Chapter 50 Samhain It was Samhain.
The leaves had fallen from the trees and a chill hung in the air.
Across the valley a bonfire was burning,
And the scent of wood smoke followed me as I made my way to the farmhouse.
All around were signs of nature preparing to rest over the coming winter months.
Where on earth are we going to start?
I surveyed the piles of books and papers which needed sorting before Cornelius could even think of moving out of the farmhouse.
Although I had grown up surrounded by all the clutter,
I felt suddenly inundated with the amount of stuff to sort through.
I mean,
Who on earth collected all of this?
Cornelius shrugged.
He was home for the weekend,
Especially for the great bonfire,
As Joanne insisted on calling it.
Personally,
I thought Cornelius was worried about what we might throw out in his absence,
And wanted to keep an eye on us.
Some ancestor of mine,
Obviously.
Mother and father never had time to read any of them,
So they just stayed here for years and years.
I've delved in here and there,
And made a collection of the ones I'd like to keep,
But haven't room for everything.
The rest will need to be either taken to a second-hand bookshop or burned.
Seems a shame,
But some are so old and mouldy there's no hope for them.
I picked up a book,
Blew a shower of dust from the top,
And made a face.
The task of sorting Cornelius's books and having a route through for any information sounded simple enough,
But was obviously going to be a monumental task.
Don't be so negative.
Dan appeared in the doorway,
Looking like a man on a mission.
I've built the bonfire.
All you need to do is bring out anything you want burned.
Quickest way to get rid of it.
That simple?
I asked.
Life usually is,
He affirmed with a grin.
Unless you complicate it,
Which is what most people seem intent on doing.
Just as long as you don't expect me to read any of them.
You know what I think about books.
Nothing but words.
People need stories,
I told him as I began dragging boxes towards the doorway.
I pulled at a particularly large one,
Which promptly fell apart at the seams,
Spilling books all over the floor.
They need stories to make sense of the world,
I continued.
They always have and they always will.
One man's theory is another man's lie,
Replied Dan.
Here,
Let me help you.
And where's Johan anyway?
I thought he was coming to help.
Lost his car keys,
I expect.
He's always losing something and spending ages looking for it.
I've never known anyone as scatterbrained as he is.
Dan and I bent to shift another box and our gazes locked.
I felt a peculiar mixture of amusement and care in his nut-brown eyes.
He was about to speak,
But was interrupted by the slamming of the front door.
Hiya!
Johan's voice drifted towards us.
Couldn't find my iPod,
But I'm here now.
Never around when you're needed,
Commented Dan,
Giving me a wink.
Where's Cornelius disappeared to?
Looking at the bonfire you've built,
I passed him on the way in,
Replied Johan.
He says there are all sorts of nooks and crannies and shelves and cupboards in this house with nothing more than a load of old junk in them,
And if he can't sell it,
Recycle it or give it to charity,
He's going to burn it.
He grinned.
I'm game.
Love a good bonfire,
Me.
He stuffed his earplugs in,
Switched on his iPod and went in search of Cornelius.
By the time Cornelius and I had sorted piles of stuff to save or burn,
The bonfire was well underway.
Dan decided he needed to be in charge of keeping the fire under control.
Johan will have the entire place burnt to ashes if he's left on his own with it,
He commented,
And the two of them disappeared outside.
Such a lot of stuff,
Said Cornelius with a sigh,
And every time I think I've come to the end,
I find some more.
I nodded.
It seemed as if the pile we had pulled out and sorted was far greater than the space it came from,
And still it looked as if nothing had been shifted.
What are these?
Keep or chuck?
I held up a package of papers,
Grey with dust,
And tied in a faded pink ribbon with a wax seal.
They were so old and covered in cobwebs I was afraid they might fall to pieces in my hands.
Chuck?
No,
Keep,
Cornelius pulled a face.
You never know,
We must check everything,
Especially if it's going to be burned.
He peered at the bundle more closely.
Actually those look quite interesting,
Maybe an idea to have a look later.
He threw them onto one of the piles as Joanne appeared.
We're sure to get there in the end,
One day,
Muttered Cornelius,
Throwing more stuff randomly behind him.
No,
Cornelius,
I called,
Wrong pile,
You're getting them mixed up.
He groaned,
Right hand doesn't know what the left hand's doing,
He commented.
It's all this dust getting into my brain and.
.
.
He stopped short.
Where's the pile?
What pile?
The pile with the package on,
The wrong one,
The one to be burned.
We both noticed Joanne's retreating back at the same time.
Joanne,
I called,
Don't take those,
They're mixed up.
There was no reply.
Joanne,
Cornelius's voice bellowed through the hallway,
But all we could see was the opening of the outer door and the orange flames in the distance accompanied by billowing smoke.
Dan made his way steadily around the fire,
Raking in the ashes,
Keeping it safe.
Joanne,
I began to run,
Realising he was plugged into his iPod and would never hear,
No matter how loudly we shouted.
Stop him,
I burst out of the doorway,
Waving my arms frantically,
Only to see the dark smoke swirl afresh as he threw the contents of the box into the heart of the fire,
A sudden gust of wind causing the flames to flare and greedily consume all they were given.
Around the outside the flames burned orange,
At the bottom were red embers,
But in the middle a white hot ash reduced everything to a twisting,
Writhing mass.
I reached the fire and stopped short.
What's up,
Asked Dan.
Good fire,
Eh?
Awesome,
Joanne pulled out his earplugs.
Were you calling me?
I.
.
.
You.
.
.
I stopped,
Out of breath,
Realising there was no point in saying anything.
It was not Joanne's fault.
He was only doing his job.
The package might not even have contained anything important.
Nothing,
I panted.
Yes,
Brilliant fire.
Plugged into that thing all day so you can't hear,
And now your eyes aren't working either,
Commented Dan with a nod in Joanne's direction.
Take a look at what you're doing.
Half the stuff missed the fire.
And so it had.
The elusive sheaf of papers had been caught by the sudden gust of wind and were now strewn all around the garden.
Oops,
Sorry,
Gasped Joanne,
Dashing off to retrieve them.
Dan looked at me,
Grinned and winked as Joanne returned,
Out of breath,
But with the grubby papers in his hands.
I held out my arms before he had a chance to throw them onto the fire,
And he delightedly thrust them towards me,
As if he were giving me a pile of treasure.
Which,
Of course,
He was.
