It was late before I recognised where all this was leading me; but when at last I awakened, it drove me with ten-fold force. I wanted no dim future through which I might rove as a shadow among shadows; they had served their turn in the scheme of things and brought me face to face with reality. If Paradise lay before me Eve must be there, else it would be a mockery: if I had to face failure, I needed a comforter. I wanted Elsa.
I mistrust all novelists’ descriptions of the psychology of a man in love. To me, that passion seems an integration of selfishness and selflessness each developed to its highest pitch and so intimately mingled that one cannot tell where the dividing line between them lies. Luckily, analysis of this kind is beyond the scope of my narrative. The affairs of Elsa Huntingtower and me, so far as they concerned ourselves alone, have no place upon my canvas; but since in their reactions they impinged upon a greater engine, I cannot pass them over in silence without omitting a factor which must have had its influence upon events.
*****
I suppose, from what I see around me, that the average man falls in love by degrees. He seems to be subjected to two forces which alternately act upon him in opposite directions, so that his advance to his goal is intermittent and sometimes slow. In my case, there was nothing of this wavering. Somehow, as soon as I realised what my feelings were, I could not delay an hour longer than was necessary. The real fact was, I suspect, that I did not suddenly fall in love, though I seemed, even to myself, to have done so. In all probability I had been falling in love for weeks without knowing it; and when the illumination came, the long subconscious travail had prepared me for instant action.
As it happened, it was one of the days on which we usually motored into the country. At two o’clock I was in the Square with the car; and almost at once the door opened and Elsa appeared. My dreams had far outrun reality; and as the slim, fur-clad figure came down the steps I felt my pulse leap. It lasted only for a moment, but I think she read my face like an open book. Behind her came Nordenholt, looking very tired. I could not help seeing the change which the last months had made in him. The deep lines on his face were deeper still; his eyes seemed to be different in some way, though as piercing as ever; and his step had lost the lightness it had when I saw him first in London. He looked me over, as he usually did, but said nothing as he stepped into the back of the car. Elsa took her customary place beside me; and it gave me a novel thrill as I arranged the rug about her. It seemed as though something had fallen from my eyes, so that I saw her in a new and wonderful aspect.
As we drove westward and over the Canal, I noticed that she seemed disinclined to talk; and as I myself was busy with my dreams, I did not try to force the conversation. We had passed Bearsden and were in the open country before she had spoken three sentences; and even these were wilfully commonplace. Reflecting on this, and being myself surcharged with emotion, I was vain enough to guess that she was thinking of me and of what I had to tell her; for I had a curious feeling that she must know what was in my mind. So the milestones swept by, and still the three of us remained silent.
It was a dreary landscape through which we drove; but all landscapes in those days were bleak and sinister. In the little wood beyond Bearsden, the trees were uprooted and slanting here and there, owing to the new soil giving them no support. Some, which had threatened to fall across the road, had been cut down. Further on, the Kilpatrick Hills loomed over us, dark from the lack of vegetation; while across the Blane valley, once so green, the smooth folds of the Campsies lay black under the wintry sky. Only here and there, where snow covered the ground, did things remind one of the old days.
Past the Half Way House, along Stockiemuir with its blasted heather under its snow, up the hill at the foot of Finnick Glen the great car ran; and yet none of us spoke a word. Once, after that, Nordenholt gave me a direction; and we turned off toward Loch Lomond.
When we reached the lochside, beyond Balloch, he made me stop the car.
“I’m going to get out here and walk up towards Luss,” he said. “You take the car on to the head of the loch and pick me up on the way back. Don’t hurry. I want some exercise.”
The door slammed; and we moved off. I looked back and saw him standing by the water-side; and it struck me that his attitude was that of an old man. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his motor-coat; and his position seemed to exaggerate the stoop of his shoulders. He looked so very, very tired. I realised, all at once, that he was ageing long before his time, worn out by his colossal task. An emotion which was as much dismay as pity swept over me in an instant. Then, as I watched, he pulled himself up and stood erect again, gazing over the water to the desolate islets. The car swung round a corner; and when I looked back once more, he was out of sight.
But that picture haunted me as I drove up the loch. I guessed at last what this struggle was costing him. Somehow I had never realised it before. I had come to regard Nordenholt as almost akin to the natural forces, the embodiment of some great store of energy which worked upon human destiny calmly and ever certainly. I had looked up to his strength and leaned upon it unconsciously, knowing only that it was there. And now, in that brief vision, I had seen that my support was itself weakening, even though for an instant. There had been a recovery, the old dominating attitude reappeared as he pulled himself together again. But before this I had never seen effort in that attitude; and I saw it now. Even in my exalted condition, the sight of that weary figure struck down into my memory.
Elsa had not looked back. She sat beside me, her clean-cut profile emerging from her dark furs, gazing straight before her at the road ahead. We ran through Luss without a word to each other. My heart was throbbing with excitement; and yet I hesitated to break the silence. Some miles further up the road, before we reached Tarbet, she asked me to stop the car and suggested that we should go down to the water’s edge.
It was there that I at last found speech and, having found it, poured out what I had to say in a torrent of words none of which I can remember now. I had rehearsed that scene many a time in my mind, and yet it all came unexpectedly. I had never anticipated this opportunity. I had thought that some time, when we talked of the future we were planning, I would tell her what I needed to make it complete. And I had thought of how she would take my pleading: I had forecast how she would look and what she would reply. But in none of my visions had I foreseen the reality.
She listened to me coldly, almost as if her mind were occupied with other things. I grew more passionate, I think, striving to make her understand my emotion; and yet she seemed almost indifferent to what I said. At last I stopped, chilled by this aloofness which I did not understand. In my wildest imaginings I had never thought of this denouement of the situation. I think I must have grown cold myself: for though I can recall nothing of my previous words, the rest of the scene is graven on my mind. For some moments after I had ceased, she remained silent; then at length she spoke, with an accent in her voice which I had never heard before. I remember that she had taken off one glove and stood twisting it in her hands while she talked.
“I got you to stop the car here because I have something to ask you, something of tremendous importance to me. Forgive me if I put it first and don’t answer you immediately. I’m . . . I’m very grateful for all you have said. But this thing comes before everything; and you must let me ask you about it before we come to . . . our own affairs.”
A pang of apprehension shot through me. What could she be driving at which was of greater importance than our futures?
“As I was going over my papers to-day,” she went on, “I came across one which seemed to have been missorted. It didn’t belong to my section. I glanced at it casually; and then I read it. Have you any idea what it referred to?”
“No.”
“It said things I could hardly grasp. Even now I think it must be a mistake. I can’t believe it was a real document. It must have been a hoax or something like that. And yet, it had the usual serial numbers on it: B.53.X.15.�
��
My throat was dry, but I managed to pull myself together and make a sound like “Well?” She came close to me and looked me straight in the eyes—so like Nordenholt’s gaze in some ways—and I tried to bring my features into a mask.
“Is it true that everyone outside the Area has been left to die? Is it true that there has been a deliberate plot to starve all the men, all the women, even the little children in the country? Tell me that, and tell me at once. Don’t wait to wrap it up in fine phrases. Tell me the truth now.”
I stood before her, silent.
“So it is true; and you knew it! You acquiesced in it. You even helped in it; I can see it in your face. You cur!”
Still I could not find my voice. This was a different scene from that I had thought of only ten short minutes before. It was not that I felt anything myself, except a sort of dull comprehension that my dreams were shattered; but the sight of the pain in her face moved me more than I could express in words. I wanted to help her. I wanted to justify the plan Nordenholt had made. And yet something kept me tongue-tied. I could find no phrase to open my explanations. The outpourings of speech which I had found so easy only a few seconds earlier now seemed dried up. I merely watched her, saying nothing. For a time she struggled with herself, trying to master her feelings. All this time her face had been set; not a tear had come to her eyelashes.
“I have a right to know who planned this,” she continued, after a pause. “Do you know what I thought at first? I suspected Uncle Stanley. I even suspected him. But I don’t, now. I know him too well. I didn’t even question him about it. I didn’t want to worry him until I had found out whether it was true or not. But it is true. Who planned it? Answer me!”
There was no concealment possible. Once she had the clue, she would discover everything almost immediately. Not even delay was to be gained by a lie. And with her clear eyes upon me, I could not have lied had I wished to do so. She might never be mine; but I was hers to do as she wished. For a moment I hesitated, turning over in my mind the idea of referring her to Nordenholt himself; but I abandoned that almost instantaneously. The shock would be greater if it came from him; better let me bear the brunt.
“Your uncle planned it. I helped him.”
“Uncle Stanley! You don’t expect me to believe that? It shows how little you know of us both if you think . . .”
Her voice became tinged with doubt, and tears, too, came into it. The evidence was too clear. Only Nordenholt could have carried out such a gigantic scheme. And possibly she read the truth in my face as well. For a moment she seemed frozen, a rigid and silent statue. All the flush had left her cheeks and above the softness of her furs her features seemed as though carved in marble. When she spoke again, she seemed to be trying to convince herself.
“Did Uncle Stanley suggest it? I can’t believe it. It’s impossible. He couldn’t do a thing like that. You don’t know him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. I know he couldn’t.”
Even in that moment of tension, I could not help reflecting how little a woman can know of a man’s mind. Half our mental processes are shut off from them, as probably half of theirs are closed books to us. The great barrier of sex divides us; and our outlook upon the world can never be the same. This girl had been in close communion with Nordenholt through most of her life; and yet she failed to recognise at once as his handiwork the greatest achievement to which he had put his powers.
She wavered on her feet. I stepped forward to catch her but she struck aside my hand. Then she seated herself on the bank. I looked away; and when I saw her again she was sitting, her face buried in her hands, while her fragile figure shook with suppressed sobbing. “Elsa,” I said, “you don’t understand. It’s come upon you suddenly; and you’ve been swept off your feet by it. But it was all for the best. It had to be done.”
She looked up. On her face, still wet with tears, I saw only contempt and bitterness.
“It had to be done?” she echoed. “Do you mean that forty millions of people had to be robbed of their food and left to starve? Can’t you see what it means, or are you made of stone? Think of men seeing their mothers dying; think of lovers watching their sweethearts starve; and the children in their mothers’ arms. And you, you say calmly that ‘It had to be done.’ You aren’t a machine. You had the right to choose. And you chose that!”
“You don’t understand,” I repeated wearily. Somehow the strain of the situation seemed to have robbed me of my forces.
“No, I don’t understand. How can I, when it means that the men I thought most of in the world turn out to be nothing but murderers on a gigantic scale? I can’t believe it, even yet. Is it . . . . is it all a mistake? Oh! I want to wake up out of this nightmare; I want to wake up. Tell me it’s a nightmare and not real.”
Her voice sounded almost like that of a terrified child in the dark.
“It’s no nightmare,” I said. “Try to see what it meant. There wasn’t enough food for us all. Somebody had to die if the rest were to be saved.”
“And so you elected to be one of the rest? I congratulate you. A most laudable decision, I am sure,” she said contemptuously. “It would indeed have been a pity if you had gone short of food in order to save the lives of a mere score of children; tiny, helpless little things that can’t do more than cry as they starve.”
“You don’t understand,” I repeated. “There was no chance of saving them in any case. They were doomed from the start. All we did was to ensure that somebody would survive. If the food had been evenly distributed, we should all have died; but your uncle laid his plans to save millions of people. Surely you can see that?”
She thought for a moment; and then attacked in a fresh direction.
“Who gave you the right to choose among them? You seem to think you are a demi-god with the power of life and death in your hands. How could you take the responsibility of the choice? And how could you bear to save yourself when you knew other men, and perhaps better men, had to die? I can’t understand you. You’re so different from what I thought you were. Somehow all my ideals seem to be breaking. You and Uncle Stanley were the two finest men I had met. I never dreamed for a moment that you would turn out to have feet of clay. And now . . .”
I tried hard to put our case before her. I explained the state of things at the outbreak of the Famine. I gave her figures to prove that Nordenholt had only worked to save what he could from the disaster. It was all of no avail. I think that the picture of the starving children filled her mind to the exclusion of almost everything else; and that she hardly listened to what I said. Once she whispered to herself, “Poor little mites,” just when I thought I had caught her attention at last. I gave it up in the end. She looked away across the loch, where the first stars were lighting up behind the hills; and we stood in silence, so close in space, so remote from each other in our thoughts. At last she spoke again.
“Still I don’t understand it all. I see your view; but I can’t share it. It seems so cold-blooded, so horrible. But I can’t understand you, just when I thought I knew you through and through. Tell me, how could you talk of Fata Morgana and all our dreams when you knew that this terrible thing was happening? That’s what I don’t grasp.”
“I can’t explain it to you. Probably I keep my mind in compartments. But never mind about me, Elsa; I’m done for now. I don’t matter. But you mustn’t condemn your uncle along with me. He never led you on to dream dreams, so you haven’t that against him. I want you to believe me that he has been a saviour and not a destroyer, as you seem to think. Don’t lose your faith in him until you understand. Don’t prejudge things till you know everything. Speak to him yourself before you come to a conclusion. He depends on you, more than you think, perhaps. And he’s worked himself to the bone to save those few millions that are left to us. Don’t judge him till you know everything.”
She looked at me more kindly than she had done since the beginning.
“That’s just what I should have expected from what I knew of
you, Mr. Flint. You think of him first and don’t bother about yourself. You aren’t selfish. I can’t understand you, somehow. You seem such a mixture; and until to-day I had no idea you were a mixture at all. It’s all so difficult.”
She ended with a choke in her voice and turned towards the car. I followed her and switched on the headlights, ready to start. She climbed into her seat; and I put the rug around her knees. Just as I was on the point of starting, she spoke again.
“You’ve told me all I need to know; but I must hear it from Uncle Stanley himself. I’ll go on being his secretary. I’ll do all I can to help. But I hate you both. Yes, if this is true, I hate him too. What else do you expect? You look on yourselves as saviours, it seems. You may be that, but you certainly are murderers. You can’t even see why I abhor you both. That shows you the gulf between us. Oh, I hate you, I hate you, with this cold calculation of yours: so much food, so many lives. Is that the way to handle human destinies? Drive on.”
A little further down the road, she spoke again in a quivering voice which she strove to keep level and cold:
“This ends our work together. I couldn’t bear it in your case. With Uncle Stanley it’s different. I will go back to my old place with him. But I never want to see you again, Mr. Flint. I’ve lost two illusions to-day; and I don’t wish to be reminded of them more than I need be. I promised him that I would always help him; and I’m going to keep my promise, cost what it may. But I never promised you anything.”
For a few minutes I drove on in silence. The whole world seemed to have fallen around me. All that I had longed for, all my future, seemed to have collapsed in that short afternoon. I was not angry; I don’t think I was even completely conscious of what it all meant. I felt stunned by an unexpected blow. At last I roused myself.
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