Turf or Stone Read Online Free

clerk.’
    The vicar flushed: ‘In this case I shall of course, accept no fee. Good heavens, don’t you feel the disgrace,’ he burst out in a flood of indignation.
    Easter smiled at him, cruelly, enigmatically silent. The vicar examined the face before him, the half-bared upper teeth, the dangerous eyes, and his mind grasped at reassurance.
    ‘I hope you will be good to your wife?’
    Easter raised his shoulders. He walked away between the trimmed yews to the gate, leaned over it, spat into the road, and taking out a cigarette, stood waiting for Mary.
    The vicar returned to the vestry: ‘A pariah,’ he muttered full of resentment. Mary was standing up. The vicar went up to her as close as he could, so that he might probe the texture of her skin with his dim eyes… women fascinated him.
    ‘Your husband is waiting for you. But don’t hurry,’ he added vindictively. Once more he held out his hand, which almost trembled with emotional sympathy, and taking it, Mary said dully: ‘Thank you, I’ll go,’ fixing her swollen eyes on his face as if she were dazed from her weeping. He continued to hold the outstretched hand, slightly squeezing the palm and working his fingers towards her wrist, bare and warm above her glove.
    ‘My child…’ he murmured. His voice was tender, buthe could not go on because Mary’s vague gaze was so indifferent. He felt too embarrassed.
    The clerk and the verger thinking he wished to be alone with her, took up their hats and went away, rather downcast by the doleful ceremony. The clerk untied his dog, which jumped up at him playfully, then leapt the churchyard wall and ran up the road, ahead of his master.
    * * *
    Easter turned back to the church, scowling and blowing smoke.
    Would Mary never give over? What in hell could he do? He was beginning to be very angry when at last she appeared.
    ‘Come on,’ he said.
    As they walked away together the vicar watched them, distressed and helpless. He was obliged to tell himself that he had done the right thing. He said it once, and that was enough for him. Later he repeated it three times to his wife, and still she was not convinced.
    Easter said: ‘I want my ring back.’
    ‘Take your ring then.’
    He put the ring on his finger and looked at his wife as she walked sadly in the wind, wrapping her loose coat about her, hard and desolate. And she looked at him with disgust; at that moment they both remembered the night of their mating, she shameful of her traitorous flesh, he quickening to desire. Her tears were no longer falling, but she could hardly speak. Her voice sounded rough and thick, her breath shuddered: her features were slightly swollen,her under lip was moist and parted from the upper; the tear marks, though dry, still glistened on her pale skin. Her eyes, heavy and cast down, were sullenly averted.
    He had taken her when for a while she had put aside her airs and abandoned herself to caresses. She seemed with out airs now… she wanted to yield, she would yield….
    Easter loved women who were sad and gentle, and suffered him. He came close to her, put his open hand on her side: ‘Let’s go home, Mary.’
    She hastily retreated. He pursued until she pressed against the frosty hedge and cold flakes fell on her upturned bitter face. He threw one arm around her, his large eyes burning eagerly, approached her own. She pushed him away, evading the kiss.
    In an instant he was enraged, and no longer wanted her. He pinched her arm, wrenching at her clothes in spite, and gave her a rough shove which caused her to stumble. She fell sideways to the ground, on the frozen grass and mud. Easter’s teeth gleamed.
    Then she cried out; she complained aloud in tense misery between groaning and screaming. On market days buses run along the country roads to and from Salus. A few minutes later one approached. Easter stopped it, and leapt in, leaving Mary standing shaking the frosty leaves off her coat.
    ‘You can go home by yourself – or not at