molehills and mountains

Jay put two fingers to his lips and whistled in soft imitation of an owl. It sent a shiver through me. His other hand held the shotgun. I’d left mine in the truck.

We entered the field, trying to tread lightly. I imagined each step sending down barely perceptible vibrations to be felt by super sensitive creatures burrowing blindly through the soil.

I wondered whether it was really necessary for us to be here. At this ungodly hour. But moles are most active at the quiet time of day. I suppose it’s not their fault they just happen to ruin good pasture while going about their business, doing their thing. It’s kind of ironic because they actually improve the ground by aerating it with their tunnels. But a ewe had broken an ankle recently stepping through one, and so necessitated this attempt at some kind of action, according to Jay, who was insistent on taking revenge.

We stopped and stood on a rise at the top of the meadow. I could see all down the valley. Two magpies chased each other across the far fields. A crow, or possibly a raven, tracked a band of light low over the horizon as the sun rose; it lit the frost while the molehills cast long shadows in imitation of mountains. There were ranges and ranges.

I looked at my phone again.

Jay noticed.

‘You can’t kill them with that. Convenient you forgot your gun.’

‘Genuine mistake.’

‘Sure. So, any news then?’

‘Nah.’

‘Maybe that’s a good thing. Anyway, it’s too early for normal people to be sending messages.’

‘I know. Just habit I guess.’ I put the phone back in my pocket. Jay was looking at me and I pretended to be admiring the sunrise.

‘You gotta do what you gotta do,’ he said.

‘Do I though?’

‘Yeah. And it’ll be fine. Chill.’

‘I fucking can’t. I can’t stop thinking about it.’

Jay laughed. He kicked out at one of the mounds, scattering dark soil across the frost-paled grass. ‘You sure you’re not making a mountain out of a molehill? Hey, hey?’ Grinning.

‘They’re gonna know we’re here now. But I don’t know. I guess like most things it’s all about perspective.’

‘Bit deep for dawn.’

‘I haven’t really slept so.’

‘Not surprising. Bet there’s a lot of thoughts. A lot of feelings.’

‘mm’

‘You can’t fight your feelings forever. Pointless to even try.’

‘Right.’

‘Anyway, keep your eye out for movement. And get a grip.’

‘Will do.’

He took a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and offered me the shotgun.

‘Hold this.’

I watched as he wandered off and then sank on his haunches, elbows on knees rolling a cigarette. Nothing ever seemed to faze him. If he felt like it, he’d kill every mole in the field.

The sun was up now proper.

Jay drew my attention. He put a finger to his lips and then beckoned me over. As I approached, he pointed at a molehill nearby. I took a few steps toward it.

The soil shifted imperceptibly; the frost shivered. A heavy sigh escaped me. Jay, poised with cigarette in mouth, looked up.

I shifted the weight of the shotgun. The shells gleamed snug in the barrel. There was a click as I closed the breech.

Several goes at it and Jay sparked the cig.

‘You gotta do what you gotta do.’

‘You know I will.’

‘Will you?’

‘I will, definitely. Hundred percent.’

‘Sure.’

Aside from a caw from a crow, or maybe a raven, everything was silent and still. The smoke from Jay’s cigarette, heavy with cold, drifted across the field.

It was a long time.

Was I just imagining things?

But the mound moved again; fresh material pushed up out of the earth.

Safety off. I put the shotgun into my shoulder, aimed at the general direction, exhaled, took a shot, probably missed, and fired again. The sound echoed through the valley. The crow or raven’s wings clapped as it lifted off, and then there was fresh silence.

‘Well if they didn’t know we were here before, they do now,’ said Jay. ‘Still, better out than in! Breakfast?’ He stood and headed back toward the gate.

I looked down at the mound. I felt like an intruder, an interloper into the natural order of things. But what’s natural anyway? Feelings? Actions? Asking yourself pointless questions at the break of dawn while holding a smoking gun?

Imagine a mole day like any other, you’re snouting about for a worm and generally minding your own business when a barn owl, heart-faced killer, an angel of death, snatches you out of the earth and carries you into the sky. What does that feel like? I can imagine it. Powerlessness, mainly. I guess it must be nice to have wings, even momentarily, after you’ve spent all your days in the dirt. To catch a glimpse of something other than, other than? Well, other than everything that went before. Everything leading up to this point in time. The first time seeing a sunrise and realising that this is where the light comes from. That your whole life in darkness was a waste. Maybe not a waste but that it could have been better, by an order of magnitude. That there was another level. Lifted higher by a forcer greater than yourself. Exhilarating. Terrifying. And then oblivion.

Whatever.

I checked my phone again.

Nothing.

I moved what was left of the mound away with my foot. There was nothing there. Jay was probably right; it’d be fine.

The shotgun was heavy in my hand now, and cold. I made to leave the field.

I was halfway back to the truck when I felt the phone buzz.