The Knife of Never Letting Go

17. ENCOUNTER IN AN ORCHARD

My hand goes right behind my rucksack to my own knife.

“Leave it, Todd pup,” Hildy says, keeping her eyes on the man. “That’s not how this is gonna go.”

“What do ye think yer a-bringing into our village, Hildy?” the man says, hefting his machete in his hand, still looking at me and there’s real surprise in his asking and–

And is that hurt?

“I’m a-bringing in a boy pup and a girl pup what’s lost their way,” Hildy says. “Stand aside, Matthew.”

“I don’t see a boy pup nowhere,” Matthew says, his eyes starting to burn. He’s massively tall, shoulders like an ox and a thickened brow with lots of bafflement but not much tenderness. He looks like a walking, talking thunderstorm. “I see me a Prentisstown man. I see me a Prentisstown man with Prentisstown filth all over his Prentisstown Noise.” “That’s not what yer a-seeing,” Hildy says. “Look close.”

Matthew’s Noise is already lurching on me like hands pressing in, forcing its way into my own thinking, trying to ransack the room. It’s angry and asking and Noisy as a fire, so uneven I can’t make hide nor hair of it.

“Ye know the law, Hildy,” he says.

The law?

“The law is for men,” Hildy says, her voice staying calm, like we were standing there talking bout the weather. Can’t she see how red this man’s Noise is getting? Red ain’t yer colour if you wanna have a chat. “This here pup ain’t a man yet.” “I’ve still got twenty-eight days,” I say, without thinking.

“Yer numbers don’t mean nothing here, boy,” Matthew spits. “I don’t care how many days away ye are.”

“Calm yerself, Matthew,” Hildy says, sterner than I’d want her to. But to my surprise, Matthew looks at her all sore and steps back a step. “He’s a-fleeing Prentisstown, pup,” she says, a little softer. “He’s a-running away.” Matthew looks at her suspiciously and back to me but he’s lowering the machete. A little.

“Just like ye did yerself once,” Hildy says to him.

What?

“Yer from Prentisstown?” I blurt out.

Up comes the machete and Matthew steps forward again, threatening enough to start Manchee barking, “Back! Back! Back!”

“I was from New Elizabeth,” Matthew growls, twixt clenched teeth. “I’m never from Prentisstown, boy, not never, and don’t ye forget it.”

I see clearer flashes in his Noise now. Of impossible things, of crazy things, coming in a rush, like he can’t help it, things worse than the worst of the illegal vids Mr Hammar used to let out on the sly to the oldest and rowdiest of the boys in town, the kind where people seemed to die for real but there was no way of ever knowing for sure. Images and words and blood and screaming and—“Stop that right this second!” Hildy shouts. “Control yerself, Matthew Lyle. Control yerself right now.”

Matthew’s Noise subsides, sudden-like but still roiling, without quite so much control as Tam but still more than any man in Prentisstown.

But as soon as I think it, his machete raises again. “Ye’ll not say that word in our town, boy,” he says. “Not if ye know what’s good for ye.”

“There’ll be no threats to guests of mine as long as I’m alive,” Hildy says, her voice strong and clear. “Is that understood?”

Matthew looks at her, he don’t nod, he don’t say yes, but we all understand that he understands. He ain’t happy bout it, tho. His Noise still pokes and presses at me, slapping me if it could. He finally looks over to Viola.

“And who might this be then?” he says, pointing the machete at her.

And it happens before I even know I’m doing it, I swear.

One minute I’m standing there behind everyone and the next thing I know, I’m between Matthew and Viola, I have my knife out pointing at him, my own Noise falling like an avalanche and my mouth saying, “You best take two steps away from her and you best be taking ’em right quick.” “Todd!” Hildy shouts.

And “Todd!” Manchee barks.

And “Todd!” Viola shouts.

But there I am, knife out, my heart thumping fast like it’s finally figured out what I’m doing.

But there ain’t no stepping back.

Now how do you suppose that happened?

“Give me a reason, Prentissboy,” Matthew says, hoisting the machete. “Just give me one good reason.”

“Enough!” Hildy says.

And her voice has got something in it this time, like the word of rule, so much so that Matthew flinches a little. He’s still holding up his machete, still glaring at me, glaring at Hildy, his Noise throbbing like a wound.

And then his face twists a little.

And he begins, of all things, to cry.

Angrily, furiously trying not to, but standing there, big as a bullock, machete in hand, crying.

Which ain’t what I was expecting.

Hildy’s voice pulls back a bit. “Put the knife away, Todd pup.”

Matthew drops his machete to the ground and puts an arm across his eyes as he snuffles and yowls and moans. I look over at Viola. She’s just staring at Matthew, probably as confused as I am.

I drop the knife to my side but I don’t let it go. Not yet.

Matthew’s taking deep breaths, pain Noise and grief Noise dripping everywhere, and fury, too, at losing control so publicly. “It’s meant to be over,” he coughs. “Long over.”

“I know,” Hildy says, going forward and putting a hand on his arm.

“What’s going on?” I say.

“Never you mind, Todd pup,” Hildy says. “Prentisstown has a sad history.”

“That’s what Tam said,” I say. “As if I don’t know.”

Matthew looks up. “Ye don’t know the first bit of it, boy,” he says, teeth clenched again.

“That’s enough now,” Hildy says. “This boy ain’t yer enemy.” She looks at me, eyes a bit wide. “And he’s putting away his knife for that very reason.”

I twist the knife in my hand a time or two but then I reach behind my rucksack and put it away. Matthew’s glaring at me again but he’s starting to back off for real now and I’m wondering who Hildy is that he’s obeying her.

“They’re both innocent as lambs, Matthew pup,” Hildy says.

“Ain’t nobody innocent,” Matthew says bitterly, sniffing away his last bits of weepy snot and hefting up his machete again. “Nobody at all.”

He turns his back and strides into the orchard, not looking back.

Everyone else is still staring at us.

“The day only ages,” Hildy says to them, turning round in a circle. “There’ll be time enough for ameeting and a-greeting later on.”

Me and Viola watch as the workers start returning to their trees and their baskets and their whatevers, some eyes still on us but most people getting back to work.

“Are you in charge here or something?” I ask.

“Or something, Todd pup. C’mon, ye haven’t even seen the town yet.”

“What law was he talking about?”

“Long story, pup,” she says. “I’ll tell ye later.”

The path, still wide enough for men and vehicles and horses, tho I only see men, curves its way down thru more orchards on the hillsides of the little vale.

“What kind of fruit is that?” Viola asks, as two women cross the road in front of us with full baskets, the women watching us as they go.

“Crested pine,” Hildy says. “Sweet as sugar, loaded with vitamins.”