THE CINDER PATH by Yelena Kopylova Read Free Book Online Page B

spluttered,
    "God Almighty no! Maim him, break his leg,
    his arm, aye, that's all I meant, to stop him. You
    don't know what he was up to. But no, no!
    Almighty God! no, not kill him. No!
    Charlie. No." He was backing away now, the
    rope dangling from his hand, his words incoherent. "Just to stop him go in' to the cottage. Our Polly,
    she's too young For it, for him anyway."
    Of a sudden he stopped his jabbering and, his head
    dropping forward, he looked at the rope in his right
    hand. Then as if already experiencing the consequences of his act his left hand came up sharply and gripped his
    throat. It was this action that brought Charlie out of the dazed, dream-like feeling that was enveloping him. His father was dead, His father was dead. And Arthur would be hanged for it.
    The first fact stirred no emotion whatever in him
    at the moment, but the second alerted him. He stood
    up, then looked down at the
    twisted form for a moment longer before turning back
    to Arthur, whose face was now drained of every vestige of colour and whose whole body was shaking, and so, taking the rope from his* hand he ran with it to the other tree,
    unloosened the end from it, then quickly looping the rope over his hand and his elbow, as he had seen Fanny
    Dimple do with the clothes line over the years, he
    thrust it inside his coat. Grabbing the dazed boy
    now by the arm, he turned him about and ran him through the copse down towards the burn, then along it until
    they came to the cottages on the rise.
    Panting, they both stopped and their eyes lifted
    upwards towards the end of the row where big Polly and
    young Polly were standing facing each other
    evidently arguing. But as Charlie, still hanging on
    to Arthur, led him up the slope the mother and daughter turned towards them, and big Polly, moving a few
    steps away from her daughter, cried, "What's now?
    What's up?"
    When the two boys reached the pathway, big
    Polly's hands went out towards her son and, taking
    him by the shoulder, she looked into his face and her
    voice was low in her
    throat as she asked, "What is it? What's
    happened to you?"
    Arthur didn't speak but his head drooped onto
    his chest, and it was Charlie who said, "Let's . . .
    let's go in here." He pointed to the empty house,
    and one after the other they went into the dank room. It was noticeable that young Polly hadn't opened her mouth,
    but all the while her eyes were fixed tight on her
    brother.
    "There . . . there's been an accident."
    Charlie's mouth was so dry the words came out gritty
    as if they'd been dragged over sand.
    "An accident? Who?"
    Charlie looked at the woman who had caused his
    mother so much heartache all these years yet who had
    been as much a victim of his father as his wife
    had been. Everybody knew why big Polly had
    to serve the boss; as he had heard Arnold
    Dawson once laughingly say, "She paid the
    rent."
    "My father, he fell from his horse."
    "Fell from his horse!" Big Polly's mouth
    dropped into a gape, then closed as her son began
    to gabble, "I didn't mean it. Ma, I didn't
    mean it. I just meant to trip *irn. I... I
    thought the rope would catch him round . . . round his
    chest, but he came at a
    canter, his head down. I... I just wanted to break
    ... to break his leg or something to stop him takin'
    her." He now jerked his head towards young Polly.
    Then his mouth agape, he watched his mother gather the
    front of her blouse into her fist until her breasts
    looked as if they would burst through the material, and all the while her face seemed to grow larger; her
    mouth and eyes stretched, her nostrils dilated
    until it seemed as if the whole face was going
    to explode in a scream; then her body slumped like
    a deflated bladder and she whispered, "You mean . .
    . you killed him . . dishe's dead?" When in the
    fear-filled silence the only answer her son gave
    her was the drooping of his head she sprang on
    him and, gripping his shoulder, she shook him like a rat while she screamed now, "You