The Sea, The Sea Part 33

'Well, it's a sign of love. Peregrine was simply obsessed about you, then he married that Pam simply to annoy me. And, you know, I couldn't bear Peregrine being so pa.s.sive about your stealing me away, I always wanted him to fight for me.'

'The Helen of Troy complex. It's fairly common/ 'And when I heard he'd killed you .. / 'He boasted of it?'

'Naturally'

'Well, good luck to you. Tell me, Rosina, that day when you went off and said you were going to see Ben, did you go?'

Rosina peered up at me with her intense crossing eyes. She chuckled and hugged the white robe more closely around her.

'Yes.'

'And what happened?'

'Oh nothing happened. happened. We had a tremendous talk.' We had a tremendous talk.'

'I would call that a happening. What about?'

'Charles, you ask too many questions,' said Rosina, 'and you want something for nothing, you always did. But I can a.s.sure you of one thingyour bearded lady is a lucky woman. That man is extremely extremely attractive.' attractive.'

'Oh!' I turned away with a wave. I would have given a lot for a tape-recording of that 'tremendous talk'if it really took place. It then occurred to me for the first time to wonder, had Ben and Hartley come together through s.e.xual attraction? s.e.xual attraction?

'Charles!' Rosina had run a little way after me, padding on the gra.s.s verge with her bare feet, her white robe fluttering free.

I waited.

'Charles, darling, tell me, I must know. When you came here today were you going to offer yourself to me?'

'You ask too many questions,' I said.

I could hear her laughing merrily as I walked on. Her having given up that film part, that had the hard touch of reality all right.

That evening the clouds gathered, the sun vanished, and it began to rain. The madcap English weather which had been putting on a pa.s.sable imitation of June now decided to play March. A cold wind blew from the sea and brought the rain in aggressive irregular patterings, like flung pebbles against the back windows. The house was full of odd sounds of straining and creaking and the bead curtain kept up an irregular prattle of sudden flurried clicks. I looked for the Irish jersey and finally found it among the bedclothes and cushions which still lay on the floor of the bookroom. I tried to light the fire in the little red room, but my indoors store was exhausted and the outdoor wood was wet. I drank a lot of red wine after my lentil soup and went to bed early with a hot water bottle.

The next morning it was still raining a little but the wind had dropped and it was less cold. A thick clammy pearly-grey mist surrounded the house, it was impossible to see the end of the causeway. I carried the dustbins, which had not been cleared for some time, out to the road, and stood there for a while listening. The invisible countryside was a vast silence. I came in again, wet with fog and drizzle, and treated myself to a long breakfast of porridge with tinned cream and brown sugar, poached eggs, biscuits and honey (I had run out of bread) and several pots of hot tea. Sitting afterwards with a rug over my knees, my hand encountered in my pocket an object which my fingers were unable to 'read'. I drew it forth and it turned out to be Hartley's slide, which I had pocketed on the night when she 'ran to me'. I stared at the almost senseless little thing and tried to grasp it as an omen, but it just looked pathetic and filled me with sadness and I put it away in a drawer in the red room.

I resumed my rug and began to review the situation.

One consoling and clarifying thought which kept returning to me as I tried to imagine Hartley's state of mind, was that she might decide to wait until the last moment before making a dash for it. Let Ben go to Australia. It was certainly his wish, his idea, not hers. She could perhaps actually brush him off forever by slipping away just as he was about to sail. Then she would leap, like Lord Jim, down into my boat. Ben's impetus would be greatest when he was all set to go, and he might then very well say: to h.e.l.l with her. This view of the matter was ingenious and plausible. But could I rely on it sufficiently to remain inactive, and could I and dare I endure that much inactivity without a firm a.s.surance from Hartley?

I decided I could afford to allow a span of two or three days more for Hartley to reflect upon the letter which I had left with her. I was glad she had that letter and I imagined it working upon her on my behalf like a little resident imp. I recalled too that I had had the wit to give her my telephone number. Doubtless by now the woodwork cla.s.s would know Ben no more, but he would surely have to leave the house sometimes to go somewhere, to pick up tickets, visas, money; and even though he might take Hartley with him he could not supervise her every move. Surely she could get away to a telephone and ring me up. Very few words would be necessary: Wait, I will come. Wait, I will come. Imagining those words carried me over one or two bad patches. And the constant possibility of the telephone call made endurable the short period of sheer waiting which I had decreed for myself. Imagining those words carried me over one or two bad patches. And the constant possibility of the telephone call made endurable the short period of sheer waiting which I had decreed for myself.

But supposing nothing happened... and nothing happened...? Then of course I must contrive to see Hartley, by some method yet to be invented, and even if it were to involve some sort of 'showdown5 with Ben. There must be no more charades.

The prospect of this perhaps decisive showdown filled me with a mixture of fear and pleasurable excitement, as I saw this this as the final barrier beyond which I could, if I knocked it down, see my prize secure. The 'knocking down' image was not altogether a rea.s.suring one however. At the very least I must be prepared to use force in self-defence. Ben was a more violent man by nature, which was psychologically a considerable advantage. He probably as the final barrier beyond which I could, if I knocked it down, see my prize secure. The 'knocking down' image was not altogether a rea.s.suring one however. At the very least I must be prepared to use force in self-defence. Ben was a more violent man by nature, which was psychologically a considerable advantage. He probably liked liked hitting people. He was younger than me, a burly strong fellow, but now getting fat and a little out of condition, whereas I was fit and agile. The theatre demands physical fitness and I had always responded to this demand with the scrupulous keenness of an athlete. With a view to self-defence I searched Shruff End for a suitable blunt instrument. At any moment I might, after all, receive a visit not from Hartley but from Ben. The idea of killing Ben had not entirely left my mind. It was as if, contrary to reason and more calm reflection, a deep trace had been left in my mind, like a memory trace, only this was concerned with the future. It was a sort of 'intention trace5, or like what might exist in the mind of someone who could 'remember5 the future as we remember the past. I am aware that this scarcely makes sense, but what I felt here was neither a rational intention nor a premonition nor even a prediction. It was just a sort of mental scar which I had received and had to reckon with. I refrained, as yet, from planning. I vaguely envisaged the moment of 'battering through5 as a scene of legitimate self-defence. And I searched for a blunt instrument. hitting people. He was younger than me, a burly strong fellow, but now getting fat and a little out of condition, whereas I was fit and agile. The theatre demands physical fitness and I had always responded to this demand with the scrupulous keenness of an athlete. With a view to self-defence I searched Shruff End for a suitable blunt instrument. At any moment I might, after all, receive a visit not from Hartley but from Ben. The idea of killing Ben had not entirely left my mind. It was as if, contrary to reason and more calm reflection, a deep trace had been left in my mind, like a memory trace, only this was concerned with the future. It was a sort of 'intention trace5, or like what might exist in the mind of someone who could 'remember5 the future as we remember the past. I am aware that this scarcely makes sense, but what I felt here was neither a rational intention nor a premonition nor even a prediction. It was just a sort of mental scar which I had received and had to reckon with. I refrained, as yet, from planning. I vaguely envisaged the moment of 'battering through5 as a scene of legitimate self-defence. And I searched for a blunt instrument.

It was now late in the evening of the day following my meeting with Perry and Rosina. A bit earlier I had felt a distinct temptation to walk along to the Raven Hotel and follow Peregrine^ example of drowning my sorrows in the bar. I felt a need simply to see a few ordinary human beings who were living ordinary human lives, having holidays, honeymoons, quarrels, trouble with their motor cars, trouble with their mortgages. However I feared to discover the Arbelows still there and I felt I could now do with a long interval before encountering that pair again. Perhaps I would go one day to visit the darling little theatre in Londonderry, but I thought it more likely that I would not. I did not want to go to the Black Lion because of the painful proximity to Hartley and because of the inquisitive dangerous hostility of the clientele and because I might run into Freddie Arkwright. Besides I had to stay near the telephone. Looking for a weapon was at least an occupation.

Mrs Chorney had left various things behind in the attics, which I had searched by daylight and in vain. I had found, lying behind the bath, a long piece of metal, perhaps for use as a crowbar, but it was too heavy and too large to be carried in, as I envisaged the matter, a mackintosh pocket. I had of course reviewed my own tools, but these were ridiculously scanty: screwdrivers but no chisel, and only a sort of little 'lady's hammer'. Now in the dark late twilight, I was searching with the help of a candle a s.p.a.ce I had discovered under the sink which seemed to be a hiding place of various items. Probing, amidst damp rotting wood and a colony of woodlice, I found a thick heavy piece of metal which turned out to be a hammer head. The shank or handle, or whatever the wooden Shaft is called that propels the head, was lying separately and I placed both items on the table.

It was now almost dark outside, the mist, more like a cloud descended, obscuring whatever light the twilit sky might still have offered. A small rain was falling, and although the wind was not strong the house seemed to be moving, shaking itself and twitching, jerking and creaking and stretching like a wooden ship. I could hear the window frames shifting, the bead curtain clicking, the front door rattling, and a little very high tinny vibration which I had, after some search, detected as coming from the front door bell which hung in the kitchen. I was also startled by a sound coming from outside, from across the sea, a prolonged repeated booming, not unlike a ship's foghorn. I had never heard a foghorn before upon our strangely unfrequented sea; perhaps it was a ship that had lost its way and would, after an interval of silence, suddenly crunch upon my rocks with a most unimaginable din? The foghorn noise, if it was one, had ceased for a time; but now there was another sound, the peculiar regular slapping boom which was produced by the water racing into Minn's cauldron and being abruptly forced out again. I put the candle on the table between the hammer head and the wooden handle which looked, oddly separated from each other, like ritual instruments belonging to some unfamiliar cult. I listened to the loud hollow regular noise from the cauldron and the force of it seemed to enter my body, it began to seem like a strong beating heart, like the strong beating of my own heart, and then like the menacing accelerating sound of the wooden clappers used in the j.a.panese theatre.

I felt suddenly very uneasy and decided to lock the door onto the lawn. As I moved to it, with my back to the candle, I could see the scene outside dimly through the window. I stopped with a sharp pang of fright, seeing a dark figure standing near to the door, between the house and the rocks. Then the next second I somehow realized that it was James. We looked at each other through the gla.s.s. Instead of opening the door I turned back, picked up the candle, and went out into the hall to find one of the oil lamps. I lit the lamp, blew out the candle, and came back with the lamp into the kitchen. James had come inside in the dark and was sitting at the table. I put the lamp down, turned up the wick, and said, 'Oh, it's you,' as if I had not seen him before or perhaps expected it to be somebody else.

'You don't mind my turning up?'

'No.'

I sat down and started fiddling with the hammer. James rose, took off his jacket which was spotted with rain, shook it, hung it over the back of his chair, folded back his shirt cuffs, and sat down again with his elbows on the table and watched me.

'What are you doing?'

'Mending this hammer.' The problem was that the head fitted onto the handle all right, but loosely, so that it would come off in use.

'The head's loose,' said James.

'I have noticed that!'

'You need a wedge.'

'A wedge?'

'Put a chip of wood in to keep it tight.'

I found a chip of wood (the house was littered with chips of wood for some reason), balanced it inside the metal hole and drove the shaft in, keeping the chip in place. I swung the hammer. The head held firmly.

'What do you want it for?' said James.

'To crush a black-beetle.'

'You like black-beetles, at least you did when we were young.'

I got up and found a litre bottle of Spanish red wine, opened it and put it on the table with two gla.s.ses. The room was cold so I lit the calor gas stove.

'What larks we had,' said James.

'When?'

'When we were young.'

I could not recall any larks I had had with James. I poured out the wine and we sat in silence. James, not looking at me, was making patterns on the table with his finger. Possibly he was embarra.s.sed; and at the idea that he might feel himself for once in the position of a suppliant I felt embarra.s.sed too. However I was in no mood to help him out. The silence continued. This was getting like a Quaker meeting.

James said, 'Can you hear the sea?'

'That was Keats's favourite quotation from Shakespeare.' I listened. The beating sound had stopped and been succeeded by a kind of regular wailing hiss as the large methodical waves climbed the rocks and drenched them and fell back. The wind must have increased. 'Yes.'

After another pause he said, 'Anything to eat?'

'Vegetable protein stew.'

'Oh good, I'm sick of eggs/ We sat on drinking for a while. James poured water into his wine and I followed suit. Then I got up to heat the stew. (I had thrown it together that morning as an emergency ration, it keeps well.) As I did so I reflected that the machine which I had ingeniously constructed to separate myself from my cousin forever did not seem to be working very well.

'Bread?'

'Yes, please.'

'h.e.l.l, there's no bread, only biscuits.'

'OK, anything.'

We settled down to the stew.

'When are you coming back to London?' he asked.

'I don't know.'

'What about Hartley?'

'What about her?'

'Any news, views?'

'No.'

'You've given up?'

'No.'

'Seen her?'

'I had tea with her and Ben.'

'What was it like?'

'Polite. More. wine?'

'Thank you.'

I was afraid that James was going to pester me with more questions, but he did not, he seemed to have lost interest. With an air now of generalizing he said, 'I think you're nearly through, out of it. You've built a cage of needs and installed her in an empty s.p.a.ce in the middle. The strong feelings are all around hervanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth they aren't focused on her, they don't touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don't harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it's an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive her and that will be within your capacity.'

'Thank you - but as it happens I don't love her image, I love her, even what's awful.'

'Her preferring him to you? That would be a feat.'

'No, wreckage, carnage, what's in her mind.'

'Well, what is in her mind? Perhaps she was simply bound to your memory by a sense of guilt. When you released her from it she was grateful, but then her own resentment was set free, her memories of how tiresome you were perhaps, and after that she could revert to a state of indifference. Any cheese?'

'James, you understand absolutely nothing here. And I have not given up, nor am I nearly, as you put it, out or through!'

'It may even be your destiny to live alone and be everybody's uncle like a celibate priest, there are worse ends. Any cheese?'

'I'm not ending just yet I hope! Yes, there is cheese.' I set out the cheese and opened another bottle of wine.

'By the way,' said James, 'I hope you believed what I said to you about Lizzie?'

I filled our gla.s.ses. 'I can believe it was all her idea and you had to be a gent about it.'

James sat for a moment concentrating. I guessed that he was wondering whether to start again on details about how often they had met and so on. I decided it didn't matter. I believed him. 'It doesn't matter. I believe you.'

'I'm sorry it happened,' he said. It was not exactly an apology.

'OK. OK now.'

James returned to making patterns on the table and I felt embarra.s.sed again. I said rather awkwardly, 'Well, tell me about yourself, what are you up to?'

'I'm going away'

'Aha, so you said, you said you were going on a journey. To where there are mountains maybe, and snow maybe, and demons in and out of boxes maybe?'

'Who knows? You're a sea man. I'm a mountain man.'

'The sea is clean. The mountains are' high. I think I am becoming drunk.'

'The sea is not all that clean,' said James. 'Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they're so tormented by parasites?'

'I wish you hadn't told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons. Well, you're off are you, let me know when you're back.'

'I'll do that thing.'

'I can't understand your att.i.tude to Tibet.'

'To Tibet?'

'Yes, oddly enough! Surely it was just a primitive superst.i.tious mediaeval tyranny/ 'Of course it was a primitive superst.i.tious mediaeval tyranny/ said James, 'who's disputing that?'

'You seem to be. You seem to regard it as a lost Buddhist paradise.' I had never ventured to say anything like this to James before, it must have been the drink.

'I don't regard it as a Buddhist paradise. Tibetan Buddhism was in many ways thoroughly corrupt. It was a wonderful human relic, a last living link with the ancient world, an extraordinary untouched country with a unique texture of religion and folklore. All this has been destroyed deliberately, ruthlessly and unselectively. Such a quick thoughtless destruction of the past must always be a matter of regret whatever the subsequent advantages.'

'So you speak as an antiquarian?'

James shrugged his shoulders. He was examining several moths which were circling about the lamp. 'You have some splendid moths here. I haven't seen an Oak Eggar for ages. Oh dear, I think that poor fellow's had it. Do you mind if I close the window? Then they won't come in.' He deftly caught two of the moths and put them outside, together with the corpse of their handsome companion, and closed the window. I noticed that it had stopped raining and the air was clearer. The wind had blown the mist away.

'But then you were just keen on studying the superst.i.tion?' I said. I felt that this evening, in spite of our embarra.s.sments, my cousin was more open to me than I had ever known him.

'What after all is superst.i.tion?' said James, pouring some more wine into both gla.s.ses. 'What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?'

'But I mean you were just a student ofnot a' What did I mean? I could not get my question clear.