The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More Read online

"Don't worry," Ernie said. He took the gun and the box of bullets and went out to see what he could kill. He was a big lout of a boy, fifteen years old this birthday. Like his truck-driver father, he had small slitty eyes set very close together near the top of the nose. His mouth was loose, the lips often wet. Brought up in a household where physical violence was an everyday occurrence, he was himself an extremely violent person. Most Saturday afternoons, he and a gang of friends travelled by train or bus to football matches, and if they didn't manage to get into a bloody fight before they returned home, they considered it a wasted day. He took great pleasure in catching small boys after school and twisting their arms behind their backs. Then he would order them to say insulting and filthy things about their own parents.

  "Ow! Please don't, Ernie! Please?"

  "Say it or I'll twist your arm off!"

  They always said it. Then he would give the arm an extra twist and the victim would go off in tears.

  Ernie's best friend was called Raymond. He lived four doors away, and he, too, was a big boy for his age. But while Ernie was heavy and loutish, Raymond was tall, slim and muscular.

  Outside Raymond's house, Ernie put two fingers in his mouth and gave a long shrill whistle. Raymond came out. "Look what I got for me birthday," Ernie said, showing the gun.

  "Gripes!" Raymond said. "We can have some fun with that!"

  "Come on, then," Ernie said. "We're goin' up to the big field the other side of the lake to get us a rabbit."

  The two boys set off. This was a Saturday morning in May, and the countryside was beautiful around the small village where the boys lived. The chestnut trees were in full flower and the hawthorn was white along the hedges. To reach the big rabbit field, Ernie and Raymond had first to walk down a narrow hedgy lane for half a mile. Then they must cross the railway line, and go round the big lake where wild ducks and moorhens and coots and ring-ouzels lived. Beyond the lake, over the hill and down the other side, lay the rabbit field. This was all private land belonging to Mr Douglas Highton and the lake itself was a sanctuary for waterfowl.

  All the way up the lane, they took turns with the gun, potting at small birds in the hedges. Ernie got a bullfinch and a hedge-sparrow. Raymond got a second bullfinch, a whitethroat and a yellowhammer. As each bird was killed, they tied it by the legs to a line of string. Raymond never went anywhere without a big ball of string in his jacket pocket, and a knife. Now they had five little birds dangling on the line of string.

  "You know something," Raymond said. "We can eat these."

  "Don't talk so daft," Ernie said. "There's not enough meat on one of those to feed a woodlouse."

  "There is, too," Raymond said. 'The Frenchies eat 'em and so do the Eyeties. Mr Sanders told us about it in class. He said the Frenchies and the Eyeties put up nets and catch 'em by the million and then they eat 'em."

  "All right, then," Ernie said. "Let's see 'ow many we can get. Then we'll take 'em 'ome and put 'em in the rabbit stew."

  As they progressed up the lane, they shot at every little bird they saw. By the time they got to the railway line, they had fourteen small birds dangling on the line of string.

  "Hey!" whispered Ernie, pointing with a long arm. "Look over there!"

  There was a group of trees and bushes alongside the railway line, and beside one of the bushes stood a small boy. He was looking up into the branches of an old tree through a pair of binoculars.

  "You know who that is?" Raymond whispered back. "It's that little twerp Watson."

  "You're right!" Ernie whispered. "It's Watson, the scum of the earth!"

  Peter Watson was always the enemy. Ernie and Raymond detested him because he was nearly everything that they were not. He had a small frail body. His face was freckled and he wore spectacles with thick lenses. He was a brilliant pupil, already in the senior class at school although he was only thirteen. He loved music and played the piano well. He was no good at games. He was quiet and polite. His clothes, although patched and darned, were always clean. And his father did not drive a truck or work in a factory. He worked in the bank.

  "Let's give the little perisher a fright," Ernie whispered.

  The two bigger boys crept up close to the small boy, who didn't see them because he still had binoculars to his eyes.

  " 'Ands up!" shouted Ernie, pointing the gun.

  Peter Watson jumped. He lowered the binoculars and stared through his spectacles at the two intruders.

  "Go on!" Ernie shouted. "Stick 'em up!"

  "I wouldn't point that gun if I were you," Peter Watson said.

  "We're givin' the orders round 'ere!" Ernie said.

  "So stick 'em up," Raymond said, "unless you want a slug in the guts!"

  Peter Watson stood quite still, holding the binoculars in front of him with both hands. He looked at Raymond. Then he looked at Ernie. He was not afraid, but he knew better than to play the fool with these two. He had suffered a good deal from their attentions over the years.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  "I want you to stick 'em up!" Ernie yelled at him. "Can't you understand English?"

  Peter Watson didn't move.

  "I'll count to five," Ernie said. "And if they're not up by then, you get it in the guts. One. . . Two. . . Three. . ."

  Peter Watson raised his arms slowly above his head. It was the only sensible thing to do. Raymond stepped forward and snatched the binoculars from his hands. "What's this?" he snapped. "Who you spyin' on?"

  "Nobody."

  "Don't lie, Watson. Them things is used for spyin'! I'll bet you was spyin' on us? That's right, ain't it? Confess it!"

  "I certainly wasn't spying on you."

  "Give 'im a clip over the ear," Ernie said. "Teach 'im not to lie to us."

  "I'll do that in a minute," Raymond said. "I'm just workin' meself up."

  Peter Watson considered the possibility of trying to escape. All he could do would be to turn and run, and that was pointless. They'd catch him in seconds. And if he shouted for help, there was no one to hear him. All he could do, therefore, was to keep calm and try to talk his way out of the situation.

  "Keep them 'ands up!" Ernie barked, waving the barrel of the gun gently from side to side the way he had seen it done by gangsters on the telly. "Go on, laddie, reach!"

  Peter did as he was told.

  "So 'oo was you spyin' on?" Raymond asked. "Out with it!"

  "I was watching a green woodpecker," Peter said.

  "A what?"

  "A male green woodpecker. He was tapping the trunk of that old dead tree, searching for grubs."

  "Where is 'ee?" Ernie snapped, raising his gun. "I'll 'ave 'im!"

  "No, you won't," Peter said, looking at the string of tiny birds slung over Raymond's shoulder. "He flew off the moment you shouted. Woodpeckers are extremely timid."

  "What you watchin' 'im for?" Raymond asked suspiciously. "What's the point? Don't you 'ave nothin' better to do?"

  "It's fun watching birds," Peter said. "It's a lot more fun than shooting them."

  "Why, you cheeky little bleeder!" Ernie cried. "So you don't like us shootin' birds, eh? Is that what you're sayin'?"

  "I think it's absolutely pointless."

  "You don't like anything we do, isn't that right?" Raymond said.

  Peter didn't answer.

  "Well, let me tell you something," Raymond went on. "We don't like anything you do either."

  Peter's arms were beginning to ache. He decided to take a risk. Slowly, he lowered them to his sides.

  "Up!" yelled Ernie. "Get 'em up!"

  "What if I refuse?"

  "Blimey! You got a ruddy nerve, ain't you?" Ernie said. "I'm tellin' you for the last time, if you don't stick 'em up I'll pull the trigger!"

  "That would be a criminal act," Peter said. "It would be a case for the police."

  "And you'd be a case for the 'ospital!" Ernie said.

  "Go ahead and shoot," Peter said. "Then they'll send you to Borstal. That's prison."

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