Читать книгу This Above All - Eric Knight - Страница 10

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The pub already was well into the full chorus of evening gabble that would go on until closing time. The low-ceilinged place seemed as if it had been poured full of sound, and one only preserved a small private sanctuary in it a few inches round his own body.

Clive swilled the beer round in his mug and stared at the table. Joe made a movement with his hand, and he looked up. Joe held up a finger. At the same time, the hubbub died and the B.B.C. voice came clearly from the wireless.

The B.B.C. was announcing that bombs had been dropped on the Southeast coast. The R.A.F., however, were shooting down daylight raiders whenever they came over. The army in Somaliland was retiring.

Clive and Joe stared at the table as the mellifluously-accented words went on. When it was over the pub broke into its hubbub like horses starting from the tape. Clive looked toward the door.

“D’ye think we’ll beat ’em, Briggs?”

Clive started, and then looked soberly at Joe. He looked carefully, as if seeing for the first time—or for the last—the form and shape of him: the wave of carefully combed hair under the jauntily set-back cap; the regular, good-humored features—small nose, calm eyes, large firm mouth. It was a good-natured, slightly flamboyant, very British face.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think we will.”

Joe looked up quickly, and then drew patterns in the wet table top with his finger.

“Why not? Look at the last war. It looked as bad at times.”

“Last war everyone rounded on Germany, Joe. War nowadays is like a gang fight, Joe. A bunch all scrapping—and they end up by all picking on one and beating him down. Like wolves—eating the bloodiest. Last time it was Germany. This time it’ll be Britain.”

“But if the United States comes in ...”

“She won’t. That’s bad hopeful thinking. She won’t fight with and for us. None of them will. They’ll all round on us now. We’re the fattest picking. There’s plenty of plunder for all of them. All the nations of the earth can watch us go down, and there’ll be swag enough to make them all happy when we’re done.”

“We’re not going to be done,” Joe said, angrily.

“Why not?”

“Well, we’re not.”

“Well, let’s not argue.”

Clive rose and looked toward the door.

“Wait a minute, chum. I wanted to tell you. I’m going.”

“Going? Where? Joining up?”

“Sort of. A minesweeper. Bill Stafford—you know, skipper of the Island Queen I told you about—well, he’s going, and he asked me to go along with him.”

Clive sat and regarded the table.

“I see,” he said. “Well, I can wish you luck. If that’s your line, and you’re set to go, that’s the thing to do.”

“That’s the way I looked at it,” Joe said, happily. “Might as well go for what I know and not wait till they come along and pull me into khaki and set me doing something I don’t know.”

“That’s right. A chap’s got to do what he thinks best. But I’ll be missing you. When do you go?”

“Well, that’s it. I go down tomorrow. And—you know you can take this all right from me?”

“Of course. What?”

“Well, I thought—how about you coming with me? I saw the skipper last night, and I said I had a chum. And he says, well, the more the merrier. Now you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want.”

Clive looked at the table. Suddenly the noise came into his consciousness again, crowding at him. He wanted to be away—outside. He drew circles with his finger.

“If I say no, Joe, will you understand?”

“Of course, chum. Of course. This is a free country.”

“No, you don’t see it right.”

“But I do.”

“No, you don’t. I can tell the way you say it.”

“No. A man’s business is his own. I just thought, like, I’d ask you. There’s no harm asking.”

“No. That’s right. I think—I’ll step along, Joe.”

“Hold on, Briggs. There’s something else, like. Well, I’ll be away—and you wouldn’t be doing anything to get my old lady in a jam.”

Clive sat down again. He looked up at Joe’s troubled face.

“What do you think I am?” he said. “I’ll pack up and move on.”

“No, that’s it,” Joe said. “I’d like for you to stay—as long as you want. It’s a man about. You know what I mean—just having someone around once in a while, then it ain’t so lonesome for my old lady. And—after all, renting the room to you does help. Every little bit helps they say, and there’s something to it, isn’t there? But the only thing is ...”

“What?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. I hate a Nosey Parker, and it’s none of my business, but there’s the old lady. But—are you a secret service chap?”

Clive looked at Joe’s solemn face and laughed, quickly.

“Goodness no,” he said. “No.”

“Well, I don’t give a bugger what you are, chum. Or what you’re up to. If you say it’s all right, and doesn’t make trouble for my old lady.”

“You’re a good chap, Joe.”

“Oh, hell. It isn’t that. Are you—are you in trouble, mate?”

Clive studied the young man before him.

“It’s all right. Nothing’s wrong. You’ve treated me well, Joe. So I’ll tell you. I’m—I’m a soldier.”

Joe nodded.

“That explains those military ration tickets you gave my old lady. But—but why didn’t you say you was in the service?”

“Look, Joe, I can’t explain. It’d take too long. But I promise you it’s all right. I’m on leave. It’ll be up soon. A few more days—then I’ll move on. Is it all right?”

“I want you to stay as long as you feel like it,” Joe said. “You say it’s all right—I believe you. It’s all right.”

Clive smiled.

“All right, Joe. Now let’s have a drink on it.”

“Yes,” Joe said. “Just one—then I’m off. This’ll be last night home, you know. And I think I’ll spend my last night home. You know how women are. My old lady would like it.”

“Yes,” Clive said. “That’s the best thing to do.”

He went and got the beers. He handed the mug to Joe.

“Here’s to the war,” Joe said. “It’s the best bloody one we’ve got.”

Clive lifted his mug.

“And here’s to ...”

“To what?”

“To you,” Clive said. “To you—and to every last bloody one of us—and to—not to the war. To the end of it. To peace!”

“Right. To me and you and all of us and the war and the end of it. Drink up!”

They drank and left the inn. Then they were in the dusk, going through the village with quick step and senses somehow newly tuned to unlighted evenings. At Joe’s street they parted.

“I’ll take a stroll,” Clive said. “Then your mother will have you alone.”

“Do you think she’d like it that way, now?”

“I feel sure of it.”

They left each other and Clive went on in the dimness, his feet striking the metaled road regularly. It was not until he was almost there that he realized he was by the tree overhanging the wall. He paused in indecision, and then sat on the wall. Detached, in the darkness, from time to time he heard the low voices of passing girls coming from the village. Sometimes there was a quick, uplifted laugh, and sometimes the lower note of a man’s voice. Then he heard a voice that he remembered.

“Violet?”

He went into the road.

“I was with Joe Telson—at the concert Saturday night.”

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “This is my friend, Miss Patsy Acton. Mr.—I forgot your name.”

“Briggs,” Clive said. He ducked his head at a mass in the blackness which, obviously, was another girl. He heard her voice, metallic in the London way.

“It’s really an enormous pleasure to meet you.”

She gabbled the syllables as if it were a well-loved phrase.

“Thanks,” Clive said. “Look, Violet. You’re heading back to camp, aren’t you?”

“Well, I was.”

“Do something for me, there’s a good pal. Tell Prudence I’m here, will you? You remember—the girl I was with Saturday. Ask her if she can come.”

“Well, now. I don’t know. I can ask her. I don’t know whether or not she’ll come. She’s funny.”

“That’s all right. Just ask her.”

“Well, I will—seeing it’s you. But she’s—awful uppy.”

He heard the girls go away. He went back to the wall and sat, wishing the time away, listening as girls passed. At last there were the footsteps of one person, coming toward the tree. He jumped to his feet.

“Prudence!”

“No. This is Patsy.”

“Patsy?”

“Yes. Patsy Acton. Violet just performed the introduction.”

“Oh, yes. What did she say?”

“Prudence? She said she couldn’t come. She said to say she was most dreadfully sorry, but she was indisposed with a headache. She says it’s that bad it’s excruciating. That’s what she told Violet. Then Violet wouldn’t come. She’s terrible lazy, is Violet. So I come, all alone. I wouldn’t have you standing out here all alone. It isn’t fair to leave anyone just standing, like that, is it? So I come—all alone. I wouldn’t come down here all alone, only I couldn’t bear to think ...”

“Thank you,” Clive said.

He felt the girl waiting. There was a sense of her nearness.

“All right,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Will you do something else for me?”

“With extreme pleasure—if I can.”

“Tell Prudence—tell her I’ll be here tomorrow night. I’ll wait here until she comes—if she can. I’d like her to meet me. Tell her that, would you, please?”

The girl yawned, loudly.

“Well, I can tell her. I don’t know what she’ll say. She’s fearful distant and swagnay, that Prudence is.”

“She’s what?”

“Swagnay. It’s French. Well, I’ll go all the way back. And alone.”

He heard her footsteps drag away. He went back to the wall and sat. A ripening moon came up, and cast faint shadows. There was nothing he desired now so much as to see Prudence. Not being able to see her made it an intense longing.