The Flight of the Golden Bird (12 page)

“Na, Jack,” she says, “it’s no good. There’s something wrong here, something terrible going a-wrong. Nothing seems to be right about the place. Here, go out with my purse, laddie... run up to the village to the butcher! I’m saving this for a rainy day.” And she took a half-crown out o’ her purse. “Jack, go up to the
butcher and get a wee bit o’ meat from the butcher. I’ll make ye a wee bite when you come back.”

Now, it wasn’t far from the wee house to the village, about a quarter o’ mile Jack had to walk. When Jack walked up the village, all the people were gathered in the middle of the town square. They’re all blethering and they’re chatting and blethering, speaking to each other. One was saying, “I’ve sprayed my garden and it’s overrun with caterpillars. And I’ve tried to spray it; it’s no good.”

The butcher was out with his apron. He said, “Three times I tried to kill a bullock this morning and three times I killed it; three times it jumped back on its feet. I don’t know what’s wrong. The villagers have run out o’ meat. I got a quota o’ ducks in this morning, and every time I pull their necks their heads jump back on. There’s something terrible happening!”

Jack went up to the butchers. He says, “Give me a wee bit o’ meat for my mother.”

He says, “Laddie, there’s no a bit o’ meat in the shop. Do ye no ken what I’m trying to tell the people in the village? I’ve tried my best this morning to kill a young bullock to supply the village and I can’t kill it.”

“Well,” Jack said, “the same thing happened to me: I tried to boil an egg and I can’t boil an egg; I tried to kill a cockerel—”

“I tried to kill
ten
cockerels,” says the butcher, “but
they’ll no die.”

“Oh dear-dear,” says Jack, “we must be in some kind o’ trouble. Is it happening to other places forbyes this?”

“Well, I just had word,” says the butcher, “the next village up two miles away, and the same thing’s happened to them. Folk can’t even eat an apple – when they sink their teeth into it, it’ll not even bite. They can’t cook a vegetable, they can’t boil water, they can’t do anything! The whole world’s going to come to a standstill. There’s something going terrible wrong –
nothing seems to die any more.”

And then Jack thought in his head: “It’s my fault. I’m the cause o’ it.” He walked back and he told his mother the same story I’m telling you.

He says, “Mother, there’s no butcher meat for ye.”

She says, “Why, laddie, why no?”

He says, “Look, the butcher can’t kill any beef, because it’ll no die.”

“But, Jack,” she says, “why not – it’ll not die? What’s wrong with the country? What’s wrong with the world?”

He says, “Mother, it’s all my fault!”

“Your fault,” she says, “Jack?”

“Aye, Mother,” it’s my fault,” he says. “Listen, Mother: this morning when you were not feeling very well, I walked along the shore to gather some sticks for the fire and I met Death coming to take you away. I took his scythe from him and I broke his scythe. I gave him a beating, Mother, and I put him in a nut! And I flung him in the tide and I plugged the nut so’s he can’t get out, Mother. And God knows where he is now. He’s floating in the sea, Mother, for ever and ever and ever. And nothing’ll die – the world is overrun with caterpillars and worms and everything – there’s nothing can die! But, Mother, I would rather die with starvation than lose you.”

“Jack, Jack, Jack, laddie,” she says, “do ye no ken what ye’ve done? Ye’ve destroyed the only thing that keeps the world alive.”

“What do you mean, Mother, keeps the world alive? Look, if I hadn’t killed him, I hadn’t beat him and put him in that nut – you’d be dead by this time!”

“I would be dead, Jack,” she says, “probably, but the other people would be getting food, and the world would be going on – the way it should be – only for you, laddie!”

“But, Mother,” he says, “what am I going to do?”

She says, “Jack, there’s only one thing ye can do… ye’re a beachcomber like your father afore ye…”

“Aye, Mother, “he says, “I’m a beachcomber.”

“Well, Jack,” she says, “there’s only one thing I can say: ye better go and get him back and set him free! Because if ye dinnae, ye’re going to put the whole world to a standstill.
Without Death there is no life…
for anybody.”

“But, Mother,” he says, “if I set him free, he’s going to come for you.”

“Well, Jack, if he comes for me,” she said, “I’ll be happy and go into another world and be peaceful. But you’ll be alive and so will the rest o’ the world.”

“But, Mother,” he says, “I couldn’t live without ye.”

“But,” she says, “Jack, if ye dinnae set him free,
both
o’ us will suffer, and I cannae stand to see you suffer for the want o’ something to eat. Because there’s nothing in the world will die unless you set him free, because you can’t eat anything till it’s dead.”

Jack thought in his mind for a wee while. “All right, Mother,” he says, “if that’s the way it should be, that’s it. Probably I was wrong.”

“Of course, Jack,” she says, “you were wrong.”

“But,” he says, “Mother, I only did it for your sake.”

“Well,” she says, “Jack, for
my
sake, would ye search for that hazelnut and set him free?”

So, the next morning, true to his word, Jack walked the tide and walked the tide for miles and miles – day out and day in for three days and for three days more. He hadn’t anything to eat; he only had a drink of water. They couldn’t cook anything. They couldn’t eat any eggs, they couldn’t fry anything in the pan if they had it. They couldn’t make any soup, couldn’t get anything. The caterpillars and the worms crawled out of the garden in thousands, and they ate every single vegetable that Jack had. Jack went out and tried to teem hot water on them but it was no good; it just was the same as he never poured anything – no way.

At last Jack said, “I must go and find that nut!”

So, he walked and he walked – day and night more miles than he ever walked before, but no way could Jack find this nut! – till Jack was completely exhausted and fed up and completely sick. And he couldn’t walk another mile. He sat down by the shoreside right in front of his mother’s house to rest and wondered. He put his hand on his jaw and he said to his ownself, “What have I done? I’ve ruined the world. I’ve destroyed the world. People don’t know,” he said, “what Death has, that Death is such a good person. I was wrong to beat him and put him in a nut.”

And he’s looking all over… and lo and behold he looks down… There at his feet he saw a wee nut, and a wee bit o’ stick sticking out of it. He lifted it up in his hand, and Jack was happy, happier than he’d ever been in his life before. He pulled the plug and a wee head popped out. Jack held him in his two hands and Death spoke to him:

“Now, Jack,” he said, “are ye happy?”

“No,” Jack said, “I’m no happy.”

He said, “You thought if you beat me and conquered me and killed me – because I’m just Death – that that would be the end, everything would be all right. Well, Jack, my laddie, ye’ve got a lot to learn. Without me,” he said, “there’s no life.”

And Jack took him out.

“But,” he says, “Jack, thank you for setting me free.”

And just like that, after Jack opened the nut, Death came out and came full strength again and stood before Jack – the same old man with the long ragged coat and the sunken eyes and the two teeth in the front and the bare feet.

He says, “Jack ye broke my scythe.”

Jack said, “I’ll tell ye something: while I was searching for you my mother made me mend it. And I have it in the house for ye – come with me!” And Jack led him up to the house. Lo and
behold, sure enough, sitting on the front o’ the porch was the scythe that Jack broke. Jack had taken it and he’d mended it. He’d sorted it and made it as good as ever.

Death came to the door and he ran his hand down the face o’ the scythe. He spat on his thumb, and ran it up the face o’ the scythe.

And he says to Jack, “I see you’ve sharpened it, Jack, and ye made a good job o’ it. Well, I have some people to see in the village, Jack. But remember, I’ll come back for your mother someday, but seeing you been good to me I’ll make it a wee while!” And Death walked away.

Jack and his mother lived happy till his mother was about a hundred years of age. And then one day Death came back to take his old mother away, but Jack never saw him. Jack was happy for he knew
there is no life without Death.

And that is the end o’ my story.

The Travelling People of Scotland have their own way of speaking. They use many Scottish forms of English words, such as
o’
(of),
canna
or
cannae
(cannot),
no
(not) and
tellt
(told). In their speech the word
of
is often left out when they refer to quantity or amount:
plenty
(plenty of) and
wee drop
(small amount of). Sometimes the storyteller’s choice of words is influenced by the Gaelic language; for example,
was just after bringing
(had just brought) is found in the Western Highlands, where Duncan Williamson grew up. Readers will clearly understand most words and phrases in the context of the stories, but those terms more foreign to English are shown below: