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The Rebel
by
[With apologies to John Symonds for a plagiarism of his excellent tale in Lilliput.]
Old John banged the broken door of the slumping shed and tied it with a rough piece of string.
He had put the young bull-calf away for the night and started to tramp through his uncultivated fields for his home.
He stubbed his toes on the thistles which pressed his old boots and tore his coat as he climbed over the barbed wire palings.
He was thinking of the forms he must fill in to-night to apply for forage for the calf; he had sold the cow as his pastures were not rich enough to feed her without Government paper assistance. He was stupid and confused by the forms and questionnaires, and he couldn't remember the dates and answers required. "And all those beasts in the field he grunted."
Slowly his thoughts trailed back to the past and over his memories drifted the odour of roast beef. The vision became clearer—yes! Beef, turning on a spit in front of an open fire, drop and crackle went the fat, the heavenly warm smell of the roast and browned potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, under the spit—the blue plates with red slices and rich dark gravy and aromatic hunks of fresh bread. Another thistle pricked him, he was back to the present evening and to the hard mousey slab of cheese, and evil smelling bread with synthetic marge, which was waiting for him.
"Damn!" said John and turned on his path.
He strode to the shed and tore at the knotted string.
He closed the creaking door quickly and there was a dull thud, a terrified bellow and silence.
Soon the door opened cautiously and John looked out.
No-one in sight, indeed, in England's rural country there could be no-one, but the sweeping hordes of civilian inspectors and the police, the police who always drove on the black tarmac roads in shining cars during their short working hours.
So John crept out carrying a bundle wrapped in sacking and bowed by the weight he stumbled over the darkening fields to his home.
It was a red-brisk farm built on the ground and the damp had blackened the walls and knocked off the plaster.
He opened the door on a room which was crowded with ornaments, dank curtains, decaying armchairs and a dirty carpet spread over the concrete floor.
His wife, bent and swollen with toil met him.
"John!" she said and became silent, looking at his blood-stained coat—then—"What is it?"
"I killed him", he said.
"But you dare not, you must not!" she whispered, "You'll be found out! What shall I do!"
"Hush, woman!" said John sharply, "there is coal—light the fire!"
He turned to the dirty scullery, and for some time there was a sound of chopping and running water, and heavy shufflings.
The John reappeared, dragging a rusty iron object.
The fire blazed. John drew the curtains and put out the light.
He went back to the scullery and returned carrying large soft lumps.
His wife watched. "John!" she said.
Soon a strange fragrance filled the room, and then a sizzling sound.
"John!" said his wife, "where is the Bull-calf?"
John did not answer.
He was alert, and slapped the plated on the table. His wife understood and was drawn into this strange festival. She hurried to help.
"Now!" he said, and they say down.
An hour later John moved from the table.
They did not speak to one another, but instinctively they went to the scullery.
There was yet time, the light had not returned to the sky.
John took the pick, yes! it must be done but now he was strong, and fear had left him.
For hours he laboured with powerful blows.
"It is deep enough, John?" said his wife.
At last!—they peered in and with accumulated energy they dragged the hideous bulk and dropped it in the pit.
John stamped it down, it was covered—it was lost—and the boards and carpet slid back to their accustomed place.
John raised himself, the dawn had come, later he would sleep, but now treading over the creaking boards he resolutely seated himself, and drawing out the necessary forms for provender and insurance, he filled them in easily and returned them to their official envelopes.
He waited a moment and then wrote slowly a notice to the Police of the theft or loss of his Bull-Calf.
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