The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean (26 page)

“Thank you Billy,” she wispers.

I look at the nees the elbows the fingers. Has enything happend? I cannot tel.

“What hav I done?” I ask.

“You hav tayken the pane away,” says the mother. “And look. The swelling is shrinking. I am sertan of it.”

She moovs her fingers. She moovs her feet. She sways like shes about to dance.

“And I can moov without pane, Billy. Look. O look!”

“We new,” says the dorter. “We beleevd in you, Billy. Take this gift.”

She holds out a handful of coyns. I am bamboozld by it all and do not reech for them. Then Missus Malone is at my back. She reeches past me & takes the coyns.

“Thank you,” she says. “Healing takes the strenth from him & the boy is tired now & you must let him be.”

The mother and the dorter wark away in joy. The mother reeches her hands towards the sky.

“Well well Billy,” says Missus Malone.

She gazes at me in silens for meny seconds.

“It apears ther may be no end to yor gifts,” she says.

When I leav her & wander in confyushon throu the ruwins I pass Jack & Joe standing in a doreway.

“Bless us Master” wispers Jack.

I rase my hand to tel them no but they close ther eyes & bow.

“Thank you Master,” says Joe.

“We ar redy,” says Jack.

I wark on.

And so it starts.

They come with canser or with heart disees or with funguses or sores or rashes or spots. They limp acros the rubbl on crutches or are weeld bumpily acros it in chares. They cum with depreshon & distres. They trembl & qwayk. They wisper ther feres and sadneses and broaken dremes to me. They bring ther sikly children & ther weke & pityus baybys.

Plees help, they say. Plees tuch. Tuch me here on my sholder. Tuch this elbo plees. Lay yor fingas on my eyes. Lay them ther just ther on my skul. Yes. Yes. O ther is such tendernes in you. O I suddenly fele so warm. Thers such a straynj vibrayshon, Aynjel. I fele it depe depe down insyd. O thank you Aynjel. Thank you Billy Dean. The payn is gon. Look how I can wark more freely. Yes I see mor cleerly and here mor cleerly. The trubbl in my heart is faydin. O look how he is smyling O look how she is sleepin softly for the first tym sins she came into the world. Thank you Aynjel. You wer sent by God. You ar a saynt. Let me kiss yor hand & leev my gift & step aside. For here is another cumin for yor tuch. And another and another and another.

And another. And mor and mor of them. Wen I am done with travelin to meet the lejons of the dead it is time to dele with the lejons of the livin. They kew up at the dore. They bring chares to sit on or they put broaken stones and crackd timber togetha to mayk seats. They lite fyrs in the dust wen it is cold. They sit in cheerful littl hoapful groops to share ther tales or they wander the ruwins in lonly dejecshon until it is ther turn to meet the healer Billy Dean. Often Elizabeth is ther sitting among them with her pensils & payper. She draws & she lissens. She tels me that thees Blinkbonny days wil be nown 1 day as days of wunder.

The weeks pass. Soon under the instrucshon of Missus Malone I start to do my healin in groops. I stand at the dore and the seekers of healin gather befor me. They bring candls and lanterns. I wer the blakfrinjd purpl scarf. I hold it to my fase to bring my father to me for a moment. At times I wisper words into it.

“I do this for you Dad for only you. I hope that you wud be prowd of me at last. I hope that you may return.”

Wons wen I lift my fase from the scarf I fynd Jack & Joe rite besiyd me.

“Are you well Master?” says Jack.

“You look so tyrd,” says Joe.

“You are so preshus.”

“We wil keep an eye on you if we may.”

They bow & back away.

Missus Malone says I shud start the healing with prares. I cannot pray to God so I pray to the absens of him to the absens that is filld with things of gorjus wunder & things of deep distress. I say the prare so that it is sumthin like a song. I rase my hands to the sun and air & my prares are sumthing like

Let me call on the power of the water and the air and stars and the power of the fish and mise and birds. Let me draw the straynjnes of the world and yoonivers to this plays. Just as the living becom the dead and the dead becum the livin let payn be transformd to healin let sadnes turn to joy. I am just a growin boy and we ar only littl ordinary folk but each of us is grate eech of us is hoaly. Now let the power of things and time be consentrayted in us. Step forward when the call to healing cums. Step forward & let us tuch eech other & let us all be heald.

After a time I no it dosnt mater what I say dosnt mater what I call upon dosnt mater if my words make sens or not. And so I begin to mumbl & mutter & yell or I sqweek like a mows or mew like a cat or yowl like a dog and I trembl and sway like a mad thing.

Pashlaboovita!
I SING.
Linovitaki! Ombriwon ombritoo ombrimor my loopiting in the ploobis sky! Ushmandriga ushmandriga we call! O O O O so meny of us dasholabitikin! O so meny of us shoooooovalus!

And the peepl gasp in wunder. Hes speekin in tongues! they say. He is tarkin the tark of the aynshents a langwij thats long bene forgot. He is speekin the words of aynjels & spirits. O lissen how byutiful it is! Lissen how gloryus he is.

How rong they are. It is just sounds and chants and noyses and yels. It is noys with no meening in it but with weard byuty & weard strenth.

Comp yor blip to us!
I YELL
Comp yor blip & chang yor chep & kink yor kop! Stik it arswards. Riggl it & raggl it! Hashamanikor to Billy Dean! Mew mew sqweek sqweek & howl howl & bliddy howl. Plashis! Brishonol! Gambortstil! Gongorigolus to all.

Whatever I say they step forwad and the heelin comes to meny and afterwards ther is often singing and praysing that goes on deep into the nite.

Ha! I often feel so proud to stand ther — to lead the singing & the prares and to bring some joy wer thers been pain. Ha! I think how proud my dad wud be to see me ther with all these eyes upon me. Ha! I am becum lyk him. I am strong and strait and belovd but I stand on dust and dirt beneeth the empty sky & dirt & dust are on me & weard wyld hair glittas on my head & a thin wite dusty shirt dangls down on me & nonsens danses off my tongue. Ha! Ha! Bluddy ha!

Did it work? Of cors it did. Thers peepl warkin in the world today that wer heeld by the tuch of Billy Dean. Soon enuf thers crutches hangin from Blinkbonnys warls. Thers spectacls on piles of stoans. Thers bottls of pills & choobs of oyntment & bandajes & hearin ayds. Peepl cum to wotch & dowt & laff & to show that its all a nonsens and a fayk and they leve agen in wonder & fere & tremblin.

Sum say it is happenin becos it is a time of war & in thees days the war is getting wors. They say that in thees stranje days ther are other Billy Deans in other playses. Ther are other weard harf wild boys and girls that yell in tongues and move eesily between the livin and the dead. They say as the world turns bak to wilderness that children wons mor are turnin wild.

They say it is brout on by the distres and fear of war but I no nothin abowt war & war seems far off enyway sumwer out acros the distant blu horyzon.

Some say it is the work of God becos he so loves the world but Billy Dean makes no clayms on eny God. God? Ha! What & where is God?

Sum say it is all the deeds of the devil and that we are hedin down to Hell. Or that the erth is enterin its final days and that all order and sens and truth are breakin up. Or they say its nothin so grand nothin so dredful & its simply the beleef in healin that corses the healin to occur.

“What is it that cums throu you?” they want to no.

I tell them that I do not bluddy no. I tell them that is the anser to all qweschions. I do not bluddy no! I tell them that what comes throu me is absolutely bluddy nothin & nowt. It is the grate big emtiness that heals them. The grayt big gloryus nothingness thats cumin throu a boy thats got nothing in himself.

And I spred my arms to the massiv sky.

“Look!” I say. “What els but emty nothingness can it be? What els is ther?”

And I spred my arms agen and say, “Yes it is nothing but it is astownding. How cud you not beleev that sumthing so bluddy astownding as this cud not heal a littl thing like a body?”

I hav no wish for the gifts they bring but they bring them & bring them. Missus Malones treasure box rattls with coyns and wispers with notes. Those that cannot bring muny bring jam or froot or cakes. It is a time of riches for Mr McCaufrey too. The visitors buy his sausages and cook them on ther fyrs. They eat his pies and puddins. Ther are kews at his shop lyk ther were in the old days. He stands happy insyd with his apron on and his eyes glitterin and his hed shinin & he gossips and grins and slyses and chops.

Peepl wark with me as I wark throu the dust from Missus Malones to home and bak agen. The air is filld with the noys of rubbl as it rattls & crunches & cracks. Tiny stones scatter & skitter & clowds of dust rise arl arownd. I feel fingers and parms on me from peepl needin to tuch me. I hear prares wisperd at my bak. Mam stops them at the ruind garden gate. No furtha than this she tels them. He is still yung. The boy needes his rest. Leev him in peese.

It becomes a grate burden to me sumtimes. Wons wen I am worn out by it all I tell Mam I was not made for this. I am too much in the world & too much noatisd by the world. It wud hav bene beter to stay lockd away insyd my littl room. It wud hav been beter if Id never been let out. She takes me in her arms.

“You cudnt go back to that Billy,” she wispers. “You no that. And mebbe all this is truly what you wer made for. Mebbe this is in the end what all the lockin away and isolashon was for. Mebbe this is why you wer born at the very moment of disaster.”

She gazes into the emty air.

“Mebbe your dad new that this is how it wud turn owt. Or how he hoapd that it wud turn but he didnt stay long enuf to see.”

She strokes my cheek.

“Why didnt he stay?” I ask. “Where is he now?”

She closes her eyes for she dos not no.

Always that anser to so meny qweschions.

I do not bluddy no!

“It wont be forever,” she says. “These days will pass. Other things wil cum to take the place of this.”

I lean agenst her. I hear her heart beatin within her. I sleep & I dream of the iland beyond the horyzon wer ther will be peese.

When I wake ther are fases staring in throu the windows. A mother holds a baby at the glass to me. The baby has a grate purpl birth mark on its cheek.

“Plees!” the mother mouths in silens. “Plees Billy Dean.”

I siy. Thers nothin I can do. My weard gifts hav becum my destiny. I hav to work my goodness. I go owt to her.

I put my parm on the babys fays and & the mark is gon.

They apear warking at my side as they so often do. I am nere to my house with folowers behynd me.

“Forgiv us Master” says Jack. “We do not wish to introod.”

“But we fere for you,” says Joe.

They hav littl silver crusifixes hangin on ther neks & shinin in the sun. Ther eyes are blu & gleamin & intens.

They bow ther heds befor me.

“Fere for me?” I say.

“Yor gift is preshus,” says Joe. “It must be protected.”

“And you must also be protected,” says his bruther.

He turns round to the followers & rases his hands.

“Plees dont crowd the master.”

“Well wer him out,” says Jack.

“And we dont want that,” says Joe. “Do we?”

Thers mutters of no of cors we dont.

“We have a juty to care for the saynts that wark amung us. Dont we?”

Yes they muter. Yes of cors we do.

Joe warks towards them. They retreat.

“We hav spoken with Missus Malone,” says Jack.

“Missus Malone?” I say.

“She also has been consernd for you. She beleevs also that it is a good idea.”

“Whats a good idea?” I say.

“That we keep things in sum order. That we giv you protecshon from yorself in meny ways. You giv out so much. You deserv sum peese and qwiyet.”

“And she nos us Master,” says Joe. “She nos that she can trust us.”

They step bak from me & bow ther heds.

“Forgiv us Master,” wispers Jack.