Читать книгу Growing Up In The West - John Muir - Страница 11

FOUR

But ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse,

If any drope of pitee in yow be,

Remembreth yow on passed hevinesse

That ye han felt, and on the adversitee

Of othere folk.

CHAUCER

THEY CAUGHT SIGHT of each other at the same instant; twenty yards of the Central Station separated them. People hurrying to their trains, message-boys, porters, crossed the line stretched between his eyes and hers, but it did not waver, and as he walked straight towards her he seemed to be following a beautiful and exact course which cut through the aimless crowd as through smoke and only reached its end when it joined his hand and hers. At first, when they were too far off to read each other’s faces, their eyes had been filled with doubt and questioning; but now love had risen round them and enclosed them like a wall, and within that perfect security they could once more look questioningly at each other, no longer with dread, as a few moments before, but with delight at the thought of the strangeness which it was their reciprocal right to explore. And so keen was their desire to do so that the suddenly arisen citadel of love within which they now stood became an objective fact whose consideration they could calmly postpone.

But the joy of discovery had also to be postponed when presently they found themselves in a crowded third-class compartment of the Gourock train. Helen sat in the corner, Mansie sat beside her; they were silent and gazed out through the window, scarcely seeing the things that fleeted past their eyes: the backs of sooty tenement buildings with washing clouts hanging out to dry from kitchen windows, the neat red-gravelled suburban stations sweeping smoothly past as if on runners, sharp bridges, coal trucks, a red factory wall. But when, after Paisley, the train ran through the flat farm-country, and they saw the yellow cornfields half-reaped, and the red and yellow woods, they felt that it was for them that nature had transformed itself in this strange and brilliant way, for the last time they had seen the country it had been an ordinary green. Now everything was dry and bright; the stubble fields glistened, the ancient castle of Dumbarton on its rock across the river seemed to give out an infinitesimal sparkle as of impalpable dust, the jewelled leaves rested on nothing more solid than the air, were held in it as in a translucent crystal, and the trunks and branches of dried wood rose unencumbered, as if they no longer felt the weight of their shining burden. Yet this aridity was not that of barrenness; the dust on the roads beside the railway lines seemed as rich as seed, and the coloured leaves fell ceaselessly as though they wanted to bury the earth. At Langbank gardens rows of deep and bright yellow flowers flashed by, then the inky tenements of Port Glasgow passed, almost unseen, before their eyes, and Greenock rotting patiently between the beautiful hills and the majestic firth. Nevertheless when they emerged from the stifling tunnel, and for a moment the estuary of the Clyde flashed upon them like a turning mirror before the train ran into Gourock station, they felt as though an oppression had been lifted.

Yet now that they walked along it, they scarcely saw the estuary outstretched like a great blue stone, nor the near houses, nor the dark hills on the opposite shore; for the desire to know and make known had again taken possession of them, and they reached the end of the long and empty promenade as though it had melted into air before them, so open were their minds to each other, and so vivid were the images that they contemplated there. They felt that they must know everything, but still more strongly that they must tell everything; for in the suspended calm which preludes desire, a calm in which passion is so subtly diffused that it is bodiless, they had been so transmuted that they were conscious of nothing within them that needed to be hidden; and at the moment there was indeed nothing. After they had walked on in this way for a while they stopped of one accord and looked round them. They found themselves on the shore road gazing across at Dunoon and Innellan, and they watched for a little a paddle-steamer passing down the estuary towards Rothesay.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ said Mansie, as though drawing her attention to a sight that had appeared just at that moment; then, ‘Will we have a rest?’

She did not reply, but left the road and clambered down the sloping banks of the cliff until she reached a shelf of dry turf. Beneath them the sea’s surface ran smooth and unbroken to the opposite shore several miles away. And lying there they were frozen to the same immobility as the sea; it was not a frame of flesh and blood but a transubstantiated body that he clasped; for though they lay for a long time like this they felt no lessening of their trance-like ease, nor did his arms grow tired, so perfect was the equilibrium that reciprocally upbore them, an equilibrium as of a double trunk growing out of the ground where they lay. When at last they sat up, it was as by a single impulse coming from without, as though a voice had called to them both at the same moment; yet even then they could not break the spell binding them, and they remained silently leaning against each other while their eyes gazed out across the firth. Sometimes their faces turned of one accord and they kissed; the trance deepened and when they awoke it had kept that deeper darkness, and now it was a little more difficult for them to move their limbs. Only once did the spell threaten to break, letting in the menacing world. Mansie had been playing with a locket hanging at her neck; he opened it idly and saw inside a twisted strand of black hair. Something far within his mind said: ‘That is Tom’s hair.’ Helen sat up and snatched it from him. ‘I don’t want it! I don’t want it!’ she cried, as if in answer to an accusation he had not made, and she tore the locket from the chain and flung it into the sea. He looked at her, hardly aware yet of what she had done, but she said: ‘I won’t have you made unhappy,’ and again leant towards him, closing her eyes. And while he was still wondering that she should carry about Tom’s hair clasped in a locket, and still thinking of Tom’s hair drowned in the sea – that gave one an uncanny feeling, as if part of Tom had been drowned without his knowing it – the spell stole over him again, the trance held them suspended, and when at last they rose and walked back the flashing arc made by the locket as it fell into the sea had been lost in the web of their dream, woven into it like the curves cut by the seagulls in their flight and the constant lines of the Highland hills opposite.

They had tea in a little tea-room on the sea front. They did not speak much; fragmentary pictures of seaweed and rocks flowed through Mansie’s mind, he felt the salt scent of the sea air, and still remembered with surprise and delight Helen in her smart clothes sitting on that piece of common turf among the rough rocks and taking up a few ordinary pebbles in her hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world; and although with her fine clothes she belonged to a quite different world, calling up a vision of lace-covered sofas and curtained rooms, she had fitted perfectly into the picture and had gone splendidly with the sky and the sea and even the gritty little pebbles. Nor did the grease-spotted tablecloth in the dingy tea-room destroy the unshakable harmony between her and her surroundings; yet when they were out in the street again they did not take the road they had taken that afternoon, but turned their backs upon it and climbed a steep lane leading to the hill behind the town. And now as though with the closing in of the day something else which they did not know were closing in upon them, their trance became blinder, and when, reaching the top of a winding path, they saw a rowan-tree with its red berries burning in the last rays of the sun, and beyond it a field of corn transfigured in the same radiance, they looked at that strange scene as from a dark and shuttered room, and it seemed a momentary vision that must immediately vanish again. The sky darkened over them as they lay in the heather, and now they clung together until all their limbs ached. At last she rose abruptly, and as they descended the hill once more all the heaviness that had so strangely left her body during the day returned, slackening her limbs, and she leant all her weight upon his arm as though to break it.

The train was crowded, and the country lay in darkness. The other people in the carriage were weary and silent. Now and then a smile flitted across Helen’s face, and her gloved hand sought his. When they walked out of the Central Station in Glasgow, the lights, after the clarity of the spaces they had left, seemed to float in a fume of dust and noise; and that acrid infusion now entered into their trance, troubling and thickening it, so that when they reached the end of the close where she lived they stood for a long time in a blind embrace which was neither happy nor sad, yet from which it seemed unendurable that they should ever be torn.

It was only when he was nearing his home that any external thought broke into Mansie’s reverie. The memory of the locket falling into the sea returned very distinctly, and with it a rush of urgent anxiety for Tom. He remembered his own humiliation that evening after Isa Smith left him in the lighted tramcar. Tom must feel like that too, only far worse. It was terrible to cast off a fellow like that, terrible to cast a fellow’s hair into the sea; women were hard, and he could not help blaming Helen and even feeling a little afraid of her. Yet that day had wiped off for good his humiliation with Isa Smith; it had washed everything clean again; ‘a clean page’, the words came into his mind. But then he saw that division and atonement, wrong and right, were mingled in the love that bound Helen and him together, and this made the bond still stronger; it could never be broken. He stole softly into the house, as softly as one might steal into a place where a victim is still secretly bleeding; he hoped that Tom had not heard him, for it was very late.