The Judas Tree

by A. J. Cronin

  ‘That’s enough for you, John. Now let’s give your lass a hand.’ She turned to his wife. ‘Come away now, Jeannie Lang, and get a move on. If you redd up the dishes, I’ll see to the bairns.’

  It was amazing: in fifteen minutes she had washed and dressed the children, swept and straightened up the room, dried the dishes as they were handed dripping from the sink. Then, almost in the same breath, she had rolled down her sleeves and was on her way out, calling over her shoulder:

  ‘Don’t forget now, send to the Centre for the children’s milk this evening.’

  Moray made no comment until they were back in the car and he had restarted the motor, then he said:

  ‘That was well done, Kathy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m used to it,’ she said lightly. ‘It’s just a matter of method.’

  ‘No, it was much more than that. You seemed to put new heart in them.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘The Lord knows, they need it, poor things.’

  It continued dismally wet and windy, the tangle of country by-roads which served her district were smeared in liquid mud, the labourers’ and brick-workers’ rows of cottages, small, poor homesteads, all were dripping and bedraggled in the rain. Yet this wretchedness seemed never to depress her. The troubled mood of the morning was gone. As she stepped from the car with her black nurse’s bag, splashing her way towards damp kitchens and attic bedrooms, there was about her an alacrity beyond professional pretence, an unforced willingness he couldn’t understand. Although she wanted him to stay in the shelter of the car, he insisted on accompanying her: something unknown compelled him to do so. All that day he watched her at work; tending nursing mothers and fractious children; a schoolgirl with a painfully scalded arm, the dressing so adherent it must be removed with time-consuming care; the wife of a brick-worker propped up in bed, struggling with asthma; then the old people, some bedridden, full of their tedious complaints, one old man, helpless and incontinent, who must be washed, the sheets changed, his bedsores cleaned with spirit.

  And beyond ail this were the extra duties she imposed upon herself: the dusty rooms, smelling of lamp oil, to be aired and tidied, soiled linen to be rinsed, dishes washed, milk to be heated, soup put to simmer on the kitchen range; all under conditions which would have reduced him to the lowest ebb of melancholia, and all accomplished not with quiet competence alone, but with a sympathy, a sense of spirited enterprise that left him baffled.

  He might, at times, have obtruded with a remark arising from his own knowledge, for this renewed contact with sickness and disease, although so long deferred, induced a strange evocation of the days when he had walked the wards of Winton Infirmary. Yet he refrained, mainly because, in an effort to interest him, she had continued to make simple little medical comments on the condition of her patients. He did not wish to wound her.

  In the late afternoon, on one of her last visits, when she had been to a case in a row of cottages, a woman called her in from a neighbouring doorway. Angus, her youngest, had ‘a bit of a rash,’ she thought that nurse ought to have a look at him. The boy, looking fevered and uncomfortable, was lying down under a plaid shawl on two chairs placed end to end. His mother said that he complained of headache and had refused the dinner. Then she had seen his spots, some of them like little blisters.

  Kathy talked with him for a minute, then, having gained his confidence, turned back the shawl and undid his shirt. At the sight of the rash Moray could see her face change. After sending the mother into the scullery on a pretext she turned to him.

  ‘Poor boy,’ she whispered. ‘ It’s the smallpox. They’ve had two cases down in Berwick and I’m terribly afraid this is another. I’ll have to notify the M.O. H. at once.’

  He hesitated; then, for her own sake, felt obliged to intervene. In a tone which lightly parodied the professional manner, he said:

  ‘Take another look, nurse.’

  She stared at him, disconcerted at his use of that word, above all to find him smiling at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Only that you needn’t worry, Kathy.’ He bent forward, pointing to illustrate his remarks. ‘Just look at the distribution of these vesicles. They’re centripetal, none at all on the hands, feet, or face. Also they’re not multilocular and show no signs of umbilication. Finally these papules are at different stages of development – unlike smallpox where the lesions appear simultaneously. Taken with the mildness of the prodromal symptoms there isn’t the slightest doubt about the diagnosis. Chickenpox. Tell his mother to give him a dose of castor oil, some baking soda for the itching, and he’ll be over it in a week.’

  Her expression of surprise had gradually deepened until now she seemed almost petrified.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am absolutely and positively certain.’ He read the unspoken question in her eyes. ‘ Yes, I’m a doctor, Kathy.’ He spoke with a kind of mild frankness, half in apology. ‘Does that shock you?’

  She could scarcely speak.

  ‘It fair takes my breath away. Why did you not tell me?’

  ‘Well, you see … I’ve never been in practice.’

  ‘Never practised! It’s beyond belief. Why in all the world not?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Kathy. And one I’ve wanted to tell you ever since we met. Will you hear it … when you’ve finished your round?’

  After a brief but intense silence, during which she still gazed at him wide-eyed, she nodded uncertainly, then, as Angus’s mother returned, she reassured her, gave her Moray’s instructions, and they went out. In another half hour she had finished for the day and, without further ado, he pressed hard on the accelerator and drove fast to the hotel. As the deserted lounge was cold and draughty he took her up directly to his sitting-room, where a bright driftwood fire blazed, pressed the bell and ordered hot consommé and buttered toast to be brought immediately. Her look of fatigue, which had worried him that morning, had suddenly intensified – and no wonder, he thought bitterly, after those long hours of chill and sodden slavery. He did not say a word until she was refreshed and warmed, then he drew his chair up to hers.

  ‘I’ve so many things to tell you I scarcely know how to begin, and the last thing I want to do is to bore you.’

  ‘Oh, you won’t. I must hear why you never practised.’

  He shrugged slightly.

  ‘A poor student just through college, with an honours degree. A sudden exceptional offer to work in the laboratory of a large commercial enterprise. It’s as simple as that, my dear.’

  She studied him earnestly for a full minute.

  ‘But what a waste – what a dreadful waste!’

  ‘I was doing scientific work,’ he reasoned mildly, translating his adventures with the pills and perfumes into more acceptable terms.

  ‘Oh, I daresay,’ she said, with vigour. ‘That’s very well for some. But a man like you, with such personality …’. She coloured, but went on bravely: ‘Yes, such gifts, to throw away the chance of helping people, the sick and the suffering, the real purpose of the doctor. It seems a crying shame.’ A thought arrested her. ‘Have you never thought to take it up again?’

  ‘At this late hour!’ Hurriedly, to correct any false impression the unfortunate phrase might have given her, he added with pardonable subtraction: ‘I’m not far off the middle forties.’

  ‘What of it! You’re fit, healthy, in the prime of life: yes, a young-looking man. Why don’t you go back to your real work? Remember the parable of the buried talents.’

  ‘I should have to brush some of the dust off mine.’

  At her gratifying reference to his youthful appearance he had smiled so engagingly she was forced to smile in sympathy.

  ‘At least you put me right on my smallpox scare. And me trying to tell you about the femoral artery. What a cheek!’

  There was a brief silence. How sweet she was with the firelight playing upon her earnest young face against the darkness stealing into the room. A wave of protect
ive tenderness, almost, but not quite, paternal, swept over him. He half rose.

  ‘Let me get you another cup of that soup.’

  ‘No, no, it was really good, made me much better, but I want, I would like to … go on with our talk.’

  ‘You feel strongly on that subject?’ His brows were raised humorously.

  ‘I do, oh, I do. It’s my idea of what life should be – helping people. It’s what we’re here for, to do our best for one another. And the greatest of all is charity – that’s what I was brought up to believe. That’s why I trained as a nurse.’

  The spiritual content of her words was mildly discouraging but he accepted them kindly. Then, with firmness, he said:

  ‘Kathy, you’re a wonderful nurse – haven’t I seen you in action? I admire and respect you for the work you’re doing, though frankly I don’t think you strong enough for it, but we’ll let that pass. What I do feel, however, is that you could exercise your talents on a different, let’s say a higher level, with much broader and rewarding results. Now, now, wait a minute.’ Gently, he stilled her interruption and resumed. ‘Ever since we met there’s something which I’ve bidden from you, deliberately, because I wanted you to take to me, to like me on my own merits, if I have any.’ He smiled. ‘And I hope you do like me?’

  ‘I do, very much,’ she answered, with impetuous sincerity. ‘I’ve never met anyone who’s made such … such an impression on me.’

  ‘Thank you, Kathy dear. So now I’m free to tell you, with all the humility in the world, that I am rather well off. I’m sorry I can’t put it less crudely, for in fact, I’m lamentably and outrageously rich – for which I was never more grateful than at this moment, because of what it’ll enable me to do for you. No, please,’ he raised his hand again, ‘you must let me finish.’ Then after a pause, in a graver manner, he went on. ‘I’m a lonely man, Kathy. My marriage was unhappy … well, let’s face it, a tragedy. My poor wife was for years confined to a mental institution, and she died there. I have no children, no one like you to occupy me. All my life I’ve worked hard. Now, at an early age, I’ve retired, with ample leisure and more material possessions than I need, or deserve.’ He paused again. ‘I’ve already told you that I owe a great debt to your family – don’t ask me what it is, or you’ll remind me of my graceless and ungrateful youth. All I need to say is that I must repay that debt, and I want to do so by interesting myself in you, by taking you out of this drab environment, giving you a fitting background, and all the things that you deserve. A full, rich, and rewarding life, and not of course an idle one, for as you have humanitarian ideals you may fulfil them with my co-operation, and with the resources I can put at your disposal.’

  While he was speaking she had been looking at him with growing agitation, and now that he had finished she lowered her eyes and for an appreciable moment remained silent. At last she said:

  ‘You are very kind. But it is impossible.’

  ‘Impossible?’

  She inclined her head.

  ‘Why?’ he asked, persuasively.

  Again there was a silence.

  ‘You have probably forgotten … but that first day I told you I was giving up the district work for something better. At the end of next month I’m going out to Angola … to work with Uncle Willie at the Mission.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he exclaimed in a loud, startled voice.

  ‘But I am.’ Smiling faintly, she looked up and met his eyes. ‘Uncle Willie is coming home to fetch me on the 7th of next month. We’ll fly back together on the 28th.’

  Almost stupidly he asked:

  ‘And how long do you mean to stay there?’

  ‘For good,’ she answered simply. ‘I gave my notice to the M.O.H. yesterday.’

  A prolonged stillness descended on the room. She was leaving – he calculated quickly – in five weeks’ time. The news devastated him – his hopes blasted, plans fatally ruined – no, he could not, would not accept it. The projects, so well considered, which he entertained, had reached possessive force, not only for her sake, but for his own. She was to be his mission in life. Nothing so inane as this wild desire for self-immolation in the wilds of a tropical jungle must interfere. Never, never. But his wits were coming back to him, he saw the danger of opposing her outright and risking an immediate break. He must work for time and opportunity to change her mind. When he spoke his voice was calm, with the right note of regret.

  ‘This is a severe disappointment, Kathy, a blow in fact. But I can see how intensely, how close this lies to your heart.’

  She had been prepared for opposition. At this quiet acceptance her eyes brimmed with grateful sympathy.

  ‘You understand so well.’

  ‘And I’ll help, too.’ The thought seemed to revive him. ‘Willie will have a donation for the Mission – and a handsome one – by the next mail. You’ve only to let me have his address.’

  ‘Oh, I will, I will. How can I thank you!’

  ‘But that is only the beginning, my dear. Didn’t I tell you how much I want to do for you? And the future will prove it. As for the present – let me think. When did you say Willie would return?’

  ‘In about a fortnight’s time. We leave three weeks after.’

  He was silent, his brows contracted in thought.

  ‘I believe I have it,’ he said at length. ‘As you’re to disappear so unexpectedly and so soon I think you might reasonably give me a little of your remaining time. Furthermore, I’m worried about your health, You’re quite run down and if you’re to stand up to hard work in tropical heat you owe yourself a holiday, or at least a rest. So I suggest, with all reserve, that you take the two weeks’ vacation still owing to you and spend it at my home among the mountains. Willie, on his return, will join us there, and even though neither of you can stay long, we’ll have the happiest reunion in the world!’

  For five fatal seconds he thought she would refuse. Surprise and doubt clouded her open expression, but this, merging through indecision, was followed by a hesitant smile. He saw that his inclusion of Willie in the invitation had been sheer inspiration. But was it enough? Doubt had returned to her eyes.

  ‘It would be nice,’ she said slowly. ‘But wouldn’t it be too much trouble for you?’

  ‘Trouble! I don’t know the meaning of the word.’

  ‘The mountain air would be good for Uncle Willie,’ she reflected, ‘coming beck from Kwibu.’

  ‘And for you, going out there.’ With an effort he maintained a matter-of-fact tone. ‘ So you’ll come?’

  ‘I want to,’ she said in a low voice, looking small and unprotected in the deep armchair. ‘But there are difficulties. My work, for instance. Then as I’ve given notice I might not be allowed my vacation. I’d have to see Matron or the M.O.H. about it.’ She took a long breath. ‘I’m on duty at the hospital for the rest of this week. Will you please let me think it over till then?’

  At that moment he saw there was nothing he could do but agree.

  Chapter Eight

  He drove her back to Markinch for the evening clinic. When they arrived, afraid of saying something injudicious in his present state of mind, he confined himself to a few words of goodbye and a restrained though speaking glance. Then he started back slowly towards the hotel.

  The rain had ceased, and, with that perversity of Scottish weather which occasionally at the end of a drenching day affords an illusory promise of better things, a bar of dear light appeared on the horizon. But this transient brightness did little to raise his spirits, and presently he drew into the side of the road to think things over and switched off the ignition.

  Yes, it was a nasty set-back, made worse since it was the last thing he’d expected. Who could have foreseen it? A sweet young girl bent on throwing herself away on a pack of primitive, painted savages who could no more appreciate her than – well, than they could the lovely little Bonnard that hung in his study at Schwansee. His hand shook with vexation as he thumbed at his gold lighter and drew deeply at a ci
garette. Of course, he could not deny that he had heard or read of such extraordinary cases. Hadn’t some rich young society woman renounced her fortune recently and gone to live on bananas with some eccentric doctor in the Brazilian jungle? Then again, nuns went out as nursing sisters, but that was part of their vocation. And he supposed that the wives of missionaries, if they felt it their duty, might accompany their husbands. Yet in this instance there was no need for renunciation, no moral or matrimonial obligation; in all its aspects the project appeared to him preposterous and futile.

  What could he do about it? – that was the question. Lighting one cigarette after another, an excess completely foreign to his moderate habit, he applied himself to the problem with a concentration made possible by the force of his indignation. The simplest solution, of course, would be to abandon his plans, to give up, spare himself all further trouble, and go home. No, no, that he could never do: he rejected the thought outright. Apart from his tacit obligation to her and to himself, he had in the short time become fond, yes, extremely fond of little Kathy. The mere idea of never seeing her again was too defeatist, too dismal to be entertained.

  The more he reflected, the more he became convinced that his best chance of winning her from her obsession lay in showing her, even briefly, the fullness and richness of the life he could give her. Brought up so strictly, isolated, one might say, from the world, she hadn’t the faintest idea of what he could do for her. If only he might take her to Europe, demonstrate the charm and elegance of the great Continental cities he knew so intimately: Paris, Rome, Vienna, with their art galleries, historic buildings, famous monuments and churches, their choice restaurants and fine hotels, and introduce her thereafter to the comfort and resources of his home, she must surely swing to reason and be convinced. His invitation, then, made on the spur of the moment, had been a brilliant stroke, which now after serious deliberation he could not improve upon. All that remained was to ensure that she accept. But how? Casting around for assistance and support, it was not long before the obvious person came to mind.