Don't Look Now and Other Stories

by Daphne Du Maurier

"How about it?" murmured Jim Foster to his neighbor Jill. "If you hold on tight I won't let you go."

  A delighted smile spread over Robin's face. Things were going his way after all. No risk now of being packed off early to bed.

  "You know," he said, touching the Rev. Babcock's arm, his voice sounding very loud and clear, "if we were really the disciples and you were Jesus, you would have to line us all up in a row against the wall there and start to wash our feet. But my grandmother would probably say that was going a bit too far."

  He stood aside, bowing politely, to let the grown-up people pass. He was destined for Winchester, and he remembered the motto, Manners Makyth Man.

  The air was sharp and clean, like a sword's blade. No wind--the air alone made the cutting edge. The stony path led downwards, steep and narrow, bound on either side by walls. On the right the somber cluster of cypress trees and pines masked the seven spires of the Russian cathedral and the smaller humped dome of the Dominus Flevit church. In the daytime the onion spires of St. Mary Magdalene would gleam golden under the sun, and across the valley of Kedron the city walls which encompassed Jerusalem, with the Dome of the Rock prominent in the foreground and the city itself spreading ever further west and north, would not fail to awaken some response in every pilgrim heart, as it had done through the centuries, but tonight... Tonight, thought Edward Babcock, with the pale yellow moon coming up behind us and the dark sky above our heads, even the low hum of the traffic beneath us on the main road to Jericho seems to blend and merge into the silence. As the steep path descended so the city rose, and the valley separating it from the Mount of Olives down which they walked became somber, black, like a winding riverbed. Mosques, domes, spires, towers, the rooftops of a myriad human dwellings fused together, blotted against the sky, and only the walls of the city remained, steadfast on the opposite hill, a threat, a challenge.

  "I'm not ready for this," he thought. "It's too big, I can't take it, I shan't be able to explain what it means, not even to this small handful of people who are with me. I ought to have stayed in the hotel reading up my notes and studying the map so as to be able to speak with some sort of authority tomorrow. Or, better still, have come here on my own."

  It was wrong of him, uncharitable, but the perpetual chatter of the Colonel at his side got on his nerves, made him edgy, irritable. Who cared what his regiment had been doing in '48? It was out of keeping with the scene spread out before them.

  "And so," the Colonel was saying, "the Mandate was handed over to the U.N. in May, and we were all out of the country by July 1st. To my mind we should have stayed. The whole thing has been a bloody nonsense ever since. No one will ever settle down in this part of the world, and they'll still be fighting over Jerusalem when you and I have been in our graves for years. Beautiful spot, you know, from this distance. Used to be pretty scruffy inside the Old City."

  The pine trees to their right were motionless. Everything was still. To their left the hillside appeared bare, uncultivated, but Babcock could be mistaken: moonlight was deceptive, those white shapes that seemed to be rocks and boulders could be tombs. Once there would have been no somber pines, no cypresses, no Russian cathedral, only the olive trees with silver branches sweeping the stony ground, and the sound of the brook trickling through the valley below.

  "Funny thing," said the Colonel, "I never did any proper soldiering once I left this place behind me. Served for a time back home, at Aldershot, but what with reorganization in the army, and one thing and another, and my wife wasn't too fit at the time, I decided to pack it in and quit. I should have been given command of my regiment if I had stayed, and gone to Germany, but Althea was all against it, and it didn't seem fair to her. Her father left her the Hall, you know, in Little Bletford. She had been brought up there, and her life was centered in it. Still is, in fact. She does a great deal locally."

  Edward Babcock made an effort to attend, to show some sign of interest. "You regret leaving the army?"

  The Colonel did not answer immediately, but when he did the usual tone of brisk self-confidence had gone; he sounded puzzled, strained.

  "It was my whole life," he said. "And that's another funny thing, padre--I don't think I've ever realized it before tonight. Just standing here, looking at that city across the valley, makes me remember."

  Something moved in the shadows below. It was Robin. He had been crouching against the wall. He had a map in his hand and a small torch.

  "Look, Mr. Babcock," he said, "that's where they must have come, from the gate in the wall over to the left. We can't see it from here, but it's marked on the map. Jesus and his disciples, I mean, after they had had their supper. And the gardens and trees were probably all up this hill then, not just down at the bottom where the church stands today. In fact, if we go on a bit further and sit down by that wall, we can picture the whole thing. The soldiers and the high priests' attendants coming down with flares from the other gate, perhaps where that car is showing now. Come on!"

  He began running down the hill in front of them, flicking his small torch to and fro, until he disappeared round a turn of the wall.

  "Watch your step, Robin," called his grandfather. "You might fall. It's jolly steep down there." Then he turned to his companion. "He can read a map as well as I can myself. Only nine years old."

  "I'll go after him," said Babcock. "See he doesn't get into trouble. You wait here for Lady Althea."

  "You needn't worry, padre," replied the Colonel. "The boy knows what he's doing."

  Babcock pretended not to hear. It was an excuse to be alone, if only for a few minutes, otherwise the scene beneath him would never make the deep impression he desired, so that he could describe it later to all the lads, when he returned to Huddersfield.

  Colonel Mason remained motionless beside the wall. The slow, careful footsteps of his wife and Miss Dean descending the path behind him were only a short distance away, and Althea's voice carried on the still cold air.

  "If we don't see them we'll turn back," she was saying, "but I know what Phil can be like when he's in charge of an expedition. He always thinks he knows the way, and only too often he doesn't at all."

  "I can hardly credit that," said Miss Dean, "as a military man."

  Lady Althea laughed. "Dear Phil," she said. "He likes everyone to think he might have become a general. But the truth is, Miss Dean, he would never have made the grade. I had it on the highest authority from one of his brother officers. Oh, they were all fond of him, but the dear old boy would never have gone any further, not in the army as it is today. That's why we all persuaded him to retire when he did. I sometimes wish he would be just a little more active where local affairs are concerned, but there it is, I have to act for us both. And he has done wonders in the garden."

  "That lovely herbaceous border!" said Miss Dean.

  "Yes, and the rock plants too. They make quite a show the whole year through."

  The slow footsteps passed without stopping, neither woman looking to right or left, so intent were they upon the rough path under their feet. For one moment their two figures were sharply outlined against the trees beyond, then they turned the corner as Robin had done, and Babcock, and disappeared.

  Colonel Mason let them go without calling them back. Then he turned up the collar of his coat, for it seemed suddenly colder, and began to retrace his steps slowly towards the hotel above. He had nearly made the ascent when he bumped into two other members of the party coming down.

  "Hullo," said Jim Foster, "you crying off already? I thought you'd be in Jerusalem by now!"

  "Turned very cold," said the Colonel shortly. "Not much sense in stumping on down to the bottom. You'll find the others scattered about the hillside."

  He climbed on past them towards the hotel with a hasty goodnight.

  "Now, if he runs into my wife up there and tells her you and I are together we shall be in trouble," said Jim Foster. "Willing to risk it?"

  "Risk what?" asked Jill Smith. "We're not doing anything."


  "Now that, my girl, is what I call a direct invitation. Never mind, Kate can console your husband in the bar. Watch your step, this path is steep. The slippery slope to ruin for the pair of us. Don't leave go of my arm."

  Jill threw off her headscarf and drew a deep breath, clinging tightly to her companion.

  "Look at all the city lights," she said. "I bet there's plenty going on up there. Makes me feel envious. We seem to be stuck at the back of beyond up here."

  "Don't worry. You'll see it all tomorrow, led by His Reverence. But I doubt if he'll take you into a discotheque, if that's what you're after."

  "Well, naturally we must see the historical part first--that's why we're here, isn't it? But I want to go to the shopping center too."

  "Souks, my girl, souks. Lot of little trinket-booths in back alleys with dark-eyed young salesmen trying to pinch your bottom."

  "Oh, you think I'd let them, do you?"

  "I don't know. But I wouldn't blame them for trying."

  He glanced back over his shoulder. No sign of Kate. Perhaps she had decided against joining the expedition after all. The last he had seen of her was the back of her figure making for the lift en route for their room. As for Bob Smith, if he couldn't keep an eye on his bride that was his lookout. The clump of trees on the other side of the wall further down the path looked enticing. Just the right spot for a little harmless fun.

  "What do you make of marriage, Jill?" he asked.

  "It's too early to say," she answered, instantly on the defensive.

  "Of course it is. Silly question. But most honeymoons are a flop. I know mine was. It took Kate and me months to get adjusted. That Bob of yours is a great fellow, but he's still very young. All bridegrooms suffer from nerves, you know, even in these enlightened days. Think they know it all, but they damn well don't, and the poor girls suffer for it in consequence." She did not answer, and he steered her towards the trees. "It's not until a man has been married for some time that he knows how to make his wife respond. It's technique, like everything else in life--not a question of letting nature take its course. And all women vary. Their moods, their likes and dislikes. Am I shocking you?"

  "Oh no," she said, "not at all."

  "Good. I wouldn't want to shock you. You're far too sweet and precious for that. I don't see any sign of the others, do you?"

  "No."

  "Let's go and lean against the wall down there, and look at the city lights. Wonderful spot. Wonderful evening. Does Bob ever tell you how lovely you are? Because it's true, you know..."

  Kate Foster, who had been upstairs to take her hormone pills, came down to the lounge to look for her husband. When she couldn't find him she went into the bar, and saw Bob Smith all alone, drinking a double whiskey.

  "Where is everybody?" she asked. "Our lot, I mean," for the room was still crowded.

  "Gone out, I think," he answered.

  "What about your wife?"

  "Oh yes, she went. She followed Lady Althea and Miss Dean. Your husband was with her."

  "I see."

  She did see, too. Only too well. Jim had deliberately given her the slip when she went upstairs.

  "Well, it won't do you any good sitting there drinking that poison," she said. "I suggest you get your coat and come with me and join the rest of the party. No sense in mooning here on your own."

  Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was wet and ineffectual to sit drinking all alone when by rights Jill should have been with him. But the way she had smiled at Foster was more than he could stand, and he had thought, by staying here, that it would be a sort of lesson to her. In fact, he had only been punishing himself. Jill probably couldn't care less.

  "All right," he said, sliding off the stool, "we'll go after them. They can't have gone far."

  They set off together down the path that led to the valley, a strangely ill-assorted couple, Bob Smith long and lanky, a mop of dark hair nearly touching his shoulders, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his coat, and Kate Foster in her mink jacket, gold earrings dangling beneath blue-rinsed hair.

  "If you ask me," she said, as she stumped down the path in her unsuitable shoes, "this whole outing to Jerusalem has been a mistake. Nobody is really interested in the place. Except perhaps Miss Dean. But you know what Lady Althea is, she had everything arranged with the vicar, and has to play lady of the manor whether she's in England, on board ship or in the Middle East. As for Babcock, he's worse than useless. We'd have been better without him. And as for you two... Well, it's hardly the best start for married life to let your wife do just as she pleases all the time. You want to show a little authority."

  "Jill's very young," he said, "barely twenty."

  "Oh, youth... Don't talk to me about youth. You all have it too good these days. In our country, anyway. Very different for some of the youngsters in this part of the world--I'm thinking of the Arab countries in particular--where husbands keep a tight watch on their brides to make sure they don't get into trouble."

  I don't know why I'm saying all this, she thought, it won't sink in. They none of them think of anyone but themselves. If only I didn't feel things so acutely, it does no good, I make myself ill with worry about everything--the state of the world, the future, Jim... Where on earth has he got to with that girl? My heart keeps missing a beat. I wonder if those pills suit me...?

  "Don't walk so fast," she said. "I can't keep up with you."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Foster. I thought I saw two figures in the distance over by those trees."

  And if it is them, he wondered, what of it? I mean, what can I do? I can't make a scene just because Jill chose to wander out of the hotel with another member of the party. I shall have to hang about and say nothing, and then wait until we're back at the hotel and give her hell. If only this bloody woman would stop talking for one moment...

  The two figures turned out to be Lady Althea and Miss Dean.

  "Have you seen Jim?" Kate Foster called.

  "No," replied Lady Althea. "I was just wondering what's happened to Phil. I wish our menfolk wouldn't tear off in this way. It's so inconsiderate. I do think Babcock at least should have waited for us."

  "So different from dear Father," murmured Miss Dean. "He would have had it all so well organized, and known just what to show us. As it is, we don't know whether the Garden of Gethsemane is further on along this path or all around us as we stand here."

  The trees beyond the wall were so very dark, and the path seemed to get stonier and stonier. If Father had been with them she could have leaned on his arm. Lady Althea was being very kind, but it wasn't the same.

  "I'll go on," said Bob. "You three stay here."

  He strode ahead of them down the path. If the rest of the party were all together, they couldn't be far away. The Colonel would be in charge, he would keep an eye on Jill.

  There was a break in the trees about a hundred yards ahead, and open ground, with clumps of small olives and rough unbroken soil, nothing looking like a garden, what a bloody silly expedition anyway, and all to do over again tomorrow. Then he saw a figure, only one, though, humped against a piece of rock. It was Babcock. For one embarrassed moment Bob thought he was praying, and then he saw that he was bent over a notebook, scribbling with the aid of a torch. He lifted his head at the sound of Bob's footsteps and waved the torch.

  "Where are the others?" called Bob.

  "The Colonel's up behind you on the road," returned Babcock, "and the boy's down there, where he can get a better view of Gethsemane. But the garden itself is shut. It doesn't really matter, though. You can get the atmosphere from here." He smiled in a rather shamefaced fashion as Bob approached him. "If I don't write down what I see, I shan't remember it. Robin lent me his torch. I want to lecture about this when I get home. Well, not a straight lecture. Just my impressions to the lads."

  "Have you seen Jill?" asked Bob.

  Babcock stared. Jill... Oh yes, his young wife.

  "No," he said. "Isn't she with you?"

 
"You can see she isn't with me," Bob almost shouted in exasperation. "And there are only Mrs. Foster and Lady Althea and Miss Dean up the road."

  "Oh," said Babcock. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. The Colonel is around somewhere. I came on alone with the boy."

  Bob could feel the anger mounting within him. "Look here," he said, "I don't mean to be rude, but just who is in charge of this outfit?"

  The Rev. Babcock flushed. There was no call for Bob Smith to get so excited.

  "There's no question of anybody being in charge," he said. "The Colonel and Robin and I left the hotel on our own. If the rest of you chose to follow on and got lost, I'm afraid it's your own affair."

  He was used to rough talk from the lads, but this was different. Anyone would think he was a paid courier.

  "I'm sorry," said Bob. "The fact is..." The fact was he had never felt more helpless, more alone. Weren't parsons supposed to help one in trouble? "The fact is, I'm worried stiff. Everything's gone wrong. I had one hell of a row with Jill before dinner, and I can't think straight."

  Babcock put down his notebook and extinguished his torch. No more impressions of Gethsemane tonight. Well, it couldn't be helped.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, "but it happens all the time, you know. Young married couples have arguments, and they feel it's the end of the world. You'll both look at it differently in the morning."

  "No," said Bob, "that's just it. I don't think we shall. I keep wondering if we haven't made a terrible mistake in getting married."

  His companion was silent. The poor chap was overtired, probably. He had let things get on top of him. It was difficult to give advice when one didn't know either of them. If things hadn't been going too well, the vicar of Little Bletford should have spotted it and had a word with them both. He probably would have, if he had been here, and not on the boat in Haifa.

  "Well," he said, "marriage is give and take, you know. It's not just... how shall I put it? It's not just a physical relationship."

  "It's the physical side of it that's gone wrong," said Bob Smith.

  "I see."

  Babcock wondered if he should advise the lad to see a doctor when he got home. There was nothing much that could be done about it here tonight.

  "Look," he said, "don't worry too much. Take it easy. Be as gentle as you can with your wife, and perhaps..."