Read The True Tale of the Monster Billy Dean: Telt by Himself Page 18

  Its like I turn into the world and the world turns into me.

  And when its a world of beests and dust & water & fish then its so fine. Its like I am dansing. Its like my fingertips are tuchin the tiniest scambling insect and reeching to the furthest frinjes of the darkness and the lite. Its like I spin between the dust and the stars and my body & my mind & sole are filld with the byuty & the majic of all space and all time and all things that have ever been created.

  But at other times it is a world of pane & death & war. The bomin of Blinkbonny takes plays within me. I see it clearly. I see things I hav never seen at all so cudnt possibly see agen but yes I see them clear as day.

  I see the bom trucks & the bomers with the boms strappd to ther baks. I see the blasts of fire and smoke & the bildings thudding to the erth & the statews scattering & I hear the screeemin of the peepl and see them farlin runnin howlin dyin.

  I dont want to see thees things nor to feel the flames to smel the smoke. I dont want these things taykin plays inside me time & time & time agen. But ther is no way to close my eres & eyes no way to block it all out.

  Mebbe this is how things became for God. Mebbe once there really was a God who loved his world when it was lovabl and new but he did not want his world to be insyd him when it turnd to war & agony & death.

  He came to hate & fear the world that he had made but ther was no way for him to stop it just as ther is no way for me. But mebbe as time went on he did find a way to cast the world out from himself.

  He spat it owt.

  He vomitted it up.

  He carvd it out like carvin out a canser.

  He abandond it.

  He warkd away to another place a place of carm & peese.

  And thats why ther is no God for us to see nor hear nor feel.

  God has gon bak to being God & nothing but God.

  He has gon back to how he was at the very start.

  He is back in his wundrous isolayshon in a plase of emtiness and peese.

  And he is releevd.

  He is happy agen.

  And mebbe hes at work rite now making a brandnew world a simpler world.

  A world with non of us in it.

  So he wons was here in this world but now hes not.

  And without a God the worlds just left to its own devises.

  And it gets wors & wors & wors & bluddy wors.

  O how I wish to do what God did wen the awful poseshuns come. This is the wish of Billy Dean — to take the world owt from himself & cast it owt & wark away or flote down the river over the bluw horyzon to the iland wer he will be himself & nothing but himself.

  Ha! This does not occur. The poseshons go on and on. They get wors and wors.

  It isnt just the bomin of Blinkbonny that I no. I no all Blinkbonnys evrywer. It is like I move across the world with the enjins of destrucshon & rayn down death with them. I see playses I havnt nown & havnt seen so cudnt possibly no nor see. But I do no & I do see & they are in me & I am in them. And evrywer is fyr & smoke & topplin bildings & qwaykin erth & peple runnin screamin dyin & overhead the byutiful blak enjins of destrucshon blast throu the sky like things of thunder things of Hell. And all the erth is crackd & crushd & brout to ruwinayshon & ther are bodys & bits of bodys scattered acros the stones & hid within the stones & the sounds of weeping mingl with the wind & blood mixes with the dust & the gosts of the dead wander evrywer across the erth.

  And Billy Dean is forsd to look upon it all.

  Billy Dean, the boy that can speak with the voyses of the dead.

  Billy Dean, the boy that can heal the bodys of the livin.

  But ther is nothin Billy Dean can say nor do with this.

  And nower dos he find a God who crys owt,

  O my peepl what ar you doin to yourselvs!

  Look how the wilderness has grown with the growing Billy Dean. Ther are trees growin throu the shattad roofs & dilapidayted walls. Green turf spreds across the fallen stones. Dark green ivy creeps & creeps. Ther is hether in the rubbl & byutiful wild flowers flurish in the dust. Rabits liv & hop here. Ther intricate deep tunels are carvd throu fowndayshons and roots. Ther ar hedjhogs and rats and weesels and bee hives and wasps nests. Sumtimes foxes ar seen prowling. Ther barks and yowls ar herd at niyt. Skylarks nest on the erth among the ruins. Owls make ther homes in aynshent chimneys. Tits and rens inhabit tiny gaps and openings. Hawks weel hiy abuv and scan the erth for scampering prey.

  Yes it is byutiful this plase as new life gros across the jagged scorchd and blasted plases of destrucshon.

  Keep on. Keep looking as we wark — as we follo the riting pensil of Billy Dean. We pass a groop of the bereaved. We pass a littl encampment of those who have cum to seek healin. Ther showing each other ther woonds & blemishes. Ther tarking of ther panes and ther joys and ther praysin Billy Dean. Ther rosting meat on a fire. Ther turning ther eyes to the sky to God.

  We leev Blinkbonny and hed for the river. Feel how the erth softens beneeth our feet. Look at the distant mowntans and moors that shimmer in the lite. Look at the distant flat horizon of the sea.

  But turn yor eyes away when the puffs of smoke rise over the sity.

  Turn yor eyes away when the enjins of destrucshon fly.

  We come to a place of trees and shrubs. Jack & Joe are beneeth a hawthorn tree. Ther smoking sigarets. They must hav crackd sum joke becos ther both laffin. Jacks spinning a coyn up and down in the air. Ther here becos ther protecting Billy Dean. This is a plase where Billy gos for refuje to be alone by the running water to have a brake from all that healing & poseshun. The folowers cant folow him throu here. Sumtyms his mam comes to sit with him for a wile & to see how hes getting on. Sumtimes Mr McCaufrey comes with a pie or a plate of sausages. As the days & weeks & months pass by the trees at the entrans to the glayd have been hung with cards bering Billys name and with messajes of thanks & hope & prase.

  Cum forwad throu the shade beneath the trees. Listen to the river flow. See it glint throu the stems and weeds and undergroth. Thers this narro pathway then this glayd rite on the riverbank wher the sun pors down and the water pors past.

  Each time he comes here Billy looks for a glint of gold and sniffs for the smel of black sigarets. He looks for an elegent footprint. He has seen nothing smelt nothing. He has told himself that he wil only ever encounter such things in dreams. But enyway he loves this glade this plase of refuje.

  Here he is look. Hes sitting on the bank with his bare feet in the water. Its 1 of those days the erth seems like a hevan. Sun shinin warter glitterin erth beneeth him warm & tender. Thers jumpin fish. Thers damsel flys & dragonflys & bees. The swans swimmin carmly by the opposit bank. Thers skylarks carlin in the sky hiy abuv and a goldfinch singing in a tree nereby.

  “Billy,” I wisper.

  And tho he lifts his eyes from the water and looks up he cannot of cors hear.

  I go closer. A time of tryl is on its way and I want to wisper comfort to him.

  “Billy.” He looks arownd. O poor lad. Poor yung man. “Billy.”

  “Billy!”

  Its another voys a girls voys or a womans.

  “Billy!”

  O its her. Its that day. Step back. Keep still. Just watch.

  Only the pensil moves.

  He looks up in surprys. He wunders are Jack & Joe not out ther keeping an eye on things.

  “Billy.”

  He makes no reply. He hears footsteps and hears branches moved aside. Gives no reply. Then he sees that its the artist Elizabeth coming throu to him.

  “Its just me,” she says. “Elizabeth.”

  He holds up his hand in greeting. Shes wering blu jeans with a wite shirt and wite shoes on her feet.

  “Nobody tryd to stop you?” he said.

  “They said they thort I lookd speshal. They said if you didnt want me youd turn me bak. They laffd as I warkd away from them.”

  She cums closer and sits with him by the water. She draws a patern in the mud with her fingertip.

  “I saw you today,”
she says. “I saw you prayin & healin, Billy.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye. You say such weard lovely words & do such weard lovely things.”

  Is that all shes come to say?

  “I no that,” he groans.

  He looks acros the water sees fish glittering just below the surfas.

  “All those pepl,” she says. “All those woonds all that pane all that death and then all that releef and all that joy.”

  Hes silent.

  She poynts across the river to a swan. She traces the shape of it in the air with her finger.

  “How can the erth projus such a thing?” she says.

  He shakes his hed. Ther can be no anser. They watch the swan.

  “Ther fethers can be pens,” he says at last. “They can be made to rite words on paper or on the skin of beests. They . . .”

  He stops. They watch.

  “This is how I came here,” she says. “I followd the path that follows the river and I fownd myself close to Blinkbonny. I thort Id stay a littl wile and I kept on staying longer.”

  He watches the river flowing away and flowing away.

  “And maybe soon it will be time to move agen,” she says.

  “Hav you been to the sity?” he says. “Hav you been to the iland?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Hav you seen my father Wilfred the preest?”

  “O Billy. No. No.”

  “No mater. Forget all that. Just look at the byuty of the swan.”

  “You hav a grate gift,” she says.

  He turns away from her. Is that what shes cum to bluddy tel?

  A dull thud then another eckos from downriver. They look towards it and see nothing.

  “Do you think that evrything is over?” she says. “Do you —”

  Shes goin to say mor words but he fliks his hand into the air to stop her.

  “Don’t say words,” he says. “Dont ask qweschions dont ask words. Ther nowt but words & words & words & words. Lissen to the birds. Just lissen. And to the water & to the leevs in the breez. & the grass and . . .”

  He puts his hands acros his mouth to stop himself.

  “Non of that needs to be heald,” he wispers throu his fingers. “Non of that needs to be brout bak from the dead.”

  They lissen togetha & they go on lissenin. Thers no more thuds. Ther silent. No leters nor words nor marks cud mayk the sownds that can be herd wen the human beest is sylent for a wile.

  “Cum into the river with me,” he says.

  He stands up steps into the water and looks bak at her and holds out his hand.

  She steps towards him. Her wyt shoes sink a bit into the mud & they darken. He takes her hand & leeds her in. She gasps at the coldness the wetnes at the drag of water as they go deeper. They go up to ther wastes. She tiptoes on the stony riva bed she balanses herself to stop from farlin. They grip each others hand and go deeper deeper. They see the fear in each others eyes but they also see the laffter. They go deeper. They stand with the river flowin acros ther chests. Theyd only need to lean back to be swept away. Billy laffs at the fish below and he points down and they see them flikering and flashing ther. Elizabeth gasps as they swim and twist about her as they rise and say ther sylent O O O O. Billy dips his head into the water & moves it back & forward & feels the shugar in it being nibbld by the fish and being washd away. He rases his head agen and his hair hangs down over his eyes and his neck and tuches his sholders. She reeches out and cowms it off his fase with her fingers. They stare at eech other and ther is nothing to say. Thers just silens within them and the good noyses of the world arownd. Billy sees that she is byutiful. They hold each other ther in the river. And then she leans into him and shows him how to kiss. He presses close and for the first tym he nos the wish to go sumhow insyd her ryt insyd her so that he will becum her so ther will be nothing left of him so ther will be no mor Billy Dean.

  He dos not yet no how to do this thing.

  She smiles & steps away into the flow. She leads him back to the bank agen. They stand on the grass and the water flows from ther drechd clothes and from ther bodys to the erth.

  The birds continue singin around them.

  “Look at us!” Elizabeth laffs.

  She says she has to go. She kisses him agen.

  “Yor byutiful,” she wispers.

  He opens his mouth and trys to speak but shes alredy weaving her way throu the shrubs and bak into Blinkbonny.

  What a bluddy fool I am to lissen to them. What a spiky-heded styoopid-brained & emty bluddy fool. What a childe. What a bluddy styoopid bluddy soddin styoopid fool.

  “You are so grate,” they tell me.

  “You ar so gloryus you are a thing of wunder.”

  “You hav majic in yor tuch.”

  “You work true miracls.”

  “Acsept our gift.”

  “Acsept our prase.”

  “We ar honord that you wark amung us.”

  “Acsept our prares O Billy Dean.”

  Fool. Fool. Fool. Fool.

  They tell me I could hold back death.

  Fool.

  They say the dying stop ther dying becos of my tuch.

  I see them warkin laffin dansin singin them that came to me in pane & such distres.

  Fool.

  I see the dout & darknes clearin from them.

  I see the lite of life flood into them.

  I see it evry day & evry day just as evry day out in the world the boms go off & dout & darkness falls and falls and falls.

  Then 1 brite day wen Im on my way to Missus Malones they bring the body to me.

  They wark qwikly carryin it acros the rubbl crunch crunch.

  Ther are 4 of them that carry it on ther sholders on a wooden bord.

  Thers a weepin woman warkin at ther syd crunch crunch.

  They lay the bord down on a pyl of stones.

  Crunch.

  The body is rappd in sheets.

  I no it is for me & can be for nobody els but me.

  So I turn away from my path to Missus Malones & I wark to them crunch crunch.

  “Yor Billy Dean,” says the woman to me.

  “He is” says Jack who is sudenly ther with us.

  “What do you wish from him?” says Joe.

  “Weve brout my boy,” she says.

  The men start peelin the sheets away.

  She reeches for my hand.

  “Bring him back,” she says. “Yor Billy Dean. Tuch him. Bring him back.”

  A few folk gather. The word is spred. Mor pepl cum. Mam cums runnin to my syd. She reeches towards the woman but she wispers “Cum home Billy. Cum on just cum back home with me.”

  I dont move. I watch the body apearing as the sheets are taken off. A yung man dressd in green with a splash of blood lyk a star on his chest.

  “Plees,” the woman says. “Im not redy for him to be taken from me. Yor Billy Dean. Just tuch him Billy Dean.”

  I stare at the empty sky at the nowtness that has nothin in it but a cupl of tiny jetblak singin larks.

  I hear the voyses.

  “He can do it.”

  “You can do it Billy.”

  “Of cors he can.”

  “Hes a bluddy wonder.”

  “A miracl worker.”

  “You hav majic in yor tuch.”

  I look arownd agen.

  “Do it Master” says Jack.

  “Show them yor grate powers,” says Joe.

  They hold up ther hands and tell the peepl to give the master sum spays.

  I see Missus Malone leenin on her stik her fase all blank. I hear her voys within me.

  “It apears ther may be no end to yor gifts, William.”

  “No,” says Mam. “Cum away with me, son.”

  “Plees” the woman begs.

  Elizabeth cums to me & Jack & Joe allow her throu.

  “You dont hav to,” she says. “Nobody cud do this.”

  But I see the qwestion in her eyes. Cud you?

  The body
on the bord lies stil and sylent.

  I neel down at its side.

  I stroke its isy cheke its brow. I lay my hands upon its isy chest upon the isy conjeeld blood. I try to think of sumthin to wisper sumthin to sing sumthin to cum up with sum bluddy prare or sum bluddy howl. I even try. I stand up. I rase my hands to the sky. I yell out a stream of bollox. But thers nothing in it. I no that thers nowt. Just nowt. Just this cold body & my cold hands and the woman weepin abuv. I siy. I crouch beside the body agen. I see how byutiful it is even in its death. I see a tiny beetl roamin acros it then another. I reech to them and let them roam across my fingers then back onto the young mans skin. Mebbe the peple arownd me think that I am prayin or am deep in thort or am in poseshun. But all I do is watch the beetls roamin round and round and bak and forth across the cheeks and eyelids and the ere lobes & I wunder if they hear sumthin lyk crunch crunch as they wark & I wunder if they no ther is another being lookin down upon them. Soon other tiny worms and beetls cum — sum of them so smarl they cant hardly be sene at all.

  As I watch the voyses wisper is enything happenin can enythin be sene.

  1 voys gasps, “He moovd! I swer to God I sene him moov!”

  “Yes!” says another. “Yes! Yes!”

  Another fool. All of us such fools.

  I watch 1 beetl crawl into the yung mans nostril and 1 into his ere and I think of all the tiny creechers that will now explor the yung mans body from within and I see how the dead man has begun his return to the erth & to the things of the erth & I see how wunderful it is this mingling of blood & flesh & bone & dust & tiny crawling beests.

  I look up and ther is Mr McCaufreys big red fase gazin at me tenderly past all the other fases. I gaze strate back at him. He smiles. I want to laff with him. I want to rore with bluddy laffter. I mite as wel be tryin to resurrect 1 of his bluddy lamb chops. I mite as wel try to bring a string of best pork sausages bak to bluddy life.

  I take my hands away from the body of the byutiful yung man.

  “I am sorry,” I say to the weepin woman.

  “I am such a bluddy fool,” I say.

  Thats wen I see him fase to fase at last.

  The crowd remayns a wile. They watch me. The woman gose on weepin & gose on weepin as they lift her son & carry him away from me agen.