DANIEL COME TO JUDGEMENT

by MARY HOCKING

  ‘You mean that God got him the appointment?’ her mother asked.

  Erica ignored the old lady’s cynicism and redoubled her energies, gathering holly, teazles, honesty, painting cones and spraying dried hydrangea blossoms to make table decorations of fantastic ingenuity.

  Christmas Eve came. The presents were wrapped and laid at the foot of the Christmas tree, the last piece of mistletoe had been put in place, and the frill had been tied round the ham. They had sherry and mince pies at nine o’clock. ‘Something to keep us going,’ Erica said.

  ‘Keep us going?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Midnight service,’ she reminded him.

  ‘You would like me to come?’ He looked embarrassed.

  ‘Of course you must come!’

  Giles had recently proclaimed himself an atheist. Erica realised that Daniel was an atheist, too; but she imagined it was one of those unhappy conditions, like alcoholism, which a man must want to spare his children.

  Daniel looked at the carpet. Erica looked at Emma. Emma could usually be relied on to denounce the artificiality of the proceedings of the Church of England at every opportunity. Emma, however, merely announced her intention of having a hot drink waiting for them all when they had ‘been done’. Erica thought this was a rather ominously Christian attitude; she had an unpleasant feeling that Emma was going to occupy her time praying for them all. On the whole, Erica preferred to be denounced.

  They arrived at the church at a quarter-past eleven. The porch was crowded with people exchanging Christmas greetings, including a group of youngsters who had either come from or were on their way to, a party. Inside, the church was half full. They took their seats towards the front of the nave where Erica judged that Daniel would have the best view of the altar. She was anxious that he should be impressed because she still hoped for his conversion. This was not entirely for Daniel’s sake. He had said things which she had found deeply disturbing and she needed his conversion in order to restore her feeling of security.

  The organist began to play carols, more people came in, the centre of the church was soon full, and people were being directed to the pews on either side. ‘We always have a full church at midnight service,’ Erica whispered to Daniel. The vicar’s warden handed collection plates to a chosen few. The vicar came out of the vestry and went up to the altar to make a last-minute inspection; he looked very tall in his long robes and moved slowly as though conscious of his distinguished appearance. The choir began to form up at the back of the church. A draught of wind rustled the holly on the window ledges and shadows cast by the candles flickered on the walls. There was an air of expectancy. The lights on the Christmas tree were switched on, it was a very tall tree this year and had been decorated that afternoon by the scouts and guides who must have had a great time reaching some of the topmost branches. Erica felt tears come to her eyes. Beside her, Daniel stared about him with the unsophisticated astonishment of a child. ‘It’s going to work,’ Erica thought; ‘he has run away from this for so long and now it is going to overwhelm him.’ He, who was so concerned with the truth, was about to embrace it. She prayed. Dorothy flicked through the pages of the hymn book to see which carols were to be sung. It was late and she was tired.

  A small chorister began nervously to sing, ‘Once in royal David’s city’; the choir moved slowly forward. Daniel turned and stared into their faces as they came up the nave. Erica was rather embarrassed; after that, however, he behaved in an unexceptionable manner, he did not kneel but compromised by hunching forward at the appropriate moments, face screwed up, rather as though he had stomach ache.

  Emma, as she had promised, had hot drinks waiting for them when they arrived home. As she handed Daniel his drink, she said, ‘I hope that as you have been to All Saints, you will come to prayer meeting with me one evening.’

  Erica, who did not think that the Methodists could be entrusted with Daniel’s religious education, said determinedly, ‘You must admit it was a beautiful service.’

  He did not answer.

  ‘It’s part of our childhood, Erica,’ Dorothy said, hoping to avoid a discussion on religion in the early hours of Christmas morning. ‘It doesn’t arouse the same memories for Daniel.’

  ‘But is that all it’s supposed to do?’ he asked, irritatingly wide¬awake.

  ‘Of course not. But I think any service means more if one has a feeling of continuity, the past and present coming together.’

  ‘I suppose that may be so,’ he conceded.

  Erica had no intention of leaving it at that. ‘I should have thought it so beautiful it would make a tremendous impact coming to it for the first time. Surely you felt something, Daniel?’

  ‘I felt rather shocked.’

  ‘Shocked! Whatever were you shocked about?’

  ‘The whole thing seemed to me so . . . inappropriate. Like a carnival. Not something for adults.’

  ‘What was childish about it?’ Erica demanded.

  ‘The candlelit procession, the Christmas tree, the crib . . . I felt all these people were doing just what Dorothy said, thinking of their own childhood, of Baby Dorothy and Baby Erica.’

  It seemed to him that the celebration he had just witnessed had nothing to do with Jesus of Nazareth, who, for the majority of those who bowed their heads in churches all over England this morning, would be an angular, disturbing guest.

  ‘I think it is quite fantastic to say that you found it shocking.’ Erica was greatly distressed, and she repeated, ‘Fantastic!’

  ‘But I find it rather shocking that you were not shocked!’ After all, it was she who was the Christian; and here was he, outraged at this infantile treatment of her god, while she was complacent and even appreciative! ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter,’ he said. But the odd thing was that it did matter. It was all a myth, of course; but he was surprised to find himself a little annoyed at the devaluing of the myth.

  ‘This doesn’t augur very well for Christmas,’ Erica said to herself later, as she switched off her bedside lamp. She lay in the darkness, watching the intricate pattern of frost forming on the window-pane. She felt intensely hurt, deep inside herself she felt as though something was bleeding. But she could not have explained her feelings to anyone, or the reason for them. And because she had no words, Daniel would dismiss her feelings as he dismissed everything that was not cogently argued. But she was hurt. Indeed, it was more than that. Daniel had hurt God. He talked about God in much the same way that he would have discussed a rather far-fetched report in one of the less reputable daily newspapers; and by doing so he diminished something that was of great importance to Erica. But she could not have said quite what it was about God that was so important to her. Life was confusing, and just when you thought you had got the better of it, it pushed you down again; it was like trying to go up the down escalator, but one went on trying because there was something beyond that added up to something. And because of that something, life itself added up to something. At the end, of course, wrong would be righted, all wounds healed, good would triumph over bad, and there would be a reward for effort. But that wasn’t the most important thing. It was a very long journey if all you were going to get at the end was someone saying ‘well done!’ The important thing was that love was waiting at the end. It was so important, to be loved by someone, somewhere, always. But she dared not say this to Daniel. He would ask, ‘What do you mean by love?’ and she would not be able to answer. During one argument with him, she had said, because it was so eminently reasonable that he could not possibly challenge it, ‘There has to be a purpose.’

  He said, ‘I don’t see why there should be, in the sense you mean.’

  ‘What do you mean, in the sense I mean?’ She was immediately agitated and began to talk very fast. ‘What sense do you think I mean?’

  ‘In the sense that the universe works to some kind of plan.’

  ‘I don’t care about the universe!’ She was sick of science. Why couldn’t he come down to her level? ‘I mean purpo
se for me. I couldn’t possibly carry on if I didn’t think there was a purpose for me. I might just as well put my head in a gas oven.’

  ‘I think one must live life for itself,’ he said, ‘without false . . .’

  ‘That’s a fairly meaningless statement!’ Dorothy had intervened. ‘What do you mean, “live life for itself”?’

  ‘I believe this is the only life we shall ever have, and we should put as much as we can into every single moment of it . . .’

  Daniel had eagerly transferred his attention to Dorothy. He seemed to enjoy arguing with her and Dorothy looked cheerful and exhilarated as though she was hurling snowballs in a childish game. Erica was left out in the cold.

  And it was very cold. Very cold and bleak. ‘The only life we shall ever have . . .’ Erica attacked life with vigour and enthusiasm, but she was unable to conserve her energy and sometimes she had nightmare periods when her vitality ebbed and she had difficulty in keeping her place on the moving staircase. As she hung on grimly, she would say to herself, ‘it’s going to be all right, it’s going to be all right, sometime . . .’ The thought that sometime would never come, that this was all there was to life, was unendurable. It wasn’t enough, it simply wasn’t enough to make it worth while hanging on during the bad spells. She turned restlessly in the bed. It was so cold. She could not remember a colder Christmas. The frost had covered the window-pane. She prayed, ‘Oh God, let there be something. And please may Daniel not argue all day.’

  One of her prayers at least was answered. Although he might not respond to the Christmas message, Daniel answered the call made upon him to enter into the festivities. When the presents were opened his were found to be generous if not entirely appropriate – Mrs. Prentice received a bed-jacket which was obviously the choice of the young woman who had served Daniel. He reported early for duty in the kitchen and carried out the tasks allotted to him better than might have been expected. During the meal, he coped adequately with the wine, carved the turkey with skill, laughed at the silly jokes in the crackers and obligingly agreed to wear a paper hat for Emma’s benefit. He refrained from mentioning Christmas in Africa. As time went on, Erica found this unrelenting atmosphere of goodwill rather unnerving. She was relieved when Emma reminded her that the chapel had arranged a Christmas party for the old folk in the afternoon and she decided to accompany her daughter. ‘It’s so important to take note of the Christmas celebrations in her chapel,’ she said to Dorothy, who was stacking the dirty dishes in the kitchen. ‘You don’t mind, do you? Mother has gone upstairs to lie down and Giles has gone over to Colin Everett’s, so it will be quiet here for you.’

  When they had gone, Daniel came into the kitchen and announced that he was going to do the washing-up. ‘You have done all the work so far.’

  ‘I’m very stalwart,’ she assured him. ‘It won’t hurt me.’

  ‘But neither will a rest. I’ll bring you tea later.’ He tied a tea cloth round his middle and tested the water expertly; he looked as though he might be going to enjoy himself.

  She went into the garden to put food out for the birds. The grass was green where the sun had been shining on it, but under the trees and in the shadow of the fence it was still silvered with frost and there was a powdery deposit over the flower-beds. The light was beginning to wane. A bank of cloud shielded the descending sun which had caught the ragged fringe alight so that it smouldered to ash. In spite of the intense cold, she lingered in the garden. She wondered what Hugh was doing for Christmas; the thought produced no answer and little feeling. She had thought a lot about Hugh lately and as a result she had discovered rather less than she had expected, as though at some time a crack had developed through which her feeling for him had ebbed painlessly away. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘So let it be.’ It was very still, nothing stirred among the dead leaves on the compost heap; but the air, as she turned to walk back to the house, was sharp as a razor against her cheek. She went into the morning-room and picked up a book, but she had no sooner started to read than she went to sleep and did not wake until she heard the jar of crockery as Daniel came with tea.

  ‘Another Christmas nearly over,’ she said.

  It was darkening in the room, outside the window the light was cold and austere. Time to draw the curtains, but she did not move.

  ‘In two days, I shall be at Brocklehurst.’ Daniel gave a great sigh, as though he stood on the threshold of unimagined bliss.

  ‘Do you want to go so much?’

  ‘Want to go! I can’t wait to go!’

  ‘Has it been as bad as that?’

  ‘It’s been terrifying. I’ve never been out of work before.’

  Dorothy laughed, conscious of an inexplicable relief. ‘You weren’t out of work.’

  ‘Technically, perhaps not. But the fact remains, I wasn’t working. There has never been a time in the whole of my adult life when I’ve been out of things for so long.’ He spoke as though science was the only meaningful way of life. ‘I feel that so much must have happened. I shall never catch up the lost ground.’

  ‘Life goes on elsewhere, too.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He dismissed the possibility without interest. ‘It was more than being out of work, though,’ he said after a moment, hunching forward, staring into the fire. ‘When I saw those men at the Department, it was so difficult to talk to them. They weren’t the kind of people I understand. I began to feel they didn’t want to find a job for me, that they thought I wouldn’t fit in. Not as a scientist, but as a man. It was me they didn’t take to, I could see that.’ He looked at her, puzzled. Since their argument after the conservation meeting, he had looked to her for explanation of the oddities of human behaviour as though she alone could interpret them for him. ‘Is there something wrong with me?’

  ‘I think perhaps you have a knack of making other people feel there is something wrong with them,’ she answered.

  He was disturbing, there was no doubt about that. He appeared to have no shield for his feelings; there was no filter for his reactions, no channel along which they could pass to be processed and emerge in an acceptable package. His emotions entered the room with him, and they were raw and strong for present times. She could understand the effect he had probably had on the men at the Department. Since she had known him, she had become aware of all those careful layers placed between self and feeling so that one was not sure which was protective covering and which was self.

  ‘I shall miss you,’ he said. ‘I have found you very stimulating.’

  ‘Oh, Daniel!’

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘Was I laughing? I don’t know why.’ Indeed, she did not really feel very amused. She said, ‘Mind you find comfortable lodgings. January can be a bad month.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  Ash fell in the grate, Dorothy looked at it and thought that the fire must be built up, but she made no movement; she was warm and the chair was comfortable. Evening stole up to the window, after a time she was conscious of its icy fingers exploring the cracks in the frame; the fire no longer gave out warmth, her feet were cold. But still she did not move. It was too dark in the room now to see the time by the clock on the mantelshelf, but she could hear it quietly ticking the seconds away. Daniel sat with his hands spread out to the fire as though he had not noticed that it had withdrawn its comfort. Distantly, they heard the front gate shut; Dorothy got up with a slight shiver, her limbs stiff. She and Daniel smiled at each other conspiratorially, like children who have for a brief while escaped from a party. There was a knock on the front door. Erica and Emma began to sing ‘Good King Wenceslas’. Dorothy made haste to draw the curtains while Daniel attended to the fire.

  Chapter Eight

  Christmas breaks the rhythm of life; afterwards, there is a feeling of being cast adrift, life lacks direction, motivation, purpose, the skies are almost always overcast and a sense of desolation seeps into one’s very bones, the brain becomes fuddled, the limbs listless. This year, the post-Chri
stmas period coincided with the departure of Daniel, and Erica could not decide which event was primarily responsible for the atmosphere of anticlimax which hung heavy over Knocke Hall. Her mother was more than usually querulous and spent much time sighing and remarking that she did not expect to see another Christmas, until Erica was driven to reply that if she did not eat more wisely, this was a distinct possibility.

  ‘You just ate too much. Mother. You know you can’t take Christmas pudding.’

  ‘When you get old, people begrudge you any pleasure,’ her mother said, patting her mouth with a rolled-up handkerchief. ‘You wait until it happens to you. You’ll understand, then.’

  Erica was too concerned about the present to pay much heed to this. She was very anxious that life should get back in its groove; she was afraid that if this did not happen soon they would find themselves spinning off the edge of things.

  ‘It’s been a nice break,’ she said on New Year’s Day. ‘Now we must settle down again.’

  Emma challenged this. ‘Things are bound to be different now that Daddy has come home.’ She watched her mother with all the vigilance of a nurse with a mental patient, waiting for the first sign of regression. At every opportunity, she introduced her father into the conversation. Thanks to Emma, Daniel was with them round the clock. At breakfast, she wondered, ‘if Daddy has set out for the laboratory yet,’ and at lunch, ‘I wonder what sort of a morning Daddy has had’; at tea, it was, ‘Daddy has almost completed his first day at the lab. now’ and at supper she was wondering ‘Is Daddy staying at the White Hart?’ Daniel himself answered this latter inquiry by telephoning to say that he was staying at the White Hart.

  ‘Have you looked for a room, yet?’ Erica asked him. ‘You can’t stay at a hotel indefinitely, it’s so expensive.’