| Chapter Eight |
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She looked up at the static grey sky and looked along the track for any sign of him coming. A pigeon landed near the gatepost, bobbing its soft grey head as it pecked up bits of grit. In the hawthorn nearby a blackbird sang. She toed a stone from the edge of the track and kicked it up the drive and down again until it skidded into the rose bed. She bent down and peered in amongst the lichened stalks and beefy red blooms. Something stirred in there. A greyish white bundle hung beneath one of the leaves and it was quivering. She peered in closer. The bundle moved and wriggled. A tiny nub bubbled at the underside of the pulsating sac. It was a spider nest just about to hatch. The sac ripped and the tiny spiders began to pour out. No branch or leaf moved in the wind, but there was enough of a breath to bear the babies several feet towards the road before they fell to the ground, each one dropping into its own new grass maze empire, with a several few sticking to the leaves and stems of further rose bushes. Bel drew up on his bike. There's a spider's nest. Quick. He dropped his bike. Not on the grass - that's where they are. Come up the path. They're still trickling out. He leant in beside her. Wow. I've never seen one hatch before. Pick the leaf off and shake the last few out. I want to try something. Sylvia nipped the leaf stem between her fingernails and gave the leaf a few gentle shakes. You hold it and I'll open it up. He reached into a back pocket for his knife and pulled the blade out. Hold it still. Here, rest your hand on my knee. The blade tip slid into the hole in the sac and ripped it open. He blew the last few baby spiders away and prised the sac wide with the blade tip. Look. There she is. The desiccated skeleton of a large spider lay within. Two legs had broken loose and hung limply from the torn fabric. That's the mother. The babies feed on her body until they're big enough to hatch. They eat their mother? Yup. They're all cannibals. Some of them'll end up eating each other as well. Do you think they know they're going to get fed on? The mother or the others? The mother. I don't know. I don't know if they think. I wonder if she's still alive when they start on her. If she is she wouldn't be for long. Did you bring the meat? It's on the back on the bike. Let's get it and go. Just lean your bike up under the window there. It'll be all right. I'll get the spears. Sylvia handed one spear to Bel and kept the other herself. The sky was overcast with pale and motionless cloud. The trees as they approached the edge of the forest stood silent and still but for the flurries of wood pigeons here and there as they passed by underneath. A muffled cuckoo cry rang out in the distance. I hate cuckoos, said Syl. They give me the creeps. I don't see how they're different from anything else. Well if I was a bird I wouldn't lay an egg just anywhere and leave it there. It's like they don't care what happens to it. I guess they must know it'll get looked after, or they wouldn't leave it. And it's not fair on the birds whose nest it is. All their own babies end up dead. It's horrible. I'd rather be dead than be a cuckoo. I wouldn't. They walked up to Caitlin, who was sitting on the bench beside the sleeping woodcutter, sharpening the end of a warty spear. Where's Patti? She's got a cough. Her Mum wouldn't let her out. Did you bring it? It's here, said Bel, opening the carrier bag to show Caitlin. It's really expensive though and the butcher knows who I am. I was thinking, maybe next time we should use roadkill, a rabbit or something. We'd have to skin it for the smell to get out. Well I can do that. So can I. So can Caitlin. I'm only saying. All right. So where did you hear them? It's difficult to say for sure, with the wind and rain. But it must've been somewhere out that way, said Sylvia, pointing vaguely westward. OK. Let's go. They cut along an old bridleway, layers of hoof marks trodden into the mud. Don't tread on any sticks, whispered Sylvia. Grandpa says they'll run away from people. Unless they're cornered. Or really hungry, she added. The mud was firm enough to take their weight as they walked. Ancient ditches lay either side of the bridleway, draining the excess water into dark stagnant slurries. In places the clay soil of the bridleway held softly mudded pools, the captured water reflecting seams of sky through the carapace above, and the children used as stepping stones raised clumps of sedge at the very edges of the path. A soft needled track twisted off to the right and Sylvia pointed and jumped the ditch and led them deeper into the darknesses of the forest. Each patch of sunlight above had been won or claimed by one or other of the trees surrounding, and the light beneath the canopy was murky and diffuse. The lower branches, devoid of light, were brown and dead, and their dropped needles formed the dry bed the children walked. Through the gloom ahead a large silhouette snuffled and weaved. The smudged shadow of its body broke from the surrounding dark and stopped. Behind wavered four or five further blurred forms in the near dark. Then the first animal broke and ran westward and the others fled in pursuit. Only deer, whispered Sylvia, breathing again. I didn't know my heart could beat so hard just from standing still, said Caitlin. If they'd wanted to eat us we wouldn't have stood a chance. Deer don't eat people, said Bel. I mean if they had been wolves. Sylvia broke a long thin twig from a tree and snapped it into bits. You'd get the bloodlust, Cait, if they came for you. When the first one leaps at your throat it leaves its heart wide open. You hold the spear up in front of you and it practically spikes itself with its own power. Then the others run away or face the same doom. And with three of us standing back to back they can never come at us from behind. Or we could just climb a tree, suggested Bel. Wolves can't climb. Whatever, said Syl. Look. Fox kill. Come on, as she stepped over a pile of pigeon feathers. Some distance further and the light gradually returned and brambles crept along the forest floor again and tugged at their feet. The ground sloped away to the right, down through marshy tracts to where the bone white clouds above lay reflected in a small pool. Sylvia signalled them to stop. If you listen you can hear the springs, she whispered. A faint rushing gurgle rang out like white noise. You should hear it when the snow's melting. What do you think, somewhere around here? It's close enough to get to every day, and I've never seen anyone else here, ever. Maybe where the land rises on the other side, suggested Bel. Then we can watch from here if we need to. The girls nodded their assent and Bel set off around the pool to place the meat. What do you think of him? He's all right. If he wants to hang around, I don't mind. Let me know if you change your mind. Caitlin nodded. Let's go before we leave too much scent, she said, as Bel returned. * * * The setting sun smeared red above the treeline and the songbirds twittered as they settled to roost. Why do they sound so different in the evening? asked Sylvia as she and Bel walked the path back from the forest. Different from what? The morning. Do they? Haven't you ever listened? It's almost like they're scared. Maybe they are. Scared of what though? Scared of the dark I suppose. Aren't you? I'm not scared of anything, said Syl. They reached the road and turned right. An old woman was putting out some rubbish at the first cottage. She stopped and peered at them as they walked by. You'll go the same way, girl, she shouted. Mind your own business, you old hag. Don't think you're any different. You can't change nature. Who's that? asked Bel. What's she going on about? Go the same way as what? Nothing, said Sylvia. She's just a vile old woman, she shouted. With a big nose. I've got to get home before dark, said Bel. He handed her his spear and fetched his bike. Same time tomorrow? Sure. See you. She turned and walked to the back door, turned the handle and gave the door a good kick. Vile, she muttered.
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