Cloud Howe. Lewis Grassic Gibbon

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СКАЧАТЬ congregation had gone, they’d go anywhere but listen to him, he was aye interfering and preaching at folk that had done him no harm, couldn’t he leave them a-be? Forbye that he’d married a quean of the parish, and if there’s a worse thing a minister can do than marry a woman that knows the kirk folk, it’s only to suck sweeties under the pulpit in the time he’s supposed to be in silent prayer.

      Well, Mr Colquohoun, he didn’t suck sweets, but he did near everything else, folk said, and most of Segget, though it thronged to hear him, had no notion to vote for the creature at all.

      But when he was seen stride up to the pulpit, and he leaned from the pulpit rails and he preached, the elders were first of all ta’en with his way, and the old folk next with the thing that he preached, not the mealy stuff that you’d now hear often, but meaty and strong and preached with some fire—and man! he fairly could tell a bit tale!

      For he took his text from a chapter in Judges, his sermon on Gath and the things that that Jew childe Samson did, how at last the giant was bound to a pillar, but he woke from the stupor and looked round about, and cried that the Philistines free him his bonds; and they laughed and they feasted, paying him no heed, sunk in their swine-like glaurs of vice. Their gods were idols of brass and of gold, they lived on the sweat and the blood of men, crying one to the other, Behold, we are great, we endure, and not earth itself is more sure. Pleasure is ours and the taste of lust, wine in our mouths and power in our hands; and the lash was heard on the bowed slave’s back, they had mercy on neither their kith nor their kin. And Samson woke and looked round again, he was shorn of his hair, bound naked there, in the lights of the torches, tormented and chained. And then sudden the Philistines felt the walls rock and they looked them about and saw the flames wave, low and sharp in a little wind; and again about them the great hall groaned, and Samson tore down the pillars of the roof, and the roof fell in and slew him and them…. And Samson was rising again in our sight, threatening destruction unless we should change, and free both him and the prisoners chained in the littered halls of our secret hearts.

      And maybe it was because it was Spring, new-come, the sun a long, drowsy blink in the kirk, and folk heard the voice of the Reverend Colquohoun like the wind they’d hear up under the hills, fine and safe as they listened below, and who could he mean by Samson but them, ground down by the rents they’d to pay the Mowats? Maybe it was that and maybe it was because folk aye had prided themselves in Segget in taking no heed of what others said, that they licked up the sermon like calves at a cog; and a fair bit crowd watched Robert Colquohoun, him and his wife, she seemed decent and quiet, mount on their bikes and ride home to Kinraddie.

      ROBERT SAID TO Chris, That’s the end of my chance. But I’m glad I preached what I felt and thought. But Chris had a clearer vision than his, They liked the sermon and I think they liked you. They hadn’t a notion what the sermon meant—themselves the Philistines and someone else Samson.

      Robert stared. But I made it plain as plain. Chris laughed, To yourself; anyhow, we’ll see. And they rode to Kinraddie, and the days went by, Robert didn’t believe he would head the leet. But he found out, for fun, all he could about Segget, from papers and Else and lists and old books, there was less than a thousand souls in Segget, and most of them lost, if you trusted Else. Half of the Segget folk worked at the mills—the spinners, as the rest of Segget called them; the others kept shops or were joiners or smiths, folk who worked on the railway, the land, the roads, and the gardens of Segget House. Robert found an old map of the place and renewed it, playing as a boy with a toy town.

      Chris leaned on his chair and looked over his shoulder, his fingers nimble in limning New Toun (where the folk had gone when the spinners came), Old Toun and its winding jumble of lanes that bunched and clustered around the West Wynd. South was the Arms, in the Segget Square, the East Wynd dotted with a joiner’s, a school, a tailor’s shop, a grocery, a sutor’s—and the Lord knows what, Robert said as his pen swopped down the Wynd to the Segget Square. Then it wheeled about and went up The Close to the post-office-grocery-shop combined, dotted the Segget smiddy beyond, and syne lost itself in the Segget slums…. Chris saw on the northern outskirts of Segget two dots for the Manse and the steepleless kirk, and over to the west another one still, Segget House, where the Mowats lived, the old mill-owner new-dead, said Else, and his son, young Stephen, at an English college.

      And Robert would whistle as he looked at his map—What mightn’t a minister do in Segget, with the help of young Mowat or the folk of the schools? And sutors are atheists, bound to have brains, and extremely religious, all atheists are. One could do great things with a village League…

      Then he would laugh, Just playing with bricks! Εwan, where are those toys you’ve outgrown?

      The news that he’d topped the leet at the poll was brought to Robert by an elder of Segget, it was Else who opened the door for the creature, she knew him well, but she didn’t let on. It was wee Peter Peat, the tailor of Segget, his shop stood mid-way the wind of East Wynd, with his house behind it, he thought it a castle. And he spoke right fierce, and he’d tell a man, before you were well in the lithe of his door, that he made a fine neighbour to those that were good, the best of friends to his friends, he was, but God pity the man that fell out with him, he’d never forgive an injury, never. And he was the biggest Tory in Segget, the head of the Segget Conservative branch, and an awful patriot, keen for blood; but he’d loup in his shoes as he heard his wife, Meg Peat that was slow and sonsy to look at, come into the shop, she’d cry Peter, I’m away. Mind the fire and have tea set ready; and he’d quaver, Ay Meg, like an ill-kicked cur. But soon’s she was gone he’d look fierce as ever, ready to kill you and eat you forbye, and running his tape up and down your bit stomach as though he were gutting you and enjoying it.

      Well, here he was standing, fierce as a futret. Is the Reverend Mr Colquohoun indoors? And Else said, I’ll see; what name shall I tell him? And he said Gang and tell him Peter Peat’s here.

      Else went and found the minister in his study, and the minister said Peat? and looked at the mistress; and the mistress smiled in the quiet way she had, and shook her head, and the minister shook his. Still, kindling or peat, I suppose I’d best see him!

      Else went down the stairs to where Peter stood. Come in, and wipe your feet on the mat. He looked as though he’d have liked to wipe them on her, but he came in, fierce in his five feet two, the minister was waiting and rose when he came. I’ve come from Segget, Else heard the thing say, and the minister answer as she closed the door, Oh, yes? Well, won’t you sit down, Mr Peat?

      And then, a half hour or so after that, Chris heard the closing of the Manse front door and syne the scamper of feet on the stairs, she thought it was Ewan come in from his play. But instead it was Robert, he burst into the room, his face was flushed and he caught her arms, and plucked her up from the chair she sat in, and danced her half round the great-windowed room. She gasped, What is’t? and he said What, that? Peter Peat, the tailor of Segget, of course. Then he dropped in the chair from which he had plucked her, and sat there panting, still holding her hands. Christine, you’re now looking at Segget’s minister. And he’s promised that never as long as he lives he’ll pray for All-but the Prince of Wales!

      HE TOLD THE story he’d gotten from Peter, and Chris heard it later amended by Else, a warning that folk in a pulpit speak plain. He was fell religious, wee Peter Peat, an elder of the kirk and twice every Sunday he’d nip up and down the pews with the bag; and look at you sharp to see what you put in. And once he cried out to Dalziel of Meiklebogs, that was stinking with silver but fair was right canny, No, no, I’ll not have a button from you! And Meiklebogs reddened like a pig with rash, and dropped a half-crown in the bag by mistake, he was so took aback and СКАЧАТЬ