The Standing Water (46 page)

‘So let
that
be a lesson to you, Jonathon Browning! Yes, let it be a lesson to you all! I
don’t know what’s going wrong with our society! I used to think Emberfield was
shielded from the immorality and decay going on elsewhere in our nation!’

I didn’t understand
all Weirton’s words, but the teacher just swiped his hankie across his face and
continued.

‘But even here we see
wickedness creeping in! Boys insulting their elders! Boys tricking each other
into dropping bricks on their heads and pushing one another off bridges! People
stealing from a church! A church, by God! Look at it out there!’

The arm thrust the
pointing finger at the window, out of which the rain still slammed.

‘Just look at it! It
wouldn’t surprise me if the Lord had had enough and was drowning this sinful
place, just like in the Bible!’

Perkins, who’d been
nodding at Weirton’s speech, now scrunched her lips into a frown. Perhaps she
also didn’t understand all his long words.

‘By God, I wouldn’t
blame the Lord if He did that! But, whatever punishments God might inflict,
know that this hand’ – Weirton held up his palm – ‘will also penalise any
wrongdoing! The Lord’s justice might work slowly and via crooked paths, but I
can tell you mine is much speedier! If I hear of any of you – any of you! –
cheeking your elders, the punishments I have just given out will seem like a
walk in the park! I hope you all understand.’

With that, Weirton
turned on his heel and strode from our room. Outside the rain hammered even
harder.

We were kept in for
the rest of the day through both breaks and lunchtime. As the rain pounded and
burbled, I thought about what the teacher had said. Like us, he seemed in
little doubt the downpours and floods were a punishment from God. Though
Weirton hadn’t mentioned his own sins, he’d given a good summary of ours. And
he’d really raged about the theft of the gauntlet. Maybe that was the main reason
God was flinging His anger down! Now I thought about it, I’d have been annoyed if
someone had walked into my house and taken something, and my house wasn’t even
holy! And what if we couldn’t finish our ark in time and we died, struggling
along with our neighbours in filthy water as the rain lashed us? As my heart
knocked, I hoped, prayed it wouldn’t be too late to appease God’s fury.

I couldn’t really
talk to Jonathon till school ended. As usual, the teachers marched us through
Marcus’s shallows then left us to wander home. I feared we might have to put up
with some jibes, some shoves, slaps and punches from our classmates in celebration
of Weirton’s display, but nothing much came. Even Stubbs only gave us some
half-hearted taunting. When Stubbsy had tramped off down the increasingly
narrow strip of pavement that stood above the water, I turned to my friend.

‘So, the gauntlet
didn’t work.’

‘Yeah –’ Jonathon
shrugged ‘– not that it matters much anyway, not if all this is gonna be
drowned. Better get back to yours and crack on with our ark.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but
there is something else we could try.’

‘What?’

‘Since that glove’s
no use, since it’s not magic after all, we might as well put it back.’

‘Why?’

‘You heard what
Weirton said about God drowning us because He’s angry! Maybe if we promise
we’ll put the gauntlet back, He’ll change his mind and not drown Emberfield!’

‘Could be worth a
try,’ said Jonathon. ‘Though we shouldn’t stop making our ark till we’re sure
the rain’s really finished.’

Before we started
banging, sawing, hammering, we got down on our knees. Through my jeans I felt
the floor’s cold damp. We had to kneel at the back of the garage, near where
we’d hidden our ark, because of the little waves lapping under the door. Though
we hoped our prayer might soften God’s fury, He wasn’t showing any sign of
relenting yet. The rain still battered its rage-filled rhythm. I spoke the
words.

‘Dear Lord, we’re
so sorry for stealing the gauntlet from Your house. We only did it to protect
the kids from Weirton, but we know now it was wrong and we promise we’ll put it
back as soon as we can. And we’re sorry for all our other sins. Please don’t
drown Emberfield – well, apart from maybe Weirton, Dennis Stubbs and Richard
Johnson if that’s Your will. Amen.’

‘Amen.’ Jonathon
murmured.

The rain still
crashed. If anything, it got stronger. Maybe the Lord’s wrath couldn’t be
placated.

We worked until
Jonathon had to go home for tea. The ship was really taking shape – a couple
more days and we might have it seaworthy, if the Lord gave us that long. As my
family sat eating around our kitchen table, my mind mumbled more prayers,
begging God to stop the downpour, reassuring Him we’d put the glove back. But
still He flung down His waters.

‘I really hope those
sandbags hold,’ Dad said ominously.

‘Yes,’ said Mum, ‘if
this rain doesn’t stop, we could have half the house flooded!’

It would be far
worse than that. I’d read my Bible – soon all our houses could be under miles
of standing water. I prayed to God once more – apologising for our theft, all
our other sins. I said sorry on Jonathon’s behalf for him trying to murder his
brother, urged the Lord not to hold back with His righteous punishment for
that
.
I just begged Him not to drown us all. It did occur to me that Jonathon attempting
to bump off his sibling was quite a small offence compared to the Lord’s desire
to drown everyone, but I pushed this thought from my mind and went on with my
silent pleading.

That night I lay
listening to the water pounding and burbling. For some moments, it thudded
especially hard, smashing the roof so strongly I was sure the tiles would break
and the rain would gush through and drown me right there in my bed. Then the
downpour – ceased. It took my ears some time to get used to the silence. The absence
of noise seemed bizarre – a weird void after days of gurgling water and pelting
rain. I didn’t let my hopes grow too much. There’d been times in the last week
when the deluge had stopped for maybe thirty minutes or an hour. But as I lay
there, so tense I couldn’t sleep, there was no sign of the rain starting again.
There was a strange peace to that pause – not simply a sense that God’s mighty
forces were re-gathering, just resting before they unleashed more rain. It was
a peace that stretched far into the night’s blackness. I thanked God, prayed this
really was the end of His deluge. A deep feeling told me it was – I had few
doubts about the greatness of God’s mercy. I pictured the spreading land
outside: the miles of flat fields with their dark lakes, Marcus’s engorged pond
– its growth halted before it could swamp the sinful pub or Weirton’s seat of
wickedness in the school. I thought of the quiet pools and marshes on the way
to Salton, all the soaked sleepers in the earth – the Scots, the corpses and
skeletons in the churchyard. And not one more drop came from above. A little
later, I heard beats and patters, but these weren’t caused by rain. The rolls
and rattles of the Drummer Boy were drifting across the land. As his rhythms
swelled, as they filled the night, I again thanked God, thanked Him the Drummer
hadn’t drowned in his tunnel. Of course, I wasn’t sure if spooks
could
drown, having no bodies, but still I praised the Lord for saving my ghostly
friend. The Drummer went on with his clunks and clatters. They spoke of hope –
hope that the downpour had really ended, hope in our battle to withstand
Weirton, which I supposed – if Emberfield wasn’t to be drowned – must now go
on. As those rhythms faded, I surrendered to sleep.

Walking to school
the next day, I saw the most wondrous sight. Just like in the Bible, God had
given us a rainbow. I tried to count all the seven colours legend said it
should contain, but in their brilliance they merged with one another. That
glorious half-halo straddled Emberfield, and I knew it was a sign of God’s
peace. There it was, above shivering sheep and drenched dunghills, above the
lakes in the fields, above the two streams that still ran – though less
quickly, less swollen – down our main street. I looked out for the other bits
of the Bible story – for the raven Noah had set loose, that dark wilful bird
that had never returned to its master, for the obedient dove that had come back
bearing its branch of peace. I can’t say I saw either of them, but there were
plenty of birds wheeling in the sky so I supposed those two fliers – one black,
one white – could have been among them. In assembly, Weirton too celebrated the
rainbow.

‘Look, children!’ He
flung his finger at the window, at that amazing sight shimmering beyond the glass.
‘Look at God’s great sign of forgiveness! The floods are going down and the
rainbow has appeared. Let us hope and pray it is just like in the Bible – that
the rainbow is a symbol of God’s great mercy and peace, a promise He will not
drown our sinful world!’

As Perkins and
Leigh swapped a look, I thought some more about that heavenly sign. I’d heard a
legend that if you journeyed to a rainbow’s end, you’d find a pot of gold
guarded by a dwarf. Such treasure could prove useful. Maybe if the rainbow was
still there after we’d hung the glove back in the church, we could try to get
to where it finished. Its end had to be a long way off. Maybe the journey would
take us so far from Emberfield we’d never get back. With the riches we’d find,
we could live the rest of our lives as kings in some distant country, many
miles from Weirton’s swooping palm. But I had to push such thoughts away as we
stood and filed from the hall, headed to our classes.

The Diary of James Ronald Weirton

Thursday, 6
^th
October,
1983

Thought more about
that incident last night as I sat in my room, TV blaring to drown out Sandra
striding and muttering outside and the attack of whinging Nick had embarked on.
My mind shifted between amusement and fury. Couldn’t get rid of the image of
old Davis standing on the deck of the Ark, or being ordered by Noah to go below
and feed the tigers and giraffes. Wondered if he’d tease them in the way he
does the kids when serving sweets. Those scamps Browning and Watson should be
on stage, both those buffoons in a damned double act! But then my mind would
seize on the sheer cheek of what they’d dared to say and my anger would rise
once more. Vision of our decaying society would appear. A lack of respect for
adults among the young, the refusal to learn from their guidance, is the whole
root of that.

Another night of
bad dreams, including one about the damned pond. Dreamt of it growing as the
rain lashed, but far more quickly than it ever really could. I was teaching in
the school – I’d sometimes glance out of the window and each time those waters
were closer, but then I’d forget about them, the way you do in dreams, only to
be shocked when I saw how much the flood had spread. Dream ended with us all
trapped in the school as the brown waters rose against the windows. The
pressure of that liquid shattered the glass, and all that filthy fluid came
surging in. I jerked upright, panting in my bed. Didn’t help that I woke to
hear the rain smashing with the most incredible violence on the roof. Meant it
took even longer to get my brain back to reality.

Had the council on
the phone after I got up – practically begging me not to go in, to give the
kids the day off. Told them ‘day’ and ‘off’ are two words I never use together,
told them I’d faced down bears and wrestled bulls so I had no namby-pamby fear of
getting a bit wet. Not sure what they made of that. Heard about more flooded
villages on the morning news, and as I drove in I began to wonder whether the
council had a point. Rain was torrential, thought the car might float away as I
edged it over that ford. Driving into Emberfield, I doubted the sodden sandbags
would hold out much longer. Whatever happens, it’s clear the man up in heaven
is displeased with us. If this unrelenting deluge isn’t divine revenge, I don’t
know what is.

Took the assembly
as usual though kids and teachers couldn’t help flicking glances at the
downpour outside. Set my class some work then strode next door to reprimand our
two comedians. Gave a good thundering speech about respect for elders, yelled
out the details of the sin committed by those lads. The most immense rage
surged up as I did so – surprising even myself. I was leaping, bashing my thighs
while at the same time God’s fury pelted from heaven. My heart thudded and
raced, but I was beyond worrying about that. I readied myself to leap at Ryan.
I felt that strange force again – it weighted my body, making it difficult to
pounce. A voice nagged somewhere in the storm of my mind, insisting on
restraint. But, with an eruption of anger, I cast off that caution and hurled
myself across the room. I crashed down in front of Ryan, grabbed his wrist, wrenched
him up. I was soon pounding away, slipping into a trance. Maybe it was the
rhythm of the rain that lulled me into it. But all I could think of was the need
to thrash that boy, to beat from him whatever sins were making God hurl down
His deluge. On and on I battered, in the desperate hope each strike would
shudder up to God’s ears in heaven, be heard above the rain, be seen by Him as
an atonement. Maybe it was all a bit illogical, now I think about it, but at
the time I had no doubts about what I had to do. I thrashed and thrashed him,
ignoring the sweat streaming down my face and gushing from my underarms,
ignoring my lips which grasped for breath almost as much as the boy’s did,
ignoring my heart’s manic tempo. Whack after whack I powered down until my
holding arm ached and trembled, and my walloping arm felt sapped of strength,
but even then I managed to slam a few more blows into the boy before I lowered
him. It was time to suffer for my excess. My heart galloped as I supported my
sagging bulk on shivering arms, arms that rested on shaking knees. I struggled
to suck in breath. I could feel my face glow, not only glow but burn yet it was
my heart I was most worried about. I remembered the doc’s words about avoiding
sudden strenuous exertion. Too late now, I thought. The bashing of my ticker
slowed, but its racing thuds were replaced with ominous booms. And the damned
heart was aching – punishing my rashness with a dull persistent pain. Blasted
ribs damned tight.  Couldn’t stop my hands inching up to clutch that part of my
chest – as if such an action would have helped anything! Thankfully, those
booms began to lose their force, my breathing steadied and I straightened up.
The lad looked little better off than me – red and weeping, he struggled to
stand on springy legs. Knew that feeling from my childhood – limbs out of your
control. Well, this wasn’t the time to show sympathy. Ordered the lad back to
his chair, watched him bounce and stagger. Good lesson for the others, I
supposed. Then I remembered – by God! – I’d another one to do.

Jonathon Browning
sat, his big eyes gazing at me, expectant and terrified. However exhausted I
felt, however much my body protested, I’d no choice but to go on. Would have
been bad form not to – let alone unfair to wallop the life out of one boy and
give his partner in crime just a few smacks. Body still shaking, I summoned up
all my strength, rolled out a forceful denunciation and leapt at Jonathon. Soon
had the boy in the air – however stiff my arm was, however much it ached, I
flung it mercilessly down. I struggled with the first whacks, but then my
tiredness fell away and I was back in my trance, beating in time with the
rain’s rhythms. Again I found myself hoping God would hear, that each impact
would float up to Him. That hope made me hit Jonathon harder. I was determined my
blows would be louder than the deluge, which – at that very moment –
re-gathered its forces and smashed down with even more fury. Thought it would
break the damned roof. On and on I laboured; the boy pitched and swung until I simply
couldn’t thrash him any longer. I ploughed a couple of super-hard ones into him
and set the lad down. Went through the same routine as before – bent over, I rasped
in breath as I sweated and my face shone. Only it was even worse this time – my
body shuddered so much and my head was so woozy I was amazed I could keep
standing. My heart boomed
and
raced, showing little desire to slow. I
could just tell something was not OK. That ache in my heart came stronger, my
ribs tightened more, couldn’t prevent my hand clutching them. But eventually my
heart stopped its rushing; the pain got less. I forced my body to straighten. I
sent Jonathon back to his seat, rumbled out a few more admonishments about how
we should respect others, gesturing out of the window to show I wasn’t the
only
one displeased by such sins. The class seemed gobsmacked, Perkins too. I
congratulated myself at having put on such an impressive performance. I do
sometimes wonder why – despite the hidings I dish out – the kids continue being
naughty, why their violence doesn’t cease. Perhaps I need to batter them harder
– they’re tough rascals, these northern country lads, got to knock the stuffing
out of them to get any result. Well, I managed that today. Not a trace of a
smirk on the lips of Stubbs or Johnson. Showed them how serious the
consequences of our sins can be.

No other major
incidents before home-time. Had to wade through the pond again – again I
couldn’t stop myself staring into it. I’ll admit the drive back to Goldhill was
scary – the lane was like a winding torrent. When I inched my car across that
ford, I felt the damned water
shift
my vehicle. Really wondered if I’d
make it to the other side. But I did, and I got home – to my family’s wonderful
welcome. Sandra has a new tactic – she and the boy are ignoring me. Prefer that
to the lad making a scene. With my exhaustion, with my limbs aching after
today’s little show, I doubt I’d be able to lift him an inch off the ground.

I’ll say one thing
about those thrashings – perhaps those thoughts I had about them appeasing the
Lord weren’t so eccentric. And the reason is this – the downpour has ceased. An
eerie dripping quiet reigns. Even in Goldhill, the rain’s been relentless over
the last days. Got accustomed to its constant bashing. I’ve a feeling this is
more than a pause – the air seems infused with a strange peace. I flick on the
TV, catch the weather and have my suspicions confirmed. Area of low pressure
moving away, no rain expected. Can’t help wondering if it’s because we’ve
convinced the Lord we can deal with our own sins. Maybe He did hear some of my
blows – they were loud enough! No human, of course, can peer into the mind of
God, but – as the vicar keeps saying – the Lord does work His will through some
mysterious paths.

Friday, 7
^th
October,
1983

Had a pleasant
journey to work – God had garlanded the heavens with a rainbow. Fair took my
breath away – the Lord’s sign of peace, just like after the Flood in the Bible!
Even found myself looking for a raven and a pigeon clasping an olive branch
though – God knows – we have few enough of such trees round Emberfield! The
rainbow was beautiful – looked solid yet brittle, like candy, like you could
just break a bit off. Felt like turning the car around, driving to its end to
search for the mythical pot of gold. Thought about what I could do with such
loot – no more Emberfield, no more teaching, buy some land in some proper
countryside, be free forever from these damned soggy plains. But, alas, we live
in a world without leprechauns and hidden treasure. It was towards the blasted
school I kept the car pointed.

Still, the end of
the floods and the rainbow seemed to have lightened everyone’s mood. And why
shouldn’t we feel happy about God’s great sign of forgiveness? Spoke to the
kids about it in assembly – making clear the similarities between our current
situation and the one described in God’s Holy Word. Kids seemed to take it in,
but I spotted Perkins and Leigh exchanging another look. Don’t those dunderheads
realise we’re employed in a Christian school and it’s part of our job to
expound the Scriptures in a way the children can understand? Well, there can’t
have been a more practical demonstration of God’s fury than what we’ve seen in
the last three weeks or so!

Home-time. Still
had to wade through Marcus’s pond, but when I got in the car it was all a lot
better. I merrily swerved down the drying lane, sending up sprays from the
puddles that still lurked at the side. Those lakes in the fields will take time
to dry out though, as will the graveyard. Won’t be sticking Lucy in their anytime
soon. But it felt great not to be cowering under heaven’s bombardment. Even
heard birds singing –
singing
instead of just perching miserably wrapped
in their soaked wings. Felt my whole body relax. Might have to take the doc’s
advice, have some recreation, go fishing when the river levels have gone down.
It’d get me out of this house, away from its awful atmosphere.

Sunday, 16
^th
October,
1983

Had Rodney on the
phone. Skip in his voice told me he had good news. You wouldn’t believe it, but
that damned gauntlet’s found its way back into Salton Church. Maybe those
thieves had some decency after all and couldn’t live with their guilt or – more
likely – they were petrified by God pelting His anger down and were frightened
into putting it back. Maybe that’s why God sent the floods in the first place.
Not sure what to think. I’m glad that item has been restored to God’s house,
but I’m not comfortable having that glove anywhere near me. Hope it doesn’t
start intruding into my dreams again let alone my briefcase! Hope I won’t have
any hallucinations like
that
for a while! Easier, I think, to keep a
calm mind without the constant sound of rain battering. Even that damned pond’s
retreating from the road – spares my nerves not having to wade through
that
every day. Just got the cold end of autumn then winter coming up. Depressing –
bare trees and hedgerows, stark black earth. But there’s no use in wishing I
was elsewhere – got my role in life, my duties. The last weeks have shown how
truly mighty God is – just have to pray to Him to give me the strength to get
through.