DANIEL COME TO JUDGEMENT

by MARY HOCKING

  ‘Not until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh dear! Emma will have to walk.’

  ‘Where is she going?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘Prayer meeting.’ Erica sat down on the stairs and rubbed her fingers energetically into the hollows of her eyes. ‘To pray for us all because we are such complete failures.’

  ‘What have we done this time?’ Dorothy asked, taking off her jacket and hooking it over the banister post.

  ‘Nothing,’ Erica said wearily. ‘This is our trouble – we don’t live positively enough. At least, I think that’s it.’

  ‘She’s probably right. I feel myself getting more negative each day, don’t you?’ Dorothy said cheerfully.

  ‘No, I do not!’ Erica roused herself. ‘I don’t see how I could do more than I do.’ For once, however, she was not immediately reminded of something she should be doing, but sat staring up at Dorothy, her face flushed with distress.

  ‘It’s Daniel,’ she said. ‘Ever since he arrived in England, Emma and Giles have been impossible. Giles hasn’t been so upset since that wretched Brocklehurst business.’

  ‘I don’t think he was really upset about Brocklehurst,’ Dorothy said. ‘I think he enjoyed it.’

  ‘Well, he isn’t enjoying this!’

  ‘Have you written to Daniel again?’

  ‘No, but I telephoned his hotel. He was out. What more can I do? Does Emma expect me to go rushing up to London to join him?’

  The door at the top of the stairs was flung open and Emma appeared on the landing. ‘How can I possibly work with all this going on?’

  ‘We aren’t making a noise,’ Erica said.

  ‘You are, you are! I can hear every word.’

  ‘Then you can’t have been concentrating very hard.’

  ‘How can I concentrate when you make all that row!’ Erica got up and mounted the stairs towards her daughter, who shouted down at her, ‘You’re so stupid it’s almost a waste of breath to talk to you.’

  ‘Don’t shout! You’ll upset Granny. She’s gone to bed with one of her dizzy turns.’

  ‘I don’t care about Granny.’ But she lowered her voice.

  Erica took her by the arm and steered her gently towards her bedroom. ‘Don’t get yourself so worked up. You can’t possibly study in that state.’

  ‘But you put me in that state! Joan Pringle’s family keep absolutely dead quiet while she is doing her homework, absolutely dead quiet!’

  ‘But we aren’t Joan Pringle’s family,’ Erica pointed out.

  In the face of this unanswerable logic, Emma turned away and flung herself down on the bed. ‘God, I wish I was dead,’ she moaned. ‘I wish so much that I was dead!’

  Erica sat on the edge of the bed and laid one hand on the humped shoulder; as she touched her daughter’s flesh, a current of ungovernable pain thrilled through her fingertips. She whispered, a little shocked, ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry you feel like this. I felt just the same at your age.’ This was not true as far as she could remember, but she thought it might help. Emma’s world was full of gaping voids which she spent her time circling; occasionally she came too close and looked down. Some of this, Erica understood, although the reasons were not clear to her. In the small room, the African landscape blazed down from all four walls. This interest in Africa had persisted ever since Emma was a small child and Erica was sure that it had something to do with her daughter’s unrest. She had once tried to take the pictures down and there had been a terrible scene. Now, she reluctantly accepted them, although she always felt uneasy in their presence. They were hostile to her; it was a ridiculous notion, but she could not rid herself of it.

  ‘You mustn’t get too excited about Daddy coming home,’ she said.

  Emma turned over and stared up at her. ‘You’re quite incredible!’ she said. ‘Quite incredible! I ask for a little peace and quiet to do my homework, and you start up about Daddy.’

  Erica kissed the top of her head and said, ‘Get on with your homework, then. I shan’t let you go to the prayer meeting unless you have had supper.’

  ‘Prayer is more important than supper.’

  ‘Not at your age.’

  Erica went out and shut the door. Dorothy, who was coming slowly up the stairs, her jacket slung over her shoulder, said softly, ‘What’s the trouble?’

  ‘Giles has been playing his records at full blast. Emma and he practically came to blows earlier on.’ Erica passed a hand through her hair. ‘Mother’s gone to bed with wind round the heart.’ She looked distractedly at Dorothy, and then seeing her sister’s expression, began to laugh. ‘My sweet, I don’t know what I’d do without you! Giles is going out. Shall I give them early supper and we can have a nice leisurely meal together?’

  ‘That sounds fine. I’ll go and see how Mother is.’

  Mrs. Prentice was sitting up in bed waiting for her. ‘More tiles down from the roof,’ she said triumphantly.

  ‘That was a dustbin lid.’

  ‘I know the difference between a tile and a dustbin lid.’

  ‘I’ll make an inspection first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Her mother shrugged her shoulders and turned her head away. ‘It’s you and Erica I’m thinking of. The house won’t interest me much longer.’

  ‘What would you fancy for supper?’

  ‘I shouldn’t fancy anything.’

  ‘While you’re still with us, you must eat, my love. Otherwise we shall all be miserable.’

  Her mother said fretfully, ‘I never talked to my parents in that way.’

  ‘But Grandma Voysey was an old dragon, you’ve said so often enough.’ Dorothy bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek; in spite of the warmth in the room, it felt cold, and the flesh smelt of lint and carbolic. She looked a little anxiously at the old woman, who patted her hand and said, ‘I’ll have a scrambled egg, dear, if it’ll please you.’

  ‘Would you like me to call the doctor?’

  ‘Him?’ Mrs. Prentice rallied somewhat. ‘He never does anything except give me different colour medicine to keep me happy.’ She humped herself up in bed and drew a shawl around her. ‘I’ll be all right. It’s just the time of year.’ Her hand went out to the bedside table for her glasses. She had had a grumble and a little sympathy and that was enough; she had no desire to dwell too long on the subject of death. Soon, she was reading her library book, exclaiming,

  ‘The things they write about these days! “Fart”! It’s actually here in print! “Fart”!’

  ‘She ought to go out,’ Erica said, when Dorothy came into the dining-room half an hour later. ‘It’s bad for her, being indoors all the time.’

  ‘She’s happy being sorry for herself,’ Giles said. ‘It’s all she’s got to do.’

  ‘I thought you were so concerned about the problems of old people,’ Erica retorted. ‘You marched up to London to lobby M.P.s about their pensions.’

  ‘Granny is rich,’ Giles pointed out.

  ‘It doesn’t stop her being old and needing sympathy.’

  Giles, who found the habit of sympathy more difficult to cultivate than that of anger, stared sullenly at his plate, trying to think of something nice to say about his grandmother.

  ‘What time are you coming in tonight?’ Erica demanded.

  Giles, good intentions in fragments, said quietly, ‘I shall come in at any time I please.’

  ‘But not after eleven, if you please,’ Erica replied imperturbably, because she thought that being imperturbable was the way to cope with him. ‘You upset your grandmother the last time you came in late.’

  ‘And I upset Emma just now, didn’t I?’ The quiet voice vibrated just a little.

  ‘Yes.’ Erica looked at him in surprise. After all these years, she was still surprised when he went into one of his furies.

  He turned to Dorothy. ‘And you . . .? Have I upset you?’

  ‘Not yet, but any minute now.’ She was intent on a circular she had brought in from the hall. ‘Yehudi Menuhi
n is coming to play in the cathedral in aid of the restoration fund, did you know?’ Erica held out her hand for the circular; Giles got up and went out of the room, slamming the door hard so that all the crockery on the table shook.

  ‘Now, what was all that in aid of?’ Erica appealed to her sister. ‘He lives in a house with four women.’

  ‘But I can’t help that!’

  ‘No. But he can’t, either.’

  ‘There are times when I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ Having said this. Erica got to her feet immediately, as though the answer had been miraculously vouchsafed to her, and went into the hall. ‘Emma? Emma! You only have twenty minutes for supper if you’re not going to be late to the prayer meeting.’

  Emma, surprisingly, responded by coming downstairs at once. ‘Can I have supper with Angela Punter after the meeting? She asked me this afternoon.’

  ‘Why ever didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘Because Giles was playing his records.’

  ‘I can’t see what that has to do with it,’ Erica said wearily. ‘I should be so grateful for just one thought which followed logically on another this evening! Will Mr. Punter bring you home?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emma turned away having achieved her purpose. ‘Though I’d be safer walking.’

  ‘Emma!’ Erica jumped up and followed her into the hall. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He can’t drive.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, never mind about that. I want you home safely.’ Erica went back to the dining-room and began to clear the table. ‘I don’t know why she had to join the Methodists.’

  ‘They pray harder. Stack all this in the kitchen and we’ll wash up after we’ve had supper. I’ll pour you a drink, what will it be?’

  Erica thought a sherry would be nice. There was a log fire in the sitting-room, and what with its warmth and the effect of the sherry which was sweet and heavy, she found herself beginning to relax. It was always like this with her, she was either rushing about and talking endlessly, or she was asleep. Now she felt the muscles relaxing in her neck, her shoulders, her spine . . .

  Dorothy curled up on the sofa and thought idly about Hugh, which was something she was inclined to do at this time in the evening. It brought him no nearer. She had continued to see him, at his own importunate request, for a few years after she returned home to live. But now he had gone to work in Manchester and she had made this an excuse for a final break. She had not seen him for three years. Yet she thought about him, because there was no other man to think about. He was working for the Manchester Evening News. She tried to visualise him going into his office, in a hurry, frowning; then, as happened occasionally, the image came sharply to life and she was surprised to realise that his face was different to how she had remembered it. She was trying to adjust her memory of him to the reality when there was a knock on the front door. Erica, who was by now relaxed to her knees, groaned, ‘That will be the vicar. I told him Mother wasn’t well. What a pest!’

  ‘Don’t you stir. He’s probably had a busy day himself and he’ll be only too glad to be speeded on his way with an easy conscience. Leave it to me.’

  Dorothy uncurled herself from the sofa and the movement broke the blissful circuit of warmth her body had formed. She shivered. Erica, sympathetic, whispered, ‘Let’s sit quietly and he’ll go away.’

  Dorothy hesitated, tempted, but her training called her irresistibly towards the summons. Her response, however, was both surly and sluggish, and as she opened the front door she was thinking that she would gladly give up human intercourse for ever.

  She said, ‘Mr. Strachan, how nice of you . . .’ and stopped. Daniel was standing before her, suitcases on the ground and a taxi-driver behind him. He said, with simple immediacy, as though he had last seen her only yesterday, ‘I haven’t any money. Could you pay the taxi-man?’

  Such was the effect of his personality that Dorothy accepted the situation and went obediently into the sitting-room for her handbag.

  ‘What is it?’ Erica demanded.

  ‘The taxi-driver.’

  ‘What taxi?’

  ‘Daniel’s taxi.’

  Dorothy went back to the hall and paid the man. Daniel had brought himself and his suitcases across the threshold; for a man who had been away from the country for over twelve years and was presumably carrying his worldly possessions with him, his luggage was modest.

  ‘I had to get out of London,’ he said to Dorothy. ‘I couldn’t have stayed there another night.’ His suffering was so extreme that Dorothy was immediately convinced that the experience of London had been more shattering than his expulsion from Kinbelo. Erica now appeared in the doorway of the sitting-room wearing an expression of suspended disbelief. Dorothy felt guilty at having so completely neglected her sister’s feelings; it would have helped to have warned Erica that she was going to have a shock.

  Erica, who had now had the shock without the warning, said hoarsely, ‘Daniel!’

  Daniel responded, ‘Erica! Oh, my dear! It’s good to be here.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you pay the taxi?’ Erica asked, a variety of complex anxieties coalescing in this one simple inquiry. ‘They didn’t take all your money?’

  ‘I had to get out,’ he told her.

  Erica moaned, ‘Oh, God!’

  ‘He means he had to get out of London,’ Dorothy translated. ‘He didn’t have time to go to the bank.’

  ‘Had to get out of London?’ The complete inadequacy of this as a reason for arriving anywhere without money had the effect of shaking Erica out of her stupor. She looked at Daniel, recognised him and acknowledged her responsibility towards him.

  ‘Come into the sitting-room,’ she said. ‘You must be hungry. Sit down and rest while we get supper.’

  It was not the warmest of welcomes, but she needed time. Daniel had caught her in a relaxed mood and she felt exposed and vulnerable without her worries draped in careful folds about her. She assembled them hastily while she prepared the vegetables. The shock had gone too deep for her to be able to respond adequately and she could only select at random from the rag-bag of her troubles. ‘Such a shock for the children. And Mother ill in bed. Choral society tomorrow. That’ll be two meetings I shall have missed. Should I go round to the Punters to fetch Emma? Suppose Giles comes back early? AND THE SHEETS AREN’T AIRED . . .’ Dorothy put the steak on the grill and said, ‘You wouldn’t like to eat alone? I can always go upstairs.’

  ‘No. Oh, I do hope you’re not going to start behaving like this, Dorothy. It’s going to make things very difficult if everyone behaves unnaturally.’

  ‘You don’t think it would be natural for you to talk to him while I see to the meal?’

  Erica pressed a damp hand to her brow, the potato peeler held like a dagger pointing outwards. ‘Oh, what am I to do? What am I to do?’ Her voice began to spiral.

  Dorothy said, ‘Take him in a drink and have a strong one yourself.’

  Erica stared at her, with eyes that were big and wounded, then she said dully, ‘You don’t understand. But then, how could you?’ She turned away and took an unopened bottle of whisky out of the larder. ‘I didn’t put salt in the potatoes.’ She went out of the room, her face white except for red blotches around the jaw. Dorothy hoped she would be able to see the evening through.

  Erica dealt with the problem by deferring it; she was on the telephone when Dorothy entered the sitting-room to lay the table. She made a wry face and waggled the receiver some two feet from her head; but it was soon apparent that she was as much responsible as the caller for prolonging the conversation. It was only when the meat arrived that she spoke with an air of resolution. ‘My dear, I just must go now. We’ll talk about it later.’

  As they sat down to table, she said, ‘Daniel, I want to hear all your news,’ as though he had deliberately withheld it from her. While Daniel helped himself to mustard and pondered where to begin, she demanded, ‘What did the Department say? Have they found you another post?’


  ‘Not yet, but . . .’

  ‘There’s no “but” about it, surely? They must find you something else.’

  ‘I’m due for quite a bit of leave. So there’s no hurry.’

  ‘But didn’t they give you any idea of what was going? Or where? Will they want you to go abroad again?’

  ‘I think not. I told them I felt I should be . . . in England . . . for a time, and they understood that.’

  There was an awkward pause; he had avoided the phrase ‘at home’ rather too carefully. Erica dashed salt liberally over the potatoes and said, ‘Well, I’m glad about that.’ Daniel looked at her keenly: it was plain that he expected people to look glad when they said they were glad. Erica looked glum. Aware of his scrutiny, she sought for a glum thought and came up with an expression of regret that the children had not been at home to greet him.

  ‘They didn’t know I was coming,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Emma has gone to prayer meeting,’ Erica said. ‘I think you should know she has become a Methodist.’

  Daniel, to whom one religion was much as another, let alone one denomination, said, ‘You make it sound like an addiction.’ ‘It’s very much like one, believe me!’ Erica proceeded to give a lively account of life with Emma and the Methodists. Dorothy was not required to enter into the conversation and so had time to observe Daniel. Over the years, his comings had coincided with her goings. He was, therefore, a new experience and on the whole she did not like it.

  She had sometimes thought that what is meant today by maturity in a man is that he has so moulded himself as to fit into the social framework without friction. Daniel was rather too angular to fit easily into any framework but that of his own personality. She liked him none the less for that. He had a strong face, to which she took no exception. Indeed, his appearance would normally have commended him to her since it tended to the rugged and she disliked bland men. Not that he was traditionally handsome. The sun had burnt his fair skin red-brown and bleached his abundant sandy hair and thick eyebrows so that his face looked rather like the negative of a snapshot. He had a prominent nose, a wide mouth firmly but not rigidly set, and a strong jaw. The light-blue eyes were remarkably clear and looked out at life with eagerness as though they were still seeing things for the first time. She could not object to the face. But she did object to the feelings which it registered. While Erica talked, Daniel either stared at her as though he was undergoing a terrible mutilation which she had decreed, or looked round the room with an air of intensely disagreeable surprise as though the modest signs of affluence were a gross affront to him. It was apparent that he was totally unable to enter into small talk of any kind. It was equally obvious that he was waiting to receive what he no doubt regarded as his due as Erica’s husband; he was waiting for it with a heavy impatience which seemed to weigh the very atmosphere down with his physical need. It was indecent, Dorothy thought angrily; after so long an absence, this demanding urgency was shameless. She began to be annoyed with him for other things. His precipitate arrival was thoughtless and insensitive. The more she thought, the more reason she found for complaint and the more she sympathised with Erica. By the time the coffee was served she was quite prepared to conspire with Erica in her attempt to avoid being alone with him; she decided to leave the washing-up and, having cleared the table, hastened to join them in the sitting-room. Erica was holding Daniel at bay with an account of Giles’s progress at school.