Oh, I expect they do. It’s the same all over everywhere, nowadays. Art, I mean.
How can people like us know?
That’s what I say. If it looked like anything at all, then we’d know what we thought it was like.
The Americans are more modern than us. So they have it worse, I dare say.
Poor Them, in that case!
It takes a bit of getting used to, certainly.
We needn’t look at it if we don’t like.
Monica! What’s that thing there? I never noticed it before.
Oh … something or other.
Was it here always? I don’t seem to remember it.
I wouldn’t know. I expect so. Goodness! It’s nearly a quarter past! I must fly.
Mum! Mum! I don’t like that thing.
Geoffrey says of course he has his tongue in his cheek. Mr. Swann, I mean. He knows quite well it’s rubbish. But he wants to be in the swim.
Well, it makes me want to laugh.
You’d have thought those things would be beginning to get old-fashioned by now.
What I always say is they do them because they can’t do it properly.
Don’t be silly, Terry! It’s not alive.
Now, Miss Manders! You’re a great friend of Mr. Swann’s, aren’t you? Can you explain this to us?
Why, you see, it’s like something written in quite a new language. We can’t expect to understand it. I mean … well … it’s like a page written in Chinese.
But what good is that to us? I mean, if we see a page of Chinese we wouldn’t know what it said; it might only say that eggs are dearer this week.
Oooh! Stan! Whatever is it?
Statue or something. Mod’n.
Fancy anyone doing that on purpose! I heard about it yesterday in the Blue Kettle.
It’s not impossible to Learn Chinese.
Still, we’re all busy. Can’t we have it in English?
It wasn’t exactly meant for us to understand, perhaps, Miss Collier.
No, Rita. Nobody could of done that on purpose.
Why, Stan! Somebody must of. It’s a statue.
You don’t understand. You ask any electrician. There’s been a high-voltage discharge used, to get it that way.
We can get somebody who understands Chinese, and they can translate it.
Somebody who says they do. How are we to know?
I often wonder how much Martha Rawson …
Mr. Wetherby. He must know.
Hullo, Rhona! How’s your mother keeping?
She’s all right, thanks, Allie. What do you think of …
I think it’s the dog’s dinner, and you can tell Mr. Swann so, with my compliments.
My dear Allie! Conrad couldn’t care less.
Ah! Here it is! But … I don’t … I’d heard that Sir Gregory complained it was obscene!
Conrad is not trying to say anything to anybody.
Why, Stan! You mean they do all their statues that way now then? Electric? And don’t really know how they’ll come out?
May do. Looks like it. I’m not interested. Come along, if you want any coffee.
Conrad is just talking to himself. He doesn’t care a hoot if we overhear him or not.
Then I suppose it’s all right to laugh.
Obscene? You mean rude? Well, no, you can’t call it that, can you? Of course you can’t tell really what it’s meant to be. What all those sort of spokes are … or anything.
Only I wish he wouldn’t talk to himself in a public place.
Good morning, Mrs. Dale! I hear that Sir Gregory has been making trouble again. Just like him!
Isn’t it, Mrs. Prescott? He and Sam had quite a fussification.
If you want to laugh, Allie, nobody can stop you.
I should hope not. This is still a free country.
He said it was a disgrace to publicly exhibit it.
Well! My goodness! I hope Mr. Dale stood up to him.
After you’ve looked at it for a bit, I believe you begin to get something.
Get what?
Sam pointed out that this is a free country. There’s no law, Sam told him, to say what’s good art and what’s bad.
Get what, Miss Collier?
I don’t know. It gives me a kind of feeling.
There’s no law, not yet, to stop people laughing if they want to. Excuse me! There’s my mother.
Oh, there you are, Allie! Sorry we’re late. I went with Mrs. Selby to the dentist and we were kept.
Good morning, Mrs. Selby. I hope he didn’t hurt?
Oh no, he gave me a local. But my mouth feels a bit stiff. Is this it? Well!
Rhona says we may laugh if we like. We have Mr. Swann’s kind permission.
Well! I don’t know!
Mummie likes it, Mrs. Selby.
Mrs. Hughes! No! You don’t? Not really?
It’s nothing to do with Sir Gregory what we have, or don’t have, in the Pavilion. Chale Park doesn’t own this town any more.
I don’t pretend to understand these things, Mrs. Selby. But I think we ought to try and be broadminded. They mean something to the younger generation. We’ve got to accept it that the generations are different.
Every single improvement he’s tried to stop. Look at the trouble he’s making over the new convenience! He says we don’t need one, with all these motor-coaches coming through the town.
Personally, I think we are very broadminded to put it up at all, considering the stories that are going about.
I don’t believe all I hear. I’m sure some of those stories are very much exaggerated.
Sam says we actually need something like this in here. Something old-fashioned wouldn’t suit.
He and she and the husband used literally to live together. Even she doesn’t know which of those children …
Sssh! Take care!
What? Oh.… Hullo, Christina!
Hullo, everybody.
Brought all your little family, I see.
Yes. I promised them choc ices.
Ices? Oh, you lucky little things!
And Bobbins! Hullo, Bobbins? Hullo! Hullo! How’s old Mr. Pattison, dear?
He seems a bit better, thank you. But Dr. Browning won’t let him get up just yet. His heart isn’t too good.
Much wiser just to keep him quiet. Hullo, Bobbins! Well! There’s a lovely smile! Peak-oh! Peak-oh!
As Sam says, we must keep up with the times. I say! Are those children those children?
Yes. You wouldn’t know them, would you? A wonderful difference since Christie took them on.
They still look rather peculiar, though. Sort of white and scared. Look at them now; you’d think they’d seen a ghost.
What’s your opinion, Christina?
I’m not talking, Mrs. Selby. Little pitchers have long ears.
Oh yes, quite. And Dickie? What does he think?
Oh, he’s cagey. Won’t say. I know what he really thinks, but he’s got a thing about all this modern art, in case it turns out that Bobbins thinks it’s wizard.
Bobbins!
Peak-oh! Peak-oh! Yes, Christina, that’s just the point. The younger generation is going to like all sorts of things we don’t.
I dare say, Mrs. Hughes. But that’s not to say they’re going to like this.
Serafina! I want to whisper. How did …
Sssh! Don’t talk. Don’t say anything. It’s dangerous.
I mean, why should we surround ourselves with things we think are awful because Bobbins may be going to like something we can’t understand? Whatever we have, he’ll probably call it old-fashioned and throw it out. So we might as well please ourselves. We’ll be laughed at when we’re dead, anyway.
Serafina! That did be our ole chair, din’t it?
Sssh!
It’s the insecurity. It’s natural the children should see things differently. They’ve had such a different background … growing up in the raids.…
You’re getting the generations mixed up, Mummie. Bobbins ne
ver heard a bomb in his life.
But it did!
Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Being in a raid might have upset Mr. Swann so much he had to get it out of his system this way. But by the time Bobbins is grown up he’ll either be dead or safer than we are, if you know what I mean. So this is just what he won’t cotton to.
AAAH! AAA-OOOO! Serafina pinched me!
Serafina! How can you?
Ahoo! Ahoo! Ahoo!
Ha! ha! Ha! ha! Ha!
He! he! He! he!
Ahoo! Ahoo! Ahoo!
Just hark at those people laughing!
Oh, they’re just trippers, off a motor-coach. They wouldn’t appreciate …
Ahoo! Ahoo!
Stop it, Joe! You aren’t all that much hurt. Come along and have your choc ice. You can wheel Bobbins, if you’re careful.
Let me! Let me!
No, Serafina. It’s Joe’s turn. Gently now.
Can I wheel him genkly right into the caffy?
Yes. Bye bye, Mrs. Hughes. Bye bye, Mrs. Selby. Be seeing you, Allie. A great blessing not having any steps in here, isn’t it? For the prams, I mean. That’s one thing they did manage to think of. No, Joe! Not so fast!
Poor Christina! She’s got her work cut out!
She’s wonderful to take it on.
Just like her. When isn’t she wonderful?
Don’t be catty, Allie.
Saucer of milk for Mrs. Newman. All right. But none of us could have done it half so well, could we? Hullo, Mrs. Browning! We don’t see you in here often.
Hullo, Allie! Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. I just came to see … Oh! My goodness!
First aid for Mrs. Browning! Help! Ho!
I’d heard rumours. Well!
Lovely, isn’t it?
I must say … I can’t see … I’d heard rumours that it was … well … you know?
It was Sir Gregory said that.
Well … I’m disappointed.…
Ha! Ha! ha!
Allie!
Allie, you are dreadful. I didn’t mean … what is it exactly?
Nobody knows. Everybody says all sorts of things.
It’s mad.
It’s revolting.
Mr. Wetherby says it’s good.
We mustn’t laugh.
We’re old-fashioned.
It’s a hoax.
I don’t know, I’m sure.
We ought to like it, I suppose.
Who is Sir Gregory to lay down the law to us?
Mr. Swann is a local man.
The younger generation is different.
But what is it?
I don’t know.
PART VI
SWANN
1
‘BIRDS flying!’ said Ivy. ‘That’s early. Means a hard winter, so they say.’
Lying on her back, she could see nothing save bracken fronds over her head, a hazy blue sky, and a wedge-shaped flight of birds, travelling southwards.
Benbow lifted his head from her breast to look at them too. Then he scrambled to his feet in order to watch them better.
‘What birds are they?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Some kind of geese, I should think. They fly high, don’t they? Every year they come—a little later than this, though, generally—and fly away over the sea. I’ve never seen them except hereabouts.’
She sat up herself and shook some dried bracken from her hair.
Now she could see the world below, the steep fall of the hill, the flat floor of harvest fields, the distant sea. It was a hot day and not very clear. The sea and sky merged in a pale shimmer. Between the fields and the coast there was a long narrow strip of inland water and, beyond it, a rampart of pebbled beach where nobody ever went and where nothing grew except sea-poppies.
Benbow watched the birds eagerly until he could see them no longer. Then he too looked downwards and asked if she had ever been on that beach.
‘On Hodden? No. There’s nothing to see there, only stones. You can’t bathe; the sea sucks you down, even in a dead calm. You could wander for miles there and not see a soul. Coastguard, he goes. Nobody else.’
‘I should like to go sometime.’
‘Well, you could, if you take the bus we came by today and go on to Friar’s Barton, just down below there. Then you could walk over the fields. But I don’t know how you’d get across Hodden Water.’
‘We’ll go and find out, shall we?’
He sat down again beside her, picked a harebell, and began to examine it as though he had never seen one before. But that was his way, she had noticed. He looked at things more than most people did.
‘Depends,’ she said.
If he did not ask what she meant she would leave it alone. The time might not have come. He scrutinised the harebell and stuck it in his buttonhole.
‘It depends?’ he repeated.
‘It’s not so easy,’ said Ivy. ‘My mother, she thinks I’m shopping in Beremouth.’
‘And you don’t like to deceive her?’
‘No. Nor upset her, either, by telling her the truth. Unless it’s for an important reason.’
‘But you have an important reason, haven’t you?’
‘That’s what I don’t know yet. If I knew how important it is to you, then I’d know if it was important to me.’
There was a slight quiver in her voice. She had risked so much for him and she was not quite sure of the issue. But he answered at once:
‘It’s very important to me. I want to marry you. Surely you know that?’
‘I suppose I do,’ said Ivy quietly.
He took her brown, capable hand and held it for a moment against his cheek. Then he kissed it and began to twist her wedding ring round her finger.
With a pang of dismay she realised that she would have to take this ring off if she married Benbow. She still called him Benbow, even in her thoughts, although she had got him to tell her his former name. She was sure that she could never marry anybody else, but not even for him could she take off poor Bill’s ring and put it away as though something had been wiped off a slate. To do so seemed like a sort of treason; it was a denial that there had ever been such a person as Bill. Death had dissolved her vows, but it had not quenched her love for him, although she now loved Benbow too, without feeling herself unfaithful to the dead. But what did widows do with their rings when they remarried? Didn’t they kill a man all over again when they took his ring off?
The problem was solved for her by Benbow, who said:
‘It doesn’t seem quite right that you should ever take this off, even if you do marry me. You don’t want to, do you?’
‘No.’
‘Then don’t. I’ll get one; I believe we have to have one for the ceremony. You must take this off just for that day and let me give you mine. Afterwards you can wear this again and put mine away in some little box.’
This was just like Benbow. He gave everyone their place, she thought, even the dead. Any other man would have been jealous of that first love, would have wanted her to obliterate all that she could not share with him. She had refused several offers for that very reason, and had expected never to marry again. She could not possibly forget Bill. But Benbow was the least possessive creature she had ever encountered; he accepted her grief as part of herself and would never ask her to dismiss those memories of young love and lost happiness. She could live with him at ease, and perfectly herself.
‘I’ll make you a little box,’ he added. ‘I’ll get some gold from somewhere and make it myself.’
‘Aren’t you going on a bit fast?’ enquired Ivy. ‘I haven’t said yet that I’ll marry you.’
‘You’ve not made up your mind?’
‘You and your boxes! You needn’t start getting gold from anywhere until you’ve answered three questions.’
‘Questions?’ said he, frowning.
‘First, about the children. I’m willing to look after them. I’d like to. But where are they?’
He would not give a direct answer to this. He
merely said:
‘I’ll get hold of them and bring them here. I must think of some way to get them here.’
His evasion assured her that the children must be in that place from which he had run away when he came to Coombe Bassett. Had they been anywhere else he would have told her so by now. But of that place he was determined never to think or speak. It must, she thought, have upset him in his nerves very badly. She had got everything fairly straight up to Maddy’s death; after that came a two-years gap concerning which he was mute.
‘You remember all about it now, dear, don’t you?’ she asked, more gently.
‘I can’t quite remember how I got here. All the rest … it’s like something packed away. I could think of it. But I don’t want to.’
‘Still, I don’t see how we can get much further till you’ve thought a bit. I’ve done more for you than I ought, perhaps. I wanted to help you. But that’s no use if you won’t help yourself. Married or not, you owe it to yourself to get quite all right. Quite like other people, I mean.’
‘I am helping myself. I’m quite all right if I don’t think about anything except just what I’m doing at the moment.’
‘That’s all very well till you start thinking ahead, which you’re bound to do if you want to get married. Once you think ahead you must think back. I know it’s hard. You’ve had trouble. So have I. When they brought my Pam home to me, that day … oh, that day! … I kept thinking I shall never forget this. Never! But I wouldn’t want to forget it really. It’s life.’
He nodded in agreement, and after a while continued:
‘You see, I got quite wrong somehow. Like a train derailed. I couldn’t go on without an accident. My work … I couldn’t see people any more. So I went right back and started again.’
This she understood very well. In her father’s yard he had returned to a point which took him out of his difficulties by ante-dating them. He had sought an earlier time and place—his own boyhood and a stonemason’s yard in the Antipodes. In future he meant to call himself Benbow. That might have been possible, she believed, had he come to Europe alone. He might erase that disastrous excursion and start afresh, were it not for the other who had come with him.
Yet she hesitated before asking her second question. She knew it to be the most dangerous of all.
‘And what happened to Frank?’ she demanded.
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