Part 1 (2/2)

”Where did you find him?” I asked as we fought our way up the stairs.

”He'd fallen in a heap in front of the Boar's Head.”

”Ah,” said I. The pub was just at the corner. ”He was likely waiting in ambuscade, and fell in his heap when he saw you coming along.”

”Trevor!”

With that, I concentrated on the job at hand.

Barnes grumbled and cursed all the while as we helped him into our flat. Mother responded with murmurs of ”Poor fellow” and ”You're soaked through” and ”You'll catch your death for sure” and ”What shall we do with you?”

What we did with him was remove his coat and settle him down on the sofa. It fell upon me to remove his sodden boots while Mother took off her own coat, then hurried off to make tea.

I reckon it was her mistake, leaving me alone with him.

My mistake, speaking up.

I spoke up mostly to myself. Muttering, really. I didn't expect a chap in his condition to hear me, much less comprehend.

What I said was, ”b.l.o.o.d.y cur.”

Quick as the words left my lips, his fist met my nose and sent me reeling backward. I dropped to the floor. In the next few moments, Barnes proved himself quite lively for a fellow far gone with drink. He bounded over to me, dropped onto my chest, and pounded me nearly senseless before Mother came running to my aid.

”Rolfe!” she shouted.

He clubbed my face once more with his huge fist. Then he tumbled off as Mother tugged his hair. My mind all a fog, I tried to muster the strength to rise. But I could only lie there and watch while Barnes grabbed Mother's wrist and scurried up. He pulled her to him and struck her face such a blow that it rocked her head sideways and sent spittle flying from her lips. Then he flung her across the room. She fell against an armchair with such force that she rammed it into the wall. On her knees before it, she lifted her head off the cus.h.i.+on and tried to push herself up.

Barnes was already behind her. ”Too good for me, is it?” He swatted the back of her head. ”You 'n' your scurvy whelp!” He smacked her head again and she cowered against the chair, burying her face in her arms.

Barnes clutched the nape of her neck with one hand. With the other, he tore the back off her blouse.

”No!” Mother gasped. ”Rolfe! Please! The boy!”

She tried to raise her head, but he cuffed it again. Then he tugged her underthings down to her waist, baring her back entirely.

I was not so stunned by the several blows that I didn't flush with shame and outrage.

”Stop it!” I yelled, trying to get up.

Ignoring me, Barnes s.n.a.t.c.hed the heavy belt from around his waist. He doubled the leather strap and swung it. With a crack like a gunshot, it lashed my mother's back. She let out a startled, hurt yelp. Across the creamy skin of her back was a broad, ruddy stripe.

He got in two more licks.

I had tears in my eyes as I swung the fireplace poker with all my strength. The iron rod caught him just above the ear and sent him stumbling sideways, the belt still raised overhead in readiness to strike another blow against Mother. He shouldered a wall, bounced off it, and dropped like a tree.

I pranced around for a bit, kicking him. Then I realized he was knocked out and in no condition to appreciate my efforts, so I figured to finish him off. I straddled him, got a good grip on the poker, and was all set to stove in his skull when a shout stopped me.

”Trevor! No!”

Mother, suddenly standing before me, threw out an arm to ward off the blow.

”Stand back,” I warned.

”Leave him be! See what you've done to him!” With that, she fell to her knees at the scoundrel's head and hunkered over him.

I gazed at her poor back. The thick welts were blurry through my tears. Here and there, trickles of blood made bright red threads along her skin.

”Thank the Lord, you haven't killed him.”

”I jolly well shall shall.”

She looked up at me. She said not a word. Nor was a word needed. I hurled the poker from my hand, then stepped away from the still body and wiped my eyes. I sniffed. The sore, wet feel of my nose got me to look down, and I found the front of my s.h.i.+rt soaked with blood. I dragged out a handkerchief to stop my nose from bleeding, then dropped into a chair. I would've liked to tip back my head, but I dared not take my eyes off Barnes.

Mother came to me. She stroked my hair. ”He hurt you awfully.”

”He whipped whipped you, Mum.” you, Mum.”

”It was the liquor, no doubt. He's not an evil man.”

”Evil enough, I should say. I do wish you'd let me spill his brains.”

”Such talk.” She ruffled my hair in a manner that seemed rather playful. ”It comes of reading, no doubt.”

”It comes of watching him whip you.”

”Novels are wonderful things, darling, but you must remember they're make-believe. It's an easy matter to dispatch a villain in a story. He isn't flesh and blood, you see, he's paper and ink. Spilling a bloke's brains can be rather a lark. But that's not life, m'dear. If you killed Rolfe, it would weigh on your soul like a cold, black hand. It would trouble you all your life, keeping you awake at night and tormenting you every day.”

Well, she spoke in such an earnest, solemn manner that I was suddenly mighty glad she'd stopped me from dispatching Barnes. Though I was sure she'd never killed a person, she knew deep in her heart about the burden of it.

Since that time, I've sent many a fellow to h.e.l.l. I've lost more than a trifle of sleep over it. But the greater burdens on my soul don't come from those I killed. They come because I didn't kill some rascals soon enough.

Anyhow, Barnes was still among the breathing. It'd be wrong to polish him off, or so we were both convinced at the time, but I got to worrying about what might befall us if he should wake up.

When her lecture ran down, I got off my chair and said, ”We've got to do something about him, you know? He's likely to be at us again.”

”I'm afraid you're right.”

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