The body rolled away from me and into the pissgutter. Capella stepped on his hand.

Bror dropped the spade.

The feed sack I said. Get it.

Bror sat down. Leaned his back against a wooden upright. It was if we had been fighting a war and suddenly realised that we had survived.

The enemy was lying dead in the pissgutter with a feed sack on his head. A pleasant peaceful calm was spreading in the stalls and pens. I pulled the milkingcoat around me and leaned against bror. He put his arm around me. He smelled of shit.

It was the last day we were together for a long time to come.

141

TWENTYSIX

I checked stall after stall. He wasn’t anywhere. The chains dragged emptily against the concrete floor. The dunghill had burned itself out of course. Mother had swept and scrubbed. The byre smell still hung stubbornly in the air. I kept limerick’s stall till last.

The horse had been kept a little on its own in recognition of the special status of horses. If pigs were the farm commoners the horse was the king.

Limerick was not just a horse that pulled the plough. I did my homework in his stall using a hay bale as a table. It was where bror and I went to be alone or talk. Limerick’s gentle muzzle had comforted us throughout childhood. Remembering him was still bitter. He had fixed his last gaze on me. It had been wise and warm and terrified.

Limerick’s stall had stood empty ever since he died. Our farm had not survived the shattering final years as small holdings merged into big agribusinesses. Life had drained from the farms in the village. The tools rusted in the sheds and byres. Wheels sank into the ground leaving machinery standing like memorials to a past era. They and the overgrown fields had become shackled by couch grass and birch seedlings. Willow herb was spreading. The haybarn roofs were caving in. Nature took over in the hay meadows. On kippofarm too only memories remained. If I had it my way the byre should go up in flames. 142

Bror was comatose when I found him with the horse. I shook him but he didn’t move. Bror I said again more loudly and shook him a bit harder. He didn’t respond at all.

I got my phone out and dialled emergency services. I breathed into his mouth.

No sign of life.

I struck him hard on the chest above the heart.

No sign of life.

The ambulance arrived after twenty minutes. I was given a seat next to bror.

Still no sign of life.

You must save him I said. He’s my twin. If he dies I’ll die too.

I even cried out to god. Screamed that now you must help god or you can go to hell.

Bubbles rose to bror’s lips. His eyes moved.

Small signs of life.