The Golden Oriole

by H. E. Bates

  ‘Do you hide a lot?’ he said. ‘You were hiding in the apple tree the other day.’

  The unexpected mention of the apple tree was more than she could bear. With another helpless look of twisted bewilderment she murmured something about how hot it was and how she would have to go into the house, out of the sun.

  A moment later she started to walk uncertainly up the path towards the house and he followed her. Another afternoon of torrid heat had seared the edges of many of the yellow roses on the house wall. The scalded petals were dropping fast. Whole roses were bursting and falling like over-ripened fruits and as she walked towards the door a sudden uplift of air brought down a flocking yellow shower of petals, many of them settling on her hair.

  The effect of such brilliant sunlight was so great that in the dark shade of the passage inside the house the two of them were temporarily blinded. She actually stopped and groped with her hands. George Seamark stopped too and for a few seconds all he could distinguish with any clarity at all were the petals that had fallen like so many golden yellow shells on her hair.

  Most of them were still there when he and Mrs Mansfield reached the kitchen. In the stronger light, as she instinctively reached out for the kettle, he thought how beautiful the petals looked and once again, excited, he caught her by the crook of her arm.

  ‘You’re all covered with yellow petals,’ he said. ‘All over your hair.’

  The tension was so great in her that she was completely unable to speak; she could only stare at him in absorbed and pristine wonder.

  ‘Almost like a golden oriole.’

  A moment later, holding her by the bare upper arm, he was kissing her for the first time.

  It might have been thought that this first wholly intimate act between them would have had a disruptive and shattering effect on her but she afterwards confessed that it achieved an entirely opposite state of things. It fell on her like a great hush; it created in her a state of blissful and beautiful inertia, a great vacuum of calm.

  Nor did the departure of George Seamark an hour or so later do anything to break it. It was exactly as if, at last, she had found somewhere inside herself a supremely secure and perfect hiding place.

  ‘I’ll come and see you every afternoon I can before I go away.’

  ‘Is that wise? I’m sure the neighbours all have telescopes.’

  ‘Then we’ll drive out in the car.’

  ‘That still isn’t very wise.’

  ‘Then you could walk to meet me somewhere and I can pick you up.’

  ‘Yes, I could do that. You can take me out to the woods. No one will see us there.’

  ‘Supposing it should rain?’

  ‘On rainy days you can come here.’

  It was a week before the weather broke. An afternoon storm of torrential violence suddenly turned the sky to smoke and washed George Seamark up against the door of the Mansfield house as against a break-water, half-drowned.

  ‘You should have brought an umbrella.’

  ‘Umbrellas are very dangerous in thunderstorms. Besides, it was quite fine when I started.’

  ‘You’re absolutely soaked. It’s even gone through to your shirt.’

  ‘Don’t worry about the shirt. Kiss me.’

  ‘You’re too wet to be kissed. I can’t get near you. I’ll spoil my dress.’

  ‘Then take your dress off.’

  ‘Take my dress off? What an extraordinary thing to suggest.’

  ‘What’s extraordinary about it?’

  They were standing in the passage where, on an earlier occasion, he had been so blinded by sunlight that it had been for a few moments impossible to see anything but the glint of yellow petals. Now he could see her better. The pristine innocence of the large blue eyes was not merely startled; it almost erupted with shock.

  He took off his rain-soaked jacket and hung it on a hat peg. Streams of water from his drenched clothing were running down and forming little pools on the mosaic of the passage floor. In a jocular sort of voice he murmured something about how he would certainly have to undress pretty soon even if she herself had other views about it and she said, again completely startled:

  ‘Well, of course you’ll have to. But not in front of me, I hope.’

  ‘Why not in front of you? It wouldn’t embarrass me.’

  ‘But it would embarrass me. Terribly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I should think it just would, that’s all.’

  ‘Kiss me. I love you. I’m very, very wet and I love you.’

  ‘You’re very very wet and I think you’re mocking me.’

  ‘Mock you? I wouldn’t mock you for all the wide world.’

  In another moment he was holding her, pressing his rain-soaked body full against the front of her dress. He kissed her for a long time, recreating once again inside her the deep and blissful inertia that was like soundless vacuum. Locked away, when the kiss was over, she heard him whisper the incredible suggestion, as it seemed from a great distance, almost from some hiding place of his own:

  ‘Undress for me. Undress for me, will you, this afternoon?’

  In an inertia now utterly complete she stood quite speechless.

  ‘Undress for me.’

  If he had suddenly jabbed her with a knife he could hardly have aroused a greater look of vacuous horror than he saw on her face a moment later.

  ‘Please.’

  Still unable to speak, she merely shook her head in reply.

  ‘I’m going away soon. There won’t be much more time.’

  Not even looking at him, she could only shake her head again.

  ‘Undress for me.’

  ‘Please! – do you know what you’re asking me?’

  ‘It’s very simple. I’ll be very tender with you. You needn’t be afraid.’

  ‘It isn’t that.’

  In a whisper, his mouth close to her face, he asked her what she meant by this. She turned her face sharply, incapable of looking at him, and a second later a shock of infinite astonishment went through him too.

  ‘I’ve never undressed in front of anyone in my life before.’

  As she said this she looked almost frightened. He held her closely against him, her head hidden against his wet shoulders.

  A moment later she suddenly broke away from him and started to run upstairs. The old instinct to hide herself was in action before she was aware of it.

  Some time later he found her in her bedroom, half hidden by a curtain. She had drawn the window blinds. Rain was pouring on the windows and this was the only sound except her sharply indrawn breath as he put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘Why did you draw the blinds?’

  ‘I just felt as if a great crowd of eyes were watching me.’

  ‘I’m the only one that’s watching you.’

  ‘I know. You’ll think I’m silly, but I’m afraid of that too.’

  ‘There’s no need to be afraid.’

  ‘I suppose not. No, I suppose there isn’t any need.’

  Then she confessed two things. The first was that since he had first kissed her there had been this great calmness inside her; she had existed in an indescribably beautiful vacuum. The second was that she couldn’t sleep at nights: not after the usual restless way of insomnia, but simply out of happiness. It was like being under a celestial sort of spell.

  ‘I’m happy for the first time in my life, I think. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to sleep for fear of missing any of it.’

  ‘I must say I don’t sleep very well either.’

  ‘I came down and walked in the garden last night. It was still marvellously warm. There were glow-worms. You only see them in very hot weather.’

  ‘I’ve never seen one.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll see them in Amman. Golden orioles by day and glow-worms by night. That would be nice for you.’

  He started gently to stroke her shoulders.

  ‘That was something I’ve got to talk to you about. Amman.’
/>
  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It seems they want me to go out quite a bit earlier. I’ll be flying the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘That was why I wanted you to undress for me.’

  ‘Please. Not today. Let me think about it. But not today.’

  Presently he stopped stroking her shoulders and put his two hands under her breasts. They were as firm and un-relaxed as a young girl’s and he lifted them slightly with the tips of his fingers. A state of great wonder enveloped her as he did this and in the partially shaded room her eyes seemed larger and clearer than ever.

  ‘I know you find it hard to believe all this. But no one has ever done that to me before.’

  ‘Undress for me.’

  ‘Not now. Not today. Oh! it isn’t because I think it’s wrong or anything like that.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  She said a strange thing in reply.

  ‘I don’t want it to happen deliberately, that’s all. I want it to happen like a discovery.’

  That night, sleepless once more, she slipped a light dressing wrap over her nightgown and went downstairs and walked about the garden. It was nearly midnight and quite dark and the heavy rain had stopped some hours before. The grass of the lawn was quite dry again already but there were no signs of glow-worms and she kept telling herself that the rain had washed them all away.

  ‘No glow-worms tonight?’

  The voice of George Seamark was lowered to a whisper.

  ‘Oh! my God, how you frightened me.’

  He took hold of her hand without another word and they walked across the lawn and then stood under the apple tree where he had first discovered her hiding. He slipped the wrap from her shoulders and then undid the frontal ribbon of her nightdress. In the darkness she stood absolutely motionless and, completely unafraid now, let him make his discovery.

  ‘You remember young Seamark,’ Mr Mansfield said. It was more than three months later and occasionally, already, the September nights were growing chilly. A small second flush of yellow roses now graced the house wall and all about the garden apples were big and colouring to ripeness. ‘Strangest thing happened about him. It seems they decided to send him home.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Seems he no sooner got out there than he picked up a bug. He started to have queer fainting fits apparently. For no reason at all he’d suddenly just fall down.’

  ‘No reason at all?’

  ‘Decided to send him home by ship. I rather think they thought the long air-trip would be too much for him and the sea voyage might do him good.’

  ‘Is he home?’

  ‘He just disappeared one night on the ship,’ Mr Mansfield said. ‘Seems he didn’t sleep very well and went on deck to get some air. A steward saw him leaning on the rail.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No doubt he must have had one of those fainting fits and overbalanced and – Oh! of course we shall pay. The circumstances are a bit odd but we shall pay. I discussed it with head office. It upset me when I heard. I liked that young man. I rather think you liked him too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I quite liked him. He was rather fond of birds.’

  ‘Fond of birds?’

  A sudden impulse to start running died in her, leaving her body gripped by a great chill. She experienced a hopeless fit of shuddering and tried to control it by wringing her hands together.

  ‘Fancy that,’ Mr Mansfield said. ‘Fond of birds? I wish I’d known. We might have had a talk together. We might have found we sort of had things in common.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No? What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well in a way he wasn’t interested in birds. Not the birds you see here, I mean. They were rather the sort of birds you dream of—’

  Mr Mansfield said he didn’t understand. The strong impulse to start running woke in her again but she checked it and started to walk into the garden instead. She walked with a sort of drifting slowness, shuddering again, and when she reached the centre of the lawn she suddenly stopped, threw her arms cross-wise about her chest and shoulders and stared wildly about her.

  It was as if she had found herself suddenly naked and had no way of hiding any longer.

  Mr Featherstone Takes a Ride

  Within a minute of catching the two cockerels from the pen in the field Niggler hopped back over the fence and was deftly wringing their necks with a croaky, cheerful laugh that was like an echo of the voices of the expiring birds. In another minute they were safely in the back of the two-ton truck drawn up by the side of the chestnut wood.

  ‘Could have been a bit plumper. Don’t give ’em enough corn,’ Niggler said in a rather injured sort of way. ‘Still they’ll roast nice and tender.’

  Mr Featherstone, who had something of the look of a frightened, pale and studious giraffe, sat trembling in the driving cab. He seemed about to melt in the heat of sheer nervousness. As a student he had hitched lifts often enough before; but he really wasn’t used to this sort of thing.

  ‘What ever are you doing?’ Mr Featherstone’s tremulous voice had a slight stammer. ‘Why can’t we get going?’

  To his despairing astonishment Niggler had lifted the bonnet of the lorry and was already sunk in calm consultation with the engine, oblivious of the slight spring rain that had started to fall.

  ‘We’ll have someone see us,’ Mr Featherstone said. He pleaded desperately: ‘Please. For goodness’ sake let’s go.’

  ‘Carburettor.’

  Niggler, with brown, oily hands, casually caressed the carburettor as if about to dally with it in a dreamy sort of way. His voice was oily too. His sharp blue eyes seemed to be made of cut glass as they flashed to and fro between carburettor and the quavering Mr Featherstone and once they gave a positive wink of confidence that almost clicked aloud.

  ‘Been pulling bad all the way along. Probably got some muck in it. Might have to take it down.’

  ‘But surely not here?’ Mr Featherstone said. ‘For Heaven’s sake.’ He turned desperately to look about him and was instantly dismayed to see the figure of a man in heavy green sweater and gum-boots hurriedly approaching across the field where the hens and cockerels were. There was clearly something menacing in its haste and Mr Featherstone felt his heart give several sickening turns. ‘For the Lord’s sake let’s get going. There’s a man coming across the field.’

  ‘Oh?’ Niggler said. ‘Where?’

  Placidly he lifted a face that might at some time have been partly flattened by a mighty blow. The big nose had been crushed to the shape of a pear crudely cut in half. The mouth was like a purse emptied of its contents and left loosely open in a big, good natured leer. The whole thing was so manifestly distorted that it was in a fascinating and compulsive sort of way quite handsome.

  ‘Farmer, I expect.’ With a spanner Niggler made a few casual, impressive adjustments to the carburettor. ‘Bloke what keeps the cockerels I expect.’

  ‘Kept.’ Mr Featherstone said. ‘Kept. My God—’

  Presently the man in the gum-boots, who was carrying two letters in his hand, was exchanging friendly greetings; but Mr Featherstone, who now felt slightly faint, discovered he had no voice with which to answer them.

  ‘Coming on for a wet evening. Hope it won’t come on too fast before I get to the post. Trouble?’

  ‘Nothing much.’ Coolly Niggler lowered the bonnet, shutting it with as much care, very slowly, as if it had been made of eggshell. ‘Carburettor. Gets out of kilter on these long runs.’

  ‘Going far?’

  As far as possible, Mr Featherstone’s mind chattered, as far as possible.

  ‘Make Salisbury tonight.’ Niggler said. ‘No hurry.’ Mr Featherstone sat in the cab with closed eyes, feeling himself growing rapidly fainter and fainter. ‘All done to schedule.’

  ‘Ah well. Hope it clears up for you.’

  ‘Hope so too. Looking forward to a good dinner.’ Mr Featherstone, given strength, could h
ave groaned. Instead he merely sat in a pretence of sleep, listening in sickened astonishment to a further casual statement from Niggler, who stood carefully rolling a cigarette, slowly licking the paper with a big flannelly tongue. ‘Your cockerels are a bit near the road, mate. Foxes ever get any? I mean the two-legged kind?’

  ‘Can’t say they have done yet.’

  ‘What made me ask,’ Niggler said, ‘was two chaps in a Ford Zephyr who was parked here when we pulled up.’ He raised his voice to a cheerful, matey call that almost had Mr Featherstone falling out of the cab. ‘Wasn’t they, Mr Feather?’

  In a strange low voice that didn’t belong to him Mr Featherstone started to agree that he thought there had been something of the kind and the same time opened his eyes to see Niggler actually buttonholing the man in gum-boots with an air of supreme confidence, as if in the act of doing him a good turn.

  ‘They nipped off too smart for my liking,’ Niggler said. ‘I get to know the good ’uns and the bad ’uns driving up and down these roads, I tell you. One of ’em come out of the wood with a bag.’

  ‘Well, thanks for the tip—’

  ‘They went that way,’ Niggler said. He was half way up into the cab, pointing with his free hand back down the road. ‘They went like grease lightning round the corner. I said they’d bleedin’ cop it round the corner if they didn’t watch out. Didn’t I, Mr Feather? You said so too, didn’t you?’

  In barely audible murmurs Mr Featherstone agreed that he thought they would certainly cop it. Nor, he thought desperately, will they be the only ones.

  Niggler started the engine. Prayerfully Mr Featherstone had just begun to think ‘Thank God!’ when Niggler leaned cheerfully from the cab to impart several more expansive pieces of information to the man in gumboots.

  ‘Mr Feather’s a student. Going right the way to Penzance. Got an aunt there. Nice company for me all the way.’

  Niggler pushed in the gear lever and then decided that his cigarette wasn’t burning too well and pushed back into neutral again. A smell of rank shag filled the air. Mr Featherstone closed his eyes again and as in a dream heard a feeble cock-crow from the field that suddenly filled him with the odious nightmare that the cockerels in the back of the lorry had somehow reincarnated themselves and were giving warning cries of their true plight there.