Nuns and Soldiers (65 page)

The foot of the rocks, when he got there, proved to be defended by a mass of scrub oak and box and gorse and brambles, trailed over by the local version of old man’s beard, which had woven itself into a barrier so impenetrable that one could not even introduce a foot, let alone dream of pushing one’s way through. However after walking a little way he came upon a narrow path which had been cut through the thicket by one of those invisible persons who used the rocks for their own purposes. The path led up to an easy ascent and he thought that he could recognize the profile of the summit. He climbed wearily and slowly; and only at this point did he suddenly and urgently ask himself,
where am I going
? He had, he supposed, been making his way back to the village. What a fuss they would make at the hotel when he turned up looking like this. Would they insist on his seeing a doctor? Where was his wallet, where was his passport? Had the canal taken them away? As he began to search he remembered that he had left the wallet and passport in his jacket at the hotel. His questing hand found something however in his trouser pocket. It was his wedding ring which he had put there on the day when he went from the bank to Daisy’s flat at Shepherd’s Bush. He slipped the ring onto his finger. He thought, I won’t go to the village. I’m so tired and so hurt and so miserable. I’ll go to Gertrude. After all, she is my wife.

 

 

Vigilant Anne Cavidge was once more the first to see him. She watched him descending slowly through the vineyard on the other side of the valley. Anne was in a different mood this morning. After a night of suffering she was feeling considerably less resigned and heroic. To let Tim go a second time would really be too much. She kicked her suitcase out from under the bed.

Tim could hardly walk now but his will and his intent had grown stronger with every step. He came very slowly through the despoiled poplar grove, treading on the gold and silver leaves. At the bridge he did not walk impatiently into the water, his impatience was over now, but laboriously pulled and pushed the big willow branch out of the way and crossed the bridge. He had no anxiety, no calculation. He wanted simply to reach Gertrude.

He mounted the hill panting loudly. It was hard to make the climb over the ploughed earth of the olive grove, but now he did not pause to rest. Nor did he look up at the house. He looked, trudging, bent forward, at the earth at his feet. He crossed the dry grass of the little meadow full of mauve thistles and wispy scabious, and climbed the last short slope to the terrace. He saw his feet planted upon the mossy terrace steps, upon the scattering of yellow fig leaves, then he stood upon the terrace straightening himself up and looking about him, still panting.

Gertrude came out of the sitting-room doors. She saw Tim and came towards him. ‘Oh - Tim - darling - darling - thank God -’ And she took him in her arms.

 

 

‘Come on, hurry,’ said Anne to the Count. ‘Pack your case, it can come later with the car. Just put a few things to take with you in a bag, here, take this bag.’

The Count was completely dazed. ‘But I told Gertrude I’d help her to mend the loggia this morning -’

‘Never mind the loggia, Tim will deal with that. Oh hurry, hurry, we’ve got to
go
!’

‘But, Anne, what’s happened?’

‘I told you, Tim’s back, he’s
back
!’

‘Yes, I saw, but -’

‘We’re off! We’ll take the bikes. But be
quick, please.
’

The Count confusedly put his shaving things and a shirt picked up at random into the shopping bag that Anne had given him while she hastily stuffed the rest of his belongings into his suitcase. She had packed her own case in the four minutes that followed after Gertrude had put her arms round Tim.

‘But, Anne, we can’t just go like that - neither of them can drive, and -’

‘Manfred can fetch them or fetch the car or whatever. He’s made for fetching and carrying.’

‘But Tim coming like this - it may not be -’

‘It is. He’s back. Anyway it’s not for us to speculate. Don’t you
see
?’

‘Yes, but - we must talk to Gertrude, ask her -’

‘We’ll tell her, we won’t ask, we’ll leave a note. She’s not concerned with us now. She’s forgotten we exist. She’s talking to Tim. We
must
leave them alone, we can’t stay, we
can’t!
Better to go without conversations or explanations. After all, what have we got to say to those two? Nothing.’

‘Oh Anne-I don’t know what to do -’

‘Do what I tell you! No, leave the suitcase here with mine, we can’t carry suitcases on the bikes. Have you got all you want in that bag? And your passport and money?’

‘Yes - oh what a
muddle
-’

‘You just check your stuff. I’ll write a note to Gertrude.’

On a large piece of writing paper Anne wrote in capital letters, DARLING, I’M SO GLAD! WE HAVE GONE. WE THOUGHT IT BEST. MUCH LOVE. ANNE. PS Our luggage is packed up in our rooms. We’ll leave the bikes at the hotel.

‘Now come along, come
along
!’ She pulled the Count out of his bedroom. She left the note in a conspicuous position in the hall, and taking the Count’s sleeve firmly in her hand, led him out of the archway and down the drive to the garage. There were two bicycles, one male, one female. Anne felt the tyres. They were hard. She stowed the bags in the two baskets and gave the Count his machine. She even had to put his two hands on the handlebars. ‘Come on, Peter, you’re mine now,’ she said, but he did not hear her, he was too upset and unhappy.

In the sitting-room Tim and Gertrude, deep in talk, vaguely heard a strange distant sound. It was Anne Cavidge laughing.

 

 

‘But you’re hurt,’ said Gertrude. ‘You’ve been fighting -’

‘Have I got a black eye? It feels like it.’

‘Yes -’

‘I have been fighting, sort of, I’ll tell you about it. I’ll tell you
everything.
’

‘Oh darling sweet precious Tim, darling heart. I’m so glad you’ve come back -’

‘Are you? Oh
good.
Gertrude, this is OK isn’t it, I mean I’m back, it’s real, you won’t tell me to go away again?’

‘No, no, you’re here forever, I can’t think how I ever let you go.’

‘Oh, I’ve been such a perfect fool, my darling - but I’ll tell you, I’ll
explain
-’

‘No need to explain, I mean all right, but you don’t have to, you’re so absolutely here and that’s everything.’

‘But I must explain, I have to, you must
see
it all, you didn’t
see
it before -’

‘You didn’t give me much chance to, you just ran off -’

‘You told me to go -’

‘Yes, but I -’

‘I was so stupid and frightened, and I felt awful because I hadn’t told you -’

‘About that woman, what about her, I mean what about her now?’

‘I’ve left her.’

‘You’re bleeding -’

‘Oh I expect so. Gertrude, I
have
left her -’

‘Yes, I know, I’m sure. Sit down and let me look. There’s an awful bruise on your forehead -’

‘I got banged on the head-I say, how pretty that vine branch is.’

‘There’s blood in your hair?’

‘I nearly passed out -’

‘Let me feel -’

‘Is my skull fractured?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. Does that hurt?’

‘Yes, but it would, wouldn’t it?’

‘But what
happened
?’

‘I was fighting with the canal - or rather-I got swept into the tunnel -’

‘But why ever?’

‘I know I promised you I wouldn’t, but I didn’t mean to go in, there was this dog -’

‘Keep still - your hand’s bleeding -’

‘Yes, and I’ve got a cut on my leg, and here on my knee, look -’

‘You went into the
tunnel
, however -’

‘I didn’t want to, there was this -’

‘But how did you -’

‘I went all the way through the tunnel and -’

‘I can’t think how you’re still alive -’

‘Nor can I -’

‘Come to the kitchen, I must put something on those cuts.’

‘I feel terrible, actually, and I’m awfully hungry -’

Gertrude put her arm through Tim’s and led him. He leaned against her shoulder smiling a broad exhausted crazy sleepy smile. Gertrude saw the note in the hall. ‘They’ve gone!’

‘Who?’

‘Anne and the Count. Never mind. Now let me wash those cuts and disinfect them. What a state your clothes are in.’

‘I told you, I fell in, there was this dog -’

‘Better take your clothes off and put on my coat, no, stay there, I’ll get some hot water and -’

‘I’m making the towel filthy -’

‘Do keep still -’

‘Oh, Gertrude, that hurts -’

‘I don’t think it’s a deep cut -’

‘Perhaps I’ve got concussion?’

‘Perhaps you have, but don’t frig about so.’

‘I’m so hungry -’

‘In a minute -’

‘I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday in the aeroplane, I came on this ’plane and -’

‘I haven’t any steak for your poor eye, we ate it last night -’

‘I wish there was some. What is there to eat?’

‘There’s a chicken casserole, I made it. I decided I would -’

‘You decided you would! Oh wonderful Gertrude, I do like your dress and those blue beads, I love you so much. Do you love me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you forgive me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ll hold onto me forever, and ever?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re married, and -’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Look, I’m wearing my ring -’

‘Yes, I see. I think I’d better put some plaster -’

‘Oh don’t bother. Oh Gertrude, do stop playing at first aid.’

‘You thought you’d got a fractured skull and concussion.’

‘I don’t now.’

‘I wonder if you should see a doctor -’

‘No, I’m fine. Gertrude, I must have some of that chicken casserole or I shall go mad.’

Robed in Gertrude’s coat, Tim sat at the kitchen table confronting the chicken casserole. He ate a little. Then he said, ‘Darling, I’m sorry-I think - what I want now is just - to go to sleep. Do you mind?’

‘Dearest heart, of course you must sleep. Come now. Come.’

He leaned again on Gertrude’s arm as she helped him upstairs and led him to her bed.

‘Will you be warm enough, would you like -’

‘No, I’m all right -’

‘I’ll close the shutters -’

‘God, I do want to sleep -’

‘Sleep, my darling -’

‘You won’t go away while I’m asleep?’

‘I won’t go away.’

‘Oh Gertrude, I feel so happy - it’s like - going to sleep - when I was a boy - after passing an exam -’

‘Don’t worry. You’ve passed your exam.’

‘Oh Gertrude, you’re so good to me.’

‘Go to sleep, darling.’

Tim was already asleep. Gertrude closed the shutters. She sat in the darkened room beside the bed watching Tim sleeping, and her heart was full of an incoherent tender joy.

 

 

‘You’re telling it all topsy-turvy,’ said Gertrude.

‘There’s so much to tell.’

It was evening. The sun, just behind the rocks, was bleaching the pale blue sky with light. The tall folded rocks lifted their majestic cliff faces, streaked with blue and creamy white. The cicadas were busily rapidly finishing their last song in the motionless pines.

Tim had slept for several hours and woken as into paradise. His body had a limp feeling which might have been either physical exhaustion or pure joy.

The evening was planned to move slowly. They both had a sense of arrested time. Feeding his hunger now with a happy temperance Tim had eaten a lot of bread and butter and paté and olives. Eating, existing, had become a long musical slow movement. The chicken casserole was still to come.

They were talking and drinking. Tim was trying to tell the whole story, but there were so many interconnecting parts to the story and so many parts that did not connect at all, so many events which were over-determined, so many that were purely accidental, he kept darting about and breaking off and starting again, to present it all as coherent picture was beyond his talents as a narrator, and they were both so pleased with each other’s company that they could not concentrate.

‘I think I was influenced by Anne,’ said Gertrude.

‘She disapproves of me.’

‘She’ll come round.’

‘Will she?’

‘She’ll have to, I’ll make her. Besides she’s rational and good and she’ll
see.
’

‘Oh course she’s right to disapprove, I mean, she isn’t right really, but -’

‘She’s a bit jealous.’

‘Wasn’t it funny their both clearing off on bikes!’

‘Well, thank heavens. We’re not in a hurry to go anywhere.’

‘Gertrude, I must be back by Tuesday, I’m teaching.’

‘I’m so glad about your job.’

‘Oh my dear, to be able to tell you everything, it’s like being in the presence of God.’

‘That gives us nearly a week here.’

‘What about the car?’

‘Someone can fetch it later, Manfred can.’

‘Oh - Manfred -’

‘You’re not worrying about Manfred now?’

‘Gertrude, I’m so frightened. I’m frightened of everybody, I feel that I shook your love for me so much that it must be sort of cracked.’

‘It isn’t cracked. It’s entire. One knows.’

‘Oh if only I hadn’t seen you and the Count, it was like the end of the world.’

‘Tim, I’ve told you -’

‘I know, but I’ll keep seeing it in my mind forever, perhaps it’s a sort of punishment.’

‘He suddenly thrust out his hand and I took it.’

‘But that’s just what I did -’