Read Black Harvest for Free Online Page A

and was soon out of sight. Oliver plodded along at his aunt’s side. The sand and the sea, all bathed in sunshine, lifted everybody’s spirits, but made no impact at all on him. His mind was full of beetles. Overnight the leaves in the jar had been virtually chewed to nothing, and he was certain the insects had multiplied. He must go back and talk to Donal Morrissey. He wasn’t scared of him.
    Gradually he dropped behind and left his aunt to walk on her own. Colin and Prill were deep in conversation, about him probably. He dropped back still farther and pretended to examine a bit of driftwood. Then, when the others were well ahead, and Mrs Blakeman nearly out of sight, he turned round and started to walk back.
    Colin saw him. “What are you doing, Oliver? Get a move on.”
    “I think I’ll go back.”
    “Why, for heaven’s sake? It’s not much farther now.”
    Oliver dithered. Words like “Too hot”, “Not swimming” and “Doing a bit more to my hole” floated along the beach. He saw Prill take a step towards him then Colin holding her arm. “I can make the tea,” he shouted. “Well, I can get the table ready and everything, for when you come back.” He liked Auntie Jeannie and it might please her. That squalling baby was definitely getting on her nerves.
    “Will you be all right on your own?” Prill called to him. She didn’t sound so bad-tempered as Colin. “You don’t haveto climb the tunnel. You can go with Mum. Anyway, the bungalow’s locked.”
    “I’ll ask Mrs O’Malley to let me in. She’s got a key. I’ll be all right,” he shouted. He was already turning his back, but he saw Colin pulling Prill impatiently in the other direction. “An utter drip” and “Chicken” were the last words he heard as he hurried along the beach, much faster now.
    The door of Donal Morrissey’s caravan was shut, but smoke poured from the tin chimney. Oliver crept up through the vegetable patch and examined the plants at his feet. The stripy beetles were still thriving and nibbling away steadily, turning the leaves into pieces of green lace.
    He stood up, took a deep breath, and hammered on the door. Instantly a dog barked inside. Oliver quaked. He was scared of dogs and that collie was a brute. But there was no time to run. The door opened and Donal Morrissey was looking down at him, holding on to the growling dog with a bit of rope.
    Their eyes met. The old man’s gaze terrified Oliver. The wide-eyed, bloodshot stare was full of threat and there was an awful hardness about it. It was a face from which every drop of human kindness suddenly seemed to have drained away.
    “What do you want? Get away from here or I’ll set this dog on you. I told you yesterday.” He gave the collie a bit more rope and it leaped to Oliver, snapping its teeth.
    “I’ve come to—” he began nervously, taking a few steps back.
    “Leave me alone, coming here with your noise. I’ll get the Garda on to you! Leave an old man in peace can’t you, in the name of God, or you’ll be sorry for it!”
    The door crashed shut in Oliver’s face and the whole van shook. Inside, the dog went on barking and the old man shouted, a mumbled torrent of fast Irish of which the boy could make nothing, save the fact that he’d be wise to make a quick retreat before that dog was let loose and old Morrissey went off to find a policeman.
    “I just came to tell you that your vegetable patch needs looking at, Mr Morrissey! It’s got some kind of infestation ! I know about insects, you see!” he shouted helpfully, from a safe distance. “If you don’t do something your crop’ll be ruined, that’s all I came to say.”
    “Mother of God, will you get off my land!” came the strangled voice from inside, and through a filthy side window Oliver saw two bloody eyes staring out at him. “Don’t be telling me how to farm. It’s a count of ten I’m giving you to get out of my sight, and I’m starting now.”
    Through the yelps of the dog