- THe
beNefACTOr -
By Walter Winward
The
fat man began to laugh, then stopped suddenly as several passers-by stared at
him curiously. He walked on quickly, blowing his nose to cover his
embarrassment.
Stupid people, looking at him like that. They wouldn’t be so inquisitive
if they who he really was. Oh No! Still, laughing aloud in public was a habit he
would have to conquer. Someone might remember him, and that had to be avoided at
all costs. But it was difficult to suppress his mirth once it started, and he
would wager his life that no one within hearing range could hazard even an
approximate guess as to the reason for his laughter. They would probably think
him a middle-aged eccentric, or one of those people who compensated for their
weight by treating the whole of life as a huge joke. Well, let them
think.
Not
that his thoughts were amusing, far from it. It was his own cleverness that he
found humorous. Here he was and there they were – the remainder of the world –
and no one recognized him. He could talk to shop assistants, publicans, even
policemen, and they were all compelled to be mechanically polite. One day he
would tell them. Some day they would all know.
He breathed deeply
and looked at his watch: early, as usual. Never hurry on the actual day, that
was his rule. Plenty of time
for a
stroll.
He walked to the end of
the street, where the cobbles graduated into green fields, and marvelled that
the Kent countryside was only half an hour away from his London flat. Just
thirty brief minutes and bleak backyards and asthmatic sparrows were replaced by
tranquil orchards and leisurely cows. A perfect day; the twentieth such in the
last five years. Not perfect because of his surroundings but because of the
errand. Sometimes the sun did not shine. Sometimes it was November and not June.
But the day always ended in complete satisfaction, always left him with memories to keep him alive until the next time.
Not
that there was much respite between the jobs – or was that the correct word? Not
really. Job implied work, and he found only pleasure in his activities. In
Sunderland, Liverpool, Southampton or London, he was doing what he wanted at all
times.
London was his favourite by
a long way, but he had already been in the city for almost a year. A year and
three jobs – he really would have to find another word – four jobs by the time
the day was over. Yes, it was essential that he to move on, which was sad as
London offered both variety and anonymity. And there was always the problem, in
a smaller town, of finding a flat, which suited his needs exactly. It had to be
secluded, in a basement or lower - ground floor, and the landlord had to be
someone whose major interest was collecting the rent and not prying into his
tenants’ affairs. These requisites were easily satisfied in London, but
elsewhere……. Nevertheless, he had stayed longer than was prudent, and he could
return in a year or so.
He
took a final look at the landscape, sighed aesthetically and began to retrace
his steps.
Despite his girth he moved
quickly and easily, and his flabbiness gave lie to a considerable strength. On
more than one occasion his apparent innocuousness had encouraged would-be
thieves to make an attempt for his wallet. They invariably became hospital
cases. He knew that his obesity and outward amiability were his most valuable
assets, and he made capital on both.
St.
Mary’s Children’s Home (or, as it was locally and less euphemistically known,
the orphanage) lay at the far end of the High Street, and it was towards this
that the fat man made his way. At the gates he paused for a moment to watch a
couple of young boys wrestling, and then walked swiftly up the driveway and into
the main building. A few minutes later he was ushered into the warden’s
study
“My
Dear Mr. Russel!” exclaimed the warden, rising and extending his hand. “How
delighted I am to see you!”
Russel, the fat man,
murmured something inaudible and prayed that the other was not going to be his
usual irritating self.
“And I’m not the only one
who’ll be pleased you’ve come,” continued the warden. “Janet was so disappointed
that you couldn’t make it last week. It took us an hour to stop her crying.”
“I
was upset myself,” began Russel. “Not for myself, you understand, although that
was part of it, but because I’d let the child down.”
“I
know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean. And believe me, its refreshing
and comforting to hear someone talk the way you do.” He sighed. “Our task is not
an easy one, and I’m sorry to say that a number of our visitors look upon the
children as nothing more than a weekend diversion for themselves.
Indeed….”
“Yes?”
“I
was going to say…. No, it sounds most ungracious.”
“Please!”
“Well, I was going to say
that were it not for the appalling lack of married couples wanting to visit our
children, I would never have considered a bachelor…I’m sure you understand what
I mean.”
“Of
course.”
Encouraged, the warden
continued:
“Even with the shortage of
couples, if you and Janet had not taken an immediate liking for one another, I
should never have entertained it. But she is a difficult child” – he smiled
effusively – “thirteen-year-old girls always are.”
“You can rest assured she’ll
come to no harm with me.” “Mr Russel, I know, I know! Janet’s one of the
happiest children here. For three days after one of your outings she talks of
nothing else. And she spends the remainder of the week looking forward to your
next visit. Believe me, I consider it a privilege to know such a Christian as
yourself. You may consider yourself a benefactor, Mr Russel, a true
benefactor.”
Russel stifled with
difficulty the chuckle, which was beginning in the pit of his generous stomach.
Really, the man was more pompous than ever. And as for Christian and
benefactor….
A
knock on the study door interrupted his thoughts.
“Come
in”.
The
door opened and Janet entered. She saw Russel immediately, and after a moment’s
initial shyness, flung herself across the room and hugged him. Russel put his
arms around her and returned the embrace. He felt an inner surge of acute
excitement as he touched the girl for the first time in two weeks. The warden
looked on, beaming.
Russel stood up, Janet held
his hand very tightly, and as though frightened he might disappear if she let
go.
“We’ve got a great deal to
do and see”, he said, addressing the warden, “so if you don’t mind we’ll leave
right away.”
Outside, Janet
asked:
“Why couldn’t you come last
week?”
“It
wasn’t possible, I’m afraid. Someone I know was very ill and I had to look after
him”.
Even as he spoke he thought
of how he had spent the previous Saturday: sitting alone at home, wanting
desperately to see the girl, yet aware that missing a visit would make her even
more anxious for the next one.
“Someone more important than
me?”
“No, of course not. You’re
the most important person in the world”. He saw her brighten. “Did you miss
me?”
She
squeezed his hand.
“You know I did, Uncle Ben,
you now I did. I thought I’d never see you again”.
He
patted her head.
“Silly girl. Where would you
like to go today?”
“Oh
you choose. You’re better at it”.
“All right. We’ll go to
London”.
“London!”
“Yes, a special treat. Don’t
you want to?”
“Oh
yes, yes, yes1” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been before. But isn’t it an awfully
long way?”
“Not really. We can be there
in an hour.”
He
watched her out of the corner of his eye as they waited for the train. So
exquisite and so untouched. Mere buds of breast quivered gently under the thin
cotton of her summer dress. The short white socks and sandals, instead of
detracting from approaching maturity, emphasized it. She was the creature that
all men, in their secret dreams, wanted: a woman with the mind and simplicity of
a child. As if to confirm this precept a youthful porter pushing a trolley
whistled at her as he walked by. The girl, embarrassed, looked away. Russel
ground his teeth and mentally spat after the youth. The child was not for the
like of that trash! He, Ben Russel, would see that she never be deflowered by
some callow adolescent in a filthy bed-sitter.
Throughout the journey to
London Janet chattered incessantly.
Where were they going? What were they going to do? Wasn’t it exciting?
Russel answered her questions with a patience and bonhomie born of long
experience. They were going to Battersea Fair first of all. She was going to do
anything she wished. Yes, it was exciting. For both of them, he added to
himself.
They took a taxi from the
station and arrived at the ground at three o’clock.
“It’s so big,” whispered
Janet, incredulously. “I’ve seen pictures of it but I never realized it was so
big,”
They went from stall to
stall, from amusement to amusement. The girl’s eyes never stopped exploring for
a second, and Russel’s eyes never left the girl.
At
the rifle range, where she failed to hit a single target, he paid the proprietor
to let her have a prize: a wooden rabbit.
“But I didn’t hit anything,”
she protested.
“Of
course you did. You just couldn’t see from where you were. He wouldn’t give you
a prize if you hadn’t would he?”
In
the ghost train, the car they were in lurched and he fell against her, his hand
briefly touching her thigh. So cool, he thought, so deliciously cool and firm.
Aloud he said “Sorry,”
“What
for?”
“I
lost my balance,”
“That doesn't matter. I like
it when you’re close to me, it’s less scary.”
She
moved nearer and he found his hand trapped between her leg and his own. Oh so
firm! Despite the cold of the tunnel, he began to perspire. Please hurry, please
hurry, he silently begged the unseen operator of the car.
There had never been anyone
like Janet before. The others had always been too prim or too forward, too fat
or too thin. Never anyone like this. Please give me the strength to continue.
Please let me not frighten her.
The
car suddenly burst forward into the sunlight. The girl straightened up and
Russel’s hand was freed. He trembled as he wiped the beads of perspiration from
his forehead. Janet stared at him.
“Were you frightened in
there, Uncle Ben? You look white.”
“Just the
heat.”
They wandered around the
fair until six o’clock, then Russel asked:
“Are you
hungry?”
“I
am a bit.” She looked at him “Have we got to go soon?”
“Go
where?”
“Back to…back to the
home.”
He
smiled
“No, I saw the warden before
we left. He’s given us special permission to stay out until eleven o’clock
because I didn’t see you last week”.
“Eleven o’clock! That’s
wonderful! We’ve got hours”.
“A
few hours.” Just a few hours, he echoed silently, “And as a treat,” he
continues, “I’m going to take you home and cook you supper myself. Would you
like that?”
“I’d love it, Uncle Ben, I’d
love it.”
They walked out of the fairground and into the park, Janet clutching her rabbit thoughtfully.
Russel looked
dubious.
“I’m not sure about that,”
he said. “The warden might not allow it.”
“He
would if you asked him. I’m sure he would.”
“An
that’s what you want?”
“Oh
yes, yes!”
“You’d have to promise to be
a good girl and do everything I told you.”
“I
would. Anything!”
Russel relaxed. The first
part was over. It was all too easy. “Then I’ll ask him,” he
said.
“Oh, Uncle
Ben!”
They took a taxi at the park
gates and all the way to Russell’s home Janet hugged her benefactor and told him
how good and obedient she would be.
“Now you sit down and watch
the television while I make supper,” said Russel, once they were inside his
flat.
“Can’t I
help?”
“No. You’re my guest. And
guest must enjoy themselves.”
After supper, he sat looking
at her for along time. Such purity. Such rare purity. Hair as black as the
Devil’s heart and skin as white as swansdown. He ached to touch her, and it took
a considerable effort to restrain the impulse. It wasn’t time, he reminded
himself.
But
how different she would be from all the others. Not like Lola, who had been so
willing to pay for her entertainment in the only way she knew. Or Joan, who had
been frightened. Or Betty, the coloured girl, whose deformity had so sickened
him. Not like any of them. Janet was unique. Full of the angelic goodness which
Peggy, the first, had possessed. He had tried to save Peggy from a life of
corruption and the Church had had the blasphemous gall to call his actions
indecent. Indecent! Almighty God! Couldn’t they see what would happen to her?
She’d be eighteen now and probably sleeping with half the men in Christendom.
All he’d tried to do was help; just show her the way a man would use her. How
could that be indecent! She hadn’t complained or screamed. She’d been excited
and interested. Yet they imprisoned him. Him! A saviour! God, what torture the
prison had been! The white coats. The lights. The endless questions. But they
freed him. He’d been too clever for them. But Peggy had gone. Lost. Poor Peggy.
Janet wouldn’t be lost. He’d save her. Few of them were worthy of his attention.
Janet was. It had taken five years to find her. It could take a further
quinquennium to find another like her, if he ever did. So everything about the
evening had to be perfect. Timing was important, precision timing. So many
minutes for this, so many minutes for that. And as the clock struck
ten…
“Isn’t it getting late Uncle
Ben?”
“What!” He realized he had
shouted and quickly apologized.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking.
You startled me. Late, did you say?” Not really. It’s only half past nine. We’ve
got plenty of time, besides” – he smiled – “you can’t go without seeing your
surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Yes.”
“A
Present!”
“Yes. Come along. I’ll show
you.”
Russel led the way out of
the dining room and down a flight of stairs. He opened a door and stood to one
side.
“There” he said, and
pointed.
Draped across a small bed
was a white full-length gown. The girl walked slowly across the room. She looked
at the gift for a moment, picked it up and began to cry. Russel caressed the
nape of her neck.
“Don’t,” he
murmured.
“But I’ve never had anything
so beautiful. Never in my whole life. Oh, your so kind!”
“Put it on,” he said
gently.
Her
tears stopped as she stared at him.
“But its… I mean, it's a
night-dress, isn’t it?” She held it in front of her. “I can see through
it.”
“Of
course you can. And it’s not a night-dress. It’s a sort of bridal-gown. Please
put it on. You said you’d be a good girl and do everything I told
you.”
“Yes
but…”
“Oh
I see, you don’t like it.”
“Its not that at all, Uncle
Ben.”
Russel turned away feigned
petulance. In the mirror he saw her trying desperately to decide between hurting
him and what she instinctively knew to be wrong. He watched the reflection until
he felt certain her resistance had weakened, and then
spoke.
“And I thought you really
wanted to live with me forever.”
She
said nothing for several minutes. Then:
“Shall I put it on
here?”
“Only if you want
to.”
He
closed his eyes and let his mind go blank. His hand went to his heart in an
endeavour to still its frenzied beating. It was here. The moment had
arrived.
“It’s on,” whispered the girl, and he turned to face her. She
was everything he had imagined. Her head lowered, she stood trembling. Through the thin
material he saw her breast in all their youthful glory. His eyes travelled
the length of her body, taking in with rapacious greed the soft curve of her
hips, the smooth roundness of her belly.
“Come here,” he commanded.
The girl, as though in a trance, obeyed.
She
stopped in front of him, tearful and afraid. She felt an overwhelming desire to
cry out, scream, but something seemed to have happened to her voice. It was his
eyes that held her. They grew larger and larger until they were as big as
pennies. She felt his hands on her body.
“Its almost ten o’clock,” he
whispered, “Almost Ten o’clock. Come.”
He
led her through a door and into a large, dimly lit room. How strange, she
thought, it seemed like a church. A small church. There was the Bible. And there
were the cushions to kneel on. There was the crucifix. But something was wrong.
The cross was upside down. And there was no altar, just a marble
slab.
“Lie down!” Russel ordered
from behind her. “On there.”
There was no fear any
longer. It had all disappeared. It was a new and wonderful experience to lie on
cool stone dressed in nothing but a thin gown. Something marvellous was going to
happen. She knew it.
She
could hear a voice above her, chanting. Such a lovely sound. What was he
singing? Impossible to understand. Now louder. Not too loud, please, Uncle Ben,
its too loud. You’re hurting my ears. Oh stop. Stop!
Softer now, much better.
More understandable. What were the words? They sounded familiar. Evil from us
deliver…
Not
lead us…this give us…The Lords Prayer! That was it. But he was saying it
backwards. How strange and fascinating.
She
would be late back and the warden would be angry. But that didn't matter. What a
story she would have to tell her friends.
By
her head, his insane eyes gleaming, Russel began to moan. Purity. Chastity.
Virgin. Sacrifice. No one like this. Frenzy. Beauty. Milk white skin. Running
Red. Red Over White. Church. Hate. Rome. Hate Rome. Rome. Excommunicate. Prison.
Never Again. Too Clever. Revenge. Teach them. Teach them all. Peggy. Teach her.
Outcast. Hate. Hate. Janet. Save her. Pure soul. Purify. Glorify. Sanctify. No
More. No more live. Rise. Revenge
Ten
o’clock.
Russel stepped into the
girls’ vision and looked at her. He showed her what he held in his right hand.
As she opened her mouth to scream, he drew the long knife across her throat, and
blood gushed forth.
Red
Over White.
Shrieking terrible obscenities at the top of his voice, he tore the white gown to shreds, exposing the flesh beneath. Shuddering uncontrollably, he began removing his clothes in preparation for the final ritual.