The Extra Day

by Algernon Blackwood

  CHAPTER XII

  TIM'S PARTICULAR ADVENTURE

  Tim's "particular adventure" was of another kind. It was aself-repeater--of some violence, moreover, when the smallness of thehero is considered. Whether in after-life he become an astronomer-poetor a "silver-and-mechanical engineer"--both dreams of his--he will everbe sharp upon rescuing something. A lost star or a burning mine will behis objective, but with the essential condition that itbe--unattainable. Achievement would mean lost interest. For Tim'sdesire was, is, and ever will be insatiable. Profoundest mystery,insoluble difficulty, and endless searching were what his soul demandedof life. For him all ponds were bottomless, all gipsies older than themoon. He felt the universe within him, and was born to seek itsinexplicable "explanation"--outside. The realisation of such passion,however, is not necessarily confined to writers of epics and lyrics.Tim was a man of action before he was a poet. "Forever questing" washis unacknowledged motto. Besides asking questions about stars andother inaccessible incidents of his Cosmos, he liked to "go bustingabout," as he called it--again with one essential condition that thething should never come to an end by merely happening. Its mystery mustremain its beauty.

  "I want to save something from an awful, horrible death," he announcedone evening, looking up from _Half-hours with English Battles_ for asign of beauty in distress.

  "Not so easy," his uncle warned him, equally weary of another overratedbook--his own.

  "But I feel like it," he replied. "Come on."

  Uncle Felix still held back. "That you feel like it doesn't prove thatthere's anything that _wants_ rescuing," he objected.

  The boy stared at him with patient tolerance and surprise.

  "I promised," he said simply.

  It was the other's turn to stare. "And when, pray?" They had been alonefor the last half hour. It seemed strange.

  "Oh--just now," replied the boy carelessly. "A few minutes ago--about."

  "Indeed!" It seemed stranger still. No one had come in. Yet Tim neverprevaricated.

  "Yes," he said, "I gave my wordy honour." It was so gravely spokenthat, while pledges involving life and death were obviously not new tohim, this one was of exceptional kind.

  "Who, then, did you promise--whom, I mean?" the man demanded, fixinghim with his stern blue eyes.

  And the answer came out pat: "Myself!"

  "Aha!" said the other, with a sigh and a raising of the eyebrows, byway of apology. "That settles it--"

  "Of course."

  "Because what you think and say, you must also act," the man continued."If you promise yourself a thing, and then don't do it, you've simplytold a lie." And he drew another sigh. He scented action coming.

  "Let's go at once and find it," said Tim, putting a text-book intoseven words. He hitched his belt up, and looked round to make sure hissisters were not within reach of interference. There was a moment'spause, during which Uncle Felix hitched his will up. They rose, then,standing side by side. They left the room arm in arm on their way intothe garden. The dusk was already laying its first net of shadows tocatch the Night.

  "Hadn't you better change first?" asked Tim, thoughtfully, on his waydown. He glanced at his companion's white flannel suit. "You're soawfully visible."

  "Visible!" It was not his bulk. Tim was never deliberately rude. Was itthe risk of staining that he meant?

  "Any one can see you miles away like that."

  The other understood instantly. In an adventure everything sees,everything has eyes, everything watches. The world is alive and full ofeyes. He hesitated a moment.

  "Oh, that's all right," he replied. "To be easily seen is the best way.It disarms curiosity at once. Tell all about yourself and nobody everthinks anything. It's trying to hide that makes the world suspect you.Keep nothing back and show yourself is the best way to go aboutunnoticed. I've tried it."

  "Ah," exclaimed Tim, in an eager whisper, "same as walking into thestrawberry-bed without asking--"

  "So my white clothes are just the thing," said the other, avoiding thepit laid for him.

  "Of course, yes." Tim still chased the big idea in his mind. "Besides,"he added, full of another splendid thought, "like that they won'texpect you to do very much. They'll watch _you_ instead of me."

  There was confusion in the utterance, but things were rather crowdingin upon him, to tell the truth, and imagination leaped ahead upon twotrails at once. He looked at his big companion with more approval."You'll do," he signified, pulling his cap over his eyes, thrustingboth hands in his pockets, and slithering rapidly down the bannistersin advance.

  "Thanks," said Uncle Felix, following him, three steps at a time, witheffort.

  In the hall they paused a moment--a question of doors.

  "Back," said Uncle Felix.

  "Front's better," decided the boy. "Then nobody'll think anything, yousee." He was quick to put the new principle into practice.

  On the lawn there was another pause, this time a question of direction.

  "The wood, of course!" And they set off together at a steady trot. Fewwords were wasted when Tim went "busting about" in this way. UncleFelix resigned himself and looked to him for guidance; there was someone to be rescued; there was danger to be run; the risk was bigger thaneither of them realised; but more than that he knew not.

  "Got a handkerchief with you?" the boy asked presently.

  "Yes, thanks; got everything," panted the other.

  "For signalling," was offered three minutes later by way ofexplanation, "in case we get lost--or anything like that."

  "Quite so."

  "Is it a clean one?"

  "Yes."

  "Good!"

  They climbed the swinging gate of iron, rushed the orchard, crossed thesmaller hayfield in the open, heedless of the rabbits that rolled likefat balls into pockets made to fit them, slipped out of sight behind astack of straw whose threatening lopsidedness seemed to support aladder, and so eventually came to a breathless and perspiring halt uponthe edges of a--wood.

  It was a very ordinary wood, small, inconspicuous, and unimposing. Nobig trees towered; there was no fence of thick, black trunks. It wasnot mysterious, like the dense evergreens on the other side of thegrounds where the west wind shook half a mile of dripping branches instormy weather:

  Where the yew trees are gigantic, And the yellow coast of "Spain," Breasting on the dim "Atlantic," Stores the undesired rain.

  It grew there in a kind of untidy muddle, on the very outskirts of theestate, meekly--rather disappointingly, Uncle Felix thought. There wasno hint of anything haunted or terrible about it. Round rabbits fussedbusily about its edges, darting as though pulled by wires, and theolder wood-pigeons, no doubt, slept comfortably in its middle. But gamedespised it heartily, and traps were never laid. There was not even atrespassers' board, without which no wood is properly attractive.Indeed, for most people it was simply not worth the trouble of enteringat all. Apparently no one ever bothered about it.

  Yet, precisely for these very reasons, it was real. Tim described itafterwards as a "naked" wood. It had no fence to hold it together, itwas not dressed up by human beings, it just grew naturally. To thisvery openness and want of concealment it owed its deep security, itssafety was due entirely to the air of innocence it wore. But in realityit was disguised. It was a forest--without a middle, without a heart.

  "This is our wood," announced Tim in a low voice, as they stood andmopped their faces. His tone suggested that they would enter at theirperil.

  "And is it a big wood?" the other asked with caution, as though he hadnot noticed it before.

  "Much bigger than it looks," the boy replied. "You can easily getlost." Then added, with the first touch of awe about him, "It has nocentre."

  "That's the worst kind," said his companion shivering slightly. "Like apond that has no bottom."

  Tim nodded. His face had grown a trifle paler. He showed no immediateanxiety to make the first advance, reserving that privilege for hiscomrade. A breath of wind stole out an
d set the dry leaves rustling.

  "We must look out," he said at length. "There'll be a sign."

  Uncle Felix listened attentively to every word. The boy had moved upcloser to him. "And if anything happens one of us must climb a tree andsignal. _You've_ got the clean handkerchief. You see, it's at thecentre that it gets rather nasty--because anybody who gets there simplydisappears and is never heard of again. That's why there's no centre atall _really_. It's a terrible rescue we've got to do."

  The adventure fulfilled the desire of his heart, for, since there wasno centre, the search would last for ever.

  "Keep a sharp look-out for the sign," replied the man, feeling a smallhand steal into his own. "We'd better go in before it gets any darker."

  "Oh, that's nothing," was the whispered comment. "The great thing isnot to lose our way. Just follow me!"

  They then went into this wood without a centre, without a middle,without a heart. Into this heartless wood they moved stealthily, UncleFelix singing under his breath to keep his courage up:

  "A wood is a mysterious place, It never looks you in the face, But stares _behind_ you all the time. Your safest plan is just to--climb! For, otherwise you lose your way, The week, the month, the time of day; It turns you round, it makes you blind, And in the end you lose your mind! Avoid the centre, If you enter!

  "It grows upon you--grows immense, Its peace is _not_ indifference, It sees you--and it takes offence, It knows you're interfering. Its sleepliness is all pretence, With trunks and twigs and foliage dense It's watching you, alert, intense, It's furious; it's peering.

  "Upon the darkening paths below, Whichever way you try to go You'll meet with strange resistance. So climb a tree and wave your hand, The birds will see and understand, And _may_ bring you assistance. Avoid the centre, If you enter, For once you're there You--disappear! Smothered by depth and distance!"

  Tim listened without a sign of interest. Every one has his peculiarity,he supposed, and, provided his companion did not dance as well as sing,it was all right. The noise was unnecessary, perhaps, still--the soundof a human voice was not without its charm. The house was a very longway off; the gardeners never came this way. A wood _was_ a mysteriousplace! "Is that all?" he asked--but whether glad or sorry, no man couldpossibly have told.

  "For the present," came the reply, and the sound of both their voicesfell a little dead, muffled by the density of the undergrowth. "Are wegoing right?"

  "There'll be a sign," Tim explained again. And the way he said it, theair of positive belief in tone and manner, stung the man'sconsciousness with a thrill of genuine adventure. It began to creepover him. He kept near to the comforting presence of the boy, aware inquite a novel way of the Presence of the Wood. This very ordinary wood,without claim to particular notice, much less to a notice-board,changed his normal feelings by arresting their customary flow. Anunusual sensation replaced what he meant to feel, expected to feel. Hewas aware of strangeness. He felt included in the purpose of a crowd ofgrowing trees. "But it's just a common little wood," he assuredhimself, realising as he said it that both adjectives were wrong. Fornothing left to itself is ever common, and as for "little"--well, ithad suddenly become enormous.

  Outside, in what was called the big world, things were going on withfrantic hurry and change, but in here the leisured calm was huge,gigantic, so much so that the other dwindled into a kind of lostremoteness. "Smothered by depth and distance," he could almost forgetit altogether. Out there nations were at war, republics fighting,empires tottering to ruin; great-hearted ladies were burning furnitureand stabbing lovely pictures (not their own) to prove themselvesintelligent enough to vote; and gallant gentlemen were flying acrossthe Alps and hunting for the top and bottom of the earth instead ofhurrying to help them. All manner of tremendous things were happeningat a frightful pace--while this unnoticed wood just stood and grew,watching the sun and stars and listening to the brushing winds. Itsunadvertised foliage concealed a busy universe of multitudinous, secretlife.

  How still the trees were--far more imposing than in a storm! Still,quiet things are much more impressive than things that draw attentionto themselves by making a noise. They are more articulate. The strengthof all these trees emerged in their silence. Their steadiness mighteasily wear one down.

  And now, into its quiet presence, a man and a boy from that distressfulouter world had entered. They moved with effort and difficulty into itsuntrodden depths. Uninvited and unasked, they sought its hidden andinvisible centre, the mysterious heart of it which the younger of theadventurers could only describe by saying that "It isn't there, becausewhen you get there, you disappear!" Two ways of expressing the samething, of course! Moreover, entering involved getting out again. Escapeand Rescue--the Wood always in opposition--took possession of the man'sslow mind....

  It was already thick about them, and the trees stood very still. Thebranches drooped, motionless in the warm evening air. The twigspointed. Each leaf had an eye, but a hidden, lidless eye. The saplingssaw them, but the heavier trunks _observed_ them. It was known in whatdirection they were going, the direction, however, being chosen andinsisted on by the Wood. Their very steps were counted. The wholebusiness of the trees was suspended while they passed. They were beingwatched. And the stillness was so deep that it forced them, too, tomake as little noise as possible. They moved with the utmost caution,pretending that a snapping twig might betray their presence, yetknowing quite well that each detail of their blundering advance wasmarked down with the accuracy of an instantaneous photograph. Tim,usually in advance, looked round from time to time, with a finger onhis lips; and though he himself made far more noise than his companion,he stared with reproach when the latter snapped a stick or let a leafybranch swish through the air too loudly.

  "Oh, hush!" he whispered. "Please do hush!" and the same moment caughthis own foot in a root, placed cunningly across the path, and sprawledforward with the noise of an explosion. But he made no reference to thematter. His own noises did no harm apparently. He was perfectly honestabout it, not merely putting the blame elsewhere to draw attention fromhimself. His uncle's size and visibility were co-related in his mind.Being convinced that he moved as stealthily and soundlessly as aRedskin, it followed obviously that his companion _didn't_.

  The dusk had noticeably deepened when at length they reached a littleclearing and stood upright, perspiring freely, and both a littleflustered. The silence was really extraordinary. It seemed they hadentered a private place, a secret chamber where they had no right, andwere intruders. The clearing formed a circle, and from the open skyoverhead a grey, mysterious light fell softly on the leafy walls. Theypaused and peered about them.

  "Hark! What's that?" asked Tim in a whisper.

  "Nothing," replied the other.

  "But I heard it," the boy insisted; "something rushing."

  "I'm rather out of breath, perhaps."

  The boy looked at him reproachfully. His expression suggested "Why_are_ you so noisy and enormous? It's hopeless, really!" But aloud hemerely said, "It's got awfully dark all of a sudden."

  "It's the wood does that," replied Uncle Felix. "Outside it's onlytwilight. I think we'd better be getting on."

  "We're getting there," observed the boy.

  "But we shan't be able to see the sign if this darkness gets worse,"said the other apprehensively.

  The answer gave him quite a turn. "It's been--ages and ages ago!"

  The idea of rescue meanwhile had merged insensibly into escape, butneither remarked upon the change. It was only that the original emotionhad spread a bit. Tim and Uncle Felix stood close together in thissolemn clearing, waiting, peering about them, listening intently. ButTim had seen the sign; he knew what he was doing all the time; he wasin more intimate relations with the Being of the Wood than his greatfloundering Uncle possibly could be.

  "Which way, do _you_ think?" asked the latter anxiously.

  There seemed no possible exit from the clearing, no break anywhere inthe leafy walls; even the entranc
e was covered up and hidden. The Woodblocked further advance deliberately.

  "We're lost," said Tim bluntly, turning round and round. His eyesopened to their widest. "You've simply taken a wrong turning somewhere."

  And before Uncle Felix could expostulate or say a word in self-defence,the inevitable reward of his mistake was upon him.

  "_You've_ got the handkerchief!"

  Already the boy was looking about him for a suitable tree.

  "But _you_ saw the sign, Tim," he began excuses; "and it's _your_ wood;I've never been here before--"

  "That one looks the easiest," suggested Tim, pointing to a beech. Ithad one low branch, but the trunk was smooth and slippery as ice. Hepushed aside the foliage with his hands to make an opening towards it."I'll help you up." Tim spoke as though there was no time to lose.

  But help came just then unexpectedly from another quarter--there was asudden battering sound. Something went past them through the brancheswith a crashing noise. It was terrific, the way it smashed andclattered overhead, making a clapping rattle that died away into thedistance with strange swiftness. They jumped; their hearts stood stilla moment. It was so horribly close. But the stillness that followed theuproar was far worse than the noise. It felt as though the Wood hadstretched a hand and aimed a crafty blow at them from behind the shieldof foliage. A quiver of visible silence ran across the leafy walls.They stood stock still, staring blankly into each other's eyes.

  "A wood-pigeon!" whispered Uncle Felix, recovering himself first."We've been _seen_!"

  A faint smile passed over Tim's startled face. There was no otherexpression in it. The tension was distressingly acute. One sentence,however, came to the lips of both adventurers. They uttered it undertheir breath together:

  "It's--disappeared!"

  Instinctively they held hands then. Tim stood, rooted to the ground.

  "The _centre!_" They whispered it almost inaudibly. The horror of thespot where people vanished was upon them both. The power of the Woodhad worn them down.

  "Yes, but don't _say_ it," cried Uncle Felix; "above all, don't say italoud." And he clapped one hand upon his own mouth, and the other uponthe boy's, as Tim came cuddling closer to his comforting expanse ofside. "That only wakes it up, and--"

  He did not finish the sentence. Instead, his mind began to thinktremendously. They were both badly frightened. What was the best thingto be done? At first he thought: "Keep perfectly still, and make noslightest movement; a quiet person is not noticed." But, the nextinstant, came the truer wisdom: "If anything unusual occurs, go ondoing exactly what you were doing before. Hold the atmosphere, as itwere." And on this latter inspiration he decided to act at once--

  Only to discover that Tim had realised it before him. The boy waspulling at him. "_Do_ come on, Uncle!" he was saying. "We shall go madwith fright if we keep on standing here--we shall be raving lunatics!"

  They set off wildly then, plunging helter-skelter into the silent,heartless wood. The trees miraculously opened up a way for them as theydived and stooped and wriggled forward. In which direction they weregoing neither of them had the least idea, but as neither one nor theother disappeared, it was clear they had not reached the actual centre.They gasped and spluttered, their breath grew shorter, the darknessincreased. They came to all sorts of curious places that deceived them;ways opened invitingly, then closed down again and blocked advance;there were clearings that were obviously false, open places that wereplainly sham; and a dozen times they came to spots that seemedfamiliar, but which really they had never seen before. Sense ofdirection left them, for they continually changed the angle, compelledby the undergrowth to do so. Twigs leaped at them and stung theirfaces, Tim's cheeks were splashed with mud, Uncle Felix's clean whiteflannels showed irregular lines of dirty water to his knees. It wasaltogether a tremendous affair in which rescue and escape were madlymingled with furious attack and terrified retreat. Everything wasmoving, and in all directions at once. They rushed headlong through theangry Wood. But the Wood itself rushed ever past them. It was roused.

  The confusion and bewilderment had got a little more than they couldmanage, indeed, when--quite marvellously and unexpectedly--the darknesslifted. They saw trees separately instead of in a whirling mass. Thetrunks stood more apart from one another. There were patches of faintlight. More--there was a line of light. It shone, grey and welcome,some dozen yards in front of them.

  "Come on!" cried Tim. "Follow me!"

  And two minutes later they found themselves outside, torn, worn, andbreathless, upon the edge--standing exactly at the place where they hadentered three-quarters of an hour before. They had made an enormouscircle. Panting and half collapsed, they stood side by side in anexhausted heap.

  "We're out," said Tim, with immense relief. Profoundly satisfied withhimself, he looked round at his bedraggled Uncle. It was plain that hehad rescued some one from "an awful-anorrible death."

  "At last!" replied the other gratefully, aware that he was the rescuedone. "But only just in time!"

  And they moved away in the deepening dusk towards the house, whosewelcome lights shone across the intervening hayfield.