The Sea, The Sea Part 34

'Of course,' said James, on whom the wine seemed simply to have the effect of speeding his utterance, 'you are right to keep using the word 'superst.i.tion', the concept is essential. I asked where does the one end and the other begin. I suppose almost all religion is superst.i.tion really. Religion is power, it has to be, the power for instance to change oneself, even to destroy oneself. But that is also its bane. The exercise of power is a dangerous delight. The short path is the only path but it is very steep.'

'I thought religious people felt weak and worshipped something strong.'

'That's what they think. The worshipper endows the worshipped object with power, real power not imaginary power, that is the sense of the ontological proof, one of the most ambiguous ideas clever men ever thought of. But this power is dreadful stuff. Our l.u.s.ts and attachments compose our G.o.d. And when one attachment is cast off another arrives by way of consolation. We never give up a pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another. All spirituality tends to degenerate into magic, and the use of magic has an automatic nemesis even when the mind has been purified of grosser habits. White magic is black magic. And a less than perfect meddling in the spiritual world can breed monsters for other people. Demons used for good can hang around and make mischief afterwards. The last achievement is the absolute surrender of magic itself, the end of what you call superst.i.tion. Yet how does it happen? Goodness is giving up power and acting upon the world negatively. The good are unimaginable.'

Perhaps James was drunk after all. I said, 'Well, I don't understand the half of what you say. Maybe I'm just an old-fashioned ex-Christian, but I always thought that goodness was to do with loving people, and isn't that an attachment?'

'Oh, yes,' said James, rather I thought too casually, 'yes'

He poured himself out some more wine. We had opened another bottle.

'All this giving up of attachments doesn't sound to me like salvation and freedom, it sounds like death.'

'Well, Socrates said we must practise dying' James was now beginning to sound flippant.

'But you yourself,' I said, for I wanted to hold on to him and bring all this airy metaphysic down to earth, and also to satisfy my curiosity when for once he was in a talkative mood, 'you yourself have loved people, and after all why not, though G.o.d knows who they are, since you're so d.a.m.n secretive. You've never introduced me to any of your friends from the east.'

'They never visit me.'

'Yes, they do. There was that thin bearded chap I saw in your flat once, sitting in a back room/ 'Oh him/ said James, 'he was just a tulpa/ 'Some sort of inferior tribesman I suppose! And talking of tulpas, what about that sherpa that Toby Ellesmere said you were so keen on, the one that died on the mountain?'

James was silent for a while and I began to think that I had gone too far, but I let the silence continue. The sea was audible but quieter.

'Oh well,' he said at last, 'oh well', and then was silent again, but was clearly going to tell something, so I waited.

'There's not much to that story,' he said, rather disappointingly, 'at any rate it's soon told. You know that some Buddhists believe that any earthly attachment, if it persists until death, ties you to the Wheel and prevents you from attaining liberation.'

'Oh yes, that wheel'

'Of spiritual causality. But that's by the way.'

'I remember I asked you if you believed in reincarnation and you said'

'The sherpa in question,' said James, 'was called Milarepa. Well, that wasn't his real name, I called him that after aafter a poet I rather admire. He was my servant. We had to go on a journey together. It was winter and the high pa.s.ses were full of snow, it was a pretty impossible journey really'

'Was it a military journey?'

'We had to get through this pa.s.s. Now you know that in India and Tibet and such places there are tricks people can leam, almost anybody can leam them if they're well taught and try hard enough'

'Tricks?'

'Yes, you know, like like the Indian rope trick anything '

'Oh, just that sort of trick.'

'Well, what is that sort of trick? As I say, all sorts of people can do them, they can be jolly tiring butyou know they have nothing to do withwith'

'With what?'

'One of these tricks is raising one's bodily warmth by mental concentration.'

'How's it done?'

'It's useful in a primitive country, like being able to go on walking for forty-eight hours at five miles an hour without eating or drinking or stopping.'

'No one could do that.'

'And to be able to keep oneself warm by mental power is obviously handy on a winter journey.'

'Like good King Wenceslas!'

'I had to cross this pa.s.s and I decided to take Milarepa with me. It would involve spending a night in the snow. I didn't have to take him. But I reckoned I could generate enough heat to keep us both alive.'

'Wait a minute! You mean you you can do this thing of generating bodily heat by mental concentration?' can do this thing of generating bodily heat by mental concentration?'

'I told you it's a trick trick,' said James impatiently. 'It's got nothing to do with anything important, like goodness or anything like that.'

'And then-?'

'We got up to the top of the pa.s.s and got caught in a blizzard.

I thought we'd be all right. But we weren't. There wasn't enough heat for two. Milarepa died in the night, he died in my arms.'

I said, 'Oh G.o.d.' I couldn't think what further to say. My mind was confused and I was beginning to feel very drunk and sleepy. I heard James's voice continuing to speak and it seemed to come from very far away. 'He trusted me... It was my vanity that killed him... The payment for a fault is automatic... They can get to work on any flaw... I relaxed my hold on him... I lost my grip... The Wheel is just...'By this time my head was down on the table and I was falling quietly asleep.

I awoke and it was day. A clear grey light of dawn, the sun not yet risen, illuminated the kitchen, showing the wine-stained table, the used dishes, the crumbled cheese. The wind had dropped and the sea was silent. James had gone.

I leapt up and called, running out onto the lawn. Then I ran back into the house, calling again, and then through and out of the front door onto the causeway. The blank grey silent light revealed the rocks, the road, and James just getting into his car. The car door closed. I called and waved. James saw me and lowered the window, he waved back but he had already started the engine and the car was moving.

'Let me know when you're back!'

'Yes. Goodbye!' He waved cheerily and the Bentley sped off and turned the corner and its sound fell into the silence. I returned slowly to the house.

I walked back over the causeway, aware now of a dreadful headache and a swinging sensation in the head: not surprising, since, as I established later, James and I had drunk between us nearly five litre bottles of wine. There was also a rapid sliding crowding curtain of spots before the eyes. I got inside, reached the kitchen and sat down again at the table, resting my head in my hands. I carefully worked out where I could find a gla.s.s of water and some aspirins and I got up and found them and sat down again and dozed. The sun came up.

I woke again, sitting at the table with my head lolling about and a violent pain in my neck. I recalled that I had had a curious dream about freezing to death in a snow-storm. Then I remembered that Jatnes had told me some very odd story about a journey in Tibet. And I half remembered a lot of other strange things that James had been saying. I got up, feeling horribly giddy and climbed upstairs and lay down on my bed and fell into a sort of sleep coma. I woke later on, not sure if it was morning or afternoon and feeling less giddy but rather mad. I went down to the kitchen and ate some cheese, then went back to bed again.

After that things became yet more confused. I must have stayed in bed quite a lot of that day. I remember waking during the night and seeing the moon shining. The next morning I came downstairs early and was suddenly persuaded, or perhaps I had had the idea in the night, that since I had given up swimming it was time that I had a bath. I did not fancy the labour of carrying hot water up to the bathroom. This time however I succeeded in lugging Mrs Chorney's old hip bath out of its refuge under the stairs and started to boil saucepans of water on the gas stove. Halfway through this proceeding I felt a sharp pain in the chest and began to feel faint. I gave up the bath idea and made some tea, but could eat nothing. I felt a bit sick and decided to go back to bed. I was now sure that I had a temperature but possessed no thermometer. I stayed in bed. My bed felt rather like a hammock in a storm-tossed ship. I had coloured cloudy thoughts, or visions and was never sure if my eyes were shut or open. I wondered if I was seriously ill. Now I had a telephone but no doctor. I did not fancy summoning the one who had seen me at two a.m. after my 'mishap', anyway I never knew his name. I considered telephoning my London doctor and describing my symptoms, but decided not to since the symptoms would sound uninteresting and it was hard at the best of times to interest my London doctor. I comforted myself by reflecting that no doubt I had caught the 'flu or whatever it was that James had suffered from after I had survived my sea ordeal, and that James's ailment had not lasted long.

Mine lasted I think longer. At any rate some days pa.s.sed during which I remained prostrate, reluctant to move, unable to eat. No one called, no one telephoned. I crawled out to the dog kennel but no one had written either. Perhaps there was a prolonged bank holiday or a postal strike. I was not too worried at the lack of news. I was entirely occupied with my illness. For the time it absorbed me, as if it were something that I was working at. I even ceased to worry about it; and generally, as I had antic.i.p.ated, it began to go away. I could walk downstairs once more without resting on every step, and I was comforted by sensations of hunger. I ate a few biscuits and enjoyed them.

That day, or perhaps the next day, as I remember I was feeling stronger and more normal, the telephone rang in the morning. I was now well aware what this strange sound was. I had been thinking urgently about Hartley and when I heard the shrill dreadful bell I said to myself at once, This is it. This is it. I ran, falling over my feet, to the bookroom. I grabbed the phone, dropped it, picked it up. I ran, falling over my feet, to the bookroom. I grabbed the phone, dropped it, picked it up.

'h.e.l.lo.'

'h.e.l.lo, Charles!'

It was Lizzie.

I said, 'h.e.l.lo, wait a minute.'

I put the instrument down on some books and sat there trying to calm myself and collect my wits. I had a misery-pain in the stomach about Hartley which I knew would now not go away. Everything now was urgent urgent.

'Sorry, Lizzie, I was just turning off the gas.'

'Charles, are you all right?'

'Yes, why shouldn't I be? Well, I've been having 'flu, but I'm better. Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm at the Black Lion. Can I come and see you?'

'No. Stay there. I'll come and see you. What's the time? My watch stopped days ago.'

'Oh about ten or something.'

'Are they open?'

'Who? Oh, the pub. No, but they will be by the time you come.'

'I'll be along.'

At the sound of Lizzie's voice I felt a sudden frantic desire to get out of the house. I ran into the kitchen and looked at myself in the little mirror above the sink. I had not shaved during my illness and had developed a repulsive reddish beard. I shaved, cutting myself, and combed my hair. I found my very crumpled jacket and my wallet. A watery sun was shining but the air was cold. I ran out of the house and over the causeway and turned towards the village. I soon stopped running however as a sort of cloud of weakness enveloped my body and twirled it about. I walked on rather slowly, breathing carefully; and only then did it occur to me to wonder whether James had tipped Lizzie off to come and see me. I was glad to find that I did not care, and I stopped thinking about it. When I turned into the village street the first thing I saw was Gilbert's yellow Volkswagen parked outside the Black Lion.

'Charles!'

Lizzie saw me coming and ran to me. I could see Gilbert smirking at the door of the pub. What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

'Why, Lizzie, h.e.l.lo there, and Gilbert too, how nice!'

'Charles, you're looking all thin and pale.'

'I am gratified to hear it, I've been ill.'

'Ought you to be still in bed?'

'No, I'm fine. What a nice surprise to see you two here.'

'h.e.l.lo, dear dear Charles,' said Gilbert coming forward. His handsome self-conscious much-wrinkled face wore a dog-like look of nervous guilty imminent delight. If patted he would jump, bark. Charles,' said Gilbert coming forward. His handsome self-conscious much-wrinkled face wore a dog-like look of nervous guilty imminent delight. If patted he would jump, bark.

'Charles looks quite ill.'

'Not still infectious I hope?'

'No, no.'

'We've been sitting outside,' said Lizzie. 'It's quite warm in the sun.'

'How nice.'

'What'll I get you, Charles?' said Gilbert. 'No, no, you sit down, you're the invalid, I'll get it. What about some of that cider, or is it too sweet for you?'

'Yes, fine, thanks. Well, Lizzie, what a treat to See you and how delightful you're looking.'

Some women, and as I said before Lizzie was one, vary in appearance amazingly on the scale from really ugly to really beautiful. Lizzie was up the beautiful end today, looking young and bright, like a plump princ.i.p.al boy, her hair blown into little screwy curls by the wind. She was wearing a long blue and green striped shirt over black trousers. Her face expressed something of the same Gilbertian dog-like uncertainty, with in her case an added air of apologetic impish confidence. We sat down on the wooden bench outside the pub and looked at each other, I vaguely beaming and she intent and shining-eyed. I felt as never before exposed to the citizenry, but there were very few of them about.

I said, 'It was kind of you to ring me. Are you just pa.s.sing through? Forgive me if I don't ask you to stay, I'm not feeling up to visitors at present.'

'No, no, we've got to get back to the motorway, Gilbert's going to see somebody in Edinburgh. There's this play coming on at the Festival-'

'Don't tell me.'

'Oh Charles, darling, darling, you do forgive me, don't you?'

'Whatever for, Lizzie?'

'Well, you do, don't you?'

'Yes, if it's necessary, but I'm quite in the dark. What a little mystery-monger you are! Ah here's dear Gilbert with the drink.'

Lizzie and Gilbert had come simply to be let off. They sat staring at me and smiling, like two children wanting to be given a certificate of forgiveness which they could rush off with, capering and nourishing it in the air. They wanted me to love them and to remove a blot on their happiness. How carefully they must have discussed the matter before coming to me almost formally like this. They were like children to me now and I suddenly felt old, and perhaps I had significantly aged in the time since I came to the sea.

I had lost Lizzie but when, how? Perhaps I should have grasped her at the start. Or perhaps she really did like Gilbert or life with Gilbert better. Or perhaps in some deep way when I sent her off with James I had frightened her too much. Lizzie was opting for ease and happiness and no more frights, I could not blame her. And I knew that James had made a barrier between us. Although with James there really had been 'nothing there', that 'nothing' was more than enough. That had always been the way with James. He could spoil anything for me by touching it with his little finger. Perhaps my childish idea was indelible, the idea that James must always be preferred. Of course James had intended no ill. But the lie itself was indeed a fatal flaw. I had probably not lost James but I had lost Lizzie, I had effectively 'strayed'

her, as I had wanted to earlier on. And, I found myself almost laboriously remembering, I had wanted to stray Lizzie because of Hartley. And I had come running out of the house this morning finding it intolerable to stay there for a second longer, because of Hartley. My illness had marked the span of waiting time and it was now over. Lizzie's telephone call had been an unwitting signal, a summons to action. For me and for Hartley the hour had come.

And meanwhile I sat there beaming at Lizzie; and smile as we mightand perhaps she smiled innocently, hopefully, not realizing what had happened and imagining that she could still hold me and not hold me, have me and not have me, and all manner of thing would be wellthe bond was broken. I recalled what James had said about it being my destiny to live alone and be everybody's uncle. I said, 'So you're glad to see your Uncle Charles?'

They laughed and I laughed and we all laughed and Lizzie squeezed my hand. I had given them the licence to be happy and I could see how pleased and grateful they were. Everyone seemed to be brighteyed and bushy-tailed except me. The cider was too sweet and rather strong and it was beginning to have its effect. My air of joviality was becoming easier, when the thought of t.i.tus came to me almost solemnly as if someone had brought in a severed head upon a dish. James had been saying something about t.i.tus which I could not remember. Causality kills. The wheel is just. I remembered Lizzie's scream on that day. Perhaps somehow after all I had lost Lizzie because of t.i.tus, because she blamed me, because it was all too much too much. How tightly it was woven, the web of causes. Lizzie was screaming with pleasure now. Well, she had to survive, we all had to survive. t.i.tus was a stranger who had not sojourned with us long.

We talked for a while, chatting easily as old friends do. Gilbert had a good part in a TV series which seemed likely to run forever. They were going to have the house redecorated. Lizzie had gone back to her part-time hospital job. I was to come to dinner. They said nothing about Hartley and the discreet omission seemed to set the seal upon my separation from them, although it was hard to imagine what they could have said.

I asked the time, took my wrist-watch from my pocket and set it right by Lizzie's. They said they had to go and I walked them to the car. Lizzie wanted a little hugging scene but I hustled her in with a pat. I think Gilbert wanted to kiss me. I waved them off as if they were the end of something. Then I began to walk along the street in the direction of the church and the road that led up to the bungalows. I had nearly reached the corner when someone behind me me touched my shoulder, and I turned, shocked. It was a woman who at first looked quite strange. Then I recognized the shop lady. She had run after me to tell me that she had fresh apricots in stock at last. touched my shoulder, and I turned, shocked. It was a woman who at first looked quite strange. Then I recognized the shop lady. She had run after me to tell me that she had fresh apricots in stock at last.

As I began to climb the hill I felt very tired and heavy. Perhaps I should have rested for another day after my illness. Perhaps I should not have drunk all that cider. Perhaps Lizzie and Gilbert had drained my strength away into their vitality, their ability to change the world and to survive. They had taken away a piece of me which they would now use for their own purposes. Perhaps I ought to feel glad that other people could thus feed upon my substance.

I felt unprepared and undressed but the hand of inevitability was upon me. This was the meeting from which I would not be put off, begging and pleading for another chance. I felt my heaviness as that of an irresistible crushing weight. Yet I had no clear idea of what I was going to do. There was no blunt instrument and no taxi. But I had come to where I had never been before, the blessed point of sufficient desperation.

I toiled up looking at the gardens and the flowers and the garden gates. I noticed how different each house was from the other. One had an oval of stained gla.s.s in the front door, another had a porch with geraniums, another had dormer windows in the attic. I reached the Nibletts blue gate with its irritatingly complicated little latch.

The curtains were partly drawn in the front bedrooms in an unusual way. I rang the ding-dong bell. The sound was different. How soon did I realize that the house was empty? Certainly before I confirmed the fact by peering in through the curtains into the larger bedroom and seeing that all the furniture was gone.

I went back to the front door and, for some reason, tried the bell again several times, listening to it echo in the deserted house.

'Oh excuse me, were you wanting Mr and Mrs Fitch?'

'Yes,' I said to a woman in an ap.r.o.n who was leaning over the fence from the front garden next door.

'Oh, they've gone, emigrated to Australia,' she told me proudly.