The Sea, The Sea Part 25

'Oh, Lizzie!'

I pulled her out and hugged her, laughing with that agonized laughter which is so close to a mixture of wild exasperation and tears, Now Lizzie, laughing too, was squeezing out the wet hem of her dress.

'You've cut yourself.'

'It's nothing.'

'You've lost a shoe.'

'It's in the pool. Can I have that one, or are you collecting my shoes? Oh Charlesyou don't mind my coming?'

'You know Gilbert's here?'

'Yes, he wrote to me, he couldn't help boasting that he was staying with you.'

'Did he ask you to come?'

'No, no, I think he wanted to have you to himself. But I suddenly so much wanted to come and I thought, why not?'

'You thought 'why not', did you, little Lizzie. Did you drive?'

'No, I came by train, then taxi.'

'Just as well. There soon won't be any more parking s.p.a.ce left out there. Come on inside and get dry. Don't slip again, these rocks are tricky.'

I led her back towards the house, onto the lawn.

'What are those stones?'

'Oh just a sort of design someone's making. You're thinner.'

'I've been slimming. Oh Charlesdearare you all right?'

'Why shouldn't I be?'

'Well, I don't know-'

We went into the kitchen. 'Here's a towel.' I was not going to enquire what vulgar impertinent travesty of the facts had been offered by Gilbert in his letter. The thought of how the story would be told would have tormented me if I had not had greater troubles.

Lizzie was wearing a peac.o.c.k blue summer dress made out of some light bubbly material with a low V-neck and a wide skirt. She was indeed thinner. Her curling hair, wind-tangled, blown into long gingery corkscrews, strayed about on the brilliant blue collar. Her pale brown eyes, moist and shining with the wind, with tenderness, with relief, gazed up at me. She looked absurdly young, radioactive with vitality and unpredictable gaiety, while at the same time she looked at me so attentively, so humbly, like a dog reading his master's tiniest movements. I could not help seeing how different this alert healthy being was from the heavy confused creature whom I had allowed to be carried away from my house veiled and silent. Yet love seeks its own ends and discerns, even invents, its own charms. If necessary I would have to explain this to Lizzie.

Lizzie, sitting on a chair, had thrown off her sandals and crossed one bare leg over the other, hitching up the wide trailing blue skirt, half darkened with sea water, and was drying one foot. James came in and stopped amazed.

I said to him, 'Another visitor. This is a theatre friend, Lizzie Scherer. This is a cousin of mine, James Arrowby.'

They said h.e.l.lo.

The front door bell jangled.

I ran out, already seeing Hartley on the step, wind-tormented, distraught, falling into my arms. A man with a cap stood there. 'Laundry.'

'Laundry?'

'Laundry. You wanted the laundry to call. I'm it.'

'Oh G.o.d, yes, nothing at the moment, thank you, call again could you, next week or'

I ran back to the kitchen. Peregrine had arrived. He of course knew Lizzie, though not well. They were still exchanging greetings when Gilbert came in with t.i.tus.

'Darling!'

'Gilbert!'

'Is this your suitcase? We found it outside.'

The front door bell rang again. Would it be Hartley now? Oh let it be.

'Telephone?'

'You wanted a telephone. I've come to install it.'

By the time I had settled where the telephone was to be the company in the kitchen were all singing Cherry Ripe. Cherry Ripe.

And they went on singing. And we got drunk. And Gilbert had made a great salad and set out bread and cheese and cherries. And t.i.tus was looking so happy, sitting in the midst with Lizzie perched on the table near him and feeding him cherries. And I thought of that stuffy room on the other side of the village where Hartley was hiding her face and saying again and again and again, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.' I took some more wine. There was plenty of it, purchased by Gilbert at my expense. Then when it was getting dark, and they had moved on from Abide with me to The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended, Abide with me to The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended, we all went out onto the lawn. James's stone-design had already been disordered by people tripping over it. I wanted to get Lizzie to myself and explain things to her. I led her a little way across the rocks and we sat down, hidden from the house. At once she gave me one of her chaste drying clinging kisses. we all went out onto the lawn. James's stone-design had already been disordered by people tripping over it. I wanted to get Lizzie to myself and explain things to her. I led her a little way across the rocks and we sat down, hidden from the house. At once she gave me one of her chaste drying clinging kisses.

'Lizzie'

'Darling, sweetheart, you're drunk!'

'Lizzie, you're my friend, aren't you?'

'Yes, forever and ever.'

'Why did you come to me, what do you want?'

'I want to be with you always.'

'Lizzie, it can never be, you know that, it can never be.'

'You did ask meyou asked me somethinghave you forgotten?'

'I forget so many things. I forgot the windscreen got broken.'

'The-?'

'Oh never mind. Listen. Listen, Lizzie. Listen'

'I'm listening!'

'Lizzie, it cannot be. I am committed to this very unhappy person. She is going to come back to me. Did Gilbert tell you?'

'Gilbert wrote something. You tell me.'

'I can't remember what you know.'

'Rosina said you were going to marry a bearded lady, and you said that you'd met this woman from the past and that what you'd said to me was a mistake' mistake'

'Lizzie, I do feel love for you, but not like that. I'm bound to her, bound, bound, it'sit's absolute.' it'sit's absolute.'

'But she's married.'

'She's going to leave her husband and come to me. He's a vile man and she hates him.'

'And she loves you?'

'Yes-'

'And is she really so ugly?'

'She'sLizzie, she's beautiful. I wonder if you know what it's like when you have to guard guard somebody, to guard them in your heart against all damage and all darkness, and to sort of renew them as if you were G.o.d' somebody, to guard them in your heart against all damage and all darkness, and to sort of renew them as if you were G.o.d'

'Even if it's allnot truelike in a dream?'

'There's a way in which it must be true, it can't be a dream, pure love makes makes it true.' it true.'

' I know you pity her '

'It's not pityit's something much greater, much purer. Oh Lizziemy heart could break with it' I dropped my head onto my knees.

'Oh my dear' Lizzie touched my hair, stroking it very gently, very tenderly, as one might touch a child or a small quiet pet.

'Lizzie darling, are you crying? Don't cry. I do love you. Let us two love each other whatever happens.'

'You want everything, don't you, Charles.'

'Yes, but not like that. Let's love in a free open way, like you said in your letter, free and separate and not holding on like crazy'

'It was a stupid letter. I think holding on like crazy is the only thing I understand'

'But with her, with Hartleyit's like something eternal that's always existed, something far greater than either of us. She will come to me, she has got to. She has always been with me and she is coming home to herself. I feel in such an odd way that my retiring, my coming here, was all a sort of giving up the world just for her. I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn't know she has it, she has it.'

Just like even if she's ugly she's beautiful and even if she doesn't love you she loves you '

'But she does'

'Charles, either this is very fine, very n.o.ble, or else you're mad.'

'Dear Lizzie I feel so full of love tonight because of her.'

'You've got it to give away.'

'Yes, but not to anybody. When you feel full to the brim with your own life, committed, given, complete, it makes you feel so free too. I don't know what the future holds, Lizzie. I just know it's all to do with her. But that makes other love in a way all the more real if it exists at all, because it's pure, it's unselfish, it's for nothing. Will you love me for nothing. Lizzie, asking nothing, going .nowhere, just because we're us?'

'Either this is wisdom or you're cheating. You're certainly drunk.'

'Will you. Lizzie dear?'

'Yes.' She took my hands and began kissing them.

'Lizzie, Lizzie, where are you?' The voice of Gilbert.

It had become almost dark, though there was still a little light over the sea where the sunken sun was still illuminating the line of white clouds which shone like pale lamps over the waves which were racing landward. The tide was rising.

'Lizzie, come back, we want you to sing Voi che sapete.' Voi che sapete.'

She was away from me in a moment, a long bare leg stretched. I could see Gilbert now, reaching his hand down to her from above. I stayed where I was.

What a weird uncanny simulacrum of happiness the evening was, like a masque put on by the spirit of melancholy. Would I be able not to go to that house, not to know know what was happening, not to burst into their lives like a storm, like rain beating upon them, like thunder? what was happening, not to burst into their lives like a storm, like rain beating upon them, like thunder?

After a little while I came back towards Shruff End. It seemed to be unusually illuminated and looked like a doll's house. Gilbert must have bought several more lamps at my expense. Some light fell onto the lawn. As I drew near to it Lizzie was still singing solo. Her true truthful small voice wandered in the air patterning it high up, making utterly still the group of men surrounding her. Perry, who was very drunk, was standing with folded arms near the kitchen door. He checked occasional swaying movements. Gilbert, smiling sentimentally, was sitting cross-legged. t.i.tus was kneeling, his lips apart, his face concentrated with emotion and pleasure, his eyes wide. At first I could not see James. Then I discerned him just below me reclining on the gra.s.s. A family party.

Voi che sapete had been over for some time and Lizzie was now singing had been over for some time and Lizzie was now singing Roses in Picardy. Roses in Picardy. This was a song which Aunt Estelle used to sing, accompanying herself on the piano in the drawing room at Ramsdens. There came to me, with the peculiar pain of that memory, the idea that James might have asked Lizzie to sing it. Then I remembered that I had told Lizzie I liked it, but not why. Lizzie was singing it for me. This was a song which Aunt Estelle used to sing, accompanying herself on the piano in the drawing room at Ramsdens. There came to me, with the peculiar pain of that memory, the idea that James might have asked Lizzie to sing it. Then I remembered that I had told Lizzie I liked it, but not why. Lizzie was singing it for me.

Roses in Picardy was a bit much. As I climbed down onto the lawn James, sensing me, sat up. I sat down near him but would not look at him, though he was now looking at me. After a moment he reached out and touched me, and I murmured 'Yes, yes'. The song ended. was a bit much. As I climbed down onto the lawn James, sensing me, sat up. I sat down near him but would not look at him, though he was now looking at me. After a moment he reached out and touched me, and I murmured 'Yes, yes'. The song ended.

After that, and until the terrible thing happened, the evening seemed quietly to break up, or to become diffused and gently chaotic like the later stages of a good party. Or perhaps it is all just confused in my memory. There was some light over the rocks, though I do not recall where it came from. Perhaps the clouds were still giving off light. A moon had made its appearance, randomly shaped and spotty, large and pale as a cloud itself. The fierce foam at the edge of the sea seemed luminous. I wandered looking for Lizzie, who had vanished. Everyone seemed to be walking about on the rocks, precariously holding gla.s.ses in their hands. An owl was hooting somewhere inland and the intermittent voices of my guests sounded equally distant, equally frail and hollow. I also wanted to find James, because I felt that perhaps I had been rude to him. I wanted to say something to him, I was not sure what, about Aunt Estelle. She had shone somehow upon my childhood. Che cosa e amor Che cosa e amor indeed. I went to the cliff and watched the waves pounding it. There was a soft growling of thunder. I could see the glowing whitenesses of the wave-crests out to sea. Gilbert's babbling baritone started up not far off. indeed. I went to the cliff and watched the waves pounding it. There was a soft growling of thunder. I could see the glowing whitenesses of the wave-crests out to sea. Gilbert's babbling baritone started up not far off. Stay dainty nymphs and speak, shall we play Stay dainty nymphs and speak, shall we play barley-break, tra la la? barley-break, tra la la? Then later on, in another quarter, t.i.tus also by himself could be heard rendering Then later on, in another quarter, t.i.tus also by himself could be heard rendering Jock of Hazeldean. Jock of Hazeldean. There was something absurd and touching about the solipsistic self-absorption and self-satisfaction of these drunken singers. Then at last I heard Lizzie's voice distantly singing There was something absurd and touching about the solipsistic self-absorption and self-satisfaction of these drunken singers. Then at last I heard Lizzie's voice distantly singing Full Fathom Full Fathom Five. Five. I listened carefully but could get no sense of direction, so loud was the accompaniment of the restless rushing sea. Then I thought, how strangely her voice echoes. It seems almost amplified. She must be singing inside the tower. I listened carefully but could get no sense of direction, so loud was the accompaniment of the restless rushing sea. Then I thought, how strangely her voice echoes. It seems almost amplified. She must be singing inside the tower.

I was still fairly near the house and I set off through what was now a somewliat darker scene. The luminous clouds had been quenched, the moon was smaller and a little brighter, not yet quite radiant, in a near-midsummer sky which still had inklings of light. I could hear Lizzie's voice singing, calling me, over and over again. Ding dong ding dong bell, ding dong ding dong bell Ding dong ding dong bell, ding dong ding dong bell... I stumbled along through the rocks, making the little detours which I now knew so well. I reached the bridge over Minn's cauldron and paused there, as I always did, to look down into the smooth pit where the waves of the incoming tide were lashing themselves in a foaming self-destructive fury. A light seemed to rise here in the spray out of the sea itself. I looked down and it was like looking into a deep dark green gla.s.s. And thensuddenlysomebody came up behind me and pushed me in. As I am writing this story it will be evident that I survived, and I cannot hope to convey what the experience was like, how long long it was, how terrible, how hopeless: a primal experience of a total loss of hope. Falling, what the child fears, what the man dreads, is itself the image of death, of the defencelessness of the body, of its frailty and mortality, its absolute subjection to alien causes. Even in a harmless fall in the road there is a little moment of horror when the taller realizes that he it was, how terrible, how hopeless: a primal experience of a total loss of hope. Falling, what the child fears, what the man dreads, is itself the image of death, of the defencelessness of the body, of its frailty and mortality, its absolute subjection to alien causes. Even in a harmless fall in the road there is a little moment of horror when the taller realizes that he cannot help cannot help himself, himself, he has been taken over by a relentless mechanism and must continue with it to the end and be subject to the consequences. 'There is nothing more I can do.' How long, how infinitely expansible, a second is when it contains this thought, which is an effigy of death. A complete fall into the void, something which I had often imagined on aeroplanes, is of course the most terrible thing of all. Hands, feet, muscles, all the familiar protective mechanisms of the body are suddenly useless. The enmity of matter is unleashed against the frail breakable crushable animal form, always perhaps an alien in this hard mineral gravitational scene. he has been taken over by a relentless mechanism and must continue with it to the end and be subject to the consequences. 'There is nothing more I can do.' How long, how infinitely expansible, a second is when it contains this thought, which is an effigy of death. A complete fall into the void, something which I had often imagined on aeroplanes, is of course the most terrible thing of all. Hands, feet, muscles, all the familiar protective mechanisms of the body are suddenly useless. The enmity of matter is unleashed against the frail breakable crushable animal form, always perhaps an alien in this hard mineral gravitational scene.

It was as if each part of the body experienced its separate despair. My back and waist felt the dreadful imprint of the hands which with great sudden violence and indubitable intent propelled me over the edge. My hands reached out in vain for something to clasp. My feet, still touching the rock with which they were parting company, jerked in a weak useless spasm, a last ghostly attempt to retain balance. Then they were jerking in empty s.p.a.ce and I was falling head downward, as if my head and shoulders were made of lead. At the same time I felt, or thought as a kind of final thought, the fragility of my head and even knew that my hands were now trying to protect it. My trunk twisted sickeningly, trying in vain to make sense of its position. I actually saw, in the diffused midsummer darknesslight, the creamy curling waves just below me, and the particular spiral of their movement in the confined s.p.a.ce. Then I was in the water whose intense cold surprised me with a separate shock, and I made the instinctive swimmer's movement of trying to right myself; but my body was aware that no swimming could take place in that vortex. I felt as if my neck were breaking as I looked up to see a dome of dark faintly translucent green, the wave above me. I was choking and swallowing water, absorbed in the one task of getting another breath. At the same time I was able to think: this is the end. I fought, my whole body fought, now flailing senselessly in a maelstrom of powers which seemed about to dismember me. Then my head struck violently against the smooth rock and I lost consciousness.

I was lying on my back on the rocks. I opened my eyes and saw a star. I had been having an odd familiar dream, and yet I had never had that dream before. I dreamt that cousin James was kissing me on the mouth. I was aware of the star and of a marvel: that I was breathing. I apprehended my breath as a great thing, a sort of cosmic movement, natural and yet miraculous. Slowly, gently, deeply, decisively, I was breathing. Somewhere beneath me there was a dull steady uproar, and I lay in the cup of it and looked at the star. I felt pain and yet I felt at ease, detached from it. I lay relaxed as if I had woken from some golden sleep and would now perhaps sleep again. I closed my eyes. I breathed. Mingled with the noise, then separated from it, I heard other sounds, discerned voices, and I knew where I was. I was lying on the flat piece of rock that led to the bridge. I was also aware, but in an entirely detached way, of what had happened to me. I heard someone groan, perhaps Perry, someone sob, perhaps t.i.tus or Lizzie. James's voice said, 'Keep back, don't crowd.' Another voice said, 'I think he's breathing.5I thought, I suppose I ought to tell them I'm all right. Am I all right? I composed a sentence which I thought I might utter soon: I am perfectly all right, what is this fuss about? I felt curiously unwilling to speak, it seemed so difficult. I realized that my mouth was open. I made an effort of will and closed my mouth, then opened it again and began 'I'm', and could go no further. Some sort of sound had emerged. I made a convulsive movement, an embryonic attempt to rise. I went on breathing. Someone said, 'Thank G.o.d.'

The voices went on talking.

'I think we could move him now.'

'But suppose some bones are broken?'

'We must keep him warm, he can't stay here.'

This argument went on for some time. Then they argued about whether they could improvise a stretcher and which was the best way to go. At last they carried me, or hauled me, with what seemed extreme roughness, in a blanket. The journey over the rocks was a nightmare. I tried to say I could walk but (as I gathered later) produced only unintelligible moaning. All my pains had now located themselves. My head was very painful and the movement made lights flash in my eyes. There was a terrible pain like toothache in my arm. I wondered if my arm was broken and the bone was beginning to break through the skin. There was a plate of anguish in my back. My bearers were fantastically inefficient and confused, constantly quarrelling about the route, and slipping and banging me against the rocks. At last they got me into the kitchen and, with indescribable clumsiness, pulled all my clothes off and pummelled me with towels and pulled other clothes on and had arguments about whether I should be given soup, brandy, aspirins. When they had the bright idea of lighting a fire they could not find any dry wood, then could not find the matches. At last I was lying on cushions on the floor in front of the fire in the little red room. As I became warm I felt less pain, and when I was lying undisturbed I relaxed and began to feel sleepy. I felt relief and something of the strange ease which I had felt as I looked up at the star. And only then, just before I slept, did I remember that it was not an accident. Somebody pushed me.

I must here record something which I only remembered later and which I was then half disposed to think was a dream. I was lying on the floor, underneath a pile of blankets, alone, seeing the room by the flickering light of the fire. I had the urgent feeling that there was something I must do quickly before someone came back, and especially before I should forget forget some fact of the utmost importance which was about to vanish from my mind. I had to record this important thing, to catch it and hold it before it disappeared. I got up on my knees and reached a pen and paper from the table where I sometimes worked, and I wrote down what it was that I absolutely had to remember. What I wrote covered perhaps half a page or less. I wrote quickly but even then was not sure that I had remembered everything. I carefully folded up the paper and some fact of the utmost importance which was about to vanish from my mind. I had to record this important thing, to catch it and hold it before it disappeared. I got up on my knees and reached a pen and paper from the table where I sometimes worked, and I wrote down what it was that I absolutely had to remember. What I wrote covered perhaps half a page or less. I wrote quickly but even then was not sure that I had remembered everything. I carefully folded up the paper and hid it hid it somewhere in the room. All this, that I had written something and hidden it, I recalled rather dreamily upon the following morning. ButI could not remember what the thing was which I had thought so important or what I had written about it, and I could not, though I searched the room minutely, find the writing. An atmosphere of extreme and crucial emotion surrounded 'the thing'; but although I constantly peered at it in my mind I could not discern what it was. And of the paper there was no trace. Possibly I had dreamt the whole episode. I had, of course, little doubt what the writing, if it existed, must concern: it concerned the ident.i.ty of my wouldbe a.s.sa.s.sin. somewhere in the room. All this, that I had written something and hidden it, I recalled rather dreamily upon the following morning. ButI could not remember what the thing was which I had thought so important or what I had written about it, and I could not, though I searched the room minutely, find the writing. An atmosphere of extreme and crucial emotion surrounded 'the thing'; but although I constantly peered at it in my mind I could not discern what it was. And of the paper there was no trace. Possibly I had dreamt the whole episode. I had, of course, little doubt what the writing, if it existed, must concern: it concerned the ident.i.ty of my wouldbe a.s.sa.s.sin.

'But how on earth did I get out?' I asked Lizzie. I was sitting up in an armchair in the little red room drinking tea and eating anchovy toast.

A rather exasperated doctor had arrived about two o'clock in the morning and woken me up and pulled me about and p.r.o.nounced me sound. He said I had no broken bones and was suffering concussion and shock. I was to rest, keep warm and in future not wander about the rocks at night when I had had too much to drink. This was the first point at which it entered my confused mind that of course no one, except the a.s.sa.s.sin and me, knew that it was not an accident.