THE DEPRIVED...Part 10.

In continuation of my book.

The men worked all day, having tipped most of the bodies into the pit and then covering them up with quick lime before filling the pit up with a covering of the soil dug up the day before. Having finished the first pit all of them were given the task of digging a fresh pit and doing the same with the remainder of the bodies. Once this was done, the men were paired off to begin digging more pits, with carts being brought up containing more bodies. Michael gave up counting the bodies after having reached five hundred, heaving them from the carts and tipping them into the lime. He worked like a robot, toiling without thought or feeling and only glad when the sky grew too dark to see and when the sound of the cart containing the Gaffer turned up.
Michael had not handed the gloves in, first putting some of the quick lime into a piece of sacking and hiding both the gloves and sacking carefully in his trousers. Mr. Wilson did not check the gloves, having the men leave the gloves inside the shed on the table. Then with a nod he ordered the men onto the back of the cart and watched as the horse drew away before he went back in the shed.
Arriving home from work Michael gave grave warning to all the children not to touch the powder. He donned the gloves and sprinkled the powder near the holes in the floorboards and skirting boards.
“Let the rats eat it and see what happens.” he said.
Early the next morning there seemed to be dozens of rats covering the floor, their bodies bloated and twisted in their dying.
“Give me a hand to throw the rats out of the window.” Michael said to Patrick.
The wives and children left the room but soon returned to report that there were rat bodies all over the stairs.
“We’ll have to hurry.” said Michael. “We’ll need to clear those on the stairs as well.”
The pair of them worked hard, picking the dead rats up by their tails and throwing them out of the window as far as they could.

The hunting horn blasted out in the early morning air and the Gaffer stood by the cart. He did not shout but stood silent at first, his face very serious as he studied the document in his hand.
“Wait a minute all of you.” he shouted as the men began to climb aboard the cart. “I want you all to line up. That’s it, line up in a straight line.”
The men did as he asked, shuffling their feet nervously as he marched up and down the line, staring into each man’s face as he passed.
“Now.” he began, coming to a stop. “I have been told by Mr. Wilson that there’s a pair of gloves missing. I know one of you men has stolen the gloves and I want to know which man stole them!”
His eyes searched the line. No-one spoke, the men facing the front.
“Alright then, seeing as no-one will own up, I take it that you all had a part in stealing the company’s property and you will all have to pay a week’s wages for stealing them.”
“What!” cried the men, staring at each other and starting to accuse the man next to them, each arguing with the other except Michael and Patrick.
“I took the gloves!” shouted Michael, drawing the gloves out from his trousers and holding them up.
The men became silent as they all turned to stare at him.
“I didn’t steal them. I took them so I could lay some of the powder down to kill all the rats! Look at them, over there by the house.”
Everyone looked, following Michael’s pointing finger and now seeing the bodies of the rats.
“Then you have two choices.” said the Gaffer, moving to stand in front of Michael.
“You can either lose two weeks money for the theft or choose to go in front of the company court accused of theft. Which do you choose?”
Michael held in his anger, closing his eyes as he took the lesser of the choices.
“I would sooner forgo the two weeks wages.” he said.
The Gaffer nodded and made a report out in the red book which he had drawn from his coat pocket.
“Right then, now we have sorted that out let’s get on with the work in hand. Let’s have you all aboard.”
The men clambered aboard the cart, none of them speaking. Michael sat with his face set and with his mind angry, knowing he would have to work for two weeks with no pay and worse still he would have to explain it to Mary later that night. He worked even harder than was normal as if this was some form of self-punishment, lifting bags and tipping the corpses in without a sound.
Patrick sensed the atmosphere was not the same, that Michael was in a dangerous mood and so he said nothing as the pair of them climbed the stairs to their room after work. Mary said nothing, feeling Michael’s mood and knowing he would say what was on his mind in his own time. It was after they had eaten and the children were asleep that Michael whispered in the dark, telling Mary what had happened and how he had lost two weeks wages.
“It’s alright, Michael. We have some money put away and we will get by. Don’t allow this to upset you.”
“It’s not only the money, Mary.” whispered Michael. “It’s how we are being treated by these Englishmen. They treat us like slaves and put us to work in miserable conditions. Most of the men are coughing all day. They’re breathing that powder in and it’s only because Patrick and me are wearing the masks that we are not coughing.”

No matter what Mary said Michael was not to be quieted or pulled out from his mood. Michael lay in his brooding, hearing Mary breathing lightly as she slept. He rose and quietly slipped out from beneath the blankets and dressed before creeping out of the room and descending the stairs.