The Kimota Anthology Read Online Free PDF Page A

by the noise they were making. Kelly gave a shriek.
    “It’s all right,” Dylan said quickly. “I know it.”
    “He looks mad,” Michael said, grateful to the point of eagerness for any change of subject. “Look at his eyes.”
    “It’s a she,” Dylan said. “Those are just ordinary eyes for that kind of dog. Look at her tail.”
    The tail was wagging.
    “Come on, Sherry,” Dylan said.
    But the sheepdog, having checked them out and finding them of limited interest, dodged his outstretched hand and headed off and away. She was a neighbour’s dog, forever escaping and coming down here to hunt for rabbits. Her owner would set out looking for her, blowing a special whistle which the dog would ignore. Sometimes she’d drag home the day’s catch, to audible effect.
    Dylan said, belatedly, “That’s how you tell with a dog. You look at the tail.”
    “That’s only for normal dogs,” Jason said. “Dogs that get out here go funny.”
    “They don’t go funny,” Kelly said. “Our Rex used to run all over around here.”
    “I know, and then your dad had to have him put to sleep.”
    “He did not. Our Rex went to live on a farm.”
    They walked on up to the crest of the hill. There they sat in a line, looking down onto the river. It was some way below them. Where it turned, a brown foam gathered and piled. From here, it looked like dirty snow that lifted and moved when the wind blew.
    Jason wiped his nose in the usual way, and told them about a local dog he’d heard of whose puppies had been born without any eyes. This had been years and years ago, but for some reason people were starting to talk about it again.
    He said, “One of women from the big posh houses came knocking on the door last week. She was trying to get everyone to go to a meeting about it.”
    Sam said, “If it really was dangerous, they wouldn’t allow anybody down here.”
    Dylan said nothing, knowing that by ‘the posh houses’ they meant the road on which he lived. The newer council housing was almost right alongside. Both sets of residents stayed aloof. The people in the big houses were still trying to get the street layout altered so the council residents wouldn’t cut through. The council tenants accused the private residents of wanting to put up a dividing wall.
    Kelly said, “Them in the posh houses are always trying to get you to join something or sign something. Our dad always sends them off.”
    Jason said, “My dad says there’s all sorts under the soil out here. Before it was fields, it was all mines and factories that got pulled down.”
    “I know there was mines,” Kelly said. “That’s what those fenced bits are.”
    “There was a battery place and a dye works as well. That’s why all that orange and green stuff comes bubbling up when it rains.”
    Dylan’s interest in the subject was waning already. There were trees, there was grass. All was fine. End of story. Could he hear a whistle? Jason was saying, “Then the dogs probably go home and lick their paws after they’ve walked in it. Then they go all strange and then they die. It’s poison.”
    “It’s not poison,” Kelly said. “I’ve supped some of that.”
    “You don’t know.”
    “I know more than you.”
    “My bum’s all damp,” Michael said, and so they got up and moved on.
    Walking down the side of the hill, Dylan looked across the fields and saw the figure of Mr Johnson, Sherry’s owner. He was alone. He lowered the dog whistle, and Dylan guessed that he was staring in their direction although at this distance it was impossible to be sure. He wondered whether he ought to wave, but he didn’t.
    Dylan felt guilty for a while. But the guilt passed as they continued to descend, and Mr Johnson was lost from sight.
    Kelly, whose grandfather had been a miner, was talking about the pit shaft heads that dotted the reclaimed industrial area underlying the country park. To Dylan, these were no more than occasional fenced squares about the size of a