HARVEST MOON

By JOHN MeNEILLIE

DAFT ADAM sat on the corn-chest rolling cigarettes. It was too dark for him to see what his short fingers were doing, but he rolled cigarettes one after another and laid them in rows on the chest, feeling them as they lay in ripples under his hand. They were his wages, for he worked for two pounds of tobacco and his keep, and every Saturday night he rolled the tobacco into cigarettes.

When he had finished he gathered his handiwork and care- fully put it into a paper bag.

The moon was a red-gold ball of fire and it rode only just above the moss-covered slates, so that there were shadows by the stable wall, contrasting the greyness of the court. Daft Adam came out of the stable and walked to the gable of the byre. He paused and let out a startled grunt. On the edge of the blackness where the byre door gaped above the slope of the road, someone moved. It was the ploughman. He turned and spoke.

" Hullo, Adam," he said.

Adam, reassured, moved towards him, a babble of in- articulate sounds coming from his lips.

" Don't be afeard, Adam," said the ploughman, " it's on'y me."

Just out of the shadow of the gable Adam stood in the moonlight. His mouth hung open, and his hands, one clutch- ing the paper bag, dangled at his sides. The slight breeze ruffled his straw-coloured hair as he turned and saw the moon, a fiery radiance suspended in the night sky. It was so bright that the stars were dim in comparison. In the moment that he saw the moon he forgot the presence of the ploughman. His head remained twisted as it had been at the moment of turning. His eyes became fixed and glassy and his whole body stiffened. The ploughman drew back.

" Adam," he said, softly, " Adam, it's nothin' but the harvest moon. The harvest moon, Adam. It ripens the corn. That's what it's red for. Don't be afeard, Adam."

But Adam did not hear, and the ploughman, frightened, moved quietly away. Before going into the house, he halted on the doorstep and looked back across the court to see the idiot still standing in that strange twisted position.

" Clean mad," whispered the ploughman, " Stark starin' mad," and he went in and closed the door behind him.

Daft Adam stood still until the moon drifted behind the roof of the high barn and his view was obscured. The glow behind the barn threw the pulley tackle into silhouette_ The shadow darkened his face and his body relaxed. As though released from a spell, he walked over towards the wooden stair leading up to his loft, and in that short distance he came once again into the moonlight ; his head turned ; his vacant eyes reflected the vision and he stiffened. In the henhouse a pair of fowls crooned restlessly as the light glinted on the panel of glass in the roof, and, far away, in some lush green hollow where the grass was long, a cow bellowed.

As motionless as the barrel hencoops and the pump, Daft Adam seemed rooted to the ground as he watched the moon riding the night sky until its red glow faded, gave place to a yellow that became paler and paler, and turned to a dull silver crown piece in the greying light of morning. Adam's body swayed and he slumped to the ground. He lay as he had fallen for a time, and then struggled wearily to his feet. His boots sounded sharply on the stair as he went up to his loft in the holy silence of daybreak. Once inside he laid down on his burst mattress and fell asleep.

From the east the brilliance of the new day spread across the sky and the cocks began to crow. The byreman came up the road from his cottage, bringing the cows from the field as he came, and his dog barked and yelped at their heels. As the milkers arrived the cows filed in to their stalls and the dog lay down on the road to wait until it would be time to herd them back to the pasture.

" Where's Adam?" asked the byreman of a short woman who wore a sack-cloth apron.

" Ha'n't seen'm," she answered, " Sleepin' it's likely."

" Adam!" bawled the byreman, " Adam!" and the shout made the cows move nervously.

" Ye'll awake the folks," cautioned the little woman, " Make less noise or they'll be awakin'."

The byreman scowled and strode across the court. His boots thudded up to Adam's loft.

" Here," he said, " Git up ye lazy toad, git up."

He shook Adam by the shoulder, and rooted him in the side with the toe of his hob-nailed boot.

Daft Adam grunted and opened his eyes. He cowered when he saw the byreman, for he was afraid of him, then.

leaping to life, he scrambled across the floor and clattered down the stair. The byreman cursed and tried to kick him as he went.

In the byre Adam milked drowsily, trying to rest his head on the warm flank of the cow. When his pail was full he did not rise, but sat still with eyes closed.

"Adam!" shouted the byreman, so loudly that the ccw tossed her head and shifted, knocking Adam and making some of the milk shoot from his brimming pail. Lifting 11 stool, Adam went up the byre to the vat. Soon he was milk- ing again, now more widely awake because the byreman s eye was upon him and he was afraid.

When the cows had gone ambling down the road, with the dog urging them forward and nipping their legs with his sharp teeth, Adam went across to the farmhouse for his breakfast. He almost fell asleep at the table, and was the last to leave.

The sunlight dazzled his eyes and only made him more fatigued. From the pocket of his loose-fitting jacket he brought out his crumpled bag of cigarettes and examined the contents. Half way over to the loft he halted and looked at the cornfield swaying idly in the morning breeze. Instead of going up the stair he went to the gate and hung on the top bar as he looked over the field. It was ripe and rustling. Harvest was near, but he appreciated only the whiteness and the musical rustling ; the contrast, of three red hens which had fluttered over the dyke to feed on the fallen ears ; the softness of the scene, and the mild heat of the day, like the warmth of a live body.

Edging along the gate, and peering over his shoulder to see if he were being watched, he squeezed himself through between the gate and the gatepost and waded into the stand- ing corn. The three hens clucked and fluttered before him as he advanced, now careless of who might be watching. He went down the slope to a bowl-hollow in the middle of the field, moving clumsily ; his over-large feet stumbling on the badly-harrowed soil, leaving behind them a trail of broken straw.

Once in the bowl he stopped and laid down. All around there was a sea of rustling, whispering corn, and above him the cloudless summer sky. He rolled over and made a lair for himself like a bedding sow, then lay on his back and closed his eyes. He slept with his mouth open, slobbering from the corner of his loose-lips like a helpless child. The heat of the day increased and every now and then the corn crackled.

At twelve o'clock a woman came to the door of the farm- housc and called " Adam!" then went back to dish the dinner. A few minutes later the ploughman came out of the house and went up to the loft. On his way back down the stair he cupped his hands about his lips and shouted the idiot's name till it echoed among the buildings.

Adam stirred tiredly and grunted. Only half-opening his eyes, he fumbled in his paper bag and produced one of his hand-made cigarettes. In the same drowsy manner he found a match and began to smoke. The cigarette smouldered as he puffed and sucked at it while he started to doze once more. The last quarter of an inch of cigarette burned down and scorched his lips. His hand darted to his mouth and he threw the smouldering butt from him, mumbling incoherently. He dropped off to sleep again.

A yard or so away the cigarette stub smoked and smouldered in the corn. A light wind wafted the stalks and the stub glowed until its brightness became the centre of a consuming flame that ran up out of the hollow, growing and spreading in fiery tongues a foot above the corn. The wind carried the smoke away and the flame raced at its heels.

Something penetrated Daft Adam's stupor, for he moved uneasily and turned. Around him, in the depths of the bowl- hollow the corn still swayed safe from the fire. The soft wind changed and gusted back, stirring the sparks and encouraging the small flames to leap ahead. The fire spread to the bowl and Adam awoke. He saw the flames flowing forward like the main tide of a flood, but he made no move.

A gurgle of rapture escaped his lips. He sat spellbound, staring at the sun and the red glow of fire that screened it from him.

Excited sounds came from his mouth. He spoke for the first time in his life.

" Adam," he said, " it's nothin' but the harvest moon— ripens corn—what it's red for. Don't be afeared, Adam."