Keppelberg (6 page)

I paused to reflect for a moment and my blood ran cold as I realised that the graves were those who had died many years ago. Where were the modern graves... the people who died over the past fifty years. There weren't any! I raced through the cemetery as fast as I could but I was unable to find any gravestones of people who died in recent years... and everyone in the village looked so young. What the hell was going on? I looked around to see whether I could find a crematorium. Perhaps the villagers had decided to cremate their dead but there was no sign of such a place. Very few people, with the exception of Mr. McBain ever seemed to die here. I wandered out of the graveyard with a dozen thoughts rushing through my mind as I tried to rationalise the situation. Maybe I was getting nearer to learning the secret of Keppelberg but did not have the intelligence to understand it.

On entering the church, I found the priest on his knees praying before the altar I was unable to quench my curiosity and I went to him as he completed his prayer. He was surprised by my audacity and was taken aback at being questioned by me so abruptly.

‘How is it that no one has died in this village over the last fifty years?' I enquired.

‘That's not true,' he countered bluntly, ignoring the essence of my question as he climbed to his feet. ‘A man died recently. You met the widow McBain.'

His comment stopped me in my tracks for a moment until I was able to rally. ‘Other than him, no one's died over the last fifty years,' I repeated.

‘There were people who left the village,' he responded slowly although I knew that to be a lie. ‘They died elsewhere... we're not to know that.'

It was clearly a falsehood and I was stunned that a priest should be so callow. To my mind, no one ever left this village for any reason whatsoever.

He paused for a moment staring carefully at my face. ‘I'm wondering whether you will fit into this community,' he muttered thoughtfully. ‘You're attitude is over-ambitious for the style of life here. I believe you think we hold a secret and you're trying to get to the bottom of it simply to satisfy your own curiosity.' He pointed to a front pew and I sat down looking up at him.

‘Now what makes you think that, vicar,' I retaliated swiftly. ‘I've just been demobbed from the army and I've come across your village by accident. It's very peaceful, if not archaic, and I certainly would like to settle here. It's very different from the rest of the world.'

‘And we like to keep it that way with no interference from anyone else,' he rattled on. ‘You say you want to settle here. We don't like strangers. We've carved out our own way of life and the people here are happy to live in an aura of peacefulness. People who come here try to change our ways by commenting of the advances in technology and a better way of life. But we like the way we are. We're contented with the way we live.'

‘If I'm allowed to stay, will I ever be regarded as a villager and not a stranger?' I asked with interest.

He paused to consider my question for a moment. ‘Where do you come from?' he asked politely.

‘From Redruth in Cornwall,' I replied.

‘How do they cope with strangers there over a long period of time?'

I smiled understanding the element of his argument. ‘Tourists are called emmets. They come and go each year. Outsiders who come and stay to live there are never regarded as Cornish even if they become totally committed to the Cornish way of life. That's the truth of the matter.'

He nodded sagely. ‘Then you'll understand our reluctance to accept you at face value.'

‘You have a point,' I agreed readily, believing that he was going to reject my application to stay in the village.

‘However you come at a time when there's a need to replace one person to ensure that the number of our population remains at eleven hundred people,' he went on.

‘Yes... why is that?' I asked him point-blank hoping for a reasonable answer. ‘Why do you have to remain at exactly one thousand one hundred people?

‘Ask no questions, be told no lies,' he countered smartly. ‘Perhaps you yourself will learn the answer in thirty years time. He clapped his hands together in front of him. ‘You future here depends on your commitment but you're young enough to be accepted.'

‘I spent six years in the army,' I told him. ‘I've been trained to be committed. I really want to stay. I'll do anything you ask.' I wasn't certain that I could hold on to this figment of my imagination even though there was an element of truth in my response. I held the image of Bridget McBain in my mind and she was the one, apart from my curiosity, who forced me to make this decision. She was so beautiful I could not get her out of my mind.

‘If only I could believe you,' retorted the priest, staring directly into my eyes as though he wanted to read my mind. ‘What we have here is something precious, something unique, denied to the rest of the world. We wish to preserve it and, for that reason, we reject all that is happening elsewhere. We have no newspapers, no telephones or communications, no electric devices which they use in other places. We remain alone and survive alone.' There was a moment of silence as he paused to collect his thoughts. ‘I've already told you too much.'

‘But you've told me nothing!' I expostulated curtly, trowelling through my mind at the comments he had made to try to find something that he had let slip. What we had discussed were issues of which I knew... unless there was something behind them that I had missed. The clandestine perplexity of the situation was beginning to annoy me greatly.

‘Are you a religious person?' he inquired changing the subject. ‘Do you go to church often, occasionally or not at all?'

‘Occasionally,' I submitted, without telling him that I was an atheist. ‘I've been on duty in Basra in Iraq. There wasn't much time to go to church there. We had to guard the perimeters twenty-four hours a day and be friendly with the Arabs but there was the danger of being ambushed by insurgents at a moment's notice.'

He nodded as if understanding the situation. ‘I think it's time for you to go and see the doctor,' he suggested, seemingly to have completed the interview with me. ‘The surgery is located on the left hand side of this church about two hundred yards down. You'll find it quite easily.'

I shook my head slowly and left at that point walking out of the church wondering why I had been sent to see him. Nothing in particular had been achieved. Perhaps it was another test of my commitment to stay in the village. I had no idea. It was yet another mystery to me.

Chapter Five

Wayne Austen was supposed to have been shepherding me out of the village at the request of my sister but he was doing a very poor job of it. He had suggested that we split up for fear that if we were seen together both of us would be caught in the net. Somehow he believed that if one of us was free, that person could call in assistance from the outside to save the other one. However, after separating from me, he realised the folly of his decision. His fears rose swiftly when he thought of the punishment he would have to suffer at the hands of my sister if he failed in his duty. He had doubled back firstly to the garage, becoming frustrated when I wasn't there, but he found me when Townsend led me to Bridget McBain's house. His mind became totally confused at that point when he saw Bridget come out with her son to greet us before we all went inside the house. Why would I go to someone's house with Townsend, a man he had never seen before? Sadly, Wayne was not a very good detective and he was unable to put two-and-two together with regard to the event. He knew that strangers were distinctly disliked in Keppelberg yet I was being welcomed into the house of one of the villagers. Some time later, he saw me return to the police station and then wander to the church on my own. As a result of his confusion, he stepped out of his clandestine position from behind a clump of trees and almost fell into the arms of PC7 who was plodding along on his beat.

‘Well, well, well!' exclaimed the policeman, taking hold of Wayne by the collar. ‘What have we here? Another stranger! The place is becoming infested with them like fleas!'

The detective was lost for words. The last thing he wanted to do was to be captured in this remote village in the north of England with no one to bail him out. He cursed his partner, my brother-in-law, under his breath for setting him the task of directing me out of the village. Quite clearly, he had not only failed but he had been caught in the act. Wayne had watched me all the way from the police station to the church but he did not have sufficient caution to guard his own back. When he was evicted from the village he would have to face my sister to tell her of his failure. It would be the last thing she wanted to hear and he knew that she would fret about my safety. He had agreed to keep an eye on me but now, to his dismay, he had been discovered. He had no idea what his fate would be.

‘You'd better come with me,' suggested the policeman firmly. ‘You've got a lot of explaining to do!'

They walked towards the police station with Wayne claiming that he was an innocent party even though he knew that his pleas would fall on deaf ears. When he faced the Desk Sergeant, his resolve disappeared entirely and he told him that he was there to shepherd me out of the village at the request of my sister. It was the only way he could force them to evict me and fulfil his task. The police recognised that he was telling the truth. What puzzled them was the fact that Wayne had dressed as one of the villagers and he had no explanation as to why he had done so. They searched his pockets to find a mobile telephone and some documents identifying him to be a detective and forced him to sign a statement of the facts before making him put his name to a further document to say that he would never return to the village again. As far as Wayne was concerned, once was enough but, despite his weakness, he was determined to carry out the task which had been delegated to him even if it meant he would place himself in danger. He was escorted to the edge of the village, down the sandy lane, and he stood there for a while thinking about his situation. All had not been lost for he was delighted to have retained his mobile telephone and he removed it from his pocket to contact his partner.

‘Tim,' he began solemnly when the call was answered. ‘We have a problem. Sam's car was vandalised and it was towed to a garage for repair.'

‘How long will it take for it to be repaired? You know how Mary feels about it. She wants him out of there as soon as possible.'

‘It's been repaired but I don't know if Sam's aware of it,' he went on. ‘I've been tracking him and it seems he was taken to the police station and then went on his own to the church.'

‘The church!' echoed Tim. With an expression of concern in his voice. ‘Is he looking for sanctuary? Do you think we should call the police?'

‘I don't think he's in any danger at the moment. Give me some time to sort things out. I don't think you should say anything to Mary... she would only worry.'

‘Right, keep in touch. If she knew he was still there, she'd blow a fuse. I won't say anything to her for the moment.'

Wayne closed his eyes tightly with horror. ‘I'll be in touch,' he uttered, closing the conversation quickly.

He returned the mobile telephone to his pocket, looked to see that no one was about, and then went to hide behind a clump of trees. He knew that if he was caught this time they would throw the book at him. His nerves began to fray as he thought about his plight. Keppelberg was so remote that no one outside it would know of any misdemeanours that might take place to a stranger who had signed a document to say he would never return there.

* * *

Eventually, having seen the priest, for reasons I was unable to fathom, I wandered along the path to the doctor's surgery. This was yet another mystery as to why I had to meet all the senior people in the village to let them interview me. As I had been told, it was located about two hundred yards away from the church, I hesitate at the front door, inhaling deeply, and then went inside. The receptionist looked up at me as I entered and she recognised me right away.

‘Ah, the stranger!' she uttered approvingly. ‘You've come to see Dr. Wynn.'

‘Dr. Wynn,' I repeated slowly. ‘Yes... but I don't know why I've been sent to see him. I don't need a doctor. The priest told me to come.'

‘Everyone must see the doctor,' she continued firmly. ‘It's vital they do.' She rose from her seat and went to another door. ‘I'll see if he's free.'

She left the room and I sat in a very plain office with no magazines and no pictures on the wall displaying ailments or cures. The budget of the village spent on decorations was very frugal to say the least. Nothing was ever wasted or spent indiscriminately. As I waited there, I realised that I was the only person in the room. No one else was ill or sick or had any need of medication. I presumed that perhaps the lack of stress had something to do with it for peace reigned in the village all the time. No one needed to see a doctor... although I considered that the idea was nonsensical. There were always people with migraine, twisted ankles, stomach problems and the like... but none of them in Keppelberg from the look of it.

The receptionist returned shortly and held the doctor's door open for me so that I could enter. The physician was a young man of about thirty years of age. He sat calmly at his desk with a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

‘Come in!' he greeted amiably. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Fine,' I told him sitting in the chair opposite him. ‘I should explain that I had a full medical check-up a week ago when I left the army. I'm as fit as a fiddle.'

‘Good,' he said flatly. ‘But we have our own methods here. Let's start with taking a blood sample.'

I was surprised that he didn't want to check my pulse, my breathing, my heart or anything else. He simply asked for a blood sample. He produced a hypodermic needle and asked me to roll up the shirt sleeve of my left arm. Without hesitation, he injected the needle into my vein and withdrew a small amount of blood which surged into a phial. He then placed some cotton-wool over the wound and stuck a plaster over it before calling for the receptionist who came quickly into the room. He passed the phial of blood to her as though it was precious.

‘Get this checked out immediately,' he ordered curtly.

She nodded, taking it from him before disappearing through the doorway. The doctor then went on to give me a thorough examination. As he did so, I looked around the surgery at the blank walls. There were no framed certificates hanging there to prove that the man was actually a doctor.

‘Where did you do your doctorate?' I asked inquisitively.

‘I grew up in this village,' he informed me candidly. ‘I studied hard and became the doctor here.'

‘Without taking the examinations of the medical institutions?' I posed with concern, my heart beating a little faster.

‘If you're thinking about a medical certificate to prove my qualifications, forget it,' he returned bluntly. ‘It's only a piece of paper. It's the same if you get married... the marriage certificate's only a piece of paper. It doesn't prove that a person's going to be a good husband or wife. The same applies to the medical profession. Just because you're passed as a doctor by a medical board doesn't mean you're a good doctor.'

I was appalled to learn that he had never passed a test with an authorised medical board. Nonetheless, I believed that he was a physician who knew what he was doing. After all, he was the only doctor to eleven hundred people in the village so he had to be good.

‘What happens if someone needs an operation?' I asked him. ‘Do you call an ambulance to take them to a nearby hospital?'

‘No one goes out of this village to a hospital,' he told me adamantly. ‘I do all the operations myself.'

‘And clearly you're successful,' I ventured, ‘because there are no burial sites of failures in the church graveyard,'

He dismissed the comment out of hand and I wondered how he was able to cope with an operation that took four or five hours on his own and yet still deal with patients who came to see him at the surgery. However, it was a hypothetical notion and it was his problem not mine. When he had finished, he made some notes, placing them in a new folder, before looking up at me.

‘Well you seem unusually fit,' he told me with a slight smile touching his lips. ‘Is there anything you wish to ask me with regard to your health or your diet?'

I shook my head slowly. ‘I don't think so, I replied.

At that moment, the door opened and the receptionist came in waving a sheet of paper in her hand which she handed to the doctor. He glanced at it, nodded, and she left the room.

His jaw moved slightly from side to side as he looked directly at me. ‘It appears that you have more iron in your blood than is deemed necessary,' he told me seriously. ‘Iron's a metallic element normally found in red pigment or haemoglobin of the blood. It enables the blood to absorb and carry oxygen to the cells in the body. However, it cannot be removed through normal means of disposal and, if left to accumulate, it can shorten a person's life by anything up to twenty years.'

I became alarmed at his findings. ‘What's the remedy?' I was morbidly disturbed as I waited for his answer.,

‘We have one here,' he went on. ‘It consists of taking two tablets every day... one in the morning, the other in the evening. But you'll need to go on taking them for the rest of your life.'

‘That doesn't sound too bad' I responded with relief. I had in mind the necessity of an operation or perhaps something worse such as the removal of my spleen.

‘I'll prescribe them for you, ‘ he went on. ‘If you go to the pharmacy tomorrow you can pick up a month's supply.'

My body went rigid at the term he used. The pharmacy! Why did it conjure up such horrendous notions?

‘Where is this pharmacy?' I asked, holding my breath for the answer.

‘You'll be told tomorrow morning,' he replied blandly. ‘Now... I think you have to return to the police station. They're expecting you back there.'

I wondered how he knew that to be as there were no telephones in the village and no other means of communication. Yet his tone was positive and I obeyed his command, rising to leave the surgery.

While I was being examined by the doctor, Wayne Austen sat on the stub of a tree staring at the small building though a pair of binoculars he had retrieved from his car. He could see a sign which signified that it was a doctor's surgery but he couldn't understand why I had gone there voluntarily. After all, he was aware that I had recently left the army and would have had to have had a medical examination before demobilisation. So why had I visited the village doctor? He wiped the perspiration from the back of his neck with a large white handkerchief, looking around surreptitiously to check that the policeman was not in the vicinity. Tension was rising within him and there was clearly no doubt about the elevation of his frustration.

* * *

When I left the doctor's surgery, I heard a whistle from behind some trees, I looked across to see Wayne beckoning to me, noticing the worried expression on his face.

‘What the hell are you doing?' he reproached irately as I walked towards him.

‘I'm making progress,' I replied with an element of amusement in my voice. I had no idea that he was living on a knife-edge.

‘You're supposed to be leaving this place in a hurry!' he went on urgently. ‘Your car's been repaired... don' waste time... go to the garage and get the hell out of here!'

‘I told you, I'm making good progress,' I advanced seriously. ‘They're beginning to accept me as one of them.'

‘You're putting your head into a noose,' he pressed with concern, becoming angrier by the minute. ‘You know what Mary's going to say if you stay!'

‘Mary has her own life, I have mine!' I retorted sharply. ‘If you don't like what I'm doing get out of here. In any case, I've met Bridget McBain.'

He stared at me with wide open eyes. ‘Who's Bridget McBain?'

'The most beautiful woman on earth.'

‘You've been bewitched,' he uttered grimly. 'They've cast a spell on you.'

‘And it's a wonderful spell,' I told him jubilantly.

He stared at me bleakly for a few moments, looking around to check that he was safe. 'Well it's up to you. I'm getting out of here and to hell with you Sam Ross. This place is evil but you do what you want to do and see where it gets you!'