the maltese angel (61 page)

standing up, or laid out in rows, the hundreds, thousands, millions?

Why weren't they falling through the clouds?

He sprang from the chair, put his hand on his head, drew in a long, long, slow breath and said aloud, "Stop it! No more! Get rid of it!

Go on writing it out!"

He went into the other room and was about to sit down at the table on which, at one side, lay his writing case and a pile of papers, all sheets covered in a close spidery hand, and at the other books and loose-leaf folders. He didn't sit down, but he said, and again aloud,

"Do it now! Don't put it off. You must do it now!" And with this he went to the door, took his greatcoat off a hook, pulled a cap on to his head, and left the cottage.

During the following week Gerald visited his mother three times, and each time Janie had been aware that he was in the house simply by going to the side entrance and finding the door closed; she always left it ajar until she was about to go upstairs to bed. But in no way did she show herself during his time in the house.

On his third visit he sat with his mother for almost an hour. In order to keep him by her side a little longer, she felt she could ask him about his work. Was he, for instance, going to compile his writings into a book?

Yes, he said, that was his plan.

And was it all about the war? she dared to ask him.

Yes, but the war of a conscientious objector. The title would be "My Conscience, My Cross'.

"Oh. Oh." They looked at each other for a moment before she asked,

"Has it helped you? Will you publish it?"

"Yes, definitely it has helped. But no, I won't have it published, because that would mean he moved uneasily on his seat before going on,

" Well, you know what it would mean, and I couldn't bear ..

well, publicity .. people. "

"You could use another name."

He smiled wanly at her.

"And this same address? Just imagine what would happen. The things that I've dared to say and ... and expose would cause questions to be raised in Parliament and stir up the white-feather gang again."

"Oh, my dear, I don't think there are many white- feather individuals left, not now."

'0 . h," the word was long drawn out, 'you don't know, Mama. There was a young fellow in the hospital, he was one of us; in fact, we were the only two among soldiers and we were accepted by them. But this young fellow didn't break down until he returned home, when he was actually attacked by a herd of women from the street in which he lived, because they had lost husbands, or sons, or brothers in the war, and there he was, to them, whole and hearty. They smashed the windows and beat him up. The fact that his mother had to shield him finished him.

It's unbelievable, yet women can be more fierce than men or animals."

They sat in silence for a time, and then she dared to bring up another subject. She did it very diplomatically.

"I... I am sorry that janie disturbed you the other day. I told her that I should be all right in a day or two."

"It's ... it's all right. She didn't disturb me. Well, at least ..

well, she surprised me. I ... I thought I recognised her voice and then when I saw her, I didn't recognise her at all. She ... she has grown .. very tall."

"Yes, she is tall. I hope she doesn't keep on, she is five-feet six already. But then, she'll soon be seventeen and one stops growing

after that, I think. Yet," she smiled, "I don't remember what age I was when I stopped. I only know at the time I was glad I did, because very tall women were looked upon as oddities in my day. But Janie will never be looked upon as an oddity. She ... she's such a charming girl.

I don't know what I would have done without her during these last ...

Are you going, my dear?"

"Yes. Yes, I mustn't tire you."

"Oh, you could never tire me, but I must tire you with my chatter."

"It's good to hear you. Mama. Yes." He bent over and repeated, "Yes, it's good to hear you. Goodnight, my dear." As he kissed her softly on the cheek, she put her arms around his neck and held him to her for a moment, and it seemed to her he might be about to return the embrace, but then his body jerked away from her and he was standing straight, saying, "Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight. Wrap up well. It's ... it's still chilly out."

He had backed a little way from the bed and now he nodded" before turning abruptly and leaving the room. And she lay with her hands

tight pressed against her chest, and she prayed, " Bring him back, dear Lord. Bring him back to what he was. "

The raspberries had followed the strawberries and had given them a real bumper crop. And now it was the end of August and they had finished clearing the bushes. Arthur had gone into the town with fifty- pound pun nets and there were still four large and two small baskets on the kitchen table. And Nancy, surveying them from her stool at the end of the

table, said, "I thought I'd seen the last of them lot. D'you mean to bottle them all?"

"Well, I think we'll do three baskets, and' Janie turned to Lady Lydia

" I would like to take one over to the farm and," pulling a face, she added, 'get some cream in exchange."

"Yes, that's an idea," said Lady Lydia, nodding her head, her eyes sparkling their amusement, and Nancy put in, "A bit of butter when you're on."

"I brought a pound back the day before yesterday."

"Oh, what's a pound, miss, when those two hogs outside cut into a loaf?"

"You should give them some of your dripping."

"Now you know why I don't, miss, 'cos it makes better pastry than your farm butter. I've always said that, an' I always will."

"Well," Janie retorted, 'as you say yourself, people say more than prayers and they whistle them. "

"Oh! Janie."

And to this laughing reprimand Janie said, "I only repeat what she says, Lady Lydia. Anyway, I'll take this basket and we'll have one of the small ones for tea ... with cream."

"Oh, get yourself away." Lady Lydia now pushed Janie gently in the shoulder, "And give your aunt and Carl my thanks for the eggs and their kindness."

As Janie made for the door Nancy called to her, "What do you want doing with the other basket then?"

"I want it kept to one side. That's for Mr. Gerald. I'll see to it when I come back."

"I'll take it down."

"You'll do no such thing." She had turned on Lady Lydia.

"You nearly twisted your ankle yesterday." Then muttering, "Something will have to be done," she lifted the none-too-light basket and went out ..

When she entered the farmyard she was sweating profusely and Rob,

seeing her and taking the basket from her, said, "Coo! I could just do with a basin of those. By! they're big 'uns. The missis has just

gone into the kitchen."

A moment later, Jessie, too, was exclaiming over the size and freshness of the raspberries, and she said, "I'll get a good few bottles out of that lot. But why didn't you tell Carl, and he would have come over and carried that basket? It's an awful weight. Sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"I can't stay long."

Jessie sighed.

"That's always your cry, you can't stay long."

"Well there's so much to do over there."

"You're still happy doing it?" Jessie turned from the table where she was spooning some tea into the teapot, and Janie said, "Yes, couldn't be happier. Well ... I mean."

"What do you mean? Something else you want?"

She could have answered, Oh, yes, there's something else I want, and I mean to get it on my birthday .. my seventeenth birthday, which is only a few weeks away. But were she to give Jessie an inkling of what she meant to do, she would see her aunt flying across to the Hall and

confronting Lady Lydia; and then everything would be spoilt. And all under the heading of' I'm doing it for your own good'. So she

answered, "Yes. Yes, there's umpteen things I want. Anyway, you're happy, aren't you?"

"We're not talking about me, we're talking about you. Because ...

because I'm concerned for you, always have been and always will. I want to see you happy. "

"Oh, I'm happy enough." Janie got to her feet now, adding, "Am I going to get that cup of tea or not? There's more raspberries waiting to be bottled."

It was noticeable that she never mentioned Gerald nor did Jessie refer to 'that man down in the cottage'. So fifteen minutes later she left the farm carrying the basket, now laden with butter, cheese, cream and eggs. And when, back in the Hall, she picked up the smaller basket, Nancy protested, "He won't get through all of

them on his own," and Janie answered, " With the help of half this cream he will. " ... When Gerald saw the raspberries, he said, "You're still picking?"

"This is the last, thank goodness. My fingers are sore."

"Well he smiled wryly as he said, 'that's your own fault. You should take on extra hands at this time."

She was standing near the table, and now she swung round and stared at him, and the look on her face caused him to say quickly, "Don't say it.

Don't say it."

"Well!" She turned from him, her shoulders shrugging, and when she muttered, "Well!" he repeated, "Well!" Then she looked to the end of the table. It was clear. Usually it was littered with paper and

books, but now it was clear, and she said in surprise, "You ... you're not writing? You're finished?"

"For the present, yes."

"Are you going to send your book away?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Just because I've decided that the past is best left in the past."

"Then why did you go on writing it?"

His voice rose now and his words were rapid, "Just because I wanted to get things out of my system, and I prefer to write them down instead of jabbering."

She now faced him squarely, saying, "Well, don't you bark at me."

And his answer to this was, "I'll stop barking at you when you stop acting like a woman."

They were staring at each other, their bodies stiff. But then she

said, "I am a woman, a young woman."

"You're nothing of the sort. You're a girl, a young girl."

"I'll be seventeen in October."

"Huh! Seventeen in October. You haven't started to live yet. You know nothing about life."

"Oh, don't I!" Now she was yelling, "I've known about life since I found there were locks on the doors, let me tell you. You think

because you were in a war and it didn't suit you, that you're the only one who has experienced life, as you call it, and the things it can do to you inside. Well, let me tell you, you needn't go any further than this village to suffer all the pangs of life and none of the joys.

That woman back there' she thumbed towards the door 'she said years ago that I was the result of an unholy trinity. Carry that around with you in your mind. Do you remember the day when I asked you what an unholy trinity was? Well, almost every day since, I've asked myself, am I doing this because that one fathered me? or, because that one fathered me? or, because that one fathered me? You said stop being a woman. I was a woman before I was a girl. You and your conscientious objecting and your moral protesting. I've been protesting all my life and it's been a long one, and I don't have to wait until I'm seventeen to be a woman. "

When he moved a step towards her and said, "I'm ... I'm sorry," she moved swiftly back from him, her voice still loud as she cried, "You're not sorry. You're not sorry for me, you're only sorry for yourself.

If you were sorry for anybody else you would stop your mother having to trail over here to see you, wet or fine. And she's an old lady, you seem not to. have noticed that, and she's very fragile.

And if you were really sorry you would do something about it. " Now she flounced out of the room, across the other one and to the door. And when she had pulled it open, she finished her tirade by yelling, " And instead of sitting on your backside moping on your wrongs, you want to get a shovel in your hand and start digging outside here. So there, you have it! and I've been wanting to tell you that for a long time.

"

She left him standing outside the cottage watching her march away, and his whole body was yelling, "Janie! Janie! Come back! Please! I need you!" But he knew he must never say that. And now he turned back to the doorway and leant his brow against the stanchion. And his mind told him there were all kinds of crucifixions, and he was

suffering another now as he faced the knowledge that had always been buried deep with him. But he saw no end to this form of torment: look at him, what was he? A middle-aged man, bewildered and still sick in his mind.

A week passed without Janie visiting him; nor would she tell Lady

Lydia why, except that they'd had a few words. And anyway, she was too busy, and didn't Lady Lydia think it was time that he did the walking this way?

"He's still not quite himself, my dear," Lady Lydia still maintained, only to be slightly amazed when her dear girl, who was so sympathetic in all ways, came back with, "Well, it's about time he was. And if people didn't run after him he might pull himself together."

It was half-way through the second week, after one of Lady Lydia's hazardous journeys across the rough, root-strewn path that she brought a letter from him. And it took Janie quite some seconds before she could open it, and there on a rough scrap of paper were written the words: Please come back. I have something to show you. " She now handed it to Lady Lydia, saying, " Why couldn't he come and say that instead of writing it? "

"Be patient, dear. You have got him this far; don't let him go back."

The? Me! got him this far? " There was definite surprise in her voice, to which Lady Lydia responded and said, " Yes. Yes, only you.

With that sharp tongue of yours and that bossy manner, and you'll do it my way or else; of course, the latter softened by your own form of diplomacy. "

"Oh, Lady Lydia."

"Oh, Miss Gibson."

Janie had to bite on her lip to prevent herself from laughing outright; then she asked quietly, "Am I like that?"

"Yes. Yes, dear, you are; together with being so honest, and true, and kind. Oh, my dear, don't cry."