The Man Who Cried

by Catherine Cookson

  Abel’s face became straight and he said quietly, ”You do ? Then you’ve got one over me.”

  ”Don’t you remember me? Not at all?” Her voice was high.

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  ”No I’m afraid I don’t.” As he spoke he was aware that Hilda had joined the group and that the Reverend Gilmore was at her

  side.

  ”The boat, on the river.” The young woman was now standing close to Abel looking into his face, her own bright with discovery. ”I’m Daphne. You remember? Mother and the boat. And . . .

  and don’t tell me” - she turned now towards Dick ”you must be ... Why yes ! Do you know I felt that we had met before; something -” She shook her head. ”Well I never! After all these years.”

  Dick’s face too was straight now, and his shoulder began to jerk. His mind was groping at the memory of the young girl; he couldn’t place her with this well-built young woman.

  Abel was conscious that Hilda’s eyes were boring into him like screwdrivers, yet he hadn’t looked towards her; nor did he now when he said, ”How is your mother?”

  ”Oh.” The young woman gave a high laugh. ”Oh, she eventually hooked a man; but as I remember she took some time to get over you. I also recall that she turned the boat round and cut our holiday short the morning you left. What you doing now ? You live hereabouts.” It wasn’t a question but a statement, and he nodded his head once; then turning and looking at Hilda for the first time he said, ”This is my wife.”

  ”Oh. Oh, pleased to meet you.” The girl held out her hand, but it was decidedly seconds before Hilda raised hers towards it. Nor did she make any comment whatever when the young woman said, ”We’ll have to get together and have a chat, and about this husband of yours. . . . You know, he could have been my stepfather.” She dropped the hand; then looking fully at Abel, she said, ”Pity you weren’t,” then quickly turned again to Hilda and added, ”No offence meant.” No one spoke, and so lamely she said, ”Well, I’ll be seeing you some time. I ... I often drop in here; just stationed down the road. Be seeing you some time, eh ?” She was speaking to the four of them now and she took two steps backwards before turning about and crossing the now empty floor towards the refreshment counter.

  ”I’ll get my things.” Molly’s voice was small, and when she moved away from the group Dick followed her.

  The Reverend Gilmore, face solemn now, turned to Hilda and in a voice in which he might have intoned a sermon from the pul-161

  pit he said ”Good-night, my dear, and thank you once more £6r your kind help. I don’t know what we should do without you.” It might have appeared that Hilda was too full for words because she made no reply whatever, she merely inclined her head towards the vicar, then went quickly to the door, pulled back the blackout and pushed through into the blackness of the porch, and there she stood waiting.

  It was only seconds later when Abel joined her and immediately she swung her dimmed torch up into his face and demanded, ”What was all that about?”

  ”Just what you heard.” His voice sounded slightly weary. ”Well, by the sound of it, what I heard indicated that you were having a carry-on with a woman on a boat.”

  ”I was having no carry-on with a woman on a boat. She offered to give the boy and me a lift in return for my help.” ”Well, and did you help her ?”

  ”Yes ; yes, I helped her. I got the boat through a lock, I swilled the decks, I did what a crew man usually does. I was only three days on the boat altogether.”

  ”Really!” She drew the word out. ”Then all I can say, you must have been a fast worker.”

  ”No; she was. And now for the rest of the story.” His voice low, he turned and hissed at her, ”She wanted me to marry her. And she wasn’t the only one who was in the marrying mood around that time, was she, eh? Was she, Hilda?”

  Before she could make any retort to this the door behind them opened and two people emerged, and the man, swinging his torch, said, ”Oh, hello there. It’s you Mrs Gray. Good-night. It’s been a good one, hasn’t it?”

  She made a sound in her throat and the man hesitated before stepping out from the shelter of the porch and, his voice now low, saying, ”I was very sorry to hear of your sister’s trouble. Hard lines him catching it like that. This war! Oh, this war! . . . Goodnight.”

  There was silence for a moment during which Abel screwed up his face in perplexity; then he was holding her by the arm. Gripping it tightly, he swung her towards him and brought his face down to hers and, unseeing, he stared into it and demanded, ”What did he mean, your sister’s man catching it like that ?” When she didn’t answer he shook her and said, ”Do you mean 162

  to say that something’s happened to Peter Ford and you’ve never let on?” The door behind them opened again and Dick and Molly came out.

  Abel, still holding Hilda’s arm, led her towards the van. The torches flashed dully and they all took their seats in the van without exchanging a word. . . .

  In the garage yard Molly said, ”Good-night, Mrs Gray. Goodnight, Mr Gray,” and they both answered flatly, ”Good-night, Mollv.” But Dick said nothing. Turning, he walked with Molly out of the yard, along the road, and towards her front door.

  Back in the yard, Abel had put the van away and having closed the garage doors he stood for a moment hesitating, then looked at his watch. The illuminated pointer said five to eleven. He hesitated again only a moment now before hurrying towards the kitchen. Hilda wasn’t there. He went into the hall where he found her standing in front of the mirror stroking her hair down, and without any preamble he said, ”I’m asking you again, what happened to Peter Ford ?”

  Now she rounded on him, her body bristling with temper. ”He went down with his boat three weeks ago, if you want to know. And why didn’t I tell you ? Well, you’ve got your answer tonight: that girl remembering your carrying-on with her mother on the boat; and then that other woman who was supposed to chain you up. You’re woman mad. That’s what you are, you’re woman mad.”

  For a moment he stared at her open-mouthed, then he shook his head and his voice was strangely quiet as he replied, ”And you know what you are, Hilda? You’re a woman with a distorted mind, an insanely jealous, distorted mind; and you’ve never made anybody happy, me least of all. And you’re jealous of your sister because she’s the -” He seemed to be searching for a word. His eyes blinked, his mouth worked, and then he brought out, ”The antithesis of you. Yes, yes, yes” - he bounced his head three times, his voice loud now - ”she is the opposite in all ways from you: she’s a woman who loves and is loved in return, and if she’s had twenty men she’d still be purer in mind than you are.”

  ”Oh! Oh!” Her mouth was quivering, her eyes were full of tears, and now she cried brokenly,

  ”You see ... you see, you give yourself away. There’s another answer to why I didn’t tell you, 163

  because you would have been round there like a shot.” I*

  ”Yes, you’re right; and I’m going round there like a shot this minute. Now just sit and worry about that, and pray. Oh yes pray,- pray that nothing happens between us.”

  When she closed her eyes tightly he swung round from her and went through the kitchen and out through the door, banging it behind him.

  It was only five minutes’ walk to the post. He went through the schoolyard and into the school and to the room used as a duty room for the wardens. There were four men in the room; one was writing at a desk, one was making tea, the other two were sitting talking. Each looked up and said, ”Hello there, Abel” and he answered ”Hello” ; then going to the desk he looked down at

  * ’Henry Blythe, the potter, and said, ”Do you think you could spare me a half-hour, Henry, I’ve just heard that my sister-inlaw’s man’s been drowned and I’d like to slip along?”

  ”Yes, yes, Abel, of course, there’s nothing much doing tonight, at least I hope not.” He grinned.

  ”Anyway, if the siren goes you can always scoot back. Is it very far?”

  ”
No, not five minutes’ walk away.”

  ”All right. Take your time, there’s nothing spoiling, you’d just be taking calls the night anyway.

  By the way, you’ve never been along for the last fortnight or so; nothing for the kiln?”

  ”Yes, I’ve got one or two bits but I’m working more on some of those little ducks. The owner of the hardware shop in Cable Street says he can sell as many as I can do but he doesn’t seem to want anything else but ducks.”

  They both laughed. ”Well, perhaps he’s got something there because they look lifelike, real. If you made them bigger you could sell them as decoys.”

  ”So long.” Abel nodded from one to the other of the men and went out; then he almost ran from the school to Brampton Hill.

  What if she was in bed? No, no, she wouldn’t be in bed; just after eleven, more likely she was out. He hurried up the drive and round the side towards the garden flat, but he stopped before he reached the french windows. He should have gone through the hall and rung the bell, he might frighten her if he knocked on the window. He couldn’t see a vestige of light. Perhaps she was in bed after all. Or again, perhaps she had a very good blackout.

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  He walked slowly towards the windows and when he heard the faint sound of music he drew in a sharp breath. The wireless was going. His hand went slowly out and tapped on the pane.

  He waited, but there was no response to his knock. Again he tapped, a little louder this time; and now he knew it had been heard because the music stopped.

  ”Who’s there?”

  ”It’s me, Abel.”

  There was silence, the blackout didn’t move aside, the door didn’t open, and so after a moment he said again, ”It’s me, Florrie, Abel.”

  There was another pause, and now he saw the curtain lift and a hand come round and turn the key in the doors, and when one door was pulled open he squeezed in between it and the curtain. Then he was in the room and standing close beside her as she pushed the blackout into place again.

  It was all of eighteen months since he had last seen her. It was shortly after the war had begun.

  They had met in the street and she had said jauntily, ”How goes it ?” and he had answered, ”Not too bad. How goes it with you ?” And to this she had replied, ”It goes very well, I was married last week.”

  He hadn’t spoken but just looked at her, and she had laughed as she said, ”Don’t look so surprised, it happens. You should know that.” And he had answered stupidly to this, ”Yes, yes, I should know that.” Then he had added, ”As you once said to me, I can only wish you everything that you wish yourself.”

  When she remained silent staring at him he had added still further, ”And I hope that is happiness.”

  ”Oh, I’ll be happy. Never fear, I’ll be happy. I am. I am.” She had lifted her thin shoulders, then had said, ”Well, so long, Abel. Happy days.” And she had gone from him and left him standing staring after her. . . .

  She had changed; she looked ill. She had always been thin but now she looked nothing but skin and bone. Softly he said, ”You’re not well.”

  ”Oh, I’m right enough.” She turned from him and as she walked towards the fire she said over her shoulder, ”What’s brought you, and at this time of the night ?”

  He didn’t move from where he was as he said, ”I just learned, not half an hour ago, about. . .

  well, about your husband.”

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  1 sr

  Sometimes I

  Now she was looking fully at Una across thKtoomfYou didn’t know?” ,i «H I L

  ”No.” • •K^V..^’,-,;/;, - M L

  ”But... but our Hilda did.” - -”-. ” à

  ”Yes, so I learned tonight.” ’ **&*

  ”My God! Our Hilda.” She shook her head. ”Sometimes I think she’s not human, and yet. . .’

  She watched him coming towards her. When he reached her he put out both his hands and took hers, and softly he said, ”I’m sorry, Florrie, I really am. From what I heard I understand he ... he was a good fellow.”

  She withdrew her hand from his and sat down on the couch, and she bent down and buttoned the bottom button of her dressing-gown, saying as she did so, ”Yes, yes, he was a good fellow, kind, none better.”

  He asked now quietly, ”Was it in convoy?” s.J|

  ”Yes.” She nodded. ”Only out two days. He . .vhe was sure they’d never catch him, I mean his ship. He had made about ten_ trips and had always been lucky.” She now looked up at him and said, ”I ... I wondered, when you didn’t turn up.”

  He swallowed and shook his head, then said, ”I wouldn’t have known even yet but . . . but someone said to her tonight at ... at the church dance - I’d gone to pick them up - that it was a pity about . . . about your man.”

  She sighed deeply, moved her head a little, then muttered, ”She’s a strange creature. She came round immediately after I phoned up ... and she said she was sorry. She came again the second week, but I’ve never seen her since. And . . . and she never asked me round. ... I wouldn’t go without being asked, you know that, but . . . but” - she shrugged her shoulders - ”I thought . . .

  well, I thought she would have told you.”

  ”She’s jealous of you, in all ways she’s jealous of you, she’s got to be pitied.”

  ”Dear! dear!” Again she shook her head. ”I’ve given her no reason to be jealous of me, have I?”

  When she raised her eyes to his he looked back into them and said, ”No. No.”

  ”Oh dear God!” She now fell back against the couch and, covering her face with her two hands, began to sob.

  Immediately he was near her and, his arms going about her, he turned her head into his shoulder, and as her crying mounted he

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  stroked her hair, saying, ”There, there, let it out, it’ll do you good.”

  When at last her sobbing eased she pulled herself away from his embrace and leant back against the couch again, and after drying her face she looked at him and muttered, ”Thanks.”

  He made no reply, just moved his head while he continued to stare at her.

  Then she said, ”I feel so awful, Abel.”

  ”You’re bound to; it’ll take time.”

  ”Aw -” She closed her eyes for a moment before saying, ”Not that kind of awful; I mean mean, small. . . .”

  ”Huh! you could never be either of those two, Florrie.”

  ”Couldn’t I?” She twisted herself a little towards him and again she wiped her face; and then she said, ”You spend yourself, you give all your best to the rotters, and to the decent ones you behave like dirt, and he was a decent one . . . Peter. He was the kindest fellow I ever met.”

  ”Well, I am sure you were kind to him in turn.”

  Slowly she shook her head and there was a shy note to her voice now as she said, ”Not really.

  You see he ... well, he loved me, he really, really loved me and . . . and it made no difference when he knew that I didn’t love him. I liked him, I liked him a lot, but that is not loving He said he loved me so much it would be impossible for some of it not to rub off on me, and he was quite willing to wait a lifetime. He was a fellow who didn’t have a lot to say, he wasn’t very articulate, you know what I mean, but when he did get going, well, he had a way of putting things that some people would have called poetry.” She paused and looked towards the fire, then said sadly, ”He was sure that he was lucky, he was sure that he was going to come through all this. He ... he had our life planned out for years ahead.” She now closed her eyes tightly, bowed her head, and swallowed deeply before muttering, ”The last thing he said to me before he left was that he wouldn’t die before he heard me say four words . . . four words” - her voice was a mere whisper now - ”I love you, Peter.”

  She was crying again but quietly, and he did not touch her or speak to her, for he was experiencing within himself again the great want, the deep aloneness, added to which he was finding himself jealous of a dead man.


  She was still crying quietly as she went on, ”He wouldn’t let 167

  me come to the bus that last night, he ... he wantttl to remember me in this room, but he was no sooner out of the door than I had the urge to run after him and say those very words. It didn’t seem to matter about them not really being true, the only thing I wanted in that moment was to send him away happy. But I hesitated too long. When I got to the gate he had already jumped on the bus. But when I yelled he turned and saw me. He didn’t wave, it was as if he was standing stock still, sort of suspended in the air outside the bus. It was a weird experience.”

  When she shivered he looked towards the fire and seeing it low he rose and using the tongs from the coal scuttle he put some coal on to it. He did it as if he were used to doing it every day of his life. As he replaced the tongs he turned to her and said, ”Can I get you a drink, something hot ?”

  ”I ... I would like a cup of tea. But you’ll never find the things, I’ll see to it.”

  He put his hand towards her without touching her. ”Sit where you are,” he said, ”I’m used to finding things.”

  It was ten minutes later when he returned to the room carrying two cups of tea and as he handed one to her, he said ”There’s a spoonful of sugar in the saucer.” Then he asked her, ”Have you been to work?”

  ”Oh yes. Oh” - she moved her head slowly from shoulder to shoulder - ”I can’t stay in, I’d go mad. Yet just a couple of months back I was for giving it up. I’m losing interest in it; you can’t get decent clothes now.”

  After sipping at the tea she turned to him and asked in a polite conversational tone, ”And how have you been? I haven’t seen you for some time.”