Isabella: A sort of romance

by R. A. Bentley

  "Mummy," she says crossly. "I know you're there, so it's no use pretending you're not. Why won't you talk to me? You watch everything I do and hear everything I say but you won't talk, it's not fair. I'm jolly well going to ring Simon . . . I said I'm going to ring Simon. Oh, go to hell then!"

  To get a bit of privacy she is using the public phone-box in Tenstones village. The whole of her future happiness may depend on this fraught call and she doesn't want anyone interrupting or earwigging. Anyone else earwigging, that is. Her mother she can do nothing about. Nervously clutching the receiver in both hands she leans her forehead against the glass.

  "I'm really, really sorry," she says contritely. "Truly I am. You do still love me, don't you? . . . Even though I crashed Terry's van? . . .Yes, of course I love you too. I don't want us to be apart. It's no fun for me either, you know . . . He said what? . . . You're joking! . . . Oh he's not! . . . But surely after all this time? . . . Well I think that's rather petty, actually . . . Well I do. Anyway, never mind that . . . No, well I'm not, I'm afraid. I think that's really petty. Simon, listen, I'm running out of change. I want to ask you something — something really, really important. What? . . . Oh, all right."

  Bella waits impatiently for him to call back. He seems to be taking an awfully long time. It's hot in here and smells of pee. Why on earth with the whole heath to pee on do they have to do it in a telephone box? Also, with her newly acquired adept's sensitivity, she is aware of being watched. It's Ada Dunnock, peering inquisitively out of the post office window. She can't make out her face but she can see the flicker of her yellow old aura. Really old people's auras are nearly always faded and yellow. When they start to flicker, it means they're going to die. Hers is flickering like mad. Bella scowls and turns her back on her. Stupid old bat.

  "Hello? Simon, what kept you? . . . I know you're at work but this is important. Listen, I want you to come down here, I need you . . . Yes I know and that'll be lovely, but what I mean is I want you to come permanently. We could get a flat together and . . . I know that, Simon, but I miss you so . . . No, I can't come back to London. I've got this job now and I have to do it and everything is going wrong already and I need you. I know you don't understand but . . . No, listen . . . No, listen . . . Simon, listen to me! I've been thinking. You're always saying you'd like to start your own business, so why don't you do it here? . . . Yes! . . .Why not? . . . Simon, this is Bradport we're talking about, not Timbuktu. We do have mains electricity you know, and the rule of law. Camels are rare . . . No, there's Pinebourne as well and Wimbleford and all the other places and lots of rich people and you'd . . . No, they're not all in bath chairs. It's not like that any more. It's a happening place. And you'd be the first in the market so you'd clean up . . . From your house of course; you could get it from your house. You could sell your house and use the money and then when you'd got going we'd be able to buy another and they're lots cheaper here so we could get something really nice and we'd have the countryside and the sea and we could go to the beach every day if you wanted and walking over the Bitterns and there are some brilliant nightclubs in Pinebourne. We could have a lovely time and . . . No, I don't. I don't know why I said that really. Forget the nightclubs. Oh please Simon. Please say you will. It would be lovely and I'd get a job too, which would help . . . Yes I have got it all worked out, I've given it a great deal of thought. Please say yes. Say yes for Bella . . . Oh pleeeese, Simon . . . Simon, you'll make me cry. You don't want to make me to cry, do you? . . . Well what exactly is there to think about? It seems obvious to me . . . No, you don't. I don't think you love me at all, actually. If you really loved me, you'd just do it, you wouldn't have to think about it . . .Well it doesn't sound like it . . . Look, I don't care about that . . . Well I'm sorry, but you obviously can't do. You're making me upset, Simon, and my mother's just died and everything . . . No! . . . No, I don't . . .Well if that's the way you feel I don't want to talk to you and I don't want to see you and I don't want you to come down this weekend and I hate you! Goodbye!"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Anither here?" suggests McNab. "Yon pine maks a guid airt o reference."

  "Good thinking," says Bella.

  McNab plods confidently along the heathland track, skilfully, almost casually, notes the swing of the rods and immediately sets off to pace out the distance to the base of the pine tree. "Fifteen paces, call that thairty-five yairds." He glances at his compass. "Thairty-echt degrees, naur aboots."

  "Check," says Bella and marks it on her tattered Ordnance Survey map. "That's ten lines now. Shall we call it a day?"

  "Och ay," nods McNab, mentally counting. "That shoud dae weel eneuch."

  "So if they all point directly at the Stones you'll believe me?"

  "Ay, ah micht," says McNab, noncommittally.

  Bella shakes her head and smiles indulgently. "Come on, Doubting Thomas, we'll see how you've done. Then we'll have something to eat. I'm starving."

  They sit side by side on the altar stone, tucking into Veronica's packed lunch.

  "So there you are," says Bella through a mouthful of cheese-and-pickle sandwich. "I knew you'd be convinced."

  McNab, poring over the map, takes a swig of lemonade before replying. "Ah ne'er wad hae believed it. Aa these meesterious lines o force, streamin across the face o the yird for hunders, mebbe thoosands o miles an' naebody kens aboot it."

  "Oh, plenty of people know about it," says Bella, "I've told them and told them, but they just won't listen. I can see now why Mummy never bothered."

  "Och, but that's coz they cannae dowse," enthuses McNab. He leaps up and taking out his now precious rods paces excitedly about, watching them rapidly open and close as they cross the close-packed lines. "But sae soon as ye come in o the circle, there's naethin! Or they canna be meisured onyweys. An' here's anither thing: have ye noticed the angle o dip? The rods dip as ye come naur the stanes ontil they'd gang straucht up an doun if they coud. Dae the lines gang doun an aa d'ye think? Doun intae the yird?"

  Bella nods. "Yes I think they do. I think perhaps they go right down through the earth and come out in Australia or somewhere. Perhaps there's even another stone circle down there, in the outback perhaps, that no-one has found yet. After all, the aborigines have song-lines, don't they? They could really be our lines. I bet if they traced their song-lines back they'd find a stone circle just like this one."

  "A torus!" cries McNab, excitedly. "It'll be a torus."

  "A torus?"

  "Ay! The lines o force gang doun throu the yird – like ye say, Bella – an oot the tither side. Then they gang richt roond the globe an' back tae here agin. If ye were tae draw them, ye'd git a shape called a torus. It's like a sort o doughnut; though wi' raither a smaa hole admeettedly."

  "That's the best sort," says Bella. "Do you want this last sandwich?"

  McNab shakes his head, for once too excited to eat. "It's a mazin subject for resairch," he exclaims, "semply mazin! Ah hairdly ken whaur tae stairt. Whit mainer o thing are they? If they're pairt o the electromagnetic spectrum, it shoud be possible tae detect them wi instruments. But whit the de'il can pass throu an enteer planet like it wisnae there? Neutrinos! Mebbe they're neutrinos. Hou d'ye detect neutrinos? Damn! Ah cannae remember."

  Bella smiles indulgently. "I suppose that's the inevitable reaction, given your background, but to me the mechanism, though interesting, is irrelevant. What matters is their meaning: why the Stones are here and what they're for."

  "Ay, an' that's anither thing! Whit are they for? Have ye any idea?"

  Bella gazes thoughtfully at the eager little man. "I could tell you some things, but you would have to promise me faithfully to keep them to yourself. In the wrong hands such information could be deadly."

  McNab nods. "Och ay, o coorse Bella."

  "It has to be a proper oath, I'm afraid. I want you to repeat after me: I do solemnly swear . . . "

  "Ah dae solemnly sweir . . . "

  "Never to reveal the Secret of the Stones
."

  "Ne'er tae lat ken the Saicret o the Stanes."

  "Or if I do, I shall fall down dead and the crows will come and peck out my eyes and entrails."

  "Och, dae ah hae tae say that?"

  "Yes. Go on."

  "Or ah'll faw doun deid an' the crows'll peck oot ma een an' entrails," mumbles McNab, looking embarrassed.

  "Okay, that'll do," says Bella, getting to her feet. "To be honest, it'll be a relief to tell someone. Keeping it all to myself has been driving me mad. Now let me see, how should I begin? I expect you probably think the Stones are just laid out in an elongated circle with the altar stone inside. Yes?"

  McNab scratches his beard and smiles knowingly. "An' nae dout ye're gonnae tell me they're a celestial observatory, orientated taewart sunrise at the simmer solstice."

  "No, I wasn't going to say that, actually. It was the first thing I thought of and it doesn't work."

  "Are ye shuir? Did ye mind the precession o the equinoxes?"

  "Er, yes, of course. Anyway, it definitely doesn't work; trust me. You're right about one thing though, they're not randomly placed. The whole thing has been most carefully designed, not to worship the sun, or any other heavenly body, but to represent the Otz Chiim, the Tree of Life. Have you heard of the Kabbala?"

  "Hmm, soonds fameeliar, but ah dinna ken ocht aboot it."

  "Prepare to learn then," says Bella. Leaping up she begins to stride pensively back and forth among the Stones, wondering how to encapsulate a subject that contains the whole world within it. "All right, the Kabbala. I suppose you could say it's a system of esoteric knowledge, very ancient knowledge; some say as old as time. Central to its study is The Tree of Life, the most powerful of all mystic figures. It represents the unity of creation and the path by which the divine becomes manifest. Each Stone represents one of the ten sefirot . . . "

  "Ten whit?"

  "Sefirot, it means spheres. And each has its own secret name and character. This one here," she leaps up and bounds to the far end of the circle, "is Kether, the Crown; this one is Chokmah, which is Wisdom; this large one is Chesed, which is Mercy; this is Netsach, which is Victory, or as some say, Constancy. This is Malkuth, The Kingdom, or Divine Immanence; this is Hod, which is Glory, or Majesty, and this is Geburah, also know as Din which is Power, Judgement or Fear. And the altar stone itself is Yesod, which means Foundation, also known as Tsedek, which is Justice. The ten sefirot are joined by twenty-two paths and each of the sefira is itself a path, making thirty-two in all. Each can be viewed as acting through four different levels or worlds: Atziluth, Brial, Yetsirah and . . ."

  "Whoa! Stap! Haud on there!" cries McNab. "Ah cannae keep up wi aa that stuff; it's makkin ma heid spin. Whit dis it mean? Jist tell me whit it means."

  "I was coming to that," says Bella, rather annoyed at being interrupted. "It's a symbol, if you like, the greatest symbol of them all. Here before you is the whole of creation, both manifest and un-manifest; heaven, hell, the human mind, the lot — perfectly symbolised in stone. Isn't that fantastic?"

  McNab puffs out his cheeks and releases air thoughtfully. Wandering across to the tallest Stone he puts a hand to it and looks back at her. "Chokmah?"

  "No, that's Chesed. Chokmah is the one next to it."

  "Hou d'ye ken?"

  "How do I know it's Chesed?"

  "How d'ye ken ony o it? Did ye read it somewhaurs?"

  "It was revealed to me," says Bella, with dignity.

  "Revealed?"

  "By some higher power."

  "Humph!" snorts McNab.

  "What I mean is," says Bella hastily, "I was guided, in my quest for enlightenment. To Lizzie Tarot, actually. I think that's why I had the accident. Nothing happens by chance, even accidents. I was obviously meant to find her, and I did.

  "Lizzie telt ye this stuff? Ah michta guessed."

  "No, no, only about the Tarot, and how it all came from the Kabbala. Something about the name fascinated me, so I read it up. Then I realised that the layout of the Stones exactly fitted the Tree of Life. It was terribly exciting, a real eureka moment."

  "Sae are ye sayin they wis shapit this wey?" says McNab, frowning. "Consciously set oot?"

  "Oh yes, certainly, to the inch. They're unbelievably accurate. I don't know by whom, except they were here even before my earliest ancestors arrived, and I certainly don't know why, but I do know they have immense power. A thing and its symbol are linked, you see. On a higher plane of being, they are one and the same. Alter the symbol in some way and you alter the thing. The Otz Chiim is a symbol for the whole world, the whole of creation, so if you know the correct rites and incantations you can do anything with it you want. But of course it's terribly dangerous; it would probably have been better if it had never been built, but now it has been, you disturb it at your peril. Only an adept like me can safely use it and even I don't know very much. My ancient memories really only run to wart cures and murrains on our enemies' cattle and stuff like that. I'm afraid they weren't very ambitious in those days. It was a bit like using a car to keep chickens in."

  McNab's expression has become more and more incredulous. "Ach na!" he cries, vehemently shaking his head. "Rites! Catrips! Symbols! Ancient memories! Ah telt ye afore, ah cannae be daein wi that stuff. Ye're talkin tae a scientist for Guid's sake, a raitional man. Ah thocht ye wis gonnae tell me ye'd discovered somethin real, no a load o . . . mumbo jumbo!"

  "It's not mumbo-jumbo," snaps Bella hotly. "It is real. Anyway, you agreed. Not half an hour ago, you agreed the lines were real."

  "Och ay, the lines – sae real as our perceptions onyweys – but aa this . . . It's jist primitive supersteetion! Ye suirly canna believe it, an eddicatit body like yersel."

  "You can't say that!" cries Bella. "You can't write off the better part of human learning like that. People have worked on this for millennia; they've spent their lives studying it. You don't know the first thing about it!"

  "Ah dinna need tae," growls McNab. "They wis wastin their time. Whaur did it get 'em, tell me that? Only science gets ye onywhaur. Onythin else is jist playin aboot wi wirds."

  They fall into silence, sullenly aware of the yawning philosophical divide between them.

  "Onyweys, it's likely jist coincidence," grumbles McNab at last. "This Tree o Life thing, hou d'ye ken it isna jist a coincidence?"

  "Because I can prove it," says Bella.

  "Scientifically? Ah dout it."

  "Goodness, I don't know about that. I just know I can. How do you prove something scientifically?"

  "Ah weel, ye hae tae formulate an hypothesis, ye ken, an then ye hae tae try an' disprove it."

  "Disprove it?"

  "Ay, that's hou it wirks. A guid hypothesis makes testable predictions, somethin ye can prove wrang by expeeriment. If ye cannae catch it oot it gradually becomes a theory."

  "And does that mean it's proved?"

  "Ach na, it's ne'er pruiven. That's whit fowk dinnae unnerstaund. Naethin's iver pruiven in science. E'en quantum meechanics or neo-Darwinism coud be knockit doun theoretically, tho it's no verra likely o coorse."

  "But you just asked me for scientific proof!" protests Bella. "How can I give you scientific proof if you can't prove anything scientifically?"

  McNab looks momentarily confused. "Hmm? Och, ah see whit ye mean. Well ah guess beyond raisonable dout is whit it haes tae be."

  Bella nods thoughtfully. "Fair enough. How about this then? My hypothesis, if that's what you want to call it, is that the Stones are arranged to symbolise the Tree of Life. Right? If that's true, then each of the ten sefira should have a corresponding stone, in exactly the right place. Right? And nine of them do, but rather fortuitously there's one missing. There are only nine Stones. Now the Tree of Life is a geometrical figure. You have to imagine the Stones are joined by various lines, corresponding to the twenty-two paths. In the middle of the circle, where some of those lines intersect, there ought to be another Stone; Tifereth, actually, meaning beauty. My hypothesis predicts th
at it should be there, so if we were to find it, that would prove it, wouldn't it? Or at any rate, turn it into a theory."

  "Mebbe," says McNab, doubtfully. "But it isnae there. It's lost."

  "Ah, that's just where you're wrong!" cries Bella. Looking around to make sure no-one is watching she strides to a spot a few feet from the altar stone, crouches down and tugs with both hands at a clump of rather sickly-looking heather. Surprisingly, it comes out of the ground with little effort, like a plant from a pot, leaving behind a substantial hole. "How about that then?"

  McNab comes and kneels beside her. The hole is about a foot deep and a bit more across and at the bottom is a jagged, greyish circle of what is clearly solid rock. He peers down at it, wide-eyed. "The tenth stane?"

  "The tenth stone," says Bella, triumphantly. "Lost for I don't know how long. Hundreds of years, probably."

  "That's mazin! A buirit stane!"

  "It is, isn't it?"

  "And ye truly didnae ken it wis here afore?"

  "Nope, not until I began my esoteric studies; and as far as I know, neither did anyone else."

  "Have ye tried howkin it up, at aa? We coud staund it back up. That'd be great!"

  Bella carefully replaces the clump of heather, pushing it in all round with her foot. "There's nothing there to stand up I'm afraid, it's just a stump. The above ground part is still missing; broken off, presumably. I've tried dowsing for it, but no luck. Anyway, now will you believe me?"

  "Ah'll hae tae think aboot it," says McNab. "But it wis cliver o ye tae airt it oot."

  *

  "Any chance of pudding at all?" asks Julius. "One course of you simply isn't enough."

  Bella stretches sleepily. "I suppose so, as long as it's nothing too strenuous. And do we have to have that thing watching? I'm sure I saw its eyes move."

  "The Bishop? You wouldn't deny him some vicarious pleasure would you? He doesn't get much, poor thing. You've got a bear of your own, haven't you? Isn't he allowed to watch?"