I stared out the window of Genghis’s van, wondering how I had ended up kidnapped.
I had been in the house but 10 minutes ago. Then I had wellies shoved in my face and we were gone; to chop up two felled trees.
As we passed the field where they lay, I wondered why we didn’t stop but the mystery was solved as we pulled into Genghis’s yard.
“Take you the wee Massey up. Put the trailer on.”
I was startled. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“A bloody child could drive that thing. Keys are in her.” And he sped away.
I actually ran after him down the lane a little bit and dropped one of my wellies. It fell in a puddle, and as I watched the Berlingo’s tail lights disappear, I cursed that crass man whose joyless eyes were watching me in the mirror.
I felt like screaming and vowed to start Ju-Jitsu so I could face him down without fear. I would snap is arm in half. And then run.
In the shed I had to sit for a while to calm down. There was no point ringing Fionnuala – she would be in his camp, saying I need to give over moaning. It would only underline how wimpy I was compared to Genghis (real name Brian McCann, but known to all as Genghis, geddit?).
I felt lonesome there, surrounded by the foreboding tools, and it occurred to me that I didn’t really like the countryside.
It can be charming, sure, but there is a harshness permeating everything. It must come from the old days, I thought, looking at the spiky, dangerous farm implements. The tough, cold work, the famine, the plantation, the Troubles – all that stony hardness deep in the DNA.
I got up and went to the tractor. The keys were in the ignition all right, but the gearstick and controls made no sense.
It was old, and the engine bits were exposed with things I didn’t recognise: pipes, wires and containers; like a skeleton with a red hood.
I couldn’t find the tow-bar and the trailer had a strange hitch which bamboozled me. I sat in the seat and mustered the courage to start it but the tractor lurched and shrieked and I almost fell off.
I stood up and howled to the skies: “What the actual Christ!”
“Are you all right, Fabien? It was Mrs Davison, Genghis’s neighbour, a sweet old widow. “You sound like you’re in bother.”
“Ah, Mrs Davison. I’m supposed to take this cursed tractor and trailer up to Genghis but I don’t know how. Sorry for the noise.”
She smiled at me and the contrast between her and that sow Genghis got me blubbing a bit.
She scurried over and grabbed my hand and as she rubbed it (surprisingly roughly), she talked in a soothing voice.
“My Herbert had a wee Massey too and they are the neatest little thing. A child could drive it. Press the clutch there.” She pointed down at my left foot.
“Good, now put the gear in neutral – that’s it – and start the engine.”
I did and it started. She showed me the accelerator beside the steering wheel, and the brakes, and said you just put it in a gear and go.
I was soon tootling round the yard like a proper farmer, and, after Mrs Davison helped me hook on the trailer, I was away up the road, my backside in the steel seat and the wind in my flimpy hair.
I drove it elegantly through the gate and did an arc to land perfectly beside Genghis and we started filling the trailer with blocks.
“Stack them neatly in the shed and then come back.”
He pulled down his visor and ripped the chainsaw back to life and as I carefully manoeuvred on to the road, I looked back.
But Genghis was stooped at the tree, smoothly making it disappear, oblivious to my happiness. I couldn’t find the tow-bar and the trailer had a strange hitch which bamboozled me. I sat in the seat and mustered the courage to start it but the tractor lurched and shrieked and I almost fell off.
I stood up like a Shakespeare king and howled to the skies. “What the actual Christ!”
“Are you all right, Fabien?” It was Mrs Davison, Genghis’s neighbour, a sweet old widow. “You sound like you’re in bother.”
“Ah, Mrs Davison. I’m supposed to take this tractor and trailer up to Genghis – we’re chopping up the storm trees – but I don’t know how. It’s all too much.”
She smiled at me and the contrast between her and that sow Genghis started me blubbing a bit. She scurried over and grabbed my hand and as she rubbed it (surprisingly roughly), she talked in a soothing voice.
“My Herbert had a wee Massey too and they are the neatest little thing. A child could drive it. Press the clutch there.” She pointed down at my left foot.
“Good, now put the gear in neutral – good – and start the engine.”
I did and it started. She showed me the accelerator beside the steering wheel, and the brakes, and said you just put it a gear and go.
I was soon tootling round the yard like a proper farmer, and after Mrs Davison helped me hook on the trailer, I was away up the road, my backside in the steel seat and the wind in my flimpy hair.
I drove it elegantly through the gate and did an arc to land perfectly beside Genghis and we started filling the trailer with blocks.
“Stack them neatly in the shed and then come back.”
He pulled down his visor and ripped the chainsaw alive and as I carefully manoeuvred on to the road, I looked back.
But Genghis was stooped at the tree, smoothly making it disappear, oblivious to my happiness.