The Man Who Cried

by Catherine Cookson

  As she let him out of the door into the passage which led into the main hall she said softly now,

  ”Good-night,” and he answered her as softly, ”Good-night.”

  He walked down the drive, through the gates, and on to the road, and there he stopped. He had the strangest reeling on him; it was as if he had just sustained a loss. But if you never had anything to lose how could you feel you had lost it ? He couldn’t have 121

  been in love with her. Oh no ! He had loved Alice and only Alice. Then why was he feeling as if the bottom had dropped out of his world, his new secure world? . . . Secure world? What was he yammering on about ? If he didn’t marry Hilda security was going to be short-lived, and he couldn’t marry Hilda, so what was the alternative? The road again? Oh no! By God! not with the boy. Oh no! he couldn’t subject him to that again. Well what then?

  He was still asking the question when he made his way up to the room and found Dick, his eyes wide with a new fear as he stammered, ”Eeh! Dad, I thought you had gone and left me. An’ Mrs Maxwell was in a bad temper. She pushed me out when I went into the kitchen and said I’d better go to Miss Florrie’s for me tea. Why would she say that, Dad, ’cos I’ve never been to Miss Florrie’s place? Eeh! Dad, I was frightened. Eeh! I was frightened ’cos I thought I’d have to go back and live with me mam.”

  It was the first time the boy had mentioned his mother since he had been told to think of her as dead, but the fact that his fear had brought her to mind again proved that he must still think of her.

  As he held his son tightly to his side he knew that the future did not lie in his own hands but in those of the boy, and that in order to provide him with security he’d have to do a great deal of work on him. But how did one go about obliterating a mother, a live mother, from a child’s mind ? The only way he could see was by offering him a choice, a choice of a comfortable bed and a full stomach or the road again.

  And he knew what choice the boy would make because he couldn’t fully understand what the choice implied, he was too young. But he wouldn’t remain young; and what then ? Would he be able to make a young man believe that all he had done was for his sake ? If he had to impose the choice on him his young mind would be burdened with a load of guilt, guilt that of its very essence would build up a sly evasiveness in the boy’s nature.

  Aw ! He could worry no more - sufficient unto the day . . . and the night. And this night Florrie had her man with her again, her fancy man. His lip curled even as thé thought came to him : God ! if only he was in his place, fancy or not, for there was in him a need that was burning him up. It had no connection with love, it was just a need, and at this moment if he could have Tom it out of himself, thereby depriving himself of the resulting experience of any similar need still to come, he would have done so.

  122

  There had been flumes of snow all day, so light at times it was like flour falling on the face. The cold was intense and the blanket of the sky lying low over the town caused passers-by to repeat to anyone and everyone, ”Dark days afore Christmas without a doubt, this.”

  Dick came running into the garage, crying, ”Do you think it’s going to lie, Dad? Will we be able to skate down the hill? Bob Tanner said they did last year. It was great, he said. What’re you doing, Dad?”

  ”What do you think I’m doing? Use your eyes!”

  ”Well, I can’t see you, Dad” - Dick laughed now - ”you’re half under the car.”

  ”Well, what would I be under here for?”

  ”Mending something likely.”

  Abel screwed himself along the floor from under the car and into a sitting position and, wiping the grease from his hands with some tow, he laughed at the boy as he said, ”What you excited about?”

  ”Don’t know, Dad. Just Christmas comin’ an’ the snow. Where’s Benny?”

  ”Where he always is, in the bicycle shed.”

  ”I’ll go and pelt him with a snowball.”

  ”You’ll be lucky; you won’t get a spoonful off the yard, it isn’t lying.”

  ”It is on top of the wall.”

  As the boy turned and scampered from the garage Abel checked him. ”Just a minute, Dick,” he called, and when the boy paused he said warningly, ”Go careful, don’t tease him.”

  ”I never tease him, Dad.”

  ”Well, if he’s in one of his moods keep clear of him.”

  123

  ”All right, Dad.”

  Dick now ran towards the wall bordering part of the frontage facing the road and, reaching up, drew his hand along the flat uneven top. But when he had reached the end of it his hand had gathered only enough snow that would fill a tablespoon. Standing now in the shelter of the wall he gently pressed the light particles together, but try as he might they wouldn’t form into a ball; and so, keeping his hands cupped, he ran down the yard again, past the garage, past the machine shop where Arthur Baines was working at a lathe, and into the bicycle shed.

  The shed was long, all of thirty feet, and about fifteen feet wide. One side was taken up with bicycle stands, and with the exception of two, every stand held a bicycle because this wasn’t the kind of weather that favoured the bicycle trade. Taking up one half of the other side of the shed was a long narrow bench on which was spread an assortment of tools, and above it, like a row of portraits, hung bicycle wheels. Beyond the bench the floor was clear, except for an old-fashioned round coke stove which besides giving off a pungent smell glowed more brightly than did the naked gas mantle in the bracket attached to the wall above where Benny Laton was sitting.

  Benny Laton had all the appearance of a man. He was twentythree years old ; he was five foot ten in height with broad shoulders and a large head ; but his arms and legs were thin. Sitting as he was now, he looked a normal man; it was when he walked or talked that the normality ended, for his walk was gangling and his talk was childish.

  Dick came to a halt at his side, saying, ”Hello, Benny.”

  ”Aw, you. Back then?”

  ”Yes, it’s been snowin’.”

  ”I know that . . . dafty.”

  ”Guess what I’ve got in me hands ?” Dick held his closed palms up towards Benny’s face. He was grinning mischievously.

  ”Won’t.”

  ”Go on, guess.” .,

  ”Bird.”

  ”Bird ? ... No, snow.” As he said the word snow he opened his hands and threw what remained of the snow from his wet palms into Benny’s face.

  What happened next occurred so quickly that it froze Dick’s 124

  ability to cry out. As Benny’s arm flung him aside he stumbled backwards and only managed to stop himself from falling by gripping a bike stand ; then he was walking backwards with Benny advancing on him and holding in his hand a twelve inch spanner, all the while talking incoherently.

  It wasn’t until Dick felt the heat from the stove that he was able to give voice to his fear, and he shouted, ”Don’t Benny! Don’t! I meant no harm. Don’t, Benny!”

  ”You . . . you took her away. Yes, you did.”

  ”Don’t, Benny! I’ll be burnt. I’ll be burnt.” ; ,

  ”Yes, yes, you will be burnt, you’ll go to hell.”

  ”Dad! Dad!”

  When the fierce heat struck the back of his neck and he knew that if he put his hand behind him it would touch the red-hot stove he let out a high scream; then another and another.

  Abel had been crossing the yard towards the kitchen with the intention of telling Hilda that this particular job was finished and he was going to take the car round to its owner when he heard the scream; and Hilda heard it too, for she was busy at the sink, and in the shadowy light of the gate lamp she had seen Abel making for the house.

  Both she and Arthur Baines reached the entrance to the bicycle shed at the same moment, and they stopped and stood transfixed watching Abel moving slowly up the middle of the shed. He was talking quietly, soothingly, saying, ”What is it, Benny? What’s happened ? Stay your hand a minute, Benny.” Then he stoppe
d as Benny moved a step nearer to Dick, the spanner held over the boy’s head now as he cried, ”You don’t come near me, mister. You don’t come near me.

  You’re not me boss. He’s taken her away. I told me mam he’s taken her away.”

  Hilda was now standing at Abel’s side and her voice, too, was soft and soothing as she said,

  ”Benny! Benny! listen to me. You wouldn’t hurt Dick, you like Dick.”

  ”No, I don’t. No, I don’t. He wants to sleep in the house. Me mam says that, me mam knows. Big fellow’ll marry you, me mam says ; set his cap for you she says ; then young ’un sleeps in your house. Me mam knows, she knows what he’s up to, the big ’un.”

  There was complete silence in the shed for a matter of seconds, then Abel moved forward again.

  His voice no longer soft now, he cried, ”Put that spanner down!”

  125

  : ”No.” As he spoke, Benny gripped Dick by the shoulder and as he did so the boy slumped in his grasp and, overcome by the ieat and fear, he fainted.

  It was at this point that Abel sprang forward, but as he went to grapple with Benny, the demented young fellow brought the spanner down with such force across his forearm that they all, with the exception of Dick, heard the bone crack.

  The fact that he had at last hit someone seemed to take all the fury out of Benny and he stood now, the spanner hanging limp in his hand, looking to where Abel stood doubled up in agony.

  And when Arthur Baines took the spanner from him he made no protest, except to turn towards Hilda where she was lifting Dick from the floor and whimper, ”You used to like me. Best worker, you said, best worker you had, you said. Boss Maxwell liked me, he did. Mam says things not the same since tramp came, Tramps, that’s all they were, tramps. I’ll tell me mam.”

  ”Shut up!” Hilda’s voice was pitched on a scream and the young fellow shut up, and as he stood with quivering lips looking at her, she said to Arthur Baines, ”Get him home, Arthur, will you?

  Tell his mother what has happened and tell her I want to see her.”

  ”Will I give Abel a hand inside first and take the boy in ?’

  ”No, no.” It was Abel speaking now, his voice slow and thick. ”I’m all right. We’ll see to the boy; only get him” - he closed his eyes and jerked his head sidewards - ”get him out of here.”

  Arthur took hold of Benny’s arm and led him towards the door and the young fellow went quietly, until he reached the opening. Here pulling Arthur to a halt, he said, ”Want me coat.” But after getting his coat and putting it on, he still seemed reluctant to go and as Arthur went to pull him through the doorway he turned about and shouted, ”Tramp! Road tramp. Lookin’ for soft spot. Me mam knows.”

  It was as if Hilda hadn’t heard what Benny had said, for she busied herself in gathering Dick into her arms ; but Abel stood with his head bowed, his eyes closed. He felt no pain in his arm now, his whole left side seemed to have gone quite numb, but he was experiencing an emotion that was new and strange to him. Perhaps he imagined it was like that which men experienced before going into battle. Something they feared but something inevitable, something they knew they had to go through with, and he knew

  126

  in this moment that he had reached a turning point in his life and that before this night was out he would have taken another road.

  He had been to the hospital and his arm had been set. Dick was in bed and asleep in one of the spare rooms upstairs ; and now he was himself sitting before the fire drinking hot cocoa and waiting for her to speak.

  He had returned from the hospital at half past eight, it was now ten o’clock and she hadn’t spoken more than half a dozen sentences to him during that time. However, she had been very solicitous, cutting up a meal which she insisted on his eating, making him sit in the big leather chair, Mr Maxwell’s chair, and placing cushions to support his slinged arm.

  When she took the seat opposite him and sat looking at him straight in the face he knew he would have to say one of two words, either of which would alter his life, the one to direct him towards the road again, the other to security, but security at what a risk.

  ”Abel.”

  ”Yes, Hilda?”

  ”Things have come to a head, haven’t they ?”

  ”In what way?’ God! why had he to stall like this; he knew what his answer was going to be, so why dither?

  He felt embarrassed and ashamed when of a sudden she flung her head to the side and her young plump body writhed as if she were endeavouring to cut loose from bonds.

  When she became still she again looked at him straight in the face as she said, ”Don’t play blind, Abel. You know as well as I do how things stand. Do ... do you want me to humble myself

  • • . bare my soul before you have spoken? Yet I know you’ll never speak, never say it, just because of our position. Oh Abel!”

  She had sprung so quickly from the chair to kneel by his side that he was startled, and when he openly cringed as her body knocked against his bent arm she cried contritely, ”Oh Abel, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, have I hurt you ?”

  ”No, no; it’s all right.” ’ :•

  127

  ”Oh, Abel.” She was staring up into his face, heMips trembling, her eyes moist; and now he put his free hand on to her hair and, stroking it back from her brow, he said, ”I ... I know’what must be said but, as you put it, I could never have brought myself to say it. Even now . . . well, I ... I don’t know. . . .’

  She knelt back on her hunkers and her face looked small and pitiful now as she whispered, ”I ... I thought you liked me.”

  ”Oh, I do, I do.” His reply was quick and rang with truth; indeed there was no need to lie about his feelings for her, he did like her, he liked her very much, but he had no real desire for her, not like he’d had for. . . . His mind closed down on the name that was no longer Alice as she said softly, ”I love you, Abel, I think I’ve loved you from the first moment you stepped through that door. I ... I had to take a pull at myself when Mr Maxwell was alive but . . . but after he’d gone and I thought you were fancying our Florae, oh I nearly went mad. I did, I did, Abel.” She moved her head slowly from side to side ; then her two hands gripping his fingers, she pulled herself close to him and, her face against his shoulder, her eyes directed downwards to where his chest showed in the gap of his open-necked shirt, she whispered, ”I ... I must tell you that . . . that I’ve never really been married. . . .’

  ”What! But I thought -” His tone brought her head up and, her voice holding a slightly shocked note, she said, ”Oh, yes, yes, Mr Maxwell and I were married in that sense, in church, it was all done proper, but . . . but what I meant was he ... he looked upon me more as a daughter and . . .

  well, I couldn’t bear the thought of him as anything else. It ... it was all arranged before the ceremony . . . well, that there would be nothing like that. . . . You know what I mean.”

  He looked at her mouth which was now forming a tight prim button, and he had the desire to laugh. He couldn’t take it in, that she had shared the bed upstairs with that man and yet remained intact. What kind of flesh had he been made of? He wasn’t all that old. And what kind of flesh was she made of? Yet there was one thing certain to him now, she wanted to be married, and not only in name, the desire was emanating from her like heat ; it was in the pressure of her hands and the closeness of her body, and openly in the depth of her eyes.

  The urge to laugh left him and for a while pity took its place. He began to wonder if she would now accept the benefits of

  128

  marriage without the ceremony. If that could be brought about he’d have no further need for worry.

  He took his arm from around her shoulders and again he stroked her hair back from her brow, but he did not look into her eyes as he said, ”It must have been pretty tough for you, and I can understand just how you felt, so ... well, if it’s all the same to you, we well, we can come together ... be happy without the usual palaver, for after all.
. . .”

  Her movement away from him was as quick as a few minutes before it had been towards him.

  She stood now gazing at him, one hand pressed across the corner of her mouth pushing it out of shape; her eyes wide, her small frame bristling, her feet planted firmly apart, she poured her indignation over him. ”What are you suggesting? I’m not like that! You think because our Florrie’s loose that I’m the same. Oh yes, you do. Same family, no difference you think. She does what she does for money and what she can get and because I told you about Mr Maxwell you think the same of me, I married him for what I could get. Oh yes, you do. Yes, you do.” She wagged her head at him.

  He rose to his feet but didn’t move towards her and he said quietly, ”Listen ! Listen, Hilda,” he said. ”I just thought you might prefer it that way. Everybody around here knows I was taken in off the road, what do you think they’ll say when they know I’m aiming to marry you? Taking advantage, they’ll say. Oh yes, they will.” He jerked his head towards her as if she had denied his statement. ”I made the suggestion . . . well, with the idea of bringing you comfort without embarrassing you.”

  He watched as, like an injection, each word of his relaxed her, and when she sat down on the chair, her head and shoulders drooping, he looked towards her hands where one thumb was passing swiftly backwards and forwards over the front of her fingers. It was as if she were feeling the texture of some material, giving herself its name by touch alone. He had observed this habit of hers before, it spoke of nerves.

  He went forward now and gripped one of her hands, and as he pressed it tightly against his waist he felt a deep sense of compassion for her; but there was no ingredient of what he thought of as love in it. He would have felt the same for some animal that had caught itself in a trap, or someone who was inflicting self torture upon himself; and that’s what she had done, and was doing.