A Field Full of Folk by Iain Crichton Smith Page A

front of his own people. He should have taken a whip to that wife of his with her bare knees and her red boots. In fact she thought that she remembered him having been out once with Kate but she wasn’t sure about that. Kate had been out with so many boys before she got married. One of them had given her a beautiful ring and hadn’t even asked for it back when she got married to someone else.
    â€œThanks for the tea,” he said, looking for an ashtray in which to stub his cigarette. She laid a blue one on the table and said, “You’re welcome.” He was looking very thin as if he didn’t eat much. It was different for a man, men couldn’t look after themselves in the same way as women could. She wondered if anyone washed his dungarees for him.
    â€œI’ll tell you,” she said, “that man from Glasgow is a Catholic, you mark my words.” He winced and half smiled. “Don’t you believe that he isn’t. Look at Danny Young. He’s married to my own daughter and he works in a garage. What does he know about repairing cars? He never had any training in his life. When was he ever a mechanic? Where are his certificates?” He stared at her as if he was going to cry, his face so pale. It wasn’t right, no it wasn’t right, and she didn’t care who heard her. One flesh the Bible said, one flesh and everything held in common.
    He stood up and said, “Well, I’d better be getting back to my work.”
    Day followed day and it was difficult to get up in the morning, especially if one had no one but oneself. She put her hand on his shoulder as if he were a small boy and said, “Never mind, I’m an old woman and nothing good will come of it.” He turned away and later she heard him hammering on the roof. She put out some bread for the little birds that came to the bird box that her husband had made. She sniffed the wide morning air: every day was blue and began with mist which later cleared away. God looked after even his own sparrows but you found it was the buzzards that had the best of it.
    The air was very still, apart from the hammering, and she could see the smoke rising from the houses, drifting away in the direction of the railway line. She should have asked someone to paint her door which was a dull green. She looked up as the hammering continued and saw him sitting astride the roof, a clutch of nails in his mouth.

13
    â€œL OOK ,” SAID A LISDAIR to Hugh and he pointed to the grey cat—it belonged to David Collins—which was carrying a baby rabbit in its mouth across the railway line. It padded along, looking neither to right nor to left, its fat body heavy and smoky, as if it was filled with grey water.
    They followed it across the rusty rails, among the wet grass which left green threads on their sandals. It stopped and looked when it heard them approaching. They stared into its fathomless eyes which seemed so calm and deep and mysterious, like emeralds. The sun sparkled on the stones, there were berries on the trees. It was a morning of intent serenity, and through it as if through a picture the cat padded.
    Suddenly Alisdair began to run and Hugh ran after him. The cat scampered up the brae but the boys were close behind it. Alisdair began to pick up stones and throw them. The cat looked behind it again and sped onward. A stone hit it in the back and it winced. Alisdair ran ahead to cut off its progress, before it could reach David Collins’ house. It dodged hither and thither but, caught between the two boys, it didn’t know what to do. Its eyes flashed but it still clamped the rabbit in its jaws. On such a fine morning it seemed to be wondering about the injustice of the world, when all it was doing was hunting for its daily food. Alisdair had got hold of a branch and was pushing the cat back, thwacking the ground with it. As if defeated the cat laid the rabbit down, then sped between the boy’s legs