down the stairs and seeing to the lodgers' meals as they came, they needed something special on New Year's Eve, and letting Meg go early though she'd offered to stay…. And suddenly the lank Izey said
I suppose you know
that I heir it all?—the share in the house and the furniture?