The Smallholder Pt. 01

So they went in her car and bought what she needed. He smiled at her as she tried on the boots, and twirled round in the clothing to let him see. She felt so happy. She had not felt this light-hearted for a long, long time.

She was fascinated by the number of people in the town who knew Joseph. "Hi Joe!" "Hello Joe!" She wondered how so many people knew him when he lived alone for long periods, but again she did not ask.

Joseph knew. He had been frequenting the village pub for a while years ago - when he first moved in. A man came in and started talking to Joseph about the man's life. In the end he asked Joseph's advice, and Joseph asked enough questions for the man to realise for himself the answer to his dilemma, but that is another story.

The man told others and Joseph began to be sought out by people with problems. They would come to the pub and sit with him. People in the pub noticed and would go to him as well. The landlord was delighted with his increased trade. 'Buddhist Joe' was good for business.

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FIVE

They returned to the cottage at five in the evening, and Joseph immediately began preparing supper of sliced boiled eggs, cheese, home made bread and a selection of his own home-made jams. Angela begged to help and was set to slice the bread when it came out of the microwave. They ate at the kitchen table, washing the meal down with mugs of tea.

After the meal Joseph made the rounds of the animals, and while he was out Angela loaded the dishwasher and washed up. He smiled when he returned to find the kitchen spotless. He thanked her.

"I meditate for about an hour morning and evening. You are welcome to sit by the stove or use the study. There are books as you know. Afterwards I take Bob down to the pub and have a couple of drinks. Would you like to come? It's the best part of two miles."

"I'd love to," she answered, "D'you think I can manage the walk?"

"If you can't we'll turn round and come back."

She watched from the door to the living room as he lit the candle, made a deep bow and then sat down cross-legged in the lotus position. Bob came out of the room and looked at her. She turned and went into the study, and found a novel she'd always wanted to read. She sat in the recliner and Bob went to the radiator, lay down and seemed to fall fast asleep.

She was so immersed in the book that she did not notice Bob leave the room after an hour, and was surprised when Joseph came into the room.

"Time to go," he said, "bring your book, if you want."

"No fear," she said, "books in pubs are for people on their own. I'll be with you."

"Wrap up warm," he told her. "It's a cold clear night."

The walk took the best part of an hour, Joseph being careful to match his pace to hers. The moon was full and bathed everywhere in a pale light. They did not speak during the walk, seemingly preoccupied with their own thoughts.

The heat of the pub hit them as they entered.

"What's this Joe?" said the Sam, the landlord, "didn't know you had a lady friend."

"There must be quite a lot you don't know, Sam," said Joseph, laughing. "This is Angela. She's visiting for the weekend."

"You're very welcome me-love," said Sam to Angela, "What you having?"

"Half of bitter please," she said.

"Oh, a woman with taste," said Sam. "You want to hold onto this one, Joe. Good looks and good taste in beer. What more could you want?"

Joseph merely smiled and they took their glasses to a table and sat down facing into the room. Sam brought over a bowl of water for Bob, who lapped it up thankfully. There were other men and a few couples, and they all knew one another and the conversation flowed.

Angela noticed that Joseph made his quiet contributions. He seemed totally self-possessed. No one made any further comments about Angela or spoke to her, though plenty smiled at her, and she was happy to sit and listen and watch. She was warm and happy to be with him.

Joseph had two pints and Angela her two halves, and after an hour he asked her if she was ready for the walk back. They took their leave, with Sam and Violet saying she was welcome any time.

It was quite late when they returned to the cottage and Joseph noticed Angela was exhausted. He regretted their outing then, remembering that she was not as fit as he was. Once again he insisted on her taking the bedroom while he had the recliner. She asked if there were not another bedroom upstairs, and he replied that no one ever came to stay the night, and so the upper bedroom was never used. He used the other upstairs rooms for storing the crops.

"I feel guilty at taking your bed again," she said, almost asking him to share his bed with her, but biting her tongue.

"Don't worry, I often sleep in the chair. It is very comfortable, believe me." It was true, Joseph found it as easy to sleep in as the bed. He remembered the residual perfume on the pillow after she left the first time and looked forward to it again.

Sunday

Next morning she again slept in until ten. She wandered through the empty house. She smelled the candle and knew he had been meditating that morning. Perhaps he was out tending to the livestock. Then she heard the sound of a Range Rover arriving, and saw it was he. The man was full of surprises; she did not know he had transport, but on reflection she knew it was essential.

She put the kettle to boil and was making some tea when he came in through the kitchen door, stamping his feet from the cold, frosty morning.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Church."

Of course, she thought, it was Sunday.

"You're religious?" she asked, though she immediately knew the question was superfluous. The answer surprised her.

"Everyone is."

"I don't follow?"

"The word comes from the latin 'religare' meaning 'to bind fast'. Most people have some thing or cause they bind themselves to - God, a church or faith, an all-consuming hobby, football club, family, a good cause, third world poverty, you name it."

"Oh, and which is it for you? I'm sorry, is that too personal a question?"

"No. A simple life, thankfulness for everything, compassion for others, forgiveness, letting go, discipline of meditation to control desires."

"You haven't mentioned God," she said. "What about that?"

"I don't know. I don't think it's necessary to believe in my head; it's necessary to live as fully a human life as I can. If there is a God, that's what matters, how I live, not what I say. St James in one of his letters in the Bible says 'True religion is coming to the aid of widows and orphans when they need it, and keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world'. He says nothing about worship or prayer or high sounding words, just help those in need and don't get taken in by false values."

He stopped and smiled.

She thought for a while. Then, "but you went to the service at the church?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"But why?"

"It's where Christians gather. There is always something to be learned when Christians gather, often in the most unlikely situations and the strangest ways. They support me and I support them. It keeps my feet on the ground."

She poured the tea while he set about cooking some bacon, tomatoes and eggs for breakfast. He fried some left over bread as well.

Once again she assessed the man. He seemed to have everything clear; he had principles and put them into practice. More than that he had a unified perspective - everything about him hung together and he was so thoughtful for her. She realised that she was far from able to say the same.

They worked together in that silence she had come to love, and they ate the meal and drank the tea in that same silence, but with smiles and looks at each other.

She felt increasing attraction to and warmth for the man; she wanted to stay with him for longer.

By the same token, Joseph found himself feeling great affection for the woman who had come into his life. She was very attractive and had an open and loving character. She had begun to do little things for him, like making the tea when she knew he was coming home. He believed that the small actions done in love, bind and make a relationship solid.

He knew he liked her very much, and enjoyed her presence in his life. He felt the first gentle tendrils of desire for her and enjoyed that as well, though he knew she would go from him as she had before. Did that make him sad? He had to admit it did. Desire leads to suffering, he thought, the Buddha's teaching is true.

He did not mind. The Buddha never said one should not desire, only that it would lead to suffering. Jesus on the other hand seemed to find suffering in some sense redemptive - almost purifying. Joseph could live with that as well. Buddha said 'compassion' and Jesus said 'love', so on that they agreed. He would allow Angela to decide what she wanted.

"Are we still going walking?" Her question broke his reflections and he nodded.

"It's a beautiful clear day, but cold," he said. "Wrap up warm. You have the kit now."

They agreed they did not need lunch, since they had only just finished breakfast, but Joseph made coffee and filled a flask, adding some chocolate and Kendal Mint Cake to his rucksack.

They did six miles in all, there and back, which as it happened, was twice the distance there and back to the pub! He was careful to keep to her pace. Bob ran ahead and then back to them and had a whale of a time, sniffing out smells beyond the range of human noses.

Walking up the valley, following the course of the stream, they needed to cross it twice using stepping stones, and each time he held out his hand to help her across. Her initial reaction was annoyance - she could manage - but then realised she could hold his hand.

They reached the head of the pass, and looked down on the valley on the other side. It was wide and bowl-shaped, scraped out millions of years ago by glaciers, she thought. They could see for miles to a town in the far distance.

The low winter sun cast a rosy light over the hillside, casting their long shadows over the grass and dead bracken. The sky was a deep blue and the cold breeze assailed their faces.

"It's beautiful!" she said, her eyes shining.

"Yes, it is," said Joseph, smiling at her comment. "It will be very cold tonight."

"Try your phone," he suggested.

She did and got a strong signal, so she phoned her boss and asked for time off. He suggested she take the week, since she had to use up her holiday entitlement; the company ran its holidays from March to February.

As she glanced at Joseph, who took her look as a request to stay even longer. He nodded with a smile.

Then they retraced their steps. Again he held out his hand, and she took it, but after she crossed the second set of stones she did not let go of his hand. The path was wide enough for two to walk abreast. He shot a glance at her and she smiled back. He smiled in his turn and made no attempt to let go of her hand. So they arrived at the cottage hand in hand.

"Thank you Joseph," she said as they shed their outdoor clothing, "that was lovely."

Her smile made him wonder if it was the walk to which she referred, or the holding hands. He didn't mind, walking with her had brought him a feeling he had forgotten - warm and affectionate. He was glad she was staying longer.

He put her in the living room and put more logs on the stove, opening the vent so the flames roared.

"You get warm," he said, "I'll get us something to tide us over till dinner."

He brought cheese on toast and tea, and they ate it at the table.

"Joseph," she said as they finished the snack, "you must let me help you. I can't just sit about while you run round after me."

"In that case, let me show you the rest of the house," he said, rising from the table.

He led her up the stairs to the rooms on the upper floor. There were two doors side by side facing the head of the stairs. Joseph opened them both to reveal two identical rooms which she realised were over the new kitchen. There were a few boxes and some shelves on which stood a number of jars some with pickles and some with jam. There were also large sacks of flour. Both rooms were warm, being over the kitchen.

The room to the left of the stairs was heated by the flue from the stove and was quite warm, though cooler than the rest of the house. There was a double bed with a dust sheet over it, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe with a mirror in the door. Like the other rooms, it had a carpet square over the floorboards. The room had clearly not been used for a long time if ever.

She turned to him to remonstrate with him that she could have slept there, but he preempted her.

"The bed is not comfortable: the mattress is very lumpy," he said. "The recliner in the study is much more comfortable."

They moved to the front room. There were large chest freezers in the front room.

To the right of the stairs was another bathroom. Smaller than the one downstairs, but well appointed, and beyond the stairwell there was another large room. The room was very cool, almost cold. Along one wall were apples laid out on trestles. There were racks suspended from the ceiling from which hung strings of onions and garlic.

"The freezers in the other rooms are full of beans, peas and fruit," he said in answer to her unspoken question.

He then led her downstairs and to a door which led to a cellar. Here there were large wooden chests.

"Potatoes," he said, "enough for the year. There are carrots over there, and swedes. I leave the parsnips in the ground. Cabbages too, and I earth up the leeks. The sprouts are finished, but the purple sprouting broccoli is coming. The animal feed is in the outhouses."

"So you have enough to live on until the next year?"

"Almost."

He led her to a further room. It was the wine cellar, and was quite extensive.

"You drink a lot of wine?" she asked.

"I like a glass with my evening meal," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

It surprised her. For some reason she thought he would be abstemious; then she remembered his regular visits to the pub. She smiled.

He showed her the storage room along the corridor between the living room and bedroom. It was another large room running the full length of the house. There were store cupboards, and more freezers. The cupboards were full of jars, tins and dried pulses and vegetables currents, raisins and sultanas.

They went to the kitchen and Joseph gestured for her to explore, which she did quite thoroughly. She found the pantry with another extensive stock of tinned and dried goods.

"There's enough to withstand a siege in the house!" she said, turning to face him. He was sitting at the table with a grin on his face. It struck her she hadn't often seen him grin, he smiled a lot, but he did not grin.

"I get snowed in in Winter sometimes," he said, "occasionally for weeks."

Then he got an evil glint in his eye, real humour, joking, "Could snow this week!"

"Would you like that?" she flirted archly, "I wouldn't be able to leave?"

"I'd really love it!" he said, "I love having you here!"

She blushed hotly; she had not expected so frank a reply. She had immediately had a wicked thought, that she would like him 'having' her. What was wrong with her? She was not like that! She hardly knew him!

"Look at the back of the pantry," he told her, "There is a joint of pork there, about right for the two of us. It's from one of last year's hogs."

She remembered the pigs in their sty and she shivered.

"They aren't pets, Angela, remember?" he said.

She remembered he had told her that at her first visit. It brought it home to her afresh that animals had to be killed to provide meat.

"I know," she said, "I need a dose of realism about the food I eat. I'm glad I came."

"So am I," he said, "now let's get the joint in the oven and prepare the vegetables."

So they had roast pork with crackling, and a selection of home grown vegetables, the roast parsnips having been dug up the previous afternoon, and apple sauce.

"They don't come much fresher," Joseph had laughed as he peeled the parsnips and sliced them thinly into batons.

Once the joint was in the oven, he said he was going to do his meditation for an hour.

"Can I join you?" she asked, "I promise I won't get in the way."

As always he smiled and nodded, and the two of them walked to the living room at the front of the house. Bob accompanied them until Joseph lit the candle when he disappeared.

Angela took her place well back and out of his line of sight, and sat down cross legged on the cold hard floor.

"Here," said Joseph who noticed where she was, and held out a large cushion to her, " The floor is too hard; you would be distracted by it."

She felt a warmth for him; he was always so considerate, so aware of her comfort.

"Thanks Joseph," she said with what she hoped was an warm loving smile.

He nodded and turned back towards the little altar. He adopted the lotus position, cross-legged with each foot resting on the opposing thigh. He bowed and then sat upright, a hand upwards on each knee, finger and thumb joined and there he stayed for the hour.

Angela sat down on the cushion cross legged, and tugged her legs into the lotus, imitating Joseph.

She wondered what to do next, and simply sat still. The image of her parents came unbidden, they were arguing, shouting at each other. Typical, she thought. Arguments seemed to be the way they got on together. It was always about money. They had a nice house in the suburbs, but her mother constantly berated her father about his job and the lack of money, as she saw it, that he brought in. He retorted that she should get out and get herself a job, whereupon she railed at him that he was not man enough to keep her. Why in this present age Angela thought to herself, why did her mother think she ought to be 'kept'? They had to have the best car in the road, the best TV, new curtains.

Now there was a memory of her teenage self shouting at her parents that she had not the latest stuff to wear. Designer stuff. Expensive stuff. Her father slipping the money to her, and her lack of gratitude. Guilt.

Then choosing and seducing the boys who had money - boys who paid for their dates and she paid them back on her back. She grimaced at the memories: the sex was never very good. They felt her up for their pleasure, not hers. She hated sucking their pricks, hated the white spunk that spurted or trickled when they came. And the sex. Ugh! They were handsome boys who said the right things and had the money to take her out, but they were utterly selfish and never lasted either during sex, or in relationships.They never tried.

Her abortion. She shivered. Why did that thought hit her? It was ten years ago. Her son would be ten. A tear trickled down her cheek.

Gerard. His pinched face, never satisfied. At least he knew how to bring her off. He knew how to tongue her, diddle her, but he would push her face on his cock and she would retch. She hated blowing him. Thankfully he would usually get on top of her before he came in her mouth, and push into her and do his thing. In some ways he was like the rich boys had been, but he saw to her needs in other ways.

So oppressive, she thought, his obsessive jealousy, his manipulation of her, his controlling nature. How he'd ask her what she wanted to do and then say they'd do something different. How he kept telling her she was submissive and loved his dominating her. Then a shiver: he nearly killed her when he abandoned her and he was not in the least sorry.

Why stay with him? Gerard really did love her in his way. If she got angry he would humbly apologise. He never meant it, he said. But it was his way. It was how he made his money - perfect confidence in his own ability and power. They did all the expensive things - holidays, clothing, restaurants, theatre, ballet, clubbing. Unbidden, the word prostitute came to her mind and shocked her. Did she still pay for her pleasures on her back, even with him?