Читать книгу The Sun Between Their Feet: Collected African Stories Volume Two - Doris Lessing - Страница 11

On the morning of the braavleis, Dad kept saying to Moira, as if he thought it was a joke, ‘Moy, it’s going to rain.’ First she did not hear him, then she turned her head slow and deliberate and looked at him so that he remembered what she said the day before, and he got red in the face and went indoors out of her way. The day before, he said to her, speaking to me, ‘What’s Moy got into her head? Is the braavleis for her engagement or what?’

It was because Moira spent all morning cooking her lemon cake for braavleis, and she went over to Sam the butcher’s to order the best ribs of beef and best rump steak.

All the cold season she was not cooking, she was not helping Mom in the house at all, she was not taking an interest in life, and Dad was saying to Mom: ‘Oh get the girl to town or something, don’t let her moon about here, who does she think she is?’

Mom just said, quiet and calm, the way she was with Dad when they did not agree: ‘Oh let her alone, Dickson.’ When Mom and Dad were agreeing, they called each other Mom and Dad; when they were against each other, it was Marion and Dickson, and that is how it was for the whole of the dry season, and Moira was pale and moony and would not talk to me, and it was no fun for me, I can tell you.

‘What’s this for?’ Dad said once about half-way through the season, when Moira stayed in bed three days and Mom let her. ‘Has he said anything to her or hasn’t he?’

Mom just said: ‘She’s sick, Dickson.’

But I could see what he said had gone into her, because I was in our bedroom when Mom came to Moira.

Mom sat down on the bed, but at the bottom of it, and she was worried. ‘Listen, girl,’ said Mom, ‘I don’t want to interfere, I don’t want to do that, but what did Greg say?’

Moira was not properly in bed, but in her old pink dressing-gown that used to be Mom’s, and she was lying under the quilt. She lay there, not reading anything, watching out of the window over at the big water-tanks across the railway lines. Her face looked bad, and she said: ‘Oh, leave me alone, Mom.’

Mom said: ‘Listen, girlie, just let me say something, you don’t have to follow what I say, do you?’

But Moira said nothing.

‘Sometimes boys say a thing, and they don’t mean it the way we think. They feel they have to say it. It’s not they don’t mean it, but they mean it different.’

‘He didn’t say anything at all,’ said Moira. ‘Why should he?’

‘Why don’t you go into town and stay with Auntie Nora a while? You can come back for the holidays when Greg comes back.’

‘Oh let me alone,’ said Moira, and she began to cry. That was the first time she cried. At least, in front of Mom. I used to hear her cry at night when she thought I was asleep.

Mom’s face was tight and patient, and she put her hand on Moira’s shoulder, and she was worried I could see. I was sitting on my bed pretending to do my stamps, and she looked over at me, and seemed to be thinking hard.

‘He didn’t say anything, Mom,’ I said. ‘But I know what happened.’

Moira jerked her head up and she said: ‘Get that kid away from me.’

They could not get me away from Moira, because there were only two bedrooms, and I always slept with Moira. But she would not speak to me that night at all; and Mom said to me, ‘Little pitchers have big ears.’

It was the last year’s braavleis it happened. Moira was not keen on Greg then, I know for a fact, because she was sweet on Jordan. Greg was mostly at the Cape in college, but he came back for the first time in a year, and I saw him looking at Moira. She was pretty then, because she had finished her matric and spent all her time making herself pretty. She was eighteen, and her hair was wavy, because the rains had started. Greg was on the other side of the bonfire, and he came walking around it through the sparks and the white smoke, and up to Moira. Moira smiled out of politeness, because she wanted Jordan to sit by her, and she was afraid he wouldn’t if he saw her occupied by Greg.

‘Moira Hughes?’ he said. Moira smiled, and he said: ‘I wouldn’t have known you.’

‘Go on,’ I said, ‘you’ve known us always.’

They did not hear me. They were just looking. It was peculiar. I knew it was one of the peculiar moments of life because my skin was tingling all over, and that is how I always know.

Because of how she was looking at him, I looked at him too, but I did not think he was handsome. The holidays before, when I was sweet on Greg Jackson, I naturally thought he was handsome, but now he was just ordinary. He was very thin, always, and his hair was ginger, and his freckles were thick, because naturally the sun is no good for people with white skin and freckles.

But he wasn’t bad, particularly because he was in his sensible mood. Since he went to college he had two moods, one noisy and sarcastic; and then Moira used to say, all lofty and superior: ‘Medical students are always rowdy, it stands to reason because of the hard life they have afterwards.’ His other mood was when he was quiet and grown-up, and some of the gang didn’t like it, because he was better than us, he was the only one of the gang to go to university at the Cape.

After they had finished looking, he just sat down in the grass in the place Moira was keeping for Jordan, and Moira did not once look around for Jordan. They did not say anything else, just went on sitting, and when the big dance began holding hands around the bonfire, they stood at one side watching.

That was all that happened at the braavleis, and that was all the words he said. Next day, Greg went on a shooting trip with his father who was the man at the garage, and they went right up the Zambesi valley, and Greg did not come back to our station that holidays or the holidays after.

I knew Moira was thinking of a letter, because she bought some of Croxley’s best blue at the store, and she always went herself to the post office on mail days. But there was no letter. But after that she said to Jordan, ‘No thanks, I don’t feel like it,’ when he asked her to go into town to the flicks.

She did not take any notice of any of the gang after that, though before she was leader of the gang, even over the boys.

That was when she stopped being pretty again; she looked as she did before she left school and was working hard for her matric. She was too thin, and the curl went out of her hair, and she didn’t bother to curl it either.

All that dry season she did nothing, and hardly spoke, and did not sing; and I knew it was because of that minute when Greg and she looked at each other; that was all; and when I thought of it, I could feel the cold-hot down my back.

Well, on the day before the braavleis, like I said, Moira was on the veranda, and she had on her the dress she wore last year to the braavleis. Greg had come back for the holidays the night before, we knew he had, because his mother said so when Mom met her at the store. But he did not come to our house. I did not like to see Moira’s face, but I had to keep on looking at it, it was so sad, and her eyes were sore. Mom kissed her, putting both her arms around her, but Moira gave a hitch of her shoulders like a horse with a fly bothering it.

Mom sighed, and then I saw Dad looking at her, and the look they gave each other was most peculiar, it made me feel very peculiar again. And then Moira started in on the lemon cake, and went to the butcher’s, and that was when Dad said that about the braavleis being for the engagement. Moira looked at him, with her eyes all black and sad, and said: ‘Why have you got it in for me, Dad, what have I done?’

Dad said: ‘Greg’s not going to marry you. Now he’s got to college, and going to be a doctor, he won’t be after you.’

Moira was smiling, her lips small and angry.

Mom said: ‘Why Dickson, Moira’s got her matric and she’s educated, what’s got into your head?’

Dad said: ‘I’m telling you, that’s all.’

Moira said, very grown-up and quiet: ‘Why are you trying to spoil it for me, Dad? I haven’t said anything about marrying, have I? And what have I done to you, anyway?’

Dad didn’t like that. He went red, and he laughed, but he didn’t like it. And he was quiet for a bit at least.

After lunch, when she’d finished with the cake, she was sitting on the veranda when Jordan went past across to the store, and she called out: ‘Hi, Jordan, come and talk to me.’

Now I know for a fact that Jordan wasn’t sweet on Moira any more, he was sweet on Beth from the store, because I know for a fact he kissed her at the last station dance, I saw him. And he shouted out, ‘Thanks, Moy, but I’m on my way.’

‘Oh, please yourself then,’ said Moira, friendly and nice, but I knew she was cross, because she was set on it.

Anyway, he came in, and I’ve never seen Moira so nice to anyone, not even when she was sweet on him, and certainly never to Greg. Well, and Jordan was embarrassed, because Moira was not pretty that season, and all the station was saying she had gone off. She took Jordan into the kitchen to see the lemon cake and dough all folded ready for the sausage rolls, and she said slow and surprised, ‘But we haven’t got enough bread for the sandwiches, Mom, what are you thinking of?’

Mom said, quick and cross, because she was proud of her kitchen. ‘What do you mean? And no one’s going to eat sandwiches with all that meat you’ve ordered. And it’ll be stale by tomorrow.’

‘I think we need more bread,’ said Moira. And she said to me in the same voice, slow and lazy, ‘Just run over to the Jacksons’ and see if they can let us have some bread.’

At this I didn’t say anything, and Mom did not say anything either, and it was lucky Dad didn’t hear. I looked at Mom, and she made no sign, so I went out across the railway lines to the garage, and at the back of the garage was the Jacksons’ house, and there was Greg Jackson reading a book about the body because he was going to be a doctor.

‘Mom says,’ I said, ‘can you let us have some bread for the braavleis?’

He put down the book, and said, ‘Oh, hullo, Betty.’

‘Hullo,’ I said.

‘But the store will be open tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Isn’t the braavleis tomorrow?’

‘It’s Sunday tomorrow,’ I said.

‘But the store’s open now.’

‘We want some stale bread,’ I said. ‘Moy’s making some stuffing for the chicken, our bread’s all fresh.’

‘Mom’s at the store,’ he said, ‘but help yourself.’

So I went into the pantry and got half a stale loaf, and came out and said ‘Thanks,’ and walked past him.

He said, ‘Don’t mench.’ Then, when I was nearly gone, he said, ‘And how’s Moy?’ And I said, ‘Fine, thanks, but I haven’t seen much of her this hols because she’s busy with Jordan.’ And I went away, and I could feel my back tingling, and sure enough there he was coming up behind me, and then he was beside me, and my side was tingling.

‘I’ll drop over and say hullo,’ said Greg, and I felt peculiar I can tell you, because what I was thinking was: Well! If this is love.

When we got near our house, Moira and Jordan were side by side on the veranda wall, and Moy was laughing, and I knew she had seen Greg coming because of the way she laughed.

Dad was not on the veranda, so I could see Mom had got him to stay indoors.

‘I’ve brought you the bread, Moy,’ I said, and with this I went into the kitchen, and there was Mom, and she was looking more peculiar than I’ve ever seen her. I could have bet she wanted to laugh; but she was sighing all the time. Because of the sighing I knew she had quarrelled with Dad. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said, and she threw the bread I’d fetched into the waste-bucket.

There sat Mom and I in the kitchen, smiling at each other off and on in a peculiar way, and Dad was rattling his paper in the bedroom where she had made him go. He was not at the station that day, because the train had come at nine o’clock and there wasn’t another one coming. When we looked out on the veranda in about half an hour Jordan was gone, and Greg and Moira were sitting on the veranda wall. And I can tell you she looked so pretty again, it was peculiar her getting pretty like that so sudden.

That was about five, and Greg went back to supper at home, and Moira did not eat anything, she was in our room curling her hair, because she and Greg were going for a walk.

‘Don’t go too far, it’s going to rain,’ Mom said, but Moira said, sweet and dainty, ‘Don’t worry, Mom, I can look after myself.’

Mom and Dad said nothing to each other all the evening.

I went to bed early for a change, so I’d be there when Moy got in, although I was thirteen that season and now my bedtime was up to ten o’clock.

Mom and Dad went to bed, although I could see Mom was worried, because there was a storm blowing up, the dry season was due to end, and the lightning kept spurting all over the sky.

And I lay awake saying to myself, Sleep sleep go away, come again another day, but I went to sleep, and when I woke up, the room was full of the smell of rain, of the earth wet with rain, the light was on and Moira was in the room.

‘Have the rains come?’ I said, and then I woke right up and saw of course they hadn’t, because the air was as dry as sand, and Moira said, ‘Oh shut up and go to sleep.’

She did not look pretty as much as being different from how I’d seen her, her face was soft and smiling, and her eyes were different. She had blue eyes most of the time, but now they seemed quite black. And now her hair was all curled and brushed, it looked pretty, like golden syrup. And she even looked a bit fatter. Usually when she wasn’t too thin, she was rather fat, and when she was one of the gang we used to call her Pudding. That is, until she passed her J.C., and then she fought everyone, and the boys too, so that she could be called Moy. So no one had called her Pudding for years now except Dad to make her cross. He used to say, ‘You’re going to make a fine figure of a woman like your mother.’ That always made Moy cross, I can tell you, because Mom was very fat, and she wore proper corsets these days, except just before the rains when it was so hot. I remember the first time the corsets came from the store, and she put them on, Moy had to lace her in, and Mom laughed so much Moy couldn’t do the laces, and anyway she was cross because Mom laughed, and she said to me afterwards, ‘It’s disgusting, letting yourself go – I’m not going to let myself go.’

So it would have been more than my life was worth to tell her she was looking a bit fatter already, or to tell her anything at all, because she sat smiling on the edge of her bed, and when I said, ‘What did he say, Moy?’ she just turned her head and made her eyes thin and black at me, and I saw I’d better go to sleep. But I knew something she didn’t know I knew, because she had some dead jacaranda flowers in her hair, so that meant she and Greg were at the water-tanks. There were only two jacaranda trees at our station, and they were at the big water-tanks for the engines, so if they were at the water-tanks, they must have been kissing, because it was romantic at the tanks. It was the end of October, and the jacarandas were shedding, and the tanks looked as if they were standing in pools of blue water.

Well next morning Moy was already up when I woke, and she was singing, and she began ironing her muslin dress that she made for last Christmas, even before breakfast.

Mom said nothing; Dad kept rustling his newspaper; and I wouldn’t have dared open my mouth. Besides, I wanted to find out what Greg said. After breakfast, we sat around, because of its being Sunday, and Dad didn’t have to be at the station office because there weren’t any trains on Sundays. And Dad kept grinning at Moira and saying: ‘I think it’s going to rain,’ and she pretended she didn’t know what he meant, until at last she jumped when he said it and turned herself and looked at him just the way she did the day before, and that was when he got red in the face, and said: ‘Can’t you take a joke these days?’ and Moira looked away from him with her eyebrows up, and Mom sighed, and then he said, very cross, ‘I’ll leave you all to it, just tell me when you’re in a better temper,’ and with this he took the newspaper inside to the bedroom.

Anybody could see it wasn’t going to rain properly that day, because the clouds weren’t thunder-heads, but great big white ones, all silver and hardly any black in them.

Moy didn’t eat any dinner, but went on sitting on the veranda, wearing her dress that was muslin, white with red spots, and big puffed sleeves, and a red sash around her waist.

After dinner, time was very slow, and it was a long time before Greg came down off the Jacksons’ veranda, and came walking slowly along the gum-tree avenue. I was watching Moy’s face, and she couldn’t keep the smile off it. She got paler and paler until he got underneath our veranda, and she looking at him so that I had goose-flesh all over.

Then he gave a jump up our steps to the veranda, and said: ‘Hoy, Moy, how’s it?’ I thought she was going to fall right off the veranda wall, and her face had gone all different again.

‘How are you, Gregory?’ said Moira, all calm and proud.

‘Oh, skidding along,’ he said, and I could see he felt awkward, because he hadn’t looked at her once, and his skin was all red around the freckles. And she didn’t say anything, and she was looking at him as if she couldn’t believe it was him.

‘I hope the rain will keep off for the braavleis,’ said Mom, in her visiting voice, and she looked hard at me, and I had to get up and go inside with her. But I could see Greg didn’t want us to go at all, and I could see Moy knew it; her eyes were blue again, a pale thin blue, and her mouth was small.

Well Mom went into the kitchen to finally make the sausage rolls, and I went into our bedroom, because I could see what went on on the veranda from behind the curtains.

Greg sat on the veranda wall, and whistled, he was whistling, I love you, yes I do; and Moira was gazing at him as if he were a Christmas beetle she had just noticed; and then he began whistling. Three little words, and suddenly Moira got down off the wall, and stretched herself like a cat when it’s going to walk off somewhere, and Greg said, ‘Skinny!’

At this she made her eyebrows go up, and I’ve never seen such a look.

And he was getting redder in the face, and he said: ‘You’d better not wear that dress to the braavleis, it’s going to rain.’

Moira didn’t say a word for what seemed about half an hour, and then she said, in that lazy sort of voice, ‘Well, Greg Jackson, if you’ve changed your mind it’s okay with me.’

‘Changed my mind?’ he said, very quick, and he looked scared; and she looked scared, and she asked: ‘What did you say all those things for last night?’

‘Say what?’ he asked, scareder than ever, and I could see he was trying to remember what he’d said.

Moira was just looking at him, and I wouldn’t have liked to be Greg Jackson just then, I can tell you. Then she walked off the veranda, letting her skirts swish slowly, and through the kitchen, and into our room, and then she sat on the bed.

‘I’m not going to the braavleis, Mom,’ she said, in that sweet slow voice like Mom when she’s got visitors and she wishes they’d go.

Mom just sighed, and slapped the dough about on the kitchen table. Dad made the springs of the bed creak, and he said half aloud: ‘Oh my God preserve me!’

Mom left the pastry, and gave a glare through the door of their bedroom at Dad, and then came into our room. There was Moira sitting all lumped up on her bed as if she’d got the stitch, and her face was like pastry dough. Mom said nothing to Moira, but went on to the veranda Greg was still sitting there looking sick.

‘Well, son,’ Mom said, in her easy voice, the voice she had when she was tired of everything, but keeping up, ‘Well, son, I think Moy’s got a bit of a headache from the heat.’

As I’ve said, I wasn’t sweet on Greg that holidays but if I was Moy I would have been, the way he looked just then, all sad but grown-up, like a man, when he said: ‘Mrs Hughes, I don’t know what I’ve done.’ Mom just smiled, and sighed. ‘I can’t marry, Mrs Hughes, I’ve got five years’ training ahead of me.’

Mom smiled and said, ‘Of course, son, of course.’

I was lying on my bed with my stamps, and Moira was on her bed, listening, and the way she smiled gave me a bad shiver.

‘Listen to him,’ she said, in a loud voice, ‘Marry? Why does everyone go on about marrying? They’re nuts. I wouldn’t marry Greg Jackson anyway if he was the last man on a desert island.’

Outside, I could hear Mom sigh hard, then her voice quick and low, and then the sound of Greg’s feet crunching off over the cinders of the path.

Then Mom came back into our room, and Moira said, all despairing, ‘Mom, what made you say that about marrying?’

‘He said it, my girl, I didn’t.’

‘Marrying!’ said Moira, laughing hard.

Mom said: ‘What did he say then, you talked about him saying something?’

‘Oh you all make me sick,’ said Moira, and lay down on her bed, turned away from us. Mom hitched her head at me, and we went out. By then it was five in the afternoon and the cars would be leaving at six, so Mom finished the sausage rolls in the oven, and packed the food, and then she took off her apron and went across to Jordan’s house. Moira did not see her go, because she was still lost to the world in her pillow.

Soon Mom came back and put the food into the car. Then Jordan came over with Beth from the store and said to me, ‘Betty, my Mom says, will you and Moy come in our car to the braavleis, because your car’s full of food.’

‘I will,’ I said, ‘but Moira’s got a headache.’

But at this moment Moira called out from our room, ‘Thanks, Jordan, I’d like to come.’

So Mom called to Pop, and they went off in our car together and I could see she was talking to him all the time, and he was just pulling the gears about and looking resigned to life.

I and Moira went with Jordan and Beth in their car. I could see Jordan was cross because he wanted to be with Beth, and Beth kept smiling at Moira with her eyebrows up, to tell her she knew what was going on, and Moira smiled back, and talked a lot in her visiting voice.

At the braavleis it was a high place at the end of a vlei, where it rose into a small hill full of big boulders. The grass had been cut that morning by natives of the farmer who always let us use his farm for the braavleis. It was pretty, with the hill behind and the moon coming up over it, and then the cleared space, and the vlei sweeping down to the river, and the trees on either side. The moon was just over the trees when we got there, so the trees looked black and big, and the boulders were big and looked as if they might topple over, and the grass was silvery, but the great bonfire was roaring up twenty feet, and in the space around the fire it was all hot and red. The trench of embers where the spits were for the meat was on one side, and Moira went there as soon as she arrived, and helped with the cooking.

Greg was not there, and I thought he wouldn’t come, but much later, when we were all earing the meat, and laughing because it burned our fingers it was so hot, I saw him on the other side of the fire talking to Mom. Moira saw him talking, and she didn’t like it, but she pretended not to see.

By then we were seated in a half-circle on the side of the fire the wind was blowing, so that the red flames were sweeping off away from us. There were about fifty people from the station and some farmers from round about. Moira sat by me, quiet, eating grilled ribs and sausage rolls, and she was pleased I was there for once, so that she wouldn’t seem to be by herself. She had changed her dress back again, and it was the dress she had last year for the braavleis, it was blue with pleats, and it was the dress she had for best the last year at school, so it wasn’t very modern any more. Across the fire, I could see Greg. He did not look at Moira and she did not look at him. Except that this year Jordan did not want to sit by Moira but by Beth, I kept feeling peculiar, as if this year was really last year, and in a minute Greg would walk across past the fire, and say: ‘Moira Hughes? I wouldn’t have known you.’

But he stayed where he was. He was sitting on his legs, with his hands on his knees. I could see his legs and knees and his big hands all red from the fire and the yellow hair glinting on the red. His face was red too and wet with the heat.

Then everyone began singing. We were singing Sarie Marais, and Sugar Bush, and Henrietta’s Wedding and We don’t want to go home. Moira and Greg were both singing as hard as they could.

It began to get late. The natives were damping down the cooking trench with earth, and looking for scraps of meat and bits of sausage roll, and the big fire was sinking down. It would be time in a minute for the big dance in a circle around the fire.

Moira was just sitting. Her legs were tucked under sideways, and they had got scratched from the grass. I could see the white dry scratches across the sunburn, and I can tell you it was a good thing she didn’t wear her best muslin because there wouldn’t have been much left of it. Her hair, that she had curled yesterday, was tied back in a ribbon, so that her face looked small and thin.

I said: ‘Here, Moy, don’t look like your own funeral,’ and she said: ‘I will if I like.’ Then she gave me a bit of a grin, and she said: ‘Let me give you a word of warning for when you’re grown-up, don’t believe a word men say, I’m telling you.’

But I could see she was feeling better just then.

At that very moment the red light of the fire on the grass just in front of us went out, and someone sat down, and I hoped it was Greg and it was. They were looking at each other again, but my skin didn’t tingle at all, so I looked at his face and at her face, and they were both quiet and sensible.

Then Moira reached out for a piece of grass, pulled it clean and neat out of the socket, and began nibbling at the soft piece at the end; and it was just the way Mom reached out for her knitting when she was against Dad. But of course Greg did not know the resemblance.

‘Moy,’ he said, ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘My name is Moira,’ said Moira, looking him in the eyes.

‘Oh heck, Moira,’ he said, sounding exasperated just like Dad.

I wriggled back away from the two of them into the crowd that was still singing softly Sarie Marais, and looking at the way the fire was glowing low and soft, ebbing red and then dark as the wind came up from the river. The moon was half-covered with the big soft silvery clouds, and the red light was strong on our faces.

I could just hear what they said, I wasn’t going to move too far off, I can tell you.

‘I don’t know what I’ve said,’ said Greg.

‘It doesn’t matter in the slightest,’ said Moira.

‘Moira, for crying out aloud!’

‘Why did you say that about marrying?’ said Moira, and her voice was shaky. She was going to cry if she didn’t watch out. ‘I thought you thought I meant …’

‘You think too much,’ said Moira, tossing her head carefully so that her long tail of hair should come forward and lie on her shoulder. She put up her hand, and stroked the curls smooth.

‘Moira, I’ve got another five years at university. I couldn’t say to you, let’s get engaged for five years.’

‘I never said you should,’ said Moira, calm and lofty, examining the scratches on her legs.

The way she was sitting, curled up sideways, with her hair lying forward like syrup on her shoulder, it was pretty, it was as pretty as I’ve ever seen, and I could see his face, sad and almost sick.

‘You’re so pretty, Moy,’ he said, jerking it out.

Moira seemed not to be able to move. Then she turned her head slowly and looked at him. I could see the beginning of something terrible on her face. The shiver had begun under my hair at the back of my neck, and was slowly moving down to the small of my back.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said, sounding angry, leaning right forward with his eyes almost into her face.

And now she looked the way she had last night, when I was not awake and said, was it raining outside.

‘When you look like that,’ he said, quite desperate about everything, ‘it makes me feel …’

People were getting up now all around us, the fire had burned right down, it was a low wave of red heat coming out at us. The redness was on our shoulders and legs, but our faces were having a chance to cool off. The moon had come out again full and bright, and the cloud had rolled on, and it was funny the way the light was red to their shoulders, and the white of the moon on their faces, and their eyes glistening. I didn’t like it; I was shivering; it was the most peculiar moment of all my life.

‘Well,’ said Moira, and she sounded just too tired even to try to understand, ‘that’s what you said last night, wasn’t it?’

‘Don’t you see,’ he said, trying to explain, his tongue all mixed up, ‘I can’t help – I love you, I don’t know …’

Now she smiled, and I knew the smile at once, it was the way Mom smiled at Dad when if he had any sense he’d shut up. It was sweet and loving, but it was sad, and as if she was saying, Lord, you’re a fool, Dickson Hughes!

Moira went on smiling like that at Greg, and he was sick and angry and not understanding a thing.

‘I love you,’ he said again.

‘Well I love you and what of it?’ said Moira.

‘But it will be five years.’

‘And what has that got to do with anything?’ At this she began to laugh.

‘But Moy …’

‘My name is Moira,’ she said, once and for all.

For a moment they were both white and angry, their eyes glimmering with the big white moon over them.

There was a shout and a hustle, and suddenly all the people were in the big circle around the big low heap of fire, and they were whirling around and around, yelling and screaming. Greg and Moira stayed where they were, just outside the range of the feet, and they didn’t hear a thing.

‘You’re so pretty,’ he was saying, in that rough, cross, helpless voice. ‘I love you, Moira, there couldn’t ever be anyone but you.’

She was smiling, and he went on saying: ‘I love you, I see your face all the time, I see your hair and your face and your eyes.’

And I wished he’d go on, the poor sap, just saying it, for every minute, it was more like last night when I woke up and I thought it had rained, the feeling of the dry earth with the rain just on it, that was how she was, and she looked as if she would sit there and listen for ever to the words he said, and she didn’t want to hear him saying. Why don’t you say something Moy, you don’t say anything, you do understand don’t you? – it’s not fair, it isn’t right to bind you when we’re so young. But he started on saying it in just a minute, and then she smiled her visiting smile, and she said: Gregory Jackson, you’re a fool.

Then she got herself off the grass and went across to Mom to help load the car up, and she never once looked at Greg again, not for the rest of the holidays.