Keppelberg (9 page)

I spent all the morning on guard at the entrance to the village and then returned at one o'clock to the cafeteria for some lunch. The woman behind the counter seemed to be much less hostile to me when she saw me wearing the blue uniform.

‘I don't suppose there's a place here where people gamble... you know a little blackjack... some roulette... bingo... poker... card games... the lottery!'

She looked down her nose before replying to me. ‘I should hope not!' she told me in no uncertain terms. ‘Why people should want to lose their hard- earned money by gambling is a mystery to me. It's all a matter of greed... hoping to win money which doesn't belong to them. It's definitely not in their best interest. Now, what would you like to order?'

I mused that this village was at the peak of perfection. There were no influences to foster the aims of power, ambition, or greed. Consequently, there was no crime, no drug dealers, no people in debt, and no gambling. Indeed, I hadn't seen anyone smoking cigars or cigarettes. In terms of peace and tranquillity, full employment, good health and isolation, Keppelberg was one of the most perfect places in which to live on Earth.

Chapter Seven

My knowledge of the village developed quite well over the next few days. There was far more to the place than I had imagined. I soon learned that it wasn't as small as I had thought. It comprised of many hundreds of acres of land which were carefully farmed on which a plethora of cattle and sheep grazed on lush green fields. There were many more fields in which wheat and barley were grown while lettuces, cabbages, swedes, turnips, potatoes, carrots, peas, parsnips, tomatoes and broccoli proliferated in the good soil in the area. There were also a number of large orchards which produced apples, cherries, strawberries, gooseberries and raspberries. Milk was obtain by hand, and not by machine, while meat was also available from a pig farm supplying pork, ham and bacon. There was also an area where hundreds of chickens were reared to provide eggs and meat, as well as turkeys, ducks and geese. Many people were employed in food production as self-sufficiency was the key at all times. The villagers were well-versed in the food supply chain for the eleven hundred inhabitants who lived there and it had clearly gone on in the same vein for over a century when the village was formed. As I had been brought up in Cornwall, where farming proliferated, the activities of cattle-rearing and crop-growing were of second nature to me. Coupled with the peace and tranquillity of the place and the absence of pressure, I began to feel quite at home. At the same time my life was tempered with the blessing of Bridget whom I knew would become my life-long companion with her son, Robert in tow.

I returned home that evening to a hug and some kisses. Then we ate and sent Robert to his room early. It was only a few minutes before we retired at a ridiculously early hour to be in bed with each other. After the night of such passion before, I thought that intimate sex would slow down to a normal pace but I was totally wrong. Whether she had any intimate sex over the recent past I had no idea, although I could hazard a guess, but she seemed to have saved up all her emotional energy to become insatiable. As we romped and rolled over the bed and onto the floor with intimate erotic passion, I suddenly realised that I had turned a simple quiet village woman into a raging nymphomaniac!

Two weeks later, I had settled down to be wholly in love with my new life and with the woman with whom I was living. There was no question of us not living together... our union was unique while Robert seemed quite satisfied by my presence, always absorbed with his school work or reading books.

I had a small problem getting used to the vouchers I earned as a security guard. I had been allocated a hundred-and-fifty each week to use to buy food in the shops or the cafeteria. However, fifty of them were deducted to pay for the damage I had done to the police cell. Not that it mattered to me... a hundred was enough for my needs. In any case, I always handed them to Bridget for her to use as she wished. In addition, I no longer had any use for my car which caused the garage mechanic concern because I refused to go to the garage to collect it. Each morning, I would go to the front area of the village to take up my post but no one ever came. Nonetheless, I was the security guard with the duty of repelling all strangers whether they came or not.

My love for Bridget grew stronger as time went by even though I had known her for only a short while. Destiny had driven me to her and I was most grateful for that. I thought about her all day long, unable to get her face out of my mind for she was so beautiful... so loving! I became a little concerned about keeping up with her sexually. Not that she was a nymphomaniac. Nonetheless she was highly emotionally charged. Perhaps it had something to do with me... I wasn't sure. We would kiss regularly like young lovers, embracing each other closely, and touch each other tenderly as though it was essential for us to feel each other's flesh. Most nights, we enjoyed making love together. I looked forward so much to the end of days when Robert was fast asleep in his bedroom and the two of us were together, naked as the day we were born, in the same bed. They were beginning to become halcyon days and I was enjoying every moment. Perhaps it was the release of tension tramping the dusty road and the desert surrounding Basra, looking for evidence of terrorists, listening to the sound of gunfire that triggered my feelings. Life in Numbwinton was exactly the opposite.

One evening, I sat watching Bridget and Robert reading books, scanning their faces as they waded through the pages. Eventually Bridget looked up noticing my vacant expression.

‘Why don't you go to the library to get a book to read?' she suggested helpfully.

‘I didn't know you had a library here,' I responded with an element of surprise in my voice.

‘I'll take you there tomorrow,' she offered freely. ‘It's at the far end of the village.'

I couldn't resist my feelings and went over to her to kiss her fully on the lips. ‘I love you,' I told her warmly, ‘with all my heart!'

She placed her arm around my neck and kissed me on both of my eyes. ‘I love you too!' she returned emotionally.

The next day, after Robert had gone to school, she took me to the library. I had imagined it to be small housing a few hundred books but I was surprised to note that it was fairly large with a plethora of tomes which ranged on shelves all the way across the building. Not surprisingly, none of the books were modern; they all related to works of Victorian times and earlier. How they had accumulated such a large number of works was beyond my comprehension. They must have been shipped here a hundred years ago. As my eyes roved up and down the aisles, I noticed a statue at the end of the room and I approached it to find out who had been honoured. The plate beneath the statue read: ‘Obediah Keppelberg... 1803-1872'.

‘That's how the village became known as Keppleberg... after this man,' I commented. ‘He must have done something fantastic to have a statue made of him.'

‘He did,' uttered Bridget in awe. ‘He was a very great man.'

‘What did he do?' I asked bluntly with interest.

‘First of all he founded the village. But you'll have to ask Mr. Townsend if you want to know more. I can't tell you.'

There it was again! The same words: ‘I can't tell you!' My God, after seducing the woman night after night and for her to declare her undying love for me in which our intimate relationship blossomed, she still couldn't bring herself to tell me anything about anyone in the village... not even about the founder. I was becoming more and more angry at the reticent attitude of the villagers towards me even though I considered that I had fully joined their ranks. I knew, without doubt, that approaching Townsend on the subject was useless. He was like a politician capable of answering all my questions without revealing anything at all.

I went boldly up to the librarian to see whether I could get anything out of her.

‘Obadiah Keppelberg,' I began hopefully. ‘He was the founder of this village. A great man, I understand.'

‘He was a very great man,' she responded readily.

‘I'd like to see some historical documents about him and his work... and the reason why he founded this village.'

She paused for a moment and I knew exactly what she was going to say. ‘Those records are not for public viewing.'

‘Why not?' I countered sharply. ‘If he was so great, why aren't they available for all to see?'

‘Because they're confidential,' she replied firmly. ‘That's why they're not on public view.'

‘The man died in 1872,' I rattled irately. ‘What could be so confidential about him over a hundred-and-fifty years on?'

‘That's not for me to say,' she returned solemnly. ‘I'm just doing my duty in this library. If you want to take the matter further you'll have to ask Mr. Townsend. In the meantime, if you wish to choose a book, the library is open from ten o'clock until four o'clock.'

I threw my hands in the air with frustration. What could be so confidential about the founder of the village. Surely there had to be some history for them to glorify the man's name! I couldn't imagine any reason why anyone should want to hide his identity away in a confidential file. I selected a book written by Charles Kingsley entitled Westward Ho! Which I had read when I had attended school and left the library in a huff with Bridget holding on to my arm,

‘Please have patience,' she pleaded trying to bring me back to normality. ‘You'll learn everything about us and our history in due course. Just be patient.'

I rued the fact that everyone was so pleasant but they were secretive. Despite the calmness of their lives they lived in a clandestine atmosphere, shunning all strangers, denying the information they knew to all newcomers. It was then that I wondered how strangers to the village had fared in the past. I decided to reserve that question to the time when my temper subsided. In the army, everyone knew exactly where they stood with daily orders. The attitude of the villagers was irrational, unfair, and showed a distinct lack of trust.

The following morning I left the house to go to the main shopping centre when I noticed a small crowd of people had gathered in the area where I had originally parked my car. I walked across to find a vehicle that had been vandalised in the same way as my car. There were no wheels, the radiator was smashed and the distributor was damaged beyond repair. I knew, even without proof, that the mechanic at the garage had been responsible. But who did the car belong to? It had to be a stranger to the village!

I went to the police station to find out if they knew of the incident, facing the Desk Sergeant directly as PC7 looked through a folder.

‘Did another stranger come to the village last night,' I asked firmly.

The Desk Sergeant stared at me dolefully. ‘It was another stranger,' he uttered. ‘We've locked him up in a cell. He says his name's Austen. Wayne Austen but you know how people lie when they're arrested by the police.

‘He couldn't produce any documents to prove he was the owner of the vehicle,' stated PC7 butting into the conversation. ‘And he didn't say why he was here for a second time. You see, we caught him here once before. He even signed a document to say he wouldn't come back. What is it with these people?'

‘So you arrested him and now his car's a complete wreck outside.' I countered smarting. There was a moment of silence before I continued. ‘I'd like to see this man!'

The Desk Sergeant gave me a quaint look and then shrugged his shoulders aimlessly. ‘You know where the cells are. Go ahead!'

I sauntered down to the cell area and came face-to-face with the detective. He lay on the straw mattress looking at me sadly for a moment before leaping to his feet to grasp the cell bars.

‘Sam!' he called out urgently. ‘Get me out of here! I've done nothing wrong! You've got to get me out!'

I shook my head sorrowfully. ‘Wayne,' I began. ‘What on earth made you come back to the village?'

‘I had to,' he claimed miserably. ‘I couldn't go back to face Tim telling him that I'd failed.'

‘You idiot!' I ranted angrily. ‘You're locked up in prison for God knows how long... especially as you signed a form saying you wouldn't come back. You car's been wrecked. How did you think you'd succeed in getting me out of here when I told you I wanted to stay? You'll have to tell Mary that I will see her in due course but not for some time.'

‘I'm not very good at my job, am I?' he bleated lamely.

‘I don't know why you persist in trying to get me out of this village. It's idiotic!' I ranted on. ‘If I can get you released and your car's repaired, you've got to promise me that you'll never come back here again.'

He pondered over my comment for a short time and then nodded. ‘Okay,' he muttered reluctantly, ‘I won't come back again. I only hope that you can swing it. The police are crazy in this place.'

I left him there holding the bars tightly and returned to the Desk Sergeant.

‘Look,' I began, pleading with him. ‘I know this man. My sister sent him to try to get me to leave the village and he felt honour bound to serve her wishes. I've made him understand that he must not come here again and he's agreed.'

‘He gave his word once before... in writing,' exclaimed PC7. ‘He can't be trusted.'

‘He'll listen to me,' I cut in sharply.

‘He was seen loitering at the start of the village and you sent him packing,' added the desk sergeant.

‘It won't happen again. If you let him go you'll have seen the last of him. I'd regard it as a personal favour if you release him. I swear you'll have no trouble with him again.'

‘I think we'll let him stew for another twenty-four hours,' declared the Desk Sergeant. ‘Just to teach him a lesson. Then we'll review his case.'

‘In the meantime, I'll go to the garage to get the mechanic to tow his car there for repair. In that way we'll get rid of him much faster.'

The two policemen stared at me bleakly and I left hoping that they would accept my plea and release Wayne on the following day. I was unable to understand why the detective had returned after the way he had cowardly run away at our last meeting. Some people are complete losers in life and nothing would change them. Their destiny lay in the hands of a hopeless God who unwittingly led them on to one dilemma after another. Wayne Austen was one of those unfortunate people risking life and limb for no reason and for no purpose whatsoever.