The Mill Pool, chapter 1
In the green water, among the rushing bubbles, he is looking at me still. His face shows white against the moss and the weed fronds.
As I watch, he mouths my name through the soundless water. An explosion of bubbles erupts from his lips. They race forward and cling to my eyes and face and for a moment I am blind. Then they boil upwards towards the daylight and I can see again. And just have time to catch his eyes once more, as they turn away from me into the dark, and his face is swallowed by the greenness all around.
Great a boy is crying far up beyond the ward. He as annoyed my concentration of me remembering Max, and what has become of him. I tried to rerun a scene. Here it is.
Max and I, on our bikes. Away from his street and down the hill road, out of town. Past the canal, the pubs, the blank fronts of the factory buildings, with Max always in front, me always behind. Under the flyover and the last estate and out into the September fields, with the sun shinning and our legs going and the wind squeezing tears out of our eyes. A good run, good enough for sweat to break out of my back, and my thigh muscles to start complaining.
Through the brown fields, slower now. Max began to tire, and I made up the gap, coming along side him. He is red in the face, grinning with concentration. We came to the little bridge over the river. There were willows by the water and an unkempt meadow that didn't look too soft or too wet. I was for trying it, since the water was deep enough to fish, but Max said no, he knew a better place. We cycled on.
I had been to the mill before. Mum had taken me there, with James, last summer. Overgrown with weeds and thorns, the little path meandered along between two ugly electric fences. We wheeled our bikes up, breathing fast, to join the dirt road that ran over the cattle grid to the mill stream. A public right-of-way the track was, though the mill itself, behind its high wall, was private and operational, supplying some little baking firm up town.
The mill stream disappeared into a low-slung arch in the stonework. We went round the slide, past the mill to the back of the buildings and the wheel. We stopped and had a brake.
Below the mill wheel was a sluice, beyond that the stream continued along until it opened into a shady mill pool, fringed with stone. This was where Max intended us to fish.
"I saw some big ones here once." He flung his bike down at the front of a plum tree.
"I'm hungry," Max said after trying to catch some fish. Without the fish even one going near his rod.
"Get some plums then." I yelled
He climbed up a plum tree that was above the mill pool. When he got up there he looked down into the pool. I looked up at him. He was very still on his perch, with his head tilted on one side. Surely he couldn't have fallen asleep? No, his eyes were wide opened, and so was his mouth, and he was gazing down into the water six feet or so below him. His hands were white and gripped to the branch as if he feared of falling off. I followed his gaze to the pool, but saw only the reflection of sunlight which hurt my eyes.
"Snap out of it. If this is a joke it's not funny," I yelled at him.
As I watch, he mouths my name through the soundless water. An explosion of bubbles erupts from his lips. They race forward and cling to my eyes and face and for a moment I am blind. Then they boil upwards towards the daylight and I can see again. And just have time to catch his eyes once more, as they turn away from me into the dark, and his face is swallowed by the greenness all around.
Great a boy is crying far up beyond the ward. He as annoyed my concentration of me remembering Max, and what has become of him. I tried to rerun a scene. Here it is.
Max and I, on our bikes. Away from his street and down the hill road, out of town. Past the canal, the pubs, the blank fronts of the factory buildings, with Max always in front, me always behind. Under the flyover and the last estate and out into the September fields, with the sun shinning and our legs going and the wind squeezing tears out of our eyes. A good run, good enough for sweat to break out of my back, and my thigh muscles to start complaining.
Through the brown fields, slower now. Max began to tire, and I made up the gap, coming along side him. He is red in the face, grinning with concentration. We came to the little bridge over the river. There were willows by the water and an unkempt meadow that didn't look too soft or too wet. I was for trying it, since the water was deep enough to fish, but Max said no, he knew a better place. We cycled on.
I had been to the mill before. Mum had taken me there, with James, last summer. Overgrown with weeds and thorns, the little path meandered along between two ugly electric fences. We wheeled our bikes up, breathing fast, to join the dirt road that ran over the cattle grid to the mill stream. A public right-of-way the track was, though the mill itself, behind its high wall, was private and operational, supplying some little baking firm up town.
The mill stream disappeared into a low-slung arch in the stonework. We went round the slide, past the mill to the back of the buildings and the wheel. We stopped and had a brake.
Below the mill wheel was a sluice, beyond that the stream continued along until it opened into a shady mill pool, fringed with stone. This was where Max intended us to fish.
"I saw some big ones here once." He flung his bike down at the front of a plum tree.
"I'm hungry," Max said after trying to catch some fish. Without the fish even one going near his rod.
"Get some plums then." I yelled
He climbed up a plum tree that was above the mill pool. When he got up there he looked down into the pool. I looked up at him. He was very still on his perch, with his head tilted on one side. Surely he couldn't have fallen asleep? No, his eyes were wide opened, and so was his mouth, and he was gazing down into the water six feet or so below him. His hands were white and gripped to the branch as if he feared of falling off. I followed his gaze to the pool, but saw only the reflection of sunlight which hurt my eyes.
"Snap out of it. If this is a joke it's not funny," I yelled at him.
