‘Malthus and one of his choirmen.’
After the meal, they wasted no time in leaving but were still caught in the mayfly storm coming from the river. The insects were swarming towards the lights on the village high street to mate.
‘It’s a good omen,’ said May before they ran to Bastian’s police station.
In the cell they hastened to put their new licence to good use. And it wasn’t long afterwards that Bastian was curled up in a ball on the floor happily out of his mind on opium with May stroking his hair.
Chapter Nineteen
Bastian was still coming down from his trip as he sat on the back pew awaiting Malthus’s Sunday morning sermon. May was next to him holding his hand. On his other side was Joshua and his wife Agrinda, Nabulus’s younger sister.
‘I wouldn’t be too disappointed,’ said Joshua.
‘About what?’ Bastian whispered back to his neighbour.
‘Nabulus closing the investigation into FA892.’
‘And Clem?’
‘I hear you filed it as a suicide.’
‘I thought I’d save myself some time.’
‘He was only the village pigsty-man. I wouldn’t step on Nabulus’s toes if I were you, he has friends in high places.’
The choir sang through the heatwave with jolly smiles and dancing, their exuberance only hemmed in by the pews, and they were a broad church bulging with new arrivals from Africa. Brightly dyed costumes shone with a feverish glow and cowry shells and bronze jewellery swayed in rhythm with the songs. They rejoiced as they had once done in King Solomon’s court and Malthus was entranced. He did, however, insist his favourite song was included, ‘I’m dying to get to heaven.’
After the notices were read by the church warden, it was time for Bastian and May, now his official village sweetheart, to meet the congregation and press the hot and sticky flesh. A tame monkey had swung in through an open window and was pulling on Bastian’s leg.
‘Do you like monkeys?’ asked Joshua.
‘Not particularly.’
‘Then you have a problem. They seem to like you.’
A cowry shell necklace was tied around Joshua’s neck, a gift from Agrinda.
‘Darling, are you going to introduce me to your friends?’ she asked.
‘My wife, Agrinda.’
‘And what do you make of our vicar?’ asked Bastian.
‘I prefer to see animal sacrifices in church,’ she replied.
‘Then perhaps you might like Friday evenings when Malthus handles the rattlesnakes.’
This was the vicar’s way of showing how he and his fellow believers were protected by God. And some spoke in tongues, but none lay hands on the sick of which there were none.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Nabulus of his sister as he brushed by towards the drinks table, ‘she doesn’t bite.’
‘We smother people in love, not sauce,’ said Agrinda, smiling.
She was lighter skinned than Nabulus, with high cheekbones, and wrapped in purple silk. She was short with a shaven head and looked prettier than a gold coated sleigh pulled by white tigers over a carpet of opium poppies. She had two tribal scars either side of her nose, but had Joshua married her through lust or prudence? Clearly it was a good career move.
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m Bastian.’
‘I know, and thank you for the gift of lamb. You must try my cooking one day soon.’
‘And what do you do, Agrinda?’ asked May.
‘I start lecturing at the University of Holistic Medicine next month,’ she replied. ‘After I settle into village life.’
‘I’m a teacher,’ said May.
‘I know,’ said Agrinda, ‘I hear some of your pupils were selected for the University.’
‘Like Nora?’ Bastian asked.
Agrinda’s face froze, everyone had heard of the carer’s sacrifice on the common with many hoping it didn’t catch on.
‘I do believe it’s about to rain,’ she said, upon which she turned around and left.
Joshua smiled uncomfortably for her abrupt absence but Agrinda was right, the rain drops began pelting the slates on the church roof above them.
‘Let it go, Bastian,’ Joshua advised, ‘for your own good. By the way, I was collecting opium sap from the Party fields the other day when it suddenly occurred to me that a trespasser had beaten me to quite a few poppies. I’d be grateful if you could take a look.’
Agrinda was watching from a distance and standing next to Nabulus. Her eyes squinted and her smile was gone, only frostiness covered her face with the cute button nose replaced with an icicle.
‘Does anyone want a drink?’ asked Jambit, who’d been hovering on the edge of the conversation.
‘Cider,’ replied Bastian.
‘Pineapple juice,’ said May.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Joshua, before shuffling through the crowd towards Agrinda and his boss.
Jambit returned with the drinks and Malthus.
‘Clem was a tortured soul,’ said Malthus. ‘But none of us are perfect.’
‘Why are you whispering?’ asked Bastian.
‘I don’t want Nabulus to hear me. I shall pray for my own forgiveness this afternoon.’
‘What have you done?’
‘It’s in advance.’
‘It’s pouring it down outside,’ said Holroyd, following his instructions from Nabulus to mingle.
‘We like the rain,’ said Bastian, and he left with May on his arm to the envy of many village maidens.
They were instantly soaked by the ferocious torrent but the sheets of water were warm and life affirming. They passed Nabulus’s bodyguard fixing the broken fence panel in front of the church vineyard and near the broken vines Nora had used to hang herself.
Chapter Twenty
They were in May’s bedroom with a buzzing apoica wasp annoying Bastian. He opened the window and the cool evening breeze felt good against his naked body as he ushered the wasp outside with an empty flagon. He saw June approach the house with Malthus. They both looked up and smiled, though Bastian had a heavy heart for he knew June’s secret and that she was in terrible danger.
‘I’m back,’ shouted June up the stairs, ‘I’ve got Malthus with me.’
‘And I’ve got Bastian,’ replied May.
Most of the village stayed up late, taking a siesta in the afternoons away from the scorching heat. Lanterns and candles lit the late nights. Bastian and May slipped on their clothes and went downstairs.
‘I much prefer that look on you,’ said June, as Bastian came down
