Part 34 (1/2)

*I'm looking for a fine Irish whiskey,' said Dr Finlay, heaving his first shovelful carelessly behind. *Black Bush. And a nice Guinness.'

*Strongbow cider,' I said. I set shovel to soil. It slid easily into the wet ground. *I haven't had it for years. I've a real taste for it now. The apples. Worst hangover in the world, cider, but it's worth it.'

*A child's drink,' said Finlay.

*Kegs and kegs and kegs and kegs,' said Willie Nutt. And added, *He-he-heh.' As a catchphrase it hardly dazzled, but it was not unendearing, and certainly preferable to the smell of smoked fish.

*Old Jack'll get a right shock if he sees the dark again,' said Duncan, *and comes looking for it.'

*Serve him right,' said Willie, thrusting his spade into the black earth again. Soon the soil was flying backwards.

After a short while we needed a rest. It had been an undisciplined rush and we were already puffing. I rubbed my hand across my brow. Sweating hard despite the cold. I wasn't used to physical exertion. My muscles were already aching, despite my weekly press-up.

*Deeper than I thought,' said Duncan.

*Ach, not that much further,' said Finlay, *and then a wee whiskey.'

Duncan sounded a note of caution. *People are bound to notice the smell of alcohol. On your breath tomorrow.'

Willie stopped digging, spat. *So?'

*We need a supply of breath fresheners,' I said with the confident authority of a professional, *so people won't be suspicious.'

*People will get suspicious if we suddenly start buying breath fresheners,' said Duncan, resting his own blade for a moment.

*Ach pish,' said Willie Nutt and thrust his spade into the soil again. *Breath fresheners!'

He wasn't the sort of man who had time for anything fresh. Besides, a quick gargle with the rotgut he was drinking would kill any unwanted odours. A bath in it wouldn't do him any harm either.

Clink.

Metal blade on something solid.

*Hallelujah!' exclaimed Willie.

Clink.

Duncan, about eight feet further along, hit something as well. He let out a whoop. *We found it! The sly old sod did bury it!'

*You didn't believe me,' I said.

*I believed you, Dan,' said Finlay. *I didn't believe Old Mother Reilly. But now I'm prepared to kiss her sweet blue lips.'

Yuck, I thought.

As we began to scrab away the remaining soil we began to see little glints of silver a but it didn't feel like keg metal. Willie, the most industrious of us all, dropped his spade behind him and stepped down into the shallow trench we had created. He knelt and pushed away handfuls of soil with his chubby fingers. Then he felt along the surface. The s.p.a.ce he'd cleared was maybe three feet across. He searched for the edges.

He looked up at us where we stood leaning on our spades, steadying ourselves against the wind. We were keen to discover, but not keen enough to discover first. There is something eerie about dark holes on stormy nights. The rain had grown heavier and was cascading steadily into the trench, causing it to sludge up. *What is it, Willie?' Duncan said urgently.

Willie shook his head. *Like tarpaulin, silver tarpaulin. Thick as h.e.l.l. Heh, b.a.s.t.a.r.d's wrapped the booze up tight in it. We'll have to dig right down the sides till we find the join. Less you've got something'll cut through it, Doc?'

Finlay shook his head. *Not here. Maybe at home. I never thought.'

*Who could think of it?' said Duncan. He peered at the tarpaulin. The rain and the digging had made the sides slippery and he was careful not to lean too far forward. *How long do you think it will take, to dig down?'

Willie gave a little shrug. *Not long. If we keep at it. No way of telling how deep it goes. But it can't be that far down.'

Duncan cast a nervous glance back towards the farm on the hill. *Maybe we should leave it,' he said. *Come back another night. Earlier.' He peered at his watch. *It's four already. Soon we'll be stuck with all the booze and it'll be too bright to hide it. We should come back.'

*Aye,' said Willie, *b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.'

He had a point. *Duncan,' I said, *we're nearly there. If we leave it now the trench'll only fill up with water and the job'll be twice as hard.'

*Maybe we should just leave it altogether.'

*You're getting cold feet, Duncan,' said Finlay.

*Cold and wet feet.'

*Then let's get the job finished, and then we'll bathe those poor feet of yours in whiskey.' He brandished his shovel again. *Okay? It won't take long.'

Duncan lifted his shovel reluctantly. *Aye. Okay. I suppose. Let's get on with it then. But let's hurry.'

The dig was on again.

This time, after half an hour, we each took a hefty swig of Willie Nutt's bottle. We were miserable, cold, tired, sopping. But the home fires were soon burning.

The soil was coming away very easily, but the more we tore at it the more Somme-like the conditions underfoot became. If we'd been kids, we'd have loved it. But we were grown men with a drink problem and it was no laughing matter.

And then we reached the bottom. Willie, of course, struck first. Blade on solid stone or rock. Again he dropped his spade and scrabbed away final handfuls of oozy mud. He picked up something and smoothed as much dirt as he could off it.

*What is it?' asked Duncan.

*Just a brick,' said Willie. He examined it briefly then tossed it in Duncan's direction.

Duncan ducked. *Watch it,' he said.

Willie bent down again and, with his hands, began to trace, then dig, along his side of the trench, revealing as he went brick after brick securing the end of the silver tarpaulin.

*Jesus,' said Duncan, *it's about b.l.o.o.d.y time. My hands are going to fall off.'

*Ach,' said Finlay, *we're there now, aren't we?'

He carefully stepped out from his side of the tarpaulin and half slid in beside Willie and Duncan on theirs. I joined them too.

We paused for a moment, we four rebels, and smiled at each other. Then we bent and lifted the remaining bricks and threw them behind us. Willie finished first and started to lift the tarpaulin.