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NOTES:

OPEN SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED

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This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"Eastward, in Eden"

by Clare Girvan - Exeter, Devon, UK

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Clare Girvan: Author Bio still to come.

COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:

1. I rather liked this take on the story - and the voice of the older Eve. Enjoyed the suggestion that Eve's desire for the forbidden fruit was a pregnancy craving!

2. A contemporised allegory that works well, cleverly done. I liked the characterisation of the narrator's voice. Ending trailed off a bit.

THE STORY:

Well, this is a red letter day and no mistake.

      I’m that pleased and excited I hardly know where to put myself.  Grandchildren at last, after all this time.  Dad was a bit funny at first when I told him, but that’s to be expected.  I can tell he’s tickled to death really.  I says, ‘Fancy if it’s twins, like our two,’ but that was the wrong thing and put him in a bad mood for the rest of the morning.  You have to make allowances for him.  He hasn’t had it easy since we left His Lordship’s place, well, neither of us have really, but I think women can cope better than men when it gets a bit tough.  

      Ever so cheerful he used to be in the old days.  We both was, always up to something, having a bit of a lark, sort of thing, not a care in the world.  We was just kids, really.  Didn’t know when we was well off.

      Course, it was a doddle, working at His Lordship’s.  That was before the boys was born.  Not that I think about it all that much - what’s done is done, I say -  but sometimes I do get to remembering, with it being so quiet here and not much to do of an evening.

      You should have seen it.  Lovely place and pretty as a picture.  A garden, His Nibs called it, but it was more like a jungle to my mind - he was very keen on what he called the Natural Look, a bit wild and that.  I like a nice bit of lawn myself, and beds for your flowers and veg, but he was the boss.  And he did have quite an eye, for all everything was packed in higgledy-piggledy.

      He was a bit ahead of his time probably, went in for this conservation before anyone else had thought of it.  He kept all these animals, tigers and wolves and cockatrices and things, only running wild not in proper cages.  I told him straight.  I says, ‘Look sir, I’m not too happy about them.  I mean they’re wild animals, aren’t they?  Supposing they have a go at us?’

     But he only laughs and says we didn’t have to worry about that.  As long as they was well taken care of they’d be perfectly all right.  Dad was nudging me to be quiet but I stood my ground.

      ‘That’s all very well sir,’ I says, ‘but what if we have a family?  I can’t have wild animals coming round my kiddies.  You never know what they might take it into their heads to do.’

      But he just laughs again and says something about little children being able to lead them, they was so gentle.  I had my doubts, but in the end he was right.  We had them eating out of our hands as good as gold.  You’ll never believe it, but I was walking out there one day and there was this lion stretched out sunning himself, and do you know what, in between his paws there was this tiny little lamb.  I thought at first it must be dead, but it was just curled up there fast asleep, ever so sweet.  Straight up.  I called Dad to come and have a look.  

      Dad turned out to have a real gift with animals.  He used to spend hours talking to them and stroking them, even gave them all names and reckoned he could tell which was which.  He had this pet snake, used to carry it round his neck all day.  Called it Lilith, soppy old thing.  She was nice enough, very affectionate, but I’m not that keen on snakes to tell the truth.  I don’t mind things with a lot of legs, even if they do scuttle, but no legs at all isn’t natural.  

      We was taken on as sort of caretakers rather than gardeners, but His Nibs let us have a completely free hand.  Talk about grow, it was Heaven on earth - flowers, fruit, veg, you name it, real championship stuff.  You just had to go out and dig it up or pick it.  I used to put flowers in my hair in them days cause Dad said they suited me.

      We didn’t see a lot of His Nibs as a rule.  We’d have our orders and he’d just let us get on with it.  We got our board and lodging in return for lending a hand with the animals, which suited us down to the ground of course.    

      I suppose it was His Nibs being so open-handed with us as lost us the job in the end.  It was all a mistake really, and partly my fault, but he was a bit of a funny old boy and we must have caught him on a bad day.

      ‘Whatever you want, you have,’ he used to say, so of course we did.  We never took much, being just the two of us, and there was always plenty more.  But there was this one day he told us not to pick any of his Specials out of the hothouse.  Well, in the ordinary way of course I wouldn’t have, but it went right out of my head and when I went in to see what to get Dad for his tea, there were these beautiful things growing on one of the trees, all shiny and ripe, I’d never seen the like.  So I just picked a couple and never give it a second thought.

      When Dad come in he says, ‘Now you’ve done it, girl.  He said we wasn’t to touch them.’

      ‘Well,’ I says, ‘it’s too late now.  I can’t put them back so we might as well have them.’

      So we did.  They was beautiful I will say.  Some kind of foreign things and full of juice.  And I don’t say as we wouldn’t have helped ourselves to them again neither, but we never got the chance because the next day the balloon went right up.

      He was never the sort you could hide anything from, and when he cottoned on, my word, didn’t he create.  Fired us on the spot just like that and no argument.  We lost everything because of course the house was tied, and there we was with nothing.  Dad was livid.

      ‘This is all your fault,’ he shouts at me. ‘You knew we shouldn’t have had them things. That’s you all over.  Can’t leave well alone.’

      ‘I like that,’ I shouts back. ‘I didn’t notice you turning them down.’

      ‘You shouldn’t have had them in the first place,’ he says.  

      ‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ I says. ‘I just forgot.’

      We was arguing up and down for hours, him shouting, me crying, and the rain pouring down till we was soaked to the skin and too worn out for any more.  It was all the worse because we’d never had a cross word in all our married life till then.

      Then he says, ‘Well, this won’t buy the baby a new bonnet.  Come on, girl.  Let’s get on  with it.’  And he puts his arm round me and off we goes to try and find somewhere to live.

      His Lordship closed the place down shortly afterwards; couldn’t get anyone else.  I went back once to have a look at it and it was all locked up, security guards and dogs, a notice on the gate, weeds everywhere, ever such a shame.  I heard he sold the animals to a boat builder somewhere out west.

      It’s been hard starting this farm from scratch, especially after what we was used to.  It’s poor soil, mostly flint, and you can’t get stuff to grow properly.  And then the boys come along and of course I didn’t have so much time to work outside and he had to do most of it himself till they was old enough, out in all weathers.  It ruined his health and he could be very mardy sometimes.

      The boys did what they could, of course, our eldest with his gardening and our youngest with his sheep, but the best you could say was that we managed.  Our eldest had it very hard.  

He wasn’t suited to the gardening.  Building, now, he could do anything in that line.  He made himself this lovely little stone hut once at the end of the garden for keeping his things in, with a roof on top, ever so clever.  He was really pleased with it, but his dad just said it was a waste of time and when was he going to get the wheat in.

      ‘Go on,’ I says, ‘it’s lovely.  Give him a bit of credit.’

      But Dad wouldn’t have it.  Truth be told it was always his brother as was the favourite with him and no good saying it wasn’t.  He never meant to be nasty but he was disappointed, you see, with the work being so hard and not always being up to it himself.  You’ve got to eat, and there was the farm to manage so our boy didn’t have much choice.

      He did try, really he did, but what with the soil being all stones and his brother needing so much of the land for his sheep he used to get very discouraged.  It broke my heart to see him.  Year after year he’d be sweating away out there, digging and planting, carrying water, carting away rocks, and swearing fit to bust every time the crop failed.  He had his Dad’s temper all right; the slightest thing and he’d be flying off the handle and throwing stones about.

      ‘You want to be careful,’ I says to him. ‘You’ll hurt somebody one of these days.’  

      But would he listen.  Not that I blame him really.  I could have cried at the look on his face every time he come in with a basket of stuff all wizened up and hardly worth the trouble of cooking.  He used to get on Dad’s nerves I know, never bringing anything decent in, until it got so that he wouldn’t hardly have a good word to say about him.  I have to admit if it hadn’t been for his brother’s sheep I don’t know how we’d have managed.

      I’ll never forget the day the accident happened.  I was putting the washing out, and our boy was out in the field, going off the deep end as usual, and then his brother went by with the sheep and I didn’t see exactly what happened next, but suddenly our boy was shouting for me to come quickly and there was his brother on the ground, blood everywhere, and the sheep running about all over the place.

      ‘What happened?’ I says, but he only mutters something about it not being his fault and his brother should have been looking out for himself.  We got him indoors but it was too late.

      I think Dad felt bad after about hitting our boy so hard - it’s a wonder he didn’t kill him.  It took hours before the bleeding stopped, you know how head wounds bleed.  I bandaged him up but he’s going to have a scar on his forehead for the rest of his life.  Then Dad told him to pack his bags and clear off, wouldn’t let me see him again or write.  I did though.  

      ‘You let me know where you are,’ I says to him and he always sends me a letter when Jacob’s coming down with his donkeys.  

     It’s been very hard for us, still stuck out here.  Dad’s had to look after the sheep by himself and I haven’t been much better at growing stuff than our boy was.  The sooner we can sell up and move, the better, if we can find anyone to buy the place.

      But this is where the good news comes in.  Our boy and his wife want us to go and live with them.  Just fancy.  I wouldn’t mind a bit of city life for a change.  I gather that his building firm has done really well since he got married.  His wife’s quite a business woman, apparently, used to work for him, a real godsend, manages the books and everything.  He never had much of a head for figures, but he could do anything with his hands, even from a nipper, though of course there was never the scope for it here.  They’ve got their own architect-designed house and something called a granny flat for me and Dad.  We shan’t know we’re born.

      He’s really come up in the world.  He had a bad start, on the streets and getting mugged, they call it, three times in his first year there, but he got himself a job as a builder, and after that there was no stopping him.  He’s in what he calls urban renewal, homes for people, that kind of thing - and he’s on the city council and everything, practically runs the place.  When you think he started off with nothing - I reckon he must have a charmed life.

      And I’ve got another little surprise for Dad.  It’s not just a granddad he’s going to be.  Well, we’re not old timers yet and it was always on the cards.  You know, I haven’t thought about them for years but since I’ve been that way, I’ve had a real fancy for one of them things out of His Lordship’s hothouse.  But there, I’ve never seen them again and I don’t know what they were and I don’t suppose I ever shall.

      I’ve just thought - our grandchild is going to have an uncle or auntie the same age as he is, that’ll be a laugh.  And we might all have twins to put the top on it.  They run in families.  You have to smile don’t you, the way things turn out.

      Goes to show, you never know what’s round the corner.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Clare Girvan - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!

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