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charisstomaWhen Jack Met Huw: originally posted here
Jack looked up hopefully at the impassive face of the Macintosh wrapped farmer. Rain dripped in tandem off their heads – Jack’s running down through his sodden fringe and off his nose; the other man’s off the peak of his flat cap.
Jack hoped the man couldn’t tell that it wasn’t just water dripping from Jack’s nose.
“You worked a farm before?” the man said finally, his voice gruff. He was younger than Jack’d expected, having become used to labouring for farmers who had undoubtedly been working their patch of land since before Stonehenge was erected.
“Y-yeah . . . I mean, yes, well kind of . . .” Jack stammered eagerly. “I’ve been travelling, see – hitchhiking, and doing day labour when I can get it.”
The man frowned. “You don’t have the look of the Rom about you.”
“W-what?” Jack sniffed loudly and resisted the urge to run a soggy sleeve across his equally soggy face. “N-no . . . I’m not a gypsy, n-not a traveller. I mean I’ve been touring around, kinda . . . well, just seeing what there is to see I guess. I was born in the city . . .”
“Hmmph,” the man’s expression turned sceptical. “City fold don’t do so well out here.”
“B-but . . . I can work . . . I mean, I’ve done a bit, and I’m quick to learn . . .” Jack could see his chance of a warm bed for the night fading. He should have stayed in the village and paid for lodgings for the night. But . . . well . . . his wallet was almost empty, and while he still had his savings to call on, that didn’t fit in with the spirit of this whole venture. Travelling around earning his way, learning to live off what he could conjure up with his own to hands.
Yeah, getting back to nature and finding yourself sounded real good when you weren’t standing in the rain with snot dripping down your face and the beginnings of a headache pinching behind your eyes.
Maybe the man would let him pay for a bed for the night – Jack wasn’t sure he could face the trek back to the village.
“Bit late in the day to start working, anyways,” the man said finally. “Can you cook?”
Jack’s heart leaped. Could he cook? “Y-yes . . . I’m a chef by trade . . . I can . . what do you . . I mean, anything, I’ll make anything.”
“No need to be getting fancy,” the man snorted. “Go on up to the house. Mud room’s by the back door – laundry and shower off it. Some of my sweats in the dryer if yer need them. Get cleaned up then see what you can find to put a meal together. We’ll talk about real work on the morrow.”
“Uh – yes, yes of course,” Jack grinned at the man, not at all disheartened when he didn’t get a smile in response. The man was turning away, back to his tractor, and Jack did likewise, when he paused a moment. “I’m Jack by the way.”
The man stopped walking, but didn’t turn back. “Huw." The single syllable was barely audible over the rain, and the man - Huw - immediately started moving again, hauling himself back up into the driver's seat. Shrugging off the disappointment of meeting someone so unpersonable, Jack continued on his own way, slogging through mud of the farmyard towards the back door of the house.
Part 2 is now posted here.
Jack looked up hopefully at the impassive face of the Macintosh wrapped farmer. Rain dripped in tandem off their heads – Jack’s running down through his sodden fringe and off his nose; the other man’s off the peak of his flat cap.
Jack hoped the man couldn’t tell that it wasn’t just water dripping from Jack’s nose.
“You worked a farm before?” the man said finally, his voice gruff. He was younger than Jack’d expected, having become used to labouring for farmers who had undoubtedly been working their patch of land since before Stonehenge was erected.
“Y-yeah . . . I mean, yes, well kind of . . .” Jack stammered eagerly. “I’ve been travelling, see – hitchhiking, and doing day labour when I can get it.”
The man frowned. “You don’t have the look of the Rom about you.”
“W-what?” Jack sniffed loudly and resisted the urge to run a soggy sleeve across his equally soggy face. “N-no . . . I’m not a gypsy, n-not a traveller. I mean I’ve been touring around, kinda . . . well, just seeing what there is to see I guess. I was born in the city . . .”
“Hmmph,” the man’s expression turned sceptical. “City fold don’t do so well out here.”
“B-but . . . I can work . . . I mean, I’ve done a bit, and I’m quick to learn . . .” Jack could see his chance of a warm bed for the night fading. He should have stayed in the village and paid for lodgings for the night. But . . . well . . . his wallet was almost empty, and while he still had his savings to call on, that didn’t fit in with the spirit of this whole venture. Travelling around earning his way, learning to live off what he could conjure up with his own to hands.
Yeah, getting back to nature and finding yourself sounded real good when you weren’t standing in the rain with snot dripping down your face and the beginnings of a headache pinching behind your eyes.
Maybe the man would let him pay for a bed for the night – Jack wasn’t sure he could face the trek back to the village.
“Bit late in the day to start working, anyways,” the man said finally. “Can you cook?”
Jack’s heart leaped. Could he cook? “Y-yes . . . I’m a chef by trade . . . I can . . what do you . . I mean, anything, I’ll make anything.”
“No need to be getting fancy,” the man snorted. “Go on up to the house. Mud room’s by the back door – laundry and shower off it. Some of my sweats in the dryer if yer need them. Get cleaned up then see what you can find to put a meal together. We’ll talk about real work on the morrow.”
“Uh – yes, yes of course,” Jack grinned at the man, not at all disheartened when he didn’t get a smile in response. The man was turning away, back to his tractor, and Jack did likewise, when he paused a moment. “I’m Jack by the way.”
The man stopped walking, but didn’t turn back. “Huw." The single syllable was barely audible over the rain, and the man - Huw - immediately started moving again, hauling himself back up into the driver's seat. Shrugging off the disappointment of meeting someone so unpersonable, Jack continued on his own way, slogging through mud of the farmyard towards the back door of the house.
Part 2 is now posted here.
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Date: 2013-10-15 07:30 am (UTC)Also, hungry.
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Date: 2013-10-16 04:41 am (UTC)