Eight Days of Luke (3 page)

Lunch produced a scene far worse than the night before. It started with Aunt Dot coming in, followed by Mrs. Thirsk, followed by Astrid.

Mrs. Thirsk was saying: “And you may ask him why there was no toast, but what I want to know is why was there marmalade all over my clean tablecloth.”

“Yes indeed,” said Aunt Dot, and she turned ominously to David. “David,” she said, and then—though this was clearly not what she had been going to say—“Good gracious! Whose clothes are you wearing?”

“Cousin Ronald's,” said David, very much ashamed, but also rather glad of the diversion.

“Good gracious!” said Aunt Dot again.

Before she could begin on the tablecloth, Astrid sniffed piercingly and asked in her most complaining way: “Whatever is this dreadful smell?”

This made Aunt Dot pause and sniff too. “You're right,” she said. “There
is
a most peculiar smell.” To David's secret pleasure, both she and Astrid looked accusingly at Mrs. Thirsk. David felt it confirmed his theory about the human sense of smell.

Mrs. Thirsk backed to the door. “I'll go and fetch lunch, Mrs. Price,” she said primly, and made off.

“David—” began Aunt Dot, but this time it was Uncle Bernard who interrupted by tottering in and saying, in his most failing voice:

“What is producing this vile smell, my dear?”

“We don't know,” said Astrid.

“David—” Aunt Dot began for the third time.

But Cousin Ronald bustled in with a sheaf of papers in his hand and hurried over to the radio. “Quiet, please. I must hear the news.” He reached out to switch on the radio, gave a throttled sort of shout, and dropped his papers. “What's this? Where has this radio
been
? Look!
Look
at it!” He picked it up in both trembling hands. A cloud of green and blue flies rose with it, flatly buzzing. Then, to David's acute dismay, a wad of brown smelly stuff gently detached itself from the base of the radio and sank on to the sideboard. It was followed by another. The flies sank after both wads, as if they were relieved to see them.

There was a nasty silence. Then all four of David's relations turned to look at him. “David!” they said, with one voice. After that, they said a great deal more. Lunch was held up while they said it, and then held up further while David took the radio and the wads of compost outside and some of the flies went with him. But most of the flies were of the opinion that the compost was still on the sideboard somewhere, and they stayed to look for it, maddening everyone, throughout lunch.

By the time David returned to the dining room, Mrs. Thirsk, as if she were trying to prove David's point, had served up thin gray meat in thin gray gravy and everyone else had started to eat it. David started to eat it too, wishing it could be magically transformed into fish and chips, and discovered that the rest of them were discussing the important question of how they were to spend next week in Scarborough now that David had come home earlier than they expected.

“What are we to do?” wailed Astrid. “I did so need this break.”

“I detest canceling bookings,” agreed Aunt Dot.

“Oh, there's no real problem,” said Cousin Ronald. David agreed with him. To his mind, there was no problem at all, and his heart warmed to Cousin Ronald. He thought he must certainly get Cousin Ronald to himself after lunch and tell him about those wickets at last. Cousin Ronald had the right ideas. “Look at some of these,” said Cousin Ronald, passing his papers round. “It's not easy to find something at such short notice that doesn't involve considerable outlay, but I think it can be done. The one you've got, for instance, Mother.”

“T. W. Scrum M.A.,”
read Aunt Dot off her paper. “
Holiday Tutorials in Elementary Mathematics
. Starting next Tuesday, I see. Quite reasonably priced, but it says board and lodging extra, dear.”

“And no doubt a terrible bill for books,” quavered Uncle Bernard, frail at the mere thought, scanning the paper he held. “This Cruise doesn't start till next month.”

“Here's a Camp that might do,” said Astrid. “Oh, no. It says for under tens. David's older than that, isn't he?”

“Of course I am,” said David. No one seemed to hear.

“I think Scrum's our best bet,” Cousin Ronald said jovially, and Aunt Dot agreed with him.

In growing outrage and dismay, David listened to them planning—just as if he were not in the room—to get rid of him by sending him to do Maths with Mr. Scrum until the end of August. Cousin Ronald had gone into it very thoroughly. He assured them that Mr. Scrum was the best and cheapest way of disposing of David. David revised his opinion of Cousin Ronald. As for the others, he had no opinion of them to revise. He bore it until he heard Uncle Bernard say: “Yes, I think so too. David's Mathematics are very weak.”

“They are not!” David said indignantly. Then, realizing that it would not do to annoy anyone any further, he said as politely as he could: “I'm quite good at Maths, Uncle Bernard. I came third in my form this term.”

“Ah, but why didn't you come
first
?” said Cousin Ronald. “We'll settle for Scrum, then, shall we?”

“Let it be Scrum,” said Aunt Dot decidedly.

David saw his fate being sealed and became frantic. “No, you needn't,” he said loudly. Everyone turned angrily toward him. David made an effort to sound polite and reasonable, but he had to try so hard that his voice came as loud and careful as a radio announcer's. “It's quite simple really,” he said. “Why don't you all go to Scarborough and just leave me here?”

“Oh indeed?” said Uncle Bernard. “And what do you propose doing in our absence?”

“Fill the house with compost and marmalade, I expect,” said Astrid.

“No,” said David. “That was a mistake. I'd be very careful, and I'd be out all day playing cricket.” An idea came to him as he spoke. It struck him as a brilliant one. “I tell you what—you could buy me a bicycle.”

“You'll be asking for your own car next,” said Astrid. “Will you want a Rolls, or could you make do with a Mini?”

“Out of the question,” pronounced Aunt Dot.

“No, it isn't,” David said eagerly. “A bicycle would cost much less than going to Mr. Scrum. I thought you'd leap at the idea, really. It's three miles to the recreation ground, you see.”

“Get this clear, David,” said Cousin Ronald. “You are going to Mr. Scrum for your own good, and not to any recreation ground on any kind of conveyance.”

“I don't want to go to Mr. Scrum!” David said desperately.

“Why not?” Astrid said, laughing. “He may be very nice.”

“How do
you
know?” said David. “How would
you
like to go to Mr. Scrum?” Astrid's mouth came open. Before she or anyone else could speak, David plunged on, again trying so hard to be polite that his voice came out like an announcer's. “It's like this, you see. I hate being with you and you don't want me, so the best thing is just to leave me here. You don't have to spend lots of money on Mr. Scrum to get rid of me. I'll be quite all right here.”

There was a long and terrible silence. One of the shiny green flies buzzed maddeningly three times up and down the table before anyone so much as moved. At last, Cousin Ronald, red right up to the bald part of his head, pushed back his chair with a scrape that made David jump, and stood up.

“Get out,” he said, with fearful calmness. “Leave this room, you ungrateful brat, leave your lunch, and don't dare come back until you can speak more politely. Go on. Get out.”

David stood up. He walked to the door, which had somehow moved several miles off since he last came through it, and when he finally reached it, he turned and looked at them all. Three of them were sitting like statues of themselves. Cousin Ronald was still standing up, glaring at him. David saw that he really was the same height as Cousin Ronald, and that made him feel much less frightened of him, but much more miserable.

“I took five wickets against Radley House last week,” he said to Cousin Ronald. “You couldn't do that.”

“Get out,” said Cousin Ronald.

“And I bowled our games master. Middle stump,” said David.

“
Get out!
” said Cousin Ronald.

“First ball,” said David, and he went out and shut the door very carefully and quietly behind him, much as he would have liked to slam it. Mrs. Thirsk was coming up the passage from the kitchen, perhaps to bring the pudding, but more likely because she had heard something interesting going on. “Thin gray pudding!” David said loudly. But he could not meet Mrs. Thirsk face to face because there were now tears in his eyes. He slipped out of the side door instead and went running up the garden with great strides, until he reached the private space between the wall and the compost heap.

It was baking hot there. The air quivered off the compost. David stripped off the ballet-skirt sweater—which served to dry his face—and squatted down anyhow in the middle of the gravel. He could not remember having been so angry or so miserable before. For a while, he was too angry and miserable even to think.

His first real thought was to wonder why he had not seen before that all his relations wanted was to get rid of him whenever they could. He supposed that was why they made such a point of his being grateful—because they looked after him when they did not want him in the least. And he wondered why he had not realized it before.

His second thought was to wish he could go away and live on a desert island. Knowing that was impossible made him so miserable that he had to walk about and scrub his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he thought he would like to have the law on his relations. But they had not done anything he could have the law on them
for
. The judge would say they had treated him well and he ought to be grateful.

“Oh, I
hate
being grateful!” David said. And he wished his relations were wicked, instead of just ordinary people, so that he could do something awful to them.

Then he thought of the way they were sending him to Mr. Scrum, and he wanted to do something awful to them anyway. Something to make sure that they were miserable for every moment they spent in Scarborough. Suppose he put a curse on them? Yes, that was it. He had read a rather pointless book last term, in which the boy put a curse on someone and it had worked. He would do the same to Uncle Bernard, Aunt Dot, Cousin Ronald—specially Cousin Ronald—and Astrid.

David roved up and down the hot space thinking what to put. And he had another idea. He would not curse them in English, because that was too ordinary, so ordinary that it might not even work. But he had read somewhere else that if you gave a set of monkeys a typewriter each and let them type away for twenty years or so—wouldn't they get tired of it in five minutes? David broke off to wonder—anyway, they typed away and ended up accidentally typing the complete works of Shakespeare. In the same way, surely, if you just said any sounds that came into your head, wouldn't you, mightn't you, end up by reciting a real rattling good curse that would make it snow in Scarborough all next week and perhaps bring Cousin Ronald out in green spots into the bargain? And if it did, it would have the advantage of being an accident, and not truly David's fault at all.

It seemed worth trying. For the next twenty minutes or so, David walked up and down the hot gravel, from compost to wall and back, muttering words and mouthing what he hoped were strange oaths. When he found a combination that sounded good, he stood still and recited it aloud. Each time he felt secretly a little foolish, because he knew perfectly well it had made no difference to his relations at all. But it was very satisfying all the same, and he went on.

At last he found the best combination of all. He could really almost believe it was words, fierce, terrible words. They asked to be said. And they asked to be said, too, in an important, impressive way, loudly, from somewhere high up. David climbed to the top of the compost heap, crushing baby marrows underfoot, and, leaning on the handle of the spade, he stretched the other hand sky-ward and recited his words. Afterward, he never remembered what they were. He knew they were magnificent, but he forgot them as soon as he said them. And when he had spoken them, for good measure, he picked up a handful of compost and bowled it at the wall.

As soon as he did that, the wall started to fall down.

I
t was like an earthquake. It is a horrible feeling to have caused an earthquake. The wavering and heaving were to some extent under David's feet, and the compost shifted and quivered like quicksand. That would have been enough to send David leaping down from it. But he could see that the wavering and heaving was stronger near the wall. He knew the wall was going to come down and that it was his fault. He tried to run toward it.

“No, no!” he said. “Stop it! I didn't mean it!”

The solid ground came up in ripples under his feet and made him stumble. In front of him, the wall rippled too. He could hear the bricks grinding as they swayed up and down. The top of the wall made a crazy outline against the hot blue sky, wagging up and down, with bricks coming loose and lifting, then banging back into place again, and mortar spurting from between them. After that, there was so much dust and mortar that he could hardly see the wall, and he had to hold his arm over his head against the rubble raining down on him. The heaving underfoot went fiercely on. The wall could take no more and fell, backward from David, in three slow, sulky bangs, into the garden behind Uncle Bernard's, and set loose even more dust as it went.