Читать книгу Growing Up In The West - John Muir - Страница 25

SEVENTEEN

THEY WALKED ALONG the still canal. The sun had set long since, but the light was still ebbing. As it faded it became more and more transparent, so that what was left was not darkness, the darkness that the eyes expected and almost longed for, but an unearthly stationary clarity into which every object rose distinctly but blindly, as though already coiled in sleep within itself and turned away from all that was round it. The water in the canal shone like polished steel; it shone blankly, as though nothing but itself were there. In front, quite far away, another pair of lovers were walking with their arms round each other. Nobody else was in sight. It was midsummer.

‘He’s been queer since the last attack,’ said Mansie. It was always at this hour, when the light was fading and their faces were turned towards Glasgow again, that they talked about Tom. They never mentioned him by name.

Mansie had taken his arm from Helen’s waist when he began to speak about his brother. The pair away in front were still walking with their arms round each other.

Helen looked at him but made no reply. Mansie walked on for a little, then he said: ‘He seems to be thinking of something all the time. I’ve done my best to rouse his interest, but it’s no use.’

‘Maybe he’ll come round by himself,’ said Helen. ‘He was always moody.’

Mansie was silent again. Then he said: ‘Yes, he may come round by himself. I wish I understood him. But he never tells me anything. He goes his own road, as he’s always done. I’ve never known all my life what he would be up to next. He was always reckless.’

‘Yes, he was terribly reckless. Sometimes I’ve almost been afraid of him, Mansie.’

Mansie frowned as though the words displeased him and said: ‘He’s never hurt anybody but himself.’ Then after a pause: ‘It was hard lines that this should come just when the fellow had turned over a new leaf.’ And after another pause: ‘He’s greatly changed.’

Helen made no reply. The darkness was now falling at last; one could no longer see whether the two in front had their arms round each other.

As if encouraged by the darkness, Mansie said presently, speaking into it as one speaks into an unlighted room knowing that someone else is there: ‘Well, there’s this comfort: when he recovers he’ll be a different fellow.’

And Helen’s voice answered cheerfully at his side: ‘Yes, and then everything will be for the best after all.’

The confidence in her voice made him uneasy for some reason, but there was nothing more to be said. And when they had gone on for a little farther in silence he put his arm round Helen’s waist again. It was a reassurance.