inferno fiction 13: farm song page 3

His opponent had made another move, leaving him in terrible peril. The game was indeed afoot. He had one jump left, but did nothing, only stared at the checker board. A noise from the barn drew his attention. A terrible noise like the strangling of love birds. He knew he should have borrowed the Tinker’s dog.

He ran, all thoughts of the lost game gone. The chicken coop was in a frenzy. Hens ran in every direction, frightened by the possum that, even now, had egg yolk dripping down its greedy chin. Boo Boo, her feathers dishevelled, lay unmoving in the corner.

'No!' he roared. 'No no no no no!'

He pinned the hissing demon in the corner against a bale of hay, held fast about the neck by the tines of the pitchfork. It struggled and lashed about, but could go neither to the left nor the right and at last lay limp and panting, its cruel dark eyes fixed on his. He yanked the pitchfork free and smote the creature on the head. One! Two!Three! Four! Almost at once he dropped the implement and staggered back, staring first at the bloody mass of fur, than at shining, bright feathers, stirred softly by the evening breeze. He sank to the ground and gathered Boo Boo against his chest.

When a man loves a chicken
People think that he's insane.
But all he can do is wing it for the one he loves.

'What’s this? What’s this?'

He lifted his head to find a white-haired Old Man standing over him, leaning on a cane. The Old Man said nothing for a long time, only looked at him, sitting there in the hay, cradling Boo Boo in his arms.

'I was told a Doctor was needed here, young man, not a Veterinarian. Dear me. What have you done to yourself? Hmmm?'

He looked down at his arms, at the bloody scratches in groups of four. Feathers, tipped in blood, lay all around him. Sheets of paper lay scattered to one side, the pages of his life written in his own blood.

'This will not do, I say. This will not do at all!'

'I’m sorry, I--'

'Nonsense. You aren’t the least bit sorry,' the Old Man told him, thumping the cane in the dust and the straw. 'You knew precisely what needed to be done and you chose not to do it. There’s no denying it. Foolish boy. Do you realise the peril you’ve put yourself in? The peril you’ve put all of Time and Space in?'

He could find no suitable answer. He held out the chicken. 'A possum got into the hen house. I… I was late. It’s all my fault…'

The Old Man shook his head sadly. 'No, no. It isn’t your fault. I always was an
old fool.'

'I don’t know what to do,' he said, looking down at Boo Boo.

'That is abundantly clear.'

'Is that why you’re here?' he asked, looking up at the Old Man, searching his weathered face for compassion. 'To tell me what to do?'

'You already know what to do.'

'I can’t just leave her,' he insisted. 'I can’t. I just… can’t.'

'Very well,' the Old Man told him, turning to leave. 'Evidently I am not the Doctor you need right now, my boy. But don’t lose hope just yet. You shall return to us. Yes, yes, you shall. You shall return…'

It is returning through the dark…

And he sat in the hay, cradling a dead chicken in his arms, and wept. He climbed into the back of the rusty old pick-up truck and lay down, staring at the stars above. Boo Boo lay beside him. She was getting stiff.

When skies are gray

And you say you are blue
I'll send the sun smiling through
I wanna be happy
But I won't be happy
Till I make you happy too.

Before long he heard the steady thrum thrum of a strange engine. He knew that sound. He didn’t need his torch to identify the newcomer.

'Steady on, old boy,' the Country Vet said, leaning on the tailgate of the blue Chevy. A cheerful smile faded. 'Ah. I appear to have arrived too late.'

'I’m always too late,' he said softly, staring at the stars.

'Not always,' the man said kindly, smiling again. 'And besides, we can’t always know when we were intended to arrive. We just have to do our best once we do.'

'The Old Man said I was a fool.'

'Ah. Yes. Well… you’re not so much foolish as you are… no, I’m afraid you have been rather foolish. This isn’t helping is it?'

'Not particularly.'

The Country Vet climbed into the back of the truck and picked up Boo Boo, turning her over gently in his hands.

'Can anything be done?'

'For her?' The blonde head shook slowly. 'Dear me, no. A shame, really. Beautiful bird. Their lives are so fleeting, compared to ours. Time runs out for all of us, though, eventually. And, eventually, it is time to move on. Whether we‘re ready or not.'

He sat up cross-legged in the bed of the truck. 'I thought that if I put it off…'

'That a hundred years might have gone by? Yes. I see. But Time has a way of catching up to us one way or another.'

He could not help but think that there should have been another way. The Country Vet patted his shoulder and handed him a stick of celery. 'Brave heart. Do what you must.'

Tears fell from a thousand stars as he laid Boo Boo to rest in a well dug grave in the middle of Jelly Baby Field. A grave so deep even the metal dog would not find her. He patted the earth with his bare hands, then wandered aimlessly, singing to the flowers.

Knee deep in flowers we'll stray
We'll keep the showers away
And if I kiss you in the garden, in the moonlight
Will you pardon me…?

'Do you plan to keep this up much longer?' The Mysterious Stranger in the leather jacket stood at the gate, watching him intently. 'It’s getting depressing.'

'I remember you. You fought in the war,' he said at last.

'Yes, I did. And you don’t see me tip-toeing through the tulips, blubbering over a dead chicken. What‘s wrong with you anyway?'

'I loved her,' he said simply, glancing over his shoulder to where the nightblooms had spread over Boo Boo’s grave.

'Obviously. But she’s still a chicken.'

'But I never told her.'

'Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere,' the Mysterious Stranger told him curtly, arms crossed. 'This isn’t about chickens at all.'

'Isn’t it?'

'What do you think?'

He looked back at the moonlit field, bright with dew like strings of jewels. Fairy lights on Christmas. He sighed. It was time to put on his shoes.

'What am I to do now?'

'It‘s Friday night,' grinned the Mysterious Stranger. 'Go dancing.'

So he did.

One by one, couples moved off the dance floor until only he and Daisy remained. He leaned his cheek against her head and never once looked at the clock slowly ticking away the minutes of his life. She smelled like lavender and roses and too much baby powder. It made him sneeze, and that made him smile. Too soon, the song was over and he knew what he had to do.

Love me tender,
Love me dear,
Tell me you are mine.
I'll be yours through all the years,
Till the end of time.

'I have to go now.'

'But your song--'

'--is ending.'

'Yeah,' she told him, letting go of his hand. 'I kinda guessed that.'

He turned to see what she was looking at. Outside the dance hall, the Old Man was holding open the door of a blue Police Call Box. As he crossed the dance floor, he tossed the keys to his Chevy onto a table. He didn’t need it anymore.

'Hey, Doc?'

He turned back as the girl took the corsage from her collar and pinned it on his shirt front. 'Don’t forget us,' she told him.

He touched the rose petals gently and smiled as he took one more look around the dance hall.

'Oh, Daisy,' he said, bending to kiss her lightly on the cheek. 'Don’t forget me.'

Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie,
A fish can’t whistle
And neither can I.
Ask me a riddle and I reply:
Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie.

THE END

written by

MEG MACDONALD

also from the pen of Meg MacDonald...

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