The Resurrection

Ruthie and Winfield pulled against Ma’s arm in an effort to peer around her form. Their entreaty was to glimpse the secret that lay within the gloom of the barn, yet that secret remained elusive. Their heads dropped. The moment had passed, and new wonders beckoned to their senses. From the depths of an old tool shed that abutted the large open-ended barn, other imaginings enticed them from within its planked interior. They darted from Ma’s embrace to the tool shed, where easier secrets lay to be found. The undiscovered secrets they sought were hidden amongst a pile of old discarded hand and farming tools. These consisted mainly of blunt shears and broken fork handles, that waited in a rusting heap for repair.

Pa shuffled his feet in the twilight, “Is our girl goin’ to be awright?”

“Sure”, replied Ma, letting out a proud smile, “Roseasharn’s a fine full woman - she’s goin’ to do jes’ fine. I’m real proud, an’ no mistake. …Take a while though.” Ma paused, and peered back through a crack between the boards of the door to the silhouette of the young woman. “Reckon’ we’re goin’ be here the night, least ways. Let’s get set over there,” she offered, pointing her hand across to the interior of the open shed. The others followed her prompt into the deep gloom, and their shadows melted into nothingness. Ma listened to the steady rain drumming upon the roof, and spoke aloud to the darkness, “Better be up and gone ‘afore light; owner’s gonna be about - maybe dogs too.”

Pa and Uncle John moved into the unyielding darkness, and began lying straw and empty feed sacks upon the hard floor, “She ain’t much, but she’s dry,” said Pa. The extended Joad family rested their weary limbs into the coolness offered by the dark night, and although Ruthie and Winfield fidgeted upon the sacking, star-spun dreams washed away their tiredness into the blackness of the void.

…‘Tommy’.

The rain finally gave up its steady drumbeat, and the hope of a new day rested within the bosom of the heavens.

Al flipped the carburettor, and jabbed his forefinger at the fuel line, and cursed the puddles of water that lay within the engine bay. The battery cables were greasy and slipped through his sore fingers. He sighed to himself; ‘She’ll never dry here – have ta move her to higher ground.’

The water level had dropped two clear inches in the night, but not before precious and meagre belongings piled onto the boards of the van had been soaked through. ‘Gonna take all of us to move her through this mud,’ continued Al aloud, to no one in particular, and he laid the tarp over the bonnet of the sodden vehicle and tied down the tapes.

The steel grey sky had cleared and the morning light was rising to an opaque shimmer, yet the air was cool and brisk. There was a kick in the air, and sweet hope swept in anew from the fields, and life seeped slowly back into the exhausted soil and the tired people. The song of tomorrow was let loose. The tarpaulin billowed, filled, and shook fully under the sudden movement of the new air.

In the barn, the bridge to the troubled soul held fast, and the shrivelled figure began to stir once again. The gift of life spurted through the thin figure of the starving man, and colour began to return to his gaunt face. The man turned upon the straw bedding, and curled himself like an infant. Life was reborn, and the man breathed fully once again.

Rose of Sharon leant her head against the knotty post that supported the open end of the barn, and gazed out wistfully across the vastness of the pink horizon. She felt a connection with the land, and her breasts hung heavily beneath her cotton dress, but the soreness and sorrow remained. She heard a familiar voice, turned and smiled. “He’s ok, Ma. Sleeping like a baby...”

“You has to get some sleep Roseasharn,” offered Ma, pressing forward, “I reckon you missed your fill. We can’t rest up here too long – have to get the fambly whole again.” Ma threw a heavy wool wrap around the shoulders of the young woman. “You did what you had to - I know’d you would.”

Rose of Sharon's eyes burst with tears, “We lost our baby Ma!”

“I knows ya hurtin' honeychild, but it's the way of things - tis God's way,” offered Ma, and she turned and looked at Uncle John, who was holding a hand to his grizzled jaw.

The boy emerged from the tool shed and dropped to his knees at the curled figure. “He ain’t goin’ to die? Tell me lady!” pleaded the boy, looking into the eyes of Rose of Sharon, seeking confirmation of hope.

“Hush, now don’t you fret non, he’s a sleepin’,” said Ma. “Goin’ to do hisself a power of good, an’ no mistake – you let him be now. There’ll be time for stirrin’ soon enough,” she said. Ma laid her arms into her lap and turned her worried gaze to the shrivelled figure, “Let him sleep now.”

Uncle John stood motionless. He stared out into the night and the star-spattered canopy that spread over the heavens.

The morning light rose, and the dark shadows of yesterday began to melt away. Ma spoke again. “Come on Pa, we gotta get ourselves together - we has to get back.” Her eyes were aflame, yet the tears of the night were still etched upon her haunted face.

Pa slipped into the good light of the barn, and unrolled a grain sack upon the floor, and smiled, ”Found a few handfuls o’ grain in them; reckon no one’ll miss what’s left. …Enough for a fair feed I reckon.”

Ma eyed the humble offering and recognised the truth and the unrelenting shame. The shame fled from her mind as she thought of Tommy. “Sure, good.” The drumbeat of humiliation beat heavily once more across the Joad family, and the yoke of hunger remained. As one, they looked through the open end of the barn, and listened to the new sound of the day that called to them.

The rain had stopped.

The song of tomorrow beckoned a new dawn, and at once, the gloom was lifted from the face of the land. The anger that had sustained the people for so long was folded away, like a new dollar bill that would be kept for another day. Their share of losing had been halted in the hope of the new light, The beginnings of life had returned, and hope was yielded up to the pressed people as a sunlit offering. The sun smiled once again upon the land, and onto the faces of the people.

The boy watched the family slip through the morning shadows of the barn. They began to pull at their damp clothes. He spoke, and although the words he uttered were small, they stabbed deeply into the heart of the virgin day.

The day stopped.

“What’ll we do? …We’ve got no folks.”

The family turned and looked at the boy, and silence filled every space of the new day. Pa and Uncle looked to the others, and then to the ground, Ma looked at Ruthie and Winfield, and Rose of Sharon looked into the boy’s eyes, and understood the truth.

“I’ll stay”, she said quietly, and as she smiled into the open faces around her, and added, “‘till he comes to,” and nodded her head at the curled figure.

Ma came to herself, recognising the new power emerging, and spoke softly, “Roseasharn, if you’re sure, I mean …you keep with these fellas ‘til you’re full rested. We has to go back.”

“I know. We’ll be quiet, no one will know we’re here,” replied Rose of Sharon in the softly lifting light.

Pa stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her shoulders; “You’re a good girl Rosie. Keep quiet, an’ we’ll come back soon, once we get squared.”

“Gonna make a real soup an' fetch back some baking, for you and the boy,” offered Ma quickly.

Ma embraced Rose of Sharon fully and brushed back her long hair, “Keep yer’ selves quiet now, you hear? We’ll be back, real soon.” She looked at the boy, saw the fear fade, and felt his faith, the faith of the people – and knew the truth.

“Be as quick as we can,” continued Ma, casting a worried glance into the face of the new woman, “Roseasharn, sit tight now ya hear? An’ get some rest – why we’ll be back before you knows it.”

The parcel of land that ran from the worn-out field stretched far away, to the dirt road, and the slope of the land twinkled in the moist morning. The Joad family stepped quietly and carefully across the mud and the mire. Under the white light of a new day, they made their way back down to the road. Under the realm of the breaking dawn they slipped soundlessly back along the highway to the camp.

Some of the boxcars in the camp had shifted in the night, to become dislodged from their sleepers by the rushing water and swirling mud. The fall of the water level had left a black tide mark around the belly of the cars, and everywhere people splashed about, trying to find drying places for their wet clothes. The morning air was clean and crisp, but the wilful air had thrown many of their clothes back into the running water.

Diamond points of light flashed into the eyes of the family as they stacked their soggy bundles. The loading of the truck had now become as tiresome as the search for dry hanging space, but their heavy limbs worked purposefully in the promising light of the new day. Clear space was found upon the roof of the truck, and although the tugging wind had delayed an early start, they gathered their belongings quickly. Movement had returned to the washed-out and muddy camp, and all around old engines began to throb with life.

It was a new start.

Within the vastness of eternity, time has nowhere to hide, and the world turned slowly once again. Dignity held fast, and the sudden change of weather filled the beleaguered people with fresh faith and fresh hope. New life had returned, and the promise of the open road and a new tomorrow called out to the people, and they followed...

221 Gum

 When I was seven years old our street and the one that ran parallel to ours was more than enough of a play area for me. Father Christmas had presented me with a brand new Raleigh Tomahawk the Christmas before and my best friend Barry and I would race each other from top to bottom of the two roads for hours until we were exhausted. He was a year and a half older than me and he had a Raleigh Chopper and therefore had the unfair advantage of having three gears to play with. Even so I was never far behind him when we raced.

It was the summer of ´74 and unseasonably hot. Our bikes lay on their sides glinting in the sunlight on the grass verge at the top of our road as we sat gasping for breath after our last race.

“There´s gypsies over the other side,” said Barry indicating his thumb towards the road opposite.

“What´s gypsies?” I asked.

“They live in caravans and steal peoples washing;” he answered.

I knew what a caravan was but I´d never seen one in real life. There was only one car on both of our streets, an old faded green Ford Corsair and I had my doubts that the car had the strength to even pull a caravan. On the rare occasions that it actually moved from its parking space opposite the waste ground between the houses it backfired like a machine gun, belching out thick black smoke and we could usually overtake it whilst going uphill on our bikes.

“I know where they are,” continued Barry, “Do you want to go and see?”

Now I knew I wasn´t allowed to venture any further than our two streets but technically speaking the place where Barry told me that they were still fell under our two street limit, albeit a little set back from the streets. The temptation to see an actual caravan almost outweighed the fear of my mum finding out and I surprised myself by agreeing to follow Barry to the gypsy camp.

We cycled down the road and turned up the opposite road towards where the old Ford was parked. Dismounting our bikes we pushed our way through the weeds and the nettles until we came across a clearing. A round pool around the size of about three or four normal paddling pools lay in the centre of the clearing spinning clockwise lazily in the sunlight.

“It´s a whirlpool,” whispered Barry knowingly. “Watch this.”

Barry lifted a stick from the ground and threw it into the water. The stick landed at the edge of the pool with an almost imperceptible splash, disappearing for a second before bobbing back to the surface. Within seconds it began rotating in unison with the water, slowly making its way to the centre of the pool. As it reached the centre it simply disappeared.

“They´re really dangerous, if you fell in there you´ll get sucked away,” said Barry.

“Where do you get sucked to?” I asked.

“Straight down to Hell,” said Barry, a wealth of wisdom.

We´d only just started doing proper Bible study at school and I was weary of going to Hell so I stayed well clear of what I thought must have been Hell´s giant plughole. Pressing on we made our way over to the thicket of trees that lay ahead. It was then I saw it.

“Barry look, it´s a horse.” I dropped my bike in the soft earth beneath the canopy of trees and stared out at the magnificent beast. I´d seen a few horses now and again but I´d never seen a pure white one before.

“She´s a beauty,” said Barry.

“I wonder who she belongs to,” I whispered trying my best not to spook the horse.

I didn´t have to wait long to find out for seconds later a boy around my age appeared from behind the flanks of the horse.

“Hiya,” he greeted shyly. “Her name´s Bess; Do you want to meet her?”

Barry dropped his bike next to mine and we approached the animal running our hands over its surprisingly coarse silky looking hair. The boy introduced himself and told us that they had set up here away from the rest of the camp because the other camp was too crowded.

“Come with me and I´ll show you our house.”

We left our bikes and followed the boy past a few large trees before entering yet another clearing. This one thankfully didn´t have a gateway to Hell situated in its centre. Instead a brightly coloured cart with a white tarpaulin above it dominated the space. It reminded me of the wagons I´d seen in old cowboy films only this one was painted with flowers and rainbows and had all sorts of sparkling bits hanging off it.

“My house,” said the boy proudly.

Barry and I looked on in awe. My house was an old blackened stone house that looked the same as all the others on the street and this kid lived in a wild-west wagon. Although I wasn´t sure of the word to describe how I felt, I know now as I´m older that it was the first time I´d felt pure envy.

“Mam,” he called out and a curtain shifted and a large lady with long black hair and a heaving bosom stepped out from behind it. “I´ve brought some friends over, this is Barry and this is Paul.”

“Pleased to meet you boys; You want a sandwich, I´m just making one for myself?”

Barry and I looked at each other and nodded our heads.

“Yes please,” we answered in unison.

Slowly we walked around the wagon, they called it a caravan, and I ran my hands over the smooth wooden wheels and the intricate painted designs.

“Bess drives this caravan,” said the boy. “She´s a real strong horse and she can set a good pace once she gets going.”

“Where do you go to school?” I asked.

“I don´t, my mum teaches me all I need to know.”

“I wish I didn´t have to go to school,” said Barry.

“Mum says it all rubbish that they teach you at school anyway,” said the boy shrugging his shoulders in a carefree manner.

“Sandwiches boys,” called the boy´s mother.

It was the first time I´d ever eaten potato crisp sandwiches and delicious they were too. After eating our sandwiches the boy fetched his bicycle from the back of the caravan and shouting a quick goodbye to his mum we returned to fetch our own bikes.

“I know a great place we can go,” said the gypsy boy, crossing himself the Catholic way as we passed the whirlpool.

We broke through the waste ground and followed the boy as he cycled up to the top of the road. When we reached the end of the tarmac both Barry and I stopped our bikes and watched as the boy cycled along the grasslands beyond our allowable range.

“Come on,” he shouted. “You have to see this.”

“Where are you going?” Barry shouted back.

“I´m not telling you, you have to see for yourself.”

Barry shifted his Chopper into first gear.

“Come on let´s go. If we don´t like it we can always just ride back.”

I climbed back on, my heart hammering in my chest, and cycled over the no-go line expecting to spontaneously combust or something but nothing happened and catching up with the boy we cycled our way into unfamiliar territory, the rough ground causing my front mudguard to rattle uncontrollably.

Suddenly the boy stopped in front of a huge clump of bushes and dismounting his bike he urged us to do the same.

The silence was ominous and I had to suppress the urge to cry. Barry didn´t look too comfortable either.

“Why are we stopping here?” Barry asked.

“This is one of the things I wanted to show you. Come give me a hand with these bushes.”

The boy grabbed a great handful of bush and lifted it off the ground.

“Hold this up while I crawl through,” he ordered.

We scrabbled at the bushes as they tore little cuts into our hands.

“Where are you going?” I whimpered my voice cracking.

“Just follow me. You´ll see.”

“You go first Paul, I´ll keep hold of this, it´ll be easier for me to hold it up than it is for you.”

I whispered a silent prayer and crawled into the leafy darkness.

“Over here,” called the boy.

I crawled behind him and then stopped in amazement. Barry was close behind me and I heard him scrambling his way next to me.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“I don´t know,” answered Barry.

Just in front of us was a huge concrete staircase littered with years of mould and mulched leaves. The smell was hugely overpowering and amplified by the dark black water at the bottom of whatever this thing was.

“This is where the spacemen hide when they come to invade the planet,” said the boy excited.

He crawled closer to the pit clutching a large stone in his left hand.

“I´m gonna throw this in there ,” he said.

“Don´t!” I cried out, afraid I might just pee my pants.

As he dropped the stone both Barry and I turned tail and scrabbled back the way we came breaking into the fresh air with undisguised relief.

The boy broke through the bushes seconds later smiling happily.

“What´s up are you scared?” he asked mockingly.

“No we´re not scared,” muttered Barry. “It stinks in there!”

Even though the sun was shining I still felt cold. It was years later that I found out what we had come upon had been an old air raid shelter.

“I think we should go back home now,” I said to Barry.

“You can´t go home now, I´ve got two more things to show you. One´s just at the bottom of there,” said the boy pointing towards an empty field.

“If this one´s as rubbish as the last one then we´re going back,” said Barry defiantly.

“Okay,” said the boy. “I know you won´t think this is rubbish.”

We freewheeled our way down to the bottom of the field until once again the boy stopped his bike and climbed off.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.

I didn´t know about Barry but I sure was.

“Come here and I´ll show you how to get fresh water from the ground.”

Dropping our bikes we headed over to where the boy stood looking really smug.

“There´s nothing here,” said Barry sounding annoyed.

“Oh yes there is, watch!”

The boy bent down and pulled up a thick black pipe that had been hidden by the long grass. Lots of small interconnecting pipes were attached to the bigger pipes. With his free hand the boy found the end of one of the smaller of the pipes and wiping the end on his shirt he swiftly stuck the end of the smaller pipe in his mouth and began sucking hard. Finally he blew out a mouthful of water like a fountain from his mouth.

“It´s perfectly safe to drink,” he said reinserting the pipe into his mouth and once again sucking. This time we could see him swallowing the water.

“Come on have a go.”

We both found a smaller pipe and began sucking and then drinking the sweet cool water. Once we´d had our fill we both admitted that this was indeed a great find. I found out a few years later that these were experimental animal feeders mainly used for baby pigs which I have to admit took the shine off of the experience but on the day I felt like a pioneer who´d just discovered a new frontier.

“Right, just one more thing to show you,” said the boy with a sigh of relief that we hadn´t complained about his watery secret.

“I´ve saved the best for last. How good are your mountain climbing skills?”

Barry and I looked at each other and started laughing. Neither of us had ever seen a mountain. We pedaled our way back the way we came and then turned down a barely perceptible dusty path. I pulled alongside Barry.

“How did he find these places?” I asked surprised how well the boy knew his way around.

“I don´t know perhaps it´s ´cos gypsies move around a lot. Let´s get a move on, I don´t want to lose him.”

We cycled uphill for around two miles before the pathway began dropping and then finally leveled out. We had to carry our bicycles over some parts of the pathway where people had dumped old pots of paint and pieces of wood spiked with rusty nails. The flatter the pathway got the steeper the sides became until before long they were sheer rugged rock –face. The boy stopped just up ahead and grinning he pointed above us.

“This is the place. We´ll leave the bikes here and we have to climb up there.”

I looked up and couldn´t even see the top. I could feel my adrenaline pumping and I hadn´t even started climbing yet.

“Are you sure the bikes will be safe here?” I asked already looking for an excuse to back out.

“Ha, nobody comes this far down the path. Listen to this. HELLO!” he screamed at the top of his voice. The echo came back seconds later…Hello, Hello, Hello…

After all having a go at seeing who could have the longest echo we began to climb. It wasn´t as difficult as it looked from the ground but it was a long way up and I did my best not to look down as I climbed. My shirt was sticking to me as the fierce sun burned down on us from just above our destination and as I pulled myself up onto the ledge at the top I was feeling almost dizzy from the heat. The ledge wasn´t massive but it seated the three of us comfortably as we looked down at the specks of shiny steel that was our bicycles at the bottom of the gully.

“Isn´t this the best thing you´ve ever done?” asked the boy and we had to agree. It was definitely the best thing we´d ever done. Our two streets seemed a world away from here. We sat up there like kings on a throne for at least half an hour just drinking in the silence. I was Barry who broke the spell.

“We´re gonna have to get going if we´re gonna make it home on time.”

“Okay, we´ll race down,” said the boy.

“You two can race, I´m going at my own speed,” I said more worried about the climb down than I had been about climbing up.

Barry and the boy almost dived over the edge and I could hear them laughing as they raced to find the quickest way down. I looked down and took my tentative first step when I heard the scream. I watched in horror as the boy floated away from the rock-face, his arms snatching at the empty air. He landed on his back, his head cracking on a large rock with a sound like a snapping of a branch. I froze where I was and could feel the tears running down my cheeks.

“Barry,” I cried, “Are you okay?”

“I´m okay and you?”

“I´m scared. I´m too scared to move.” My voice quivered and I could feel my chest heaving.

“You have to move, we´ve got to get help. Our parents are gonna kill us…” he trailed off.

We both made it down that day, Barry a good ten minutes before me. He waited patiently for me, his back turned away from the fallen boy. We rode home like we had tigers in our tanks and never spoke of the incident ever again. I spent the rest of the summer ignoring Barry and I never again cycled on the road parallel to ours, I was afraid that the all seeing eye of the whirlpool would suck me right off of my bike and down to Hell for what we had done. I don´t know if he was ever found but we didn´t hear anything of the missing boy in our village.

Even now, forty years later, the thing that disturbs me most about that fateful day is the fact that I can´t for the life in me remember the boy´s name yet try as I might I could never forget that old green Ford Corsairs number plate – 221 GUM.