Eric has shot the fox. He had to get up long before dawn, but he finally got it, and has returned in triumph.
‘But you shot it through the head,’ Silas protests. ‘Look what a mess you’ve made of it! I said aim for the ear. The ear would have been perfect.’
‘It may surprise you to know,’ says Eric, who is cold and hungry and very tired, ‘that my priority wasn’t to provide you with a specimen. My priority was to kill the fox in order to protect the chickens. And that’s what I’ve done.’
‘Well, I think it’s an awful shame,’ says Silas sulkily. Silas has had a good night’s sleep, breakfasted on hot porridge with brown sugar and cream, and is cosily wrapped up in the new dressing gown Mum gave him for Christmas. I sense trouble.
‘If you think that I’m going to sit around on a freezing night trying to get in exactly the right position to shoot a fox through the ear — the ear, for goodness’ sake! — then you’re very much mistaken. Besides. You’ve already done a fox. Why do you need another one?’
‘I wanted a pair. I thought we could have one on either side of the fireplace.’
‘Over my dead body!’
‘Over your dead body? I’m the one who’s nearly died!’
‘And don’t we all know it!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means,’ says Eric, peeling his gloves off hands which are blue with cold, ‘that I’ve had enough of your illness. It means that there are other people in this house besides you. Ruth, for instance —’ oh, please don’t bring me into it! — ‘who’s exhausted; Rosie, who’s been working her socks off; Lazzo and Kaz. Blossom, too. Brian, who’s had a nasty accident. And Kent. You are not the only person who needs looking after.’
‘I never asked to be looked after! I’m up and about, doing my bit ’ —
‘You’re up and about interfering, and quoting that bloody book at everyone —’
‘You gave me that bloody book, as you call it.’
‘And you asked for it!’
Mum, Kent and I listen in astonishment. I have never heard my uncles exchange so much as a cross word, but it would seem that when they get going, they can argue with the best of us.
‘I think I’ll be going.’ Kent edges towards the door.
‘Me too. I’ve got the chickens to feed.’ Mum joins him.
‘That’s right! Abandon us, why don’t you?’ shouts Silas.
‘Well, I don’t think you need us at the moment,’ Mum tells him. ‘You seem quite capable of fighting without any help from anyone else.’
‘WE ARE NOT FIGHTING!’
We leave them to it. There is no point in trying to intervene, and although it can’t be good for either of them, we should have seen something like this coming. Eric and Silas have been under considerable strain, not helped by a houseful of people. Accustomed to a peaceful life on their own, the past few months must have taken their toll, and I can’t help feeling partly responsible.
‘Still arguing, are they?’ Blossom who has been hovering outside the kitchen door, looks pleased.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘Well, if it bothers you, you can always do a spot of vacuuming. That should drown them out.’
‘Telling me my job, are you?’ Blossom bridles.
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ I assure her.
The argument rages for some time, and is followed by a sulk. I thought I knew a bit about sulking, having been something of an expert when I was in my teens, but my sulks were nothing compared to that of Eric and Silas. The sulk hangs over all of us like a malevolent grey blanket, rendering the atmosphere indoors even more depressing than the cold and the mud outside.
‘They used to do this as children,’ Mum tells me. ‘They could keep it up for days.’
‘But they’re usually so close.’ I find their behaviour puzzling.
‘It’s because they’re so close. They know exactly how to annoy each other.’
‘But how can they annoy each other if they’re not saying anything?’
‘I’ve no idea. But it seems to work.’
‘How did — does it end?’
‘One of them apologises.’
‘That doesn’t look very likely at the moment.’
‘You’ll see.’
Eric is researching water buffaloes, and Silas is looking something up in his bible. They are both pretending to be happily occupied, but even I can see that they’re miserable.
But in the event, the row between Eric and Silas is overtaken by a bigger and more serious altercation when two days later, Dad and Eric fall out over Eric’s Ark.
To be fair, Dad has done his best to avoid the issue, aware, presumably, that it would be bad manners to pick a quarrel with someone who has been such a generous host. But Eric, still sore from his argument with Silas, finally gives in to the temptation to taunt Dad with his findings, and Dad, who is having serious problems with a recalcitrant electrician, falls into the trap.
‘For a start, there’s the weight of water,’ I hear Eric saying, as I come into the sitting room.
‘What do you mean, the weight of water? What’s the weight of water got to do with it?’ Dad asks.
‘The weight of the rainwater; enough water, remember, to reach the top of Everest. It would sink the Ark before it had even started.’
‘But it says in the Bible —’
‘Never mind what it says in the Bible. The Bible story is a myth.’
‘It most certainly is not!’
‘It has to be. Because the whole story is nonsense.’
‘How dare you —’
‘Quite easily, actually.’
‘If the whole story is nonsense, how come you’re spending so much time going into it all? You tell me that!’
‘I’m doing it to prove how much nonsense it is. I’ve given it the best possible chance; I’ve spent hours doing research. You ask Ruth. She’s been helping me —’ thank you, Eric — ‘and I can tell you, there never was an Ark. There couldn’t have been. Some kind of boat, perhaps, with some chickens, a goat, a few bits and bobs. Enough to keep a family going for a while. But not a whopping great Ark full of animals. It’s a preposterous idea.’
‘They found the remains on Mount Ararat. How do you explain that?’
‘They found the remains of something, but it’s by no means clear it was an Ark.’
‘Of course it was the Ark! The Bible says —’
‘No, no, no!’ Eric is almost hopping with frustration. ‘You can’t keep saying that. It’s a cop out! Think, man. Think. Question it, think round it, use your common sense!’
‘Well, really. I didn’t come here to be insulted!’
‘No. You came here because you burnt your house down.’ Oh dear. ‘And when I try to explain to you the extensive research I’ve been doing, you completely dismiss it.’
‘Well you’re dismissing the Bible. The word of God.’
‘The story of God, more like. Take the water buffalo.’ Eric ploughs on, regardless of my father’s indignation.
‘Take what?’
‘The water buffalo. It’s just one example. How do you expect that to survive on the Ark? You tell me that.’
‘I don’t know anything about water buffaloes.’
‘Exactly! And I don’t suppose you know anything about lemurs, or wildebeest, or humming birds or spiders —’
‘I don’t have to know all about these things to believe what the Bible says.’
‘So if the Bible says black is white, you’d believe that?’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘No. You’re being ridiculous. You can’t just abandon your common sense and your reasoning because of what the Bible says. Work it out. Think about it. Like I have.’
‘Well, I think all this — work you’ve been doing is simply destructive. You’re trampling all over beliefs people have held dear for generations. You have no right —’
‘I have every right. I’m a scientist —’ steady on, Eric — ‘and I look at things logically.’
‘Well you seem to have spent an awful lot of time trying to prove what you think you already know.’ Dad indicates Eric’s charts and notes. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got more important things to do.’
‘I’m doing it because I want to show not just that the whole thing is ridiculous but just how ridiculous it is. I’m not just telling you you’re wrong; I’m proving it.’
‘Well you haven’t proved anything to me.’
‘That’s because you’re not listening. You’ve decided what you want to believe, and you refuse to look at what’s staring you in the face. It’s rubbish. All of it. Rubbish. The Ark, the animals, the Noah family — just eight people, remember, to look after all those hundreds of creatures. That in itself is a bit far-fetched, and they had to catch them all in the first place — whichever way you look at it, it’s a logistical impossibility.’
‘You’re enjoying, this, aren’t you?’ says Dad, after a moment.
‘Of course I am. It’s fascinating. I shall be quite sorry when I’ve finished.’
‘I mean the argument. You’re enjoying arguing with me, questioning my beliefs.’
‘Well —’
‘There! I told you! You’re just doing this to annoy me. Admit it.’
‘Of course I’m not. Do you really think I would spend months on a project just in order to annoy you? But to prove you wrong — now that’s a different matter. I would certainly do it to prove you wrong. You and anyone else who takes the Bible literally. When we had that — discussion last year, I decided that I’d go into the whole Ark business, and I’m grateful to you, I really am. It’s been fascinating.’
‘Don’t you patronise me,’ says Dad, clambering back onto the high horse from which Eric has just about managed to dislodge him.
‘Oh, don’t be so pompous, Brian. It doesn’t suit you —’ it does, but I’ve got enough sense not to intervene — ‘Come and have a drink. We’ve just opened some rather nice turnip wine. You must try it.’
‘You know I don’t drink.’
‘Silly me,’ mutters Eric.
‘You said it,’ counters Dad, and drawing himself up to his full but not very substantial height, he takes himself off to bed.
‘Wasn’t that a bit naughty, Eric?’ I ask him, when Dad has left the room.
‘Probably.’ Eric grins. ‘But he’s so easy to wind up. And we were going to have this discussion sooner or later, weren’t we?’
‘You call that a discussion?’
‘Oh, come on, Ruth. Don’t you go all disapproving on me. Come and have a little taste of the turnip wine. I’m sure just a little taste won’t hurt the baby, and I hate drinking alone.’