The Red Judge by Pauline Fisk Read Free Book Online Page A

it hurt his head. My mother was immaculate, and Pawl was a mess. She was sharp. He was slow. Her life was a matter of achievement, but his was a matter of simply being.
    He was confused, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t have told you which year it was, couldn’t recite the days of the week, and sometimes couldn’t even say what he’d done earlier in the day. How he’d got that way, I’d no idea. Perhaps he’d been born like that, or he’d had an accident orsome terrible medical condition like a blood clot on the brain.
    I hardly ever thought about it. Pawl was Pawl, and that’s all there was to it, as far as I was concerned. I was sorry that my mother never invited him to Pengwern, but I didn’t lose much sleep about it because I knew he’d never have fitted in.
    Once I remember my mother and Grace having a terse conversation about what would become of Pawl when Grace died. It wasn’t that he was unable to look after himself, Grace had said, because he’d made himself a life. And he’d have the money that she left for him, of course, after the house was sold. But what really bothered her was the thought of him being left with nobody to call his own.
    â€˜I’m talking about
family
,’ Grace had said, looking pointedly at my mother. ‘About a sense of
belonging
. I’m talking about giving Pawl
time
. That’s what he needs.’
    But, if this was a hint, my mother didn’t take it. ‘Pawl will be just fine,’ she said to us afterwards. ‘I mean, look at him. It’s not as if he’s lonely. He likes living on his own. Besides, he’s got the whole village for his family. Everybody looks out for him.’
    This was true. Everybody was Pawl’s friend, from Beryl Breadloaf at the shop to Old Pryce at the Black Lion Hotel. He cut the grass down at the school, and knew every child by name, turning up all year round for non-existent harvest festivals and Christmas carol services, always bringing gifts with him.
    Everybody loved Pawl, but nobody did as much as Grace, and now that she was gone he must be missing her dreadfully. Once not a day had passed withouthim calling in to help out with her gardening or do her odd jobs. In fact, I’d often wondered why he didn’t just move in.
    But even after Grace had gone, Pawl stayed where he was in his place down by the river, known to everybody as ‘the tin house’. He didn’t want to live in Prospect House, he said. He was happy with what he’d got. When it came to disposing of Grace’s possessions, all that he could be persuaded to take were his mother’s fishing rod, her high-backed red wicker sled and her dogs.
    It was those dogs that I was looking at now. Not the
C ŵ n y Wbir
after all, but not exactly ordinary dogs either! Harri and Mari were the two strangest-looking creatures you could ever wish to see, born of some nameless mix of mongrels that had been in the family for generations. They were huge – as big as calves, Grace always used to say – and they had the wildest, shaggiest grey-brown coats that you ever saw, and eyes that seemed to say things when you looked at them.
    I’d known them all my life, and now I climbed out from under the bed, feeling pretty stupid, put my arms around them and greeted them like my long-lost brother and sister. In return they lay their huge paws on my shoulders and almost knocked me flat while Pawl stood watching, a smile on his face. I pulled myself away from them, and greeted him as well.
    â€˜Good to see you,’ I said, beaming at him, weak with relief.
    He beamed back. ‘Good to see … you good to … have you here … again it’s like … the old days … don’t like change … I like things … better when they… stay the same.’
    This was a big speech for Pawl, who was a private man and didn’t give much away about his