The Pesthouse by Jim Crace

Author:Jim Crace
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307455581
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2008-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

Margaret hadn’t had to run like this for years, not since she’d been a girl and dodging boys in games of free ’n’ freeze or taking part in races to and from the lake. She’d never had to run with a baby in her arms, taking care not to let the child’s head bang against branches or walls but still not slowing down to pay attention to her distress. But she was younger than the two giving chase and marginally more desperate.

Before the first man at the front of the building had managed to grab hold of her arm, she had instinctively run forward and to the side of him. If she had turned and run away, he would have caught her at the gate and hauled her back onto his land. Then what? But he was not expecting her to rush toward him and then take off just out of reach. Now he had to waste a few moments of advantage to turn himself around and take stock.

Margaret headed for the cottage door. The second man, a little younger than the first and simpleminded to all appearances, or maybe half asleep, just stood and watched. He hadn’t any idea who she was or why his elder was now calling out, “Bring her down!”

Margaret veered again and took the path that led around the east side of the house and into a horse paddock. A dog, which had been sleeping, shot out at her on its leash and missed her calf with its teeth by the thickness of a reed. She felt its breath. A moment later the first man cleared the corner, too, but snagged his ankles in the leash and hit the earth. The simpleton followed after, just sauntering, in time to see his buddy rolling on the ground, the dog beside itself with fury, and the fur-haired woman climbing the back fence, already too far gone to hear him say, “Blue devils, Charlie, what’s goin’ on?”

Charlie soon explained. “You’d better wake up, boy. We missed our chances there. We’ll get her, though. She owes us now.”

“She’s got a kid.”

“So it won’t be nothing new for her.” Any woman was a rare commodity for squatters like them. A beauty was too good to lose. They wanted her.

It did not take them long to saddle up their horses, equip themselves with cattle prods and rope, and ride around behind the house in search of Margaret. The men spread out, riding fifty paces or so apart, close enough to shout out to each other and to control a wide stretch of the land. Margaret, with Bella wailing, more frightened by the dog than by anything else, had scrambled through a choke of rocks and ended up above the house, looking down on the roof timbers. She was breathless, and angry, mostly with the men but partly with herself for having been so dangerously and laughably ambiguous. “Anything at all.” Not the wisest of remarks. She’d cracked her knee during the climb and caught the back of her hand on a thorn.

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