THAT NIGHT, WILLIAM Barnes went out onto the hill among the sheep at ten and stayed there, knowing he would not sleep in his bed. He moved among the animals, touching one here and there, went to the top of the slope and sat, walked across to the far side, and sat again. One or two of the sheep ambled nearer so that he could feel the warmth of their breath on the air around him.
He could not think of what was to happen, nor not think of it. He thought of Ted, the day he had arrived up here, of Ted when they had carried him back half-frozen stiff, of Ted rubbing a newborn lamb with a handful of straw to make it cough the mucus from its lungs to breathe.
He had heard the story a dozen times. What had happened had happened, that was plain enough, but that Ted had meant it to happen, had hit out meaning to kill, he could never accept. Anger might have killed, anger or accident. Not intent.
But it had come to this in the end and nothing had made a difference.
He could not make sense of it and for the first time in his adult life, in the darkness, he wept and then sat, simply waiting for the morning.
They had given him food but he had not eaten, and whisky which he had asked for but not drunk. The warder had tried to tempt him with the playing cards again but Ted’s hand had been shaking so much he had knocked the pack onto the floor and they had pattered down everywhere, sliding under the table and chairs and slipping into a corner and touching the front of the wooden cupboard. They had got down on their hands and knees to retrieve them but the warder had grabbed most and made Ted get back onto the chair.
His bed was made but he did not lie on it.
The chaplain had been and spoken to him and then read out of the Bible, a passage about mercy which Ted knew by heart, having heard Reuben say it aloud a hundred times or more. His lips had mouthed the words with the priest, who had looked at him intently, before reading on. He had asked if there was anything he had to say, or ask, or tell, and Ted had opened his mouth to cry out in terror and anguish and pleading, but he could make no sound come.
The governor had been and tried his best to give him courage and Ted had felt for him because of the horror his job forced him to endure but the courage did not come. All night, his bowels kept opening until he thought there could surely be no waste left in his body. But still it came.
The doctor came, with brandy, which he was suddenly greedy for and drank down so fast it took his breath and made him choke. He held out the glass and, after hesitating, the man poured more. Ted set it on the table in front of him. When they came for him he would swallow it, at the last minute, before he was taken again down the endless narrow corridors.
There were no corridors. He was almost asleep, and in the claws of a nightmare, sitting at the table with his head in his hands, when he was wakened by the warder’s hand on his arm, shaking him hard, and then by the opening of the door. Two men entered, a tall warder behind a man of middle height, slight, with a small moustache. He wore a dark suit with a smart white handkerchief in the top pocket.
Ted did not know where he was or what was happening, until his own warder handed him the brandy he had kept. ‘Drink it up quick,’ he said softly. He held it for him while he drank, as if Ted were a baby, because his hand shook too much. This time, though it burned his gullet, it did not choke him.
‘Follow me please.’
The wooden cupboard had been pushed sideways. It slid easily, as if oiled. Ted hesitated, then stepped behind the man into the room beyond.
And it was here. No corridors. No keys. Here. The small room.
Time did not stop or go backwards, time went on in the old steady way, but so little time, seconds, before he was standing where the man told him, the chaplain was making the sign of the cross, there was another man binding his arms, then bending down, and before another second had gone there was a strap tying his legs together. His bowels heaved and opened. He screamed but the scream was muffled by the cloth bag over his head, over his face.
A muffled click and his head cracked open, as if it were hitting stone and the light inside the bag went out.