Read Online Children of the Dust by Louise Lawrence - Free Book Online
Authors: Louise Lawrence
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would have saved them I would have given it willingly, believe me.'
Sarah did believe him.
Johnson was a good man.
'Will you come and stay with your sister?' he asked her.
Sarah shook her head.
'I have to go home,' she said. 'My little brother is sick. I see you have outbuildings here. There are five live calves at Harrowgate Farm waiting to be collected. Nobody knows they're there. I barricaded the barn door to keep them safe but I think you should have them. You can use Farmer Arkright's Land Rover, and there's diesel in a tank by the implement shed.'
A squall of icy rain came sweeping down from the hills, ran like tears down Johnson's face as he lifted his eyes to the sky. He said, if he had never believed in God before he believed in Him now. And this was the beginning of a brave new world. Sarah shivered and pulled up the hood of her duffle coat. She had to go, she said, and looked at the garbage bag figure of Catherine for the last time. Johnson rested his hand on the child's shoulder.
'I'll look after her,' he said. 'I'll teach her to grow. We'll build a world from the dust, she and I. It won't be easy, but we'll do it. A moral society, based on human decency, free people, co-operating without violence, better than the old. There's a nuclear winter coming on, cold like we have never known. But the glasshouses are centrally heated. There's plenty of wood. The well water's good. If I can get diesel enough to keep the generator going — if I can scavenge enough hay and concentrates to keep the animals alive ... if I can keep the green plants growing . . . we'll make it. We'll make it anyway, your sister and me.'
Sarah coughed and smiled. Bright blood flecked the back of her hand and she did not worry. Johnson was part of the plan, a man with a vision which she herself would never share. Her part was over, her purpose played out. She had lived for Catherine and now she gave Catherine to him. Finally satisfied Sarah turned away, leaving man and child together in the rainy darkness.
'I'll call you Kate,' she heard him say. 'And you call me Johnson. There will be others, I expect, but it's you and I who have to make ready.'
Johnson and Catherine, the pram and the shopping trolley, went rattling away towards the house as Sarah headed home up the long track. She had no reason now to go on living. Death would be a relief, Veronica had said, and in the sideboard drawer the bottle of tablets waited. She would give half to William and take the rest herself, two lives ceasing together. It was better that way.
Pains gripped her stomach and she vomited blood, and the hood of her duffle coat rubbed raw the sores on her scalp. In a world that was dark and ugly, where the wind whined through the silences, Sarah knew that she was ugly too . . . her youth and prettiness, her love and life and hope, laid waste by the holocaust of war. But some things could never be destroyed ... a child with her dreams ... a man with his visions . . . and a gorse flower that bloomed in the dust. Sarah touched it, damp yellow petals, gold and fragile and strong. Alive and beautiful, it bloomed for the future, radiated the glory of God. In the end people turned to Him, and Sarahcould not be sorry.
----
OPHELIA
Quite by chance Bill Harnden survived the nuclear war. Normally he would have been lecturing at Bristol University but that afternoon he had to drive to Bath for a meeting of the South West Arts Committee. Suddenly a woman came running from a wayside cottage and flagged him down. She told him her name was Erica Kowlanski and she was a leading authority in the cellular cloning of vegetable and animal protein. She showed him a blue identity card which guaranteed her a place in any nuclear fall-out shelter, and begged him to drive her there.
Bill had been fully aware of the dangerous international situation but that was the first he had heard of the imminence of a nuclear attack. It was the car radio, not Erica Kowlanski, which finally
Sarah did believe him.
Johnson was a good man.
'Will you come and stay with your sister?' he asked her.
Sarah shook her head.
'I have to go home,' she said. 'My little brother is sick. I see you have outbuildings here. There are five live calves at Harrowgate Farm waiting to be collected. Nobody knows they're there. I barricaded the barn door to keep them safe but I think you should have them. You can use Farmer Arkright's Land Rover, and there's diesel in a tank by the implement shed.'
A squall of icy rain came sweeping down from the hills, ran like tears down Johnson's face as he lifted his eyes to the sky. He said, if he had never believed in God before he believed in Him now. And this was the beginning of a brave new world. Sarah shivered and pulled up the hood of her duffle coat. She had to go, she said, and looked at the garbage bag figure of Catherine for the last time. Johnson rested his hand on the child's shoulder.
'I'll look after her,' he said. 'I'll teach her to grow. We'll build a world from the dust, she and I. It won't be easy, but we'll do it. A moral society, based on human decency, free people, co-operating without violence, better than the old. There's a nuclear winter coming on, cold like we have never known. But the glasshouses are centrally heated. There's plenty of wood. The well water's good. If I can get diesel enough to keep the generator going — if I can scavenge enough hay and concentrates to keep the animals alive ... if I can keep the green plants growing . . . we'll make it. We'll make it anyway, your sister and me.'
Sarah coughed and smiled. Bright blood flecked the back of her hand and she did not worry. Johnson was part of the plan, a man with a vision which she herself would never share. Her part was over, her purpose played out. She had lived for Catherine and now she gave Catherine to him. Finally satisfied Sarah turned away, leaving man and child together in the rainy darkness.
'I'll call you Kate,' she heard him say. 'And you call me Johnson. There will be others, I expect, but it's you and I who have to make ready.'
Johnson and Catherine, the pram and the shopping trolley, went rattling away towards the house as Sarah headed home up the long track. She had no reason now to go on living. Death would be a relief, Veronica had said, and in the sideboard drawer the bottle of tablets waited. She would give half to William and take the rest herself, two lives ceasing together. It was better that way.
Pains gripped her stomach and she vomited blood, and the hood of her duffle coat rubbed raw the sores on her scalp. In a world that was dark and ugly, where the wind whined through the silences, Sarah knew that she was ugly too . . . her youth and prettiness, her love and life and hope, laid waste by the holocaust of war. But some things could never be destroyed ... a child with her dreams ... a man with his visions . . . and a gorse flower that bloomed in the dust. Sarah touched it, damp yellow petals, gold and fragile and strong. Alive and beautiful, it bloomed for the future, radiated the glory of God. In the end people turned to Him, and Sarahcould not be sorry.
----
OPHELIA
Quite by chance Bill Harnden survived the nuclear war. Normally he would have been lecturing at Bristol University but that afternoon he had to drive to Bath for a meeting of the South West Arts Committee. Suddenly a woman came running from a wayside cottage and flagged him down. She told him her name was Erica Kowlanski and she was a leading authority in the cellular cloning of vegetable and animal protein. She showed him a blue identity card which guaranteed her a place in any nuclear fall-out shelter, and begged him to drive her there.
Bill had been fully aware of the dangerous international situation but that was the first he had heard of the imminence of a nuclear attack. It was the car radio, not Erica Kowlanski, which finally
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