occupation. If it rubs
him the wrong way he doesn’t show it. We don’t get many visitors, it’s usually Dain
that does the visiting.
Certain’s arms are long and ropey. His smile a thin slash that you’d be hard to see
as warmth. He is wide across the chest but he limps, favours his left leg more than
his right. You can see the scar a quarter inch above the knee if you look hard enough.
‘World tackles you, boy,’ he told me once when I stared too long. ‘Sometimes you
get up fine, sometimes you get up a little broke.’
I’ve had my share of breaks.
‘Here to see your Master,’ Certain says, standing at the door, and he’s dressed up
a little. Shirt and long pants, shoes that are too long gone for buffing to bring
out much good in them, but they’re cracked and comfortable.
‘Business or pleasure?’
‘Bit of both. Mainly for that whisky sour he’s got, I guess. You do have lemons,
don’t you? Sugar?’
I don’t understand whisky, tried it once and it made me sick. Give me a cider any
day. I pull a face.
‘You can come in, I guess.’
‘He out, is he?’
‘Not fer much longer.’
I pour him a glass of that rough stuff, squeeze in some lemon juice.
Certain raises his glass, peers at me through it. ‘Could do with some ice.’ So I’m
down to the cellar and the ice chest. Shaving bits off the shrinking brick down there.
Bring him back his glass.
Takes a good long sip. ‘That’s the stuff,’ he says. He leans back in his chair. ‘You
given much thought to your what-comes-afters?’
‘What do you think?’ I say.
‘I think time’s moving fast. My last years did. Faster than I’d ever thought they
could.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ I say.
‘Keep to that thought. Hold it, and you might just be. There’s coming a time when
you’ll make decisions, even if it don’t feel like you are. What kind of man you’ll
be. Or perhaps not a man.’
I snort. ‘No chance of that. ‘
Certain rattles the ice in his glass. ‘More peculiar things have happened. Man or
monster. There’s different types of both.’
‘I’ll decide,’ I say.
‘Funny thing is, you never stop deciding. Never wanted to stay in this town, but
that’s the way it turned out. And I’ve found I’m glad of the fact.’ He takes another
sip. ‘Right now, you are what your Master decides, but one day…’ Certain looks into
his glass. ‘This is empty. A refill if you please.’
Like I have a choice in that!
‘You weren’t the only one here today. And I’m not talking about our evening caller,’
Dain says, an hour after he’s finished his drinking with Certain, not even noticing
the verandah, but you can bet he would have if I hadn’t tidied it.
‘Just me and Anne.’
Dain frowns. ‘You are not to consort with the child.’
He don’t like it, and neither does Mary, though she’s polite enough with me.
‘I don’t consort with no one, she helped with my chores.’
‘She should be at school, not with you. And I think her mother would agree.’
‘I don’t encourage it.’ I fold my arms. Dain raises an eyebrow.
‘Your mere presence encourages trouble. You’re a beacon for it, boy. Trouble sees
you as it comes down off Mount Pleasance and it gets a little jump in its step,’
Dain says, but not without some fondness today. He ruffles my hair, and my scalp
tingles with the cold touch of him.
He bends down to my height, and I can see the dark of his eyes, and the ring of fire
they contain, the only thing that separates the pupil from the outer dark—his kind
don’t have no whites of the eye. That ring’s burning bright.
‘She is not to come around here, by which I mean, you’re not to encourage it. As
in, you are to discourage it. Understood?’ He says it in a tone that has no room
for argument, which is his tone most times, so I don’t argue. Too tired for it, tonight.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to do what he says.
Sometimes you’ll hear the rumble of a distant machinery. Once I
him the wrong way he doesn’t show it. We don’t get many visitors, it’s usually Dain
that does the visiting.
Certain’s arms are long and ropey. His smile a thin slash that you’d be hard to see
as warmth. He is wide across the chest but he limps, favours his left leg more than
his right. You can see the scar a quarter inch above the knee if you look hard enough.
‘World tackles you, boy,’ he told me once when I stared too long. ‘Sometimes you
get up fine, sometimes you get up a little broke.’
I’ve had my share of breaks.
‘Here to see your Master,’ Certain says, standing at the door, and he’s dressed up
a little. Shirt and long pants, shoes that are too long gone for buffing to bring
out much good in them, but they’re cracked and comfortable.
‘Business or pleasure?’
‘Bit of both. Mainly for that whisky sour he’s got, I guess. You do have lemons,
don’t you? Sugar?’
I don’t understand whisky, tried it once and it made me sick. Give me a cider any
day. I pull a face.
‘You can come in, I guess.’
‘He out, is he?’
‘Not fer much longer.’
I pour him a glass of that rough stuff, squeeze in some lemon juice.
Certain raises his glass, peers at me through it. ‘Could do with some ice.’ So I’m
down to the cellar and the ice chest. Shaving bits off the shrinking brick down there.
Bring him back his glass.
Takes a good long sip. ‘That’s the stuff,’ he says. He leans back in his chair. ‘You
given much thought to your what-comes-afters?’
‘What do you think?’ I say.
‘I think time’s moving fast. My last years did. Faster than I’d ever thought they
could.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ I say.
‘Keep to that thought. Hold it, and you might just be. There’s coming a time when
you’ll make decisions, even if it don’t feel like you are. What kind of man you’ll
be. Or perhaps not a man.’
I snort. ‘No chance of that. ‘
Certain rattles the ice in his glass. ‘More peculiar things have happened. Man or
monster. There’s different types of both.’
‘I’ll decide,’ I say.
‘Funny thing is, you never stop deciding. Never wanted to stay in this town, but
that’s the way it turned out. And I’ve found I’m glad of the fact.’ He takes another
sip. ‘Right now, you are what your Master decides, but one day…’ Certain looks into
his glass. ‘This is empty. A refill if you please.’
Like I have a choice in that!
‘You weren’t the only one here today. And I’m not talking about our evening caller,’
Dain says, an hour after he’s finished his drinking with Certain, not even noticing
the verandah, but you can bet he would have if I hadn’t tidied it.
‘Just me and Anne.’
Dain frowns. ‘You are not to consort with the child.’
He don’t like it, and neither does Mary, though she’s polite enough with me.
‘I don’t consort with no one, she helped with my chores.’
‘She should be at school, not with you. And I think her mother would agree.’
‘I don’t encourage it.’ I fold my arms. Dain raises an eyebrow.
‘Your mere presence encourages trouble. You’re a beacon for it, boy. Trouble sees
you as it comes down off Mount Pleasance and it gets a little jump in its step,’
Dain says, but not without some fondness today. He ruffles my hair, and my scalp
tingles with the cold touch of him.
He bends down to my height, and I can see the dark of his eyes, and the ring of fire
they contain, the only thing that separates the pupil from the outer dark—his kind
don’t have no whites of the eye. That ring’s burning bright.
‘She is not to come around here, by which I mean, you’re not to encourage it. As
in, you are to discourage it. Understood?’ He says it in a tone that has no room
for argument, which is his tone most times, so I don’t argue. Too tired for it, tonight.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to do what he says.
Sometimes you’ll hear the rumble of a distant machinery. Once I
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