Tomato Cain and Other Stories Read online

  It’s terrible to be different.

  But your auntie’s here. She understands. And there's a high wall, and nothing to be afraid of, if they don’t see inside.

  And when you make that singing, or sit watching the clouds and wondering, or tremble at the thunder, there’s only auntie to know that you're doing what no one else does. Isn’t there? And auntie’s your friend who understands.

  My Judith is brave, and she won’t cry any more now, will she? Just one last look in the mirror at that strange little face, so that she’ll know finally what her auntie meant.

  Oh, my poor girl! Can’t she bear to look? Can’t she, then?

  Don’t hide in the bedclothes, dear. You’re never strange to me, you know.

  Take the mirror away? Wait, Judith.

  I’ve something for you. I knew what a horrible shock it would be, and I got what may help my little girl to bear it.

  There. Right in her little hand. Do you know what it is, clear? A bottle of stain - quite harmless brown stain. It smells rather sweet.

  If she wants, she can add a little to her washing water. To darken those hands and those pink and white cheeks. And when she looks in the mirror, she won’t seem so different after all. She can pretend to be like me, can’t she?

  And after that we must simply be patient and auntie loving, because we haven’t so very long in this world, have we? And if we're not ordinary...

  Now, if the little girl stops crying and lies quietly and still, she shall have a plate of bread and butter cut just as she likes it. And some little secret treat. Her auntie will sit with her in this beautiful cosy room, and we shall have a game of Ludo.

  For I understand. And she's my very own. For always. Poor little Judy.

  END

  Chapter 8

  God and Daphne

  Daphne was four and had a white frock. Aunt Susan and Aunt Janet were very old indeed, and dressed in black.

  Aunt Susan had eyes that let tiny tears roll down from the corners all day.

  Aunt Janet had one brown tooth, and white ones that wobbled when she chewed.

  When Daphne was four years and six hours old - so Aunt Susan said - it was breakfast-time and there were birthday presents on the table: a little green purse to keep pennies in, from Aunt Janet; a new blue jumper that Aunt Susan had made; and some money from Uncle James, who lived a long way off. Aunt Janet put the money away so that should it not be wasted.

  Daphne kissed Aunt Susan on the cheek, and there was a salty taste from the little tear that shone there.

  She kissed Aunt Janet also, but not on the cheek, for that had a mole with black hairs hanging from it.

  She wrote a letter to Uncle James to thank him. Daphne held the pen with the long sharp nib while Aunt Susan made it form the marks. “We should write our thanks before we have time to forget,” said Aunt Janet.

  When Daphne had eaten the porridge that was her breakfast, Aunt Susan gave her a dish with stewed apple rings in it. “Eat them up, dear,” she said. “They are good for you.”

  Daphne ate one slowly, pulling it into stretchy pieces. Apple rings were tough and old-smelling, like the dusty things in the lumber room.

  When Aunt Susan and Aunt Janet went out of the room with the used dishes, Daphne took the apple rings that were left, some in each hand, and dropped them out of the window. They fell on to the path outside with a tiny noise. She saw a striped cat smell them and walk on.

  When the aunts had washed all the plates, they came back into the room, where Daphne was playing with the green purse.

  “Don’t spoil it, “ said Aunt Janet, and they sat in their chairs by the fire.

  “Just think,” said Aunt Susan, “Daphne’s four whole years old!” She smiled and a small tear ran down her face.

  Aunt Janet went out of the room and came back with the big shiny book that the aunts sometimes looked at late on Sundays. “Daphne is old enough to know about the Bible, Susan,” she said.

  She opened the book on her knee. It had no pictures, and the pages were covered with tiny words. “This is the Bible, Daphne,” said Aunt Janet. “It tells all about God and is the most important book in the world.”

  “Did God write it all?” asked Daphne.

  “Not exactly, dear,” said Aunt Susan, “But it tells what He did.”

  “He made the earth, and the sun, and the moon, and the stars,” said Aunt Janet.

  “He must he very big,” said Daphne.

  “Very big,” said Aunt Janet.

  “God is very good and kind,” said Aunt Susan. “When people die —”

  “Like Mrs Stebbings’ puppy?” asked Daphne.

  Aunt Janet nodded, “Like the puppy. But people go to Heaven, and puppies don’t.”

  “Where is Heaven?” asked Daphne.

  “No one exactly knows, dear,” Aunt Susan said, “But God is there, and it is very beautiful.”

  “Though God does not like bad people who do wicked deeds. They do not go to Heaven,” said Aunt Janet.

  “Wicked deeds?” said Daphne.

  “Like making dirt, and worrying people, and wasting good things,” Aunt Janet told her.

  Daphne remembered the apple rings lying outside on the path.

  “How does God talk to people, Aunt Janet?”

  “Sometimes He sends an angel with wings to talk to them. And sometimes He makes a sign.”

  “Like a bush on fire without any matches, dear,” said Aunt Susan.

  Aunt Janet read a little from the Bible, which had a word called “begat” in it. Then she closed it.

  Daphne went into the garden and looked at the apple rings. They had soil on them and could not be eaten. She dug a small hole with her fingers and gently buried them.

  It was very wicked. She walked away down the path. Tears ran out of her eyes; Aunt Susan and Aunt Janet were going to Heaven and she was not.

  She knelt by a flower-bed and when she had moved a stone from under her knee, she put her hands together like saying prayers and said, “I am sorry about the apple rings, God.”

  Nothing happened, and Daphne cried again.

  “Please say I’m not wicked,” said Daphne. “Please, God, make a sign.”

  There was the noise of a big drop of water on the path beside her, and a tiny bead splashed her leg.

  Daphne looked up into the sky that the drop of rain had fallen from. It was bright blue, and hot, and nowhere was there the smallest scrap of cloud. Her aunts had told her that rain came from clouds, but except for one of God’s birds flying ever so high above, the sky was quite empty and clear.

  It was a sign.

  Only a little sign, but there had only been a few apple rings.

  “Thank you, God,” said Daphne, politely and full of gladness. She watched God’s bird fly slowly with white wings that shone in the sunlight.

  END

  Chapter 9

  Jeremy in the Wind

  Yes, it was windy when I first met him, Mister. He was standing in the middle of a field, waving his arms at the big black birds who steal the little seeds men put in the ground. My word, he could swing his arms about!

  So I climbed over the wall and went up - keeping low, because you're not supposed to go into men's fields, are you?

  When I reached him, I saw how thin he was. You could almost see the wind blowing through him - you could really! He had a long black coat down to the ground, and a brown hat and black gloves with little holes in at the ends.

  But I liked his face. I said, “I do like your face, Jeremy.“ You see I knew his name was Jeremy. It was a sort of special face, pretty big, and greeny - coloured, with black eyes you could see right inside. And a big smiling mouth; but I think his lips were sore: they were split and flaky-looking.

  I had to shout because it was so windy. "Will you come for a walk with me, Jeremy?“ I shouted it right up close to him and then - you’ll never guess what happened. Three little yellow mice came out of Jeremy's mouth and ran down his coat to the ground.
I like those sort of mice.

  When they had run right away, I took Jeremy's arm. Poor old Jeremy! He could hardly move because his feet - his foot, it was really, because he only had one - it was buried deep in the earth. So I got it out for him and then he was taller than I am - I had to look right up at him, like you look up at your daddy when you're a little boy. As the wind blew, Jeremy waved his arms about and shook his head. I don't think he wanted the wind to blow that way.

  Then I heard him talk for the first time. He's got a sort of dry rattly voice, and you have to listen very hard to tell what he's saying.

  Jeremy said, "Let's go now. Go." So I put my arm round him and we went along down the field, with his foot dragging in the soil because it was so stiff. I don't think it's very exciting just to stand in a field like he was, do you?

  We travelled on the road together for a while: Jeremy was leaning on me and it was pretty steep, so at last we stopped. Jeremy rested against the hedge while I had a drink out of a stream: the water was cold because it was so windy.

  A man came along on a horse-cart full of cabbages, and presently he stopped and looked at us.

  "What have you got there?" said the man. "Jolly old pals, eh?” And he started to laugh till his eyes shut.

  Then there was another huge gust of wind, and Jeremy's coat billowed out and he wagged his hand towards the man on the cart, and made a noise in his throat.

  "He's bad," said Jeremy: and his head nodded at me. I knew the man had upset him.

  So I left Jeremy against the hedge and ran at the man. He stopped laughing then and swished at me with his whip - there's the mark just by where my hair begins, see? - but I pulled him down into the road and knocked him, over and over again, until he stopped moving.

  The horse was frightened, I think, because he ran away, and cabbages were falling out of the cart all over the road. And when I walked away with Jeremy, I saw something dark sort of spreading round the man.

  But Jeremy - he just chuckled.

  As we went along, he talked to me - funny sort of voice he's got - until a pebble fell out of his mouth.

  Then he stopped, and didn't say anything at all. So I thought, perhaps, the pebble helped him, and when I saw a nice shiny yellow one by the roadside, I popped it into his mouth like a sweet. At the top of the next hill he started to talk again, and when gusts of wind came, he swung his arms.

  I think we must have walked a long way after that, and my feet were sore. It was about sunset, too, when we came to a village; not very far from here, I think.

  There was a kind of shop where they sold tea, and we went in.

  "We'll have food now," I said to Jeremy. But he said nothing and he didn't move, because everything was still in the shop. Funny, isn't it? He's so quiet when the wind doesn’t blow.

  In a bit a woman came out. When she saw Jeremy she said, “Take that thing out of here!" But he didn't do anything.

  She looked at me again and then back at Jeremy and gave a little scream. "Oh!" she said - her voice came out squeaky - “it's you! That poor carter! - you - you - “ She ran out into the room behind the shop, and there was a noise of bells ringing.

  I said, "Well get some tea all right, Jeremy," and patted him on the back: little pieces of straw fell out of his hand. I was hungry and cold and I said loudly, "We want some tea!” But nobody answered.

  After a minute - yes, it was only a minute - I heard more feet coming outside, and the door opened.

  I don't like policemen, do you? Well, it was one of them, and he looked at me and Jeremy, and licked his lips quickly and said, "You'd better come with me, I think."

  You can't guess what happened then.

  Jeremy fell on the policeman! They tumbled to the ground, and I saw Jeremy's hat and the policeman's helmet roll under a table. The policeman grabbed at Jeremy's greeny-yellow head, but I knocked him and pulled Jeremy away.

  I think I knocked that policeman pretty hard, too.

  I got my arm round Jeremy and we ran out of the shop as fast as anything. I could hear the old policeman groaning behind, and the woman shouting.

  So now I'm here, mister.

  I like your house. It's nice to sit by a warm fire and see good things about you. I'd like to stay here always.

  Why don't you look at that window over there? That's right.

  Oh, you don't need to jump like that: it's only Jeremy. He's standing just where I left him.

  Don't you think he's got a pretty nice face? But he must be cold out there, and he hasn't

  got any hat either, poor old Jeremy.

  Now I'm going to give you a surprise.

  Jeremy and me are going to live here: in this house: always.

  No, don't jump about and try to pick that thing up. I know what it is. A telephone.

  And you mustn't run away! I'll just have to knock you. Hard.

  And then I - me and Jeremy’ll be in this house always. And sometimes we'll sit in the garden and he can talk to me.

  On windy days.

  END

  Chapter 10

  The Excursion

  Mr Clucas kept a defiant eye on the greyness above as he rubbed the mildew off the leather seats in the pony trap, hoping rain would not send him to chapel after all. He worked with the polishing cloth until the faded leather had lost its dullness. The morning air was cold, and exercise warmed him.

  From his kitchen he brought scones and egg sandwiches, and locked all the doors. Overhead it was beginning to turn blue: the cloudiness must be sea mist that the sun was drying.

  He harnessed Robert and made the old pony comfortable between the shafts. The whip went smartly into its socket. “Hup!” said Mr Clucas. He shooed his two cats as he was carried past.

  The air was still. Through the earthy thumping of Robert’s hoofs, he could hear a lark somewhere above the mist. “Fine day, Rob!” he said. It felt almost an adventure go to town after so long. Talk on the way should be pleasant too; he tried to think up subjects: the prospects for the hay crop, the coming diamond jubilee - there would be plenty to say.

  Near the bend where Callister the smith’s cottage was, he smoothed his whiskers and pulled the pony’s head up smartly.

  Young Callister was waiting in his Sunday suit by the little painted gate, face shining. “Hallo, Mr Clucas,” he said. “Oh, don’t get down at all - Nellie won’t be a minute. She’s gettin’ a shawl. It’s chillier than we thought.”

  Mr. Clucas dropped his voice, looking at the door. “She - she’ll be all right, we’re sure? The bumpin’ won’t - trouble her?”

  Young Callister smiled at the pony’s nose.

  “There’s months to go yet, Mr Clucas. And she’s eager for this trip: it'll do her good. Nellie!” he called. “Mr Clucas is here. Quick - we’re off!”

  Clucas’s sixty-two years always hung more lightly when he saw Nellie. She came now in a bright new bonnet with silk inside it, and over her dress a heavy embroidered shawl she had made. She was younger than her husband, but altogether bigger-framed.

  Her soft face was flushed. “All right?” Callister said.

  Darker still went her cheeks, with Mr Clucas watching. “Get out with ye! Of course I am.” She grasped the side of the trap. “Here - give us a hand up!” The trap’s owner stretched out his arm. “Oh! Mr Clucas, I didn’t mean you!” she giggled. “It’s this Jemmy - he drives a person to rudeness with his fussin’. How are ye, Mr Clucas?”

  Her husband grinned, pleased. “She needs fussin’. She’d be snorin’ yet!” And, as she exclaimed a pretence of anger to Mr Clucas, “Look at this! She’s forgotten the cakes like I told her she would!” He ran into the house.

  Nellie laughed up to Clucas. “He’s at me all the time, teasin’. I haven’t had a minute’s peace with him. Aw, Mr Clucas, what can I do?”

  He felt quite fatherly as he started Robert with the young people behind him.

  “I was thinkin’,” he said. “It’ll be quite an adventure for me. D’ye know, I haven’t been
into Peel since I don’t know when. Not since Christmas.”

  “Us too,” said Callister, an arm round his wife. “I believe the last time we were down was for this one to stock her bottom drawer.”

  She half-whispered, “No, it wasn’t! ”

  He thought. “No - there was one day on the honeymoon we went there. Oh, she shocked the natives that time! Wait while I tell Mr Clucas - hi! hey!”

  He was pretending to bite the hand she held over his mouth when they came on Mrs Kaighin, with her children, Grace and Edward John.

  “Hallo there, Mrs Kaighin!”

  The big-bosomed woman was excited under her shiny hat.

  “Hallo ! Hallo, Nellie. Oh, Mr Clucas - Mr Clucas, I hope it’s not goin’ to be a terrible bother to ye - oh, dear!” Something was on the widow’s mind.

  “Not a bit, now!” Clucas waved down at the children. “We didn’t expect to meet you an’ the little fellers here on the road. I’d have come by your place. Here, let me help!”

  Mrs Kaighin had not finished. “Grace, put your foot up on the step. No, Mr Clucas - it’s the ould Miss Barlows. Th’ English ones. Could ye push them in somewheres, d’ye think?” At their surprise, she finished desperately, “I was talkin’ to thim last night, poor craythurs, they can’t think where to put thimselves. An’ when I said we was goin’ to Peel, they ast if they could come too, an’ I went an’ said it would be all right. Oh, did I do wrong, Mr Clucas?”

  She cuffed Edward John’s hand from his nose and she took her seat.

  Mr Clucas looked at Robert’s grey ears.

  “Ye're givin’ him a proper load, Mrs. Kaighin,” said Callister.

  Words sprang out of the widow. “If it’s too much for the beast, me an’ the childher can stay behind, Mr Clucas! Can’t we, Grace?” Full of self-sacrifice now, she shook the child’s hand. Grace sniffed.

  “That’s what we'll do, Mr. Clucas! An’ then the ould ladies can go. They’re terrible wantin’ to look at the shops.”

  “But it’s Sunday,” said Nellie.

  The widow was firm. “They can peep in the ones that hasn’t got blinds. Yes. Well then, come on, Grace! Edward John! Mr Callister, will ye help get thim out?”