As Meat Loves Salt

  ‘O don’t tell me, Elizabeth. I am hoarse with persuading him. It is only what you and Harry said that stops him running off tomorrow.’

  ‘I would have said he loved her more than that,’ said Harry thoughtfully.

  ‘He does love her, most dearly. He’s torn in two.’

  Elizabeth opened her mouth but we heard him directly, coming downstairs. I helped our guests to wine, filling their cups to the brim, and Ferris returned just in time for the fruit pie which Becs brought up.

  ‘She’s a better colour, and the heart is stronger,’ he announced. ‘And there are two kind of draughts, Becs, for you to give her.’

  The Bestes offered thanks to God. I tried to look happy.

  I could do no more than the three of us had managed together. Ferris would stay only a week, do what I might. I urged that a week was nothing in the care of a dear aunt, nay, a mother. He replied that he was leaving her to a trusted nurse, and would be sure to receive news each day. I argued that ‘twere good the colonists learn to direct their affairs without him, each playing a fuller part in their little commonwealth, and he looked at me strangely and asked did I think he had crushed their spirit up till then. I put it to him that we might profit by our time in London: he nodded, and wrote me a list as in the past, of the seeds and knives, etc., he would have me purchase for the community’s use, so that I found myself employed as errand boy while he watched at his aunt’s side. Lastly I resorted to those arts which owe little to talk, but persuade a man more forcefully than eloquence. He came eagerly into my chamber, where he gave every token of a greedy and violent delight, then rose the next day ready to leave our bed forever. My powers were now bankrupt. Sometimes I would look up, catch his gentle eyes on me, and wonder what he was. I could, without much trouble, have broken his back, yet, for all the pain the colony brought to him, he would return to it, and I could not bend his spirit an inch.

  At the bottom of my pack I laid as many washballs as I had been able to beg from Becs. Ferris laughed aloud when he saw them.

  ‘Will you set up shop, Jacob? Or do you eat them, are you with child?’ He tickled me round the waist.

  I slapped his hand off. ‘It is no pleasure to me, to stink like a beast.’

  Ferris looked up into my face, more serious now. ‘You don’t stink.’

  ‘Then there’s something uncommonly wrong with my nose. Here, give me those shirts.’ I would not smile at him and after a while he went out of my room.

  He had purchased us places on the coach. He said this was to keep off the rain for he had a notion the weather would be wet, and besides we had much to carry. All of which might be true, yet I felt his unwillingness to walk with my sadness even half a day. For my heart was oppressed, and I made no show to hide it.

  We were to leave at eight the next morning. After the evening meal, when the packs were bound up and Ferris had checked the knives and other implements were all stowed, we had nothing to do but drink and sit with Aunt. I took cup after cup of wine, feeling my heart all frozen. Ferris watched me with some anxiety and I returned his stare, daring him to correct me. The wine did nothing to warm the ice inside, and in fact I found it ill tasting, sour, but that seemed only right and fitting with all my joys turned bitter on me.

  At last he said, ‘I never knew you care so much for wine.’

  ‘What makes you think I care for it? I spend my life doing what I hate.’

  He sighed. ‘Would you – would you sooner stay a while? I will go alone, if you wish. You can follow at your leisure.’

  ‘You are all goodness,’ I returned. ‘But no, I continue to serve.’

  His grey eyes winced, glanced uneasily at the sleeping woman. ‘Be not so savage, Jacob.’

  ‘When did you ever see me savage!’

  The word ‘you’ struck out hard from a deep place where the Voice was testing the walls of its prison, giving tongue to something long chained up. I felt a surge of terror and pleasure, mixed, for the Voice had never before spoken through me to another person.

  Ferris made no sign that he had heard anything strange. He checked that Aunt still slept, then said mildly, ‘Have you forgotten Roger Rowly? You—’

  ‘That! – that was play.’ I felt the thing inside me swell and swell until I was only just keeping it down. ‘If ever I turn savage, you’ll know. Now sneck up.’

  ‘I meant only that—’

  ‘Sneck. Up.’

  I saw Ferris go rigid, and realised that I had locked eyes with him as I once had with Nathan. He had never caught that look full in the face before, and his cheeks grew pale.

  ‘So, you’re warned.’ The pressure within slackened; my voice was my own again. I opened another bottle which I had carried up to the chamber with me. He held out his hand but I put the wine to my own lips and got down a good half of it without drawing breath. If he begrudged me drink, so much the worse for him. I was not under his authority.

  ‘Jacob, please—’ He leant forward to take the bottle. I kept my hand on it and he sank back into his seat.

  ‘You called me savage. Don’t you ever call me savage.’

  There was a silence. Ferris contemplated the embroidered linen sheet. I observed his lowered eyes and suddenly felt the want of him in my bed, but getting up, stumbled over the chair. He did not laugh as I expected, and remained sitting as if I had not moved.

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ I demanded.

  ‘If you wish.’

  He rose at once and followed me out. We went directly to my chamber and there for the first time I held him silent and spiritless in my arms. I demanded caresses and he gave them without resistance and without desire, so that it was like bedding a corpse. Then I wanted him to lie under me and he would not, and I thought he took pleasure in the refusal. We struggled, and I punched him in the ribs and belly, then got on top of him and twisted his arm up his back. He tried to pull the arm free so I gave it a wrench and felt him jerk like a man who is branded.

  ‘No followers now,’ I breathed into his ear. ‘Just we two.’

  ‘Do it then,’ he spat into the pillow. ‘Make an end of us.’

  I forced his arm up further and heard him gasp. Any more and he would cry out. I had got him, the weasel, he belonged to me and I felt myself his master for once.

  ‘Let me in,’ I said.

  Ferris shook his head.

  ‘Let me in.’ I pressed with my knee, trying to get some purchase on him, and put more of my weight on the twisted arm. His muscles convulsed, then yielded, and I was between his thighs.

  ‘What, no orders for me?’ I began pushing outwards, spreadeagling him. ‘Go here, go there?’

  He would not answer. I heard quick breaths; he was trying to outwit the pain, so I let him have more weight on the arm and forced him to groan aloud. His legs were limp now, all the fight gone out of him. I spat in the palm of my hand and greased my prick with it.

  His shoulder gave a faint crack.

  Then all at once – it was perhaps that noise – the blood began to go down in me. I was unable to fuck him. All I could do was release him and lie by his side on the mattress; as I did so I broke into angry weeping. He did not speak to me or touch me. My mouth was grown too thick to speak properly but I mumbled at him, ‘Why, why did you come in to me?’ ‘To get you away from her.’ His voice quivered, not from softness but like an arrow newly shot into my heart. Having inflicted that wound he rolled away, and I lay staring into my own confusion and shame. From time to time there was the old rushing in my head, and words began seething up to torment me.

  He does not love you.

  No wonder. I have dealt brutally.

  You already labour without pay. He will now make you beg for the privilege.

  It seemed that I lay there for hours, but must finally have slept for at some point I found he was crept out of bed in the darkness. I knew this when I heard him bolt his door.

  A jingling. The bed curtains were tugged apart. A weight slammed onto my chest and I gasped w
ith shock.

  ‘Ferris?’

  He was astride me, on top of the bedcover so that my hands were trapped beneath it. I lifted my head to see what he was doing and something pierced my neck just under the chin.

  ‘I’m kneeling on your arms,’ he said. ‘Move, and I cut you.’

  I peered upwards into his face as I had never seen it before. The eyes looked bruised and were fixed on me as if on some poisonous serpent. His lips curled back from his teeth and I felt the thing in my neck push deeper into the flesh.

  ‘Understand this,’ he said. ‘If you ever – do that – again, best kill me. For if you don’t I will surely kill you.’

  ‘You, kill?’ I meant it as an appeal to his gentle nature, but in my shock the words came out coloured with contempt.

  ‘I could do it now,’ and he jerked the blade, making me wince. ‘Give thanks to God that you are in my aunt’s house and not in the wood.’

  I thought, He has considered it.

  ‘You could never overpower me in the wood,’ I said.

  ‘There are ways.’

  I lay back and felt an ache, wages of my drunkenness, grip my skull. The probing of the knife in my skin was intolerable. ‘Ferris, stop that! There’s no call for it—’

  ‘I am learning what it is to force someone.’ A fine spray of his spit dampened my cheeks and jaw.

  ‘I did not force you! My heart, I couldn’t—’

  ‘You were incapable, else you’d have fucked me till I split in half.’

  I remembered the final wrench at his arm, when his very bones had cried out, and I felt sick. ‘I was a drunken beast,’ I muttered. ‘If you knew how sorry—’

  ‘O, but I know. Aren’t you always sorry! First Nathan, then Rowly, and myself with a head full of glass. Each time I told myself would be the last.’

  ‘It will be the last,’ I pleaded.

  ‘The last time you lie with me. Drunk or sober.’

  I stared at him. ‘Not lie with you?’

  ‘You’re possessed of a devil, your greatest joy is to hear me cry out.’ Still he held the blade to my neck. ‘You and George Byars are a pair. He’s a great one for arm-twisting.’

  ‘You told me there were no devils.’ I tried to lift my hand and promptly received an excruciating jab from his knife.

  ‘And I hold to what I said. A man’s own evil is his devil and yours, Jacob, is mastery.’

  I remembered the talk about devils, after our first night, when he was so enamoured he could scarce keep his hands off me. He had not been afraid of my strength then.

  ‘So I am not to lie with you?’ I sneered. ‘We have danced this dance before, and it ended in you clawing my breeches.’

  ‘Did you hear what I told you or is it all to say again?’ His voice was icy. I began to feel afraid, not for my neck but for the many days that lay ahead of us. More humbly I asked, ‘Are you very much hurt?’

  ‘Your prowess is as great as ever.’

  ‘Ferris, believe me—’

  ‘You must leave the colony.’

  At that I struggled to breathe and for a moment I thought his weight on my chest would suffocate me. ‘Wait, Ferris. Wait.’ The words jerked out from my throat. ‘By tonight you will think differently.’

  ‘Don’t deceive yourself.’ He shifted his knees and my breath eased a little.

  ‘I can serve you against Sir George.’

  ‘Serve me! That’s not it at all. I want friends to work together, protect their own.’

  ‘Can’t you use my strength for a good cause?’

  ‘Good causes are the most dangerous for men like you. That was one reason I took you out of the army.’

  ‘If we are going to preach, let us call things by their right names,’ I cried out, angered at this sermonising. ‘You were on fire to get your big stupid friend back to London and break him in.’

  ‘I don’t deny it.’

  He spoke as if I were some vice to which, having renounced it and repented, he could freely admit. Frighted, I tried retraction.

  ‘Forgive me, I spoke unjustly.’

  But Ferris was not listening. He said as if to himself, ‘Lust addled my judgement. I should have taken Nat.’

  That was a sword through me. I stared up at him and he steadily, unsmilingly, returned my gaze. The silence thickened between us. Then Ferris took the knife away from my neck, got up from the bed and went out.

  And so it was that the coach journey back to Page Common outwent my worst imaginings. We ate bread in silence at half past six. My mouth was sour, my belly brimming with bitter yellowish stuff which from time to time voided itself by means of a retching so intense as to leave me all over sweat. I did not want the bread but ate it, and as I chewed my skull throbbed. From time to time I stole a look at Ferris and saw him pale with swollen eyes. I wondered had he wept in rage and humiliation after the beating. When he caught me watching him he turned his face away and I saw a small bruise on the side of his neck. At the thought of all the others beneath his clothes I shook inwardly.

  Just after seven he went up to kiss his aunt once more. When he came down, it was with his pack already on his shoulders and he took his station near the street door without looking at me. I went to my room and shouldered my burden likewise, and on my coming down he whispered, ‘I see you will force your way, as ever.’

  Becs had been risen some time and she now came from the kitchen to stand with us on the doorstep. Perhaps she saw something of how the land lay, for she spoke gently with me almost as if in pity, from which I concluded that she had heard nothing of my monstrous performance the night before. Neither kisses nor bites this time, but decorous partings all round, while I was eaten up body and soul with wretchedness, like a carcass with worms. Ferris reminded her to write, or to make the physician write, and I started at the huskiness of his voice. As soon as he had finished his instructions to her we passed into silence. We walked down the street abreast, at the same pace, not looking at one another. I remembered our quarrel in the army, when he said he would not be my thing, and wondered would he ever love me again.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Things Not To Be Compelled

  The company in the coach was talkative: a husband and wife, the wife carrying a babe, and opposite these a great prattler, a schoolmaster in his middle years, harmless, tedious and happy. He struck up a conversation first with Ferris, next with me, and then had the idea of introducing us to one another.

  Ferris nodded coldly to me and said in his broken voice, ‘I had indeed the impression of knowing you, Mister Cullen, but find that I was mistaken.’

  I could think of no reply. The rage that had swelled within me and almost burst out of my flesh was now shrivelled and blasted. Had I thought it would be of use, I would have kissed his shoes in the coach. Instead I sat inhaling the stink of damp clothing and garlic breath, trying to keep down my vomit.

  The vehicle rattled on. From time to time I had to push past my neighbours to void my sickness from the window and while undergoing these torments I heard the coachman’s curses floating past on the wind, damning the horses without cease even when the going was smooth and the road empty. I was astonished to find him so foul-mouthed, and for the sake of hearing my own voice I said so to our tiresome companion. He replied that the man had more than once been reported and suffered correction, but the habit was so grown into him that he could not shake it off.

  Seeing that Ferris was listening, I said that an evil habit, say drink, might well destroy a man’s happiness against his own will, and that such a case were pitiable. There was more cunning than I at first knew in mentioning drink by name, for even as I spoke I remembered that my friend could well understand this example. Perhaps, in recollection, he might judge my crime less harshly.

  Ferris did not look at me but addressed his remarks to the schoolmaster. ‘Whatever makes a man a beast also renders him pitiable. But it behoves us to be wary of these bestial men despite our compassion, for they frequently turn on their fr
iends.’

  The schoolmaster said that was very true, and an example might be seen in his sister’s neighbour who beat his wife for no fault at all.

  ‘And thus,’ he said, ‘he grievously injures himself, both in reputation and in the sense that they are, after all, one flesh.’

  This piece of pedantry proving more painful to me than any I had endured as a boy, I was glad when his conclusion was lost in a shriek of laughter from the other passengers, who were talking, much more loudly than we, of jests played upon bumpkins newly come to London.

  I wanted to take up Ferris upon what he had said. ‘But you are compassionate to such men, Sir?’ I pressed him, my breath struggling in my throat. ‘For what our friend here says is true. Though guilty, the suffering caused comes back also on themselves, and so—’

  ‘I think my friends would grant that I am compassionate,’ Ferris replied. ‘Long-suffering, even. But there are two things to be said here.’ My stomach turned over at his measured tone. ‘The first consideration,’ he went on, ‘is that a man must already have degraded himself in no small degree, to beg compassion where once he freely enjoyed the privileges of love.’

  The schoolmaster was listening with interest and nodding. Never, I thought, had ‘the privileges of love’ seemed so like a lost Paradise, and never had Ferris been so cruel to me.

  ‘And the second,’ he continued, his voice hoarser yet still level, ‘is that love and compassion have both their limits. I may forgive a friend seventy times seven for the love I bear him, but there are some things which, if a man resent them not, he ceases to be a man.’

  ‘For the love I bear him.’ I wondered had he meant to say that. ‘Ceases to be a man’ – looking up I saw his eyes contracted with pain despite the controlled voice, and the sight cut me with a terrible pain of my own.

  ‘Let us take a case,’ I began desperately. ‘Suppose I offer violence to a dear, dear friend. I repent—’