Here’s a belated part five of The Railman. It’s been a hectic week or two with much that has got in the way of regular updates. But I’m back on track now.
As usual all comments, criticisms and suggestions are welcome and if you know anyone who might like the story, don’t hesitate to spread the word!
-Alistair
The kitchen in Pascoe Glyn was anything but spartan. There was a wide range, with hobs, grills and ovens, which although unused were always kept in perfect condition by Gordon, the village’s stalwart cook. The kitchen was far larger than was required for the current population of the village. On hooks suspended from the low ceiling were a variety of pots and pans, some never used yet by Gordon in the eight years since his return to the village. He had insisted on being called a chef when he arrived, much to the amusement of the other villagers and although he was well aware that his contribution to the culinary experience of the world in which he lived was the preparation of the most basic fare, there was only so much he could do with the meagre selection of ingredients available to him.
Recent years had seen the increase in the consumption of soup. Surely he was better than that?
That morning he was working though the current inventory of goods the village had to hand, trying to create something that was even remotely inventive. His heavy shoulders sagged as he sighed deeply. Looks like it would be soup again, he thought, and again for dinner. It was a shame for the coming of age ceremonies that he didn’t have anything better to offer them. If he could get his hands on some meat he might try for a nice thick stew but meat was rare. Pigs were the easiest to get hold of, anything else was a pipe dream. He remembered once seeing a cow and even tasting milk. It was this promise of exotic tastes that had inspired his wish to become a chef.
Peru was in in the kitchen with him and was yapping away as he tried in vain to cobble some kind of recipe together on an old notepad. She hadn’t been well and was going on about it. He was sympathetic but medical fears made him queasy. Gordon didn’t want her lingering in the kitchen too long. He tuned back in to her prattle.
‘…the well,’ she said, ‘but it should be fine.’
‘I’m sorry?’ he grumbled. He looked around to see Peru leaning against a worktop, idly chewing on a carrot. She was like a giant in the low-celinged kitchen, tall but now emaciated from her illness. On the lower levels Peru would walk with a stoop, long used to keeping her head from clashing with door frames. Her eyes had misted over. ‘Peru?’ he asked and waved a hand in front of her eyes, ‘are you okay?’
‘Hmm?’ she grumbled. She blinked rapidly and looked over at Gordon, life returning to her eyes and a sly smile playing over her lips For a moment her face, framed with greying curls, lit up.’
‘You were saying something about the well. I drifted away for a moment,’ he admitted.
‘I said, I think it’s time.’
‘Time?’ He ran a hand through his own thinning hair, moving it aside to see Peru easier. The illness had changed her, it was true and Gordon kicked himself for not paying more attention.
‘For me to go down the well.’ She smiled at him sweetly and looked down at the counter top. She traced a pattern on the surface with her finger while Gordon fought for something to say.
‘Ah,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I’m sure you have plenty to keep going for.’ Inside he cringed at the glibness of the remark. ‘I mean, I’m sure things aren’t that bad.’ Again he winced. ‘What I meant was…’
Peru reached over and rested her hand on his bare arm to stop him. Her fingers looked skeletal next to his thick arms.
‘It’s okay, Gordon,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve never been comfortable with this part of the journey. You’re a sensitive man. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ He looked down at his feet not knowing what else to say. ‘It’s okay Gordon, your secret is safe with me.’ She patted him on the shoulder and started walking slowly towards the door.
‘You’re not going to do it now?’ he cried in alarm.
‘Of course not, son. There’ll have to be a ceremony, and you know how they like their ceremonies.’ He rushed after his mother but was blocked by Donovan, the Elder.
‘Gordon,’ he spoke in hushed tones, looking around for eavesdroppers, ‘we need to talk.’
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