On the grass beside her, lying between two pillows, was the boy. Sound asleep he lay, his head turned away from his mother. His fine dark hair looked more like a shadow than like real hair, but his ear was a bright, deep coral. Linda clasped her hands above her head and crossed her feet. It was very pleasant to know that all these bungalows were empty, that everybody was down on the beach, out of sight, out of hearing. She had the garden to herself; she was alone.
Dazzling white the picotees shone; the golden-eyed marigold glittered; the nasturtiums wreathed the veranda poles in green and gold flame. If only one had time to look at these flowers long enough, time to get over the sense of novelty and strangeness, time to know them! But as soon as one paused to part the petals, to discover the under-side of the leaf, along came Life and one was swept away. And, lying in her cane chair, Linda felt so light; she felt like a leaf. Along came Life like a wind and she was seized and shaken; she had to go. Oh dear, would it always be so? Was there no escape?
Now she sat on the veranda of their Tasmanian home, leaning against her fathers knee. And he promised, As soon as you and I are old enough, Linny, well cut off somewhere, well escape. Two boys together. I have a fancy Id like to sail up a river in China. Linda saw that river, very wide, covered with little rafts and boats. She saw the yellow hats of the boatmen and she heard their high, thin voices as they called
Yes, papa.
But just then a very broad young man with bright ginger hair walked slowly past their house, and slowly, solemnly even, uncovered. Lindas father pulled her ear teasingly, in the way he had.
Linnys beau, he whispered.
Oh, papa, fancy being married to Stanley Burnell!
Well, she was married to him. And what was more she loved him. Not the Stanley whom every one saw, not the everyday one; but a timid, sensitive, innocent Stanley who knelt down every night to say his prayers, and who longed to be good. Stanley was simple. If he believed in peopleas he believed in her, for instanceit was with his whole heart. He could not be disloyal; he could not tell a lie. And how terribly he suffered if he thought any oneshewas not being dead straight, dead sincere with him! This is too subtle for me! He flung out the words, but his open, quivering, distraught look was like the look of a trapped beast.
But the trouble washere Linda felt almost inclined to laugh, though Heaven knows it was no laughing mattershe saw her Stanley so seldom. There were glimpses, moments, breathing spaces of calm, but all the rest of the time it was like living in a house that couldnt be cured of the habit of catching on fire, on a ship that got wrecked every day. And it was always Stanley who was in the thick of the danger. Her whole time was spent in rescuing him, and restoring him, and calming him down, and listening to his story. And what was left of her time was spent in the dread of having children.
Linda frowned; she sat up quickly in her steamer chair and clasped her ankles. Yes, that was her real grudge against life; that was what she could not understand. That was the question she asked and asked, and listened in vain for the answer. It was all very well to say it was the common lot of women to bear children. It wasnt true. She, for one, could prove that wrong. She was broken, made weak, her courage was gone, through child-bearing. And what made it doubly hard to bear was, she did not love her children. It was useless pretending. Even if she had had the strength she never would have nursed and played with the little girls. No, it was as though a cold breath had chilled her through and through on each of those awful journeys; she had no warmth left to give them. As to the boywell, thank Heaven, mother had taken him; he was mothers, or Beryls, or anybodys who wanted him. She had hardly held him in her arms. She was so indifferent about him that as he lay there Linda glanced down.
The boy had turned over. He lay facing her, and he was no longer asleep. His dark-blue, baby eyes were open; he looked as though he was peeping at his mother. And suddenly his face dimpled; it broke into a wide, toothless smile, a perfect beam, no less.
Im here! that happy smile seemed to say. Why dont you like me?
There was something so quaint, so unexpected about that smile that Linda smiled herself. But she checked herself and said to the boy coldly, I dont like babies.
Dont like babies? The boy couldnt believe her. Dont like me? He waved his arms foolishly at his mother.
Linda dropped off her chair on to the grass.
Why do you keep on smiling? she said severely. If you knew what I was thinking about, you wouldnt.
But he only squeezed up his eyes, slyly, and rolled his head on the pillow. He didnt believe a word she said.
We know all about that! smiled the boy.
Linda was so astonished at the confidence of this little creature Ah no, be sincere. That was not what she felt; it was something far different, it was something so new, so The tears danced in her eyes; she breathed in a small whisper to the boy, Hallo, my funny!
But by now the boy had forgotten his mother. He was serious again. Something pink, something soft waved in front of him. He made a grab at it and it immediately disappeared. But when he lay back, another, like the first, appeared. This time he determined to catch it. He made a tremendous effort and rolled right over.
Chapter 1.VII
The tide was out; the beach was deserted; lazily flopped the warm sea. The sun beat down, beat down hot and fiery on the fine sand, baking the grey and blue and black and white-veined pebbles. It sucked up the little drop of water that lay in the hollow of the curved shells; it bleached the pink convolvulus that threaded through and through the sand-hills. Nothing seemed to move but the small sand-hoppers. Pit-pit-pit! They were never still.
Over there on the weed-hung rocks that looked at low tide like shaggy beasts come down to the water to drink, the sunlight seemed to spin like a silver coin dropped into each of the small rock pools. They danced, they quivered, and minute ripples laved the porous shores. Looking down, bending over, each pool was like a lake with pink and blue houses clustered on the shores; and oh! the vast mountainous country behind those housesthe ravines, the passes, the dangerous creeks and fearful tracks that led to the waters edge. Underneath waved the sea-forestpink thread-like trees, velvet anemones, and orange berry-spotted weeds. Now a stone on the bottom moved, rocked, and there was a glimpse of a black feeler; now a thread-like creature wavered by and was lost. Something was happening to the pink, waving trees; they were changing to a cold moonlight blue. And now there sounded the faintest plop. Who made that sound? What was going on down there? And how strong, how damp the seaweed smelt in the hot sun
The green blinds were drawn in the bungalows of the summer colony. Over the verandas, prone on the paddock, flung over the fences, there were exhausted-looking bathing-dresses and rough striped towels. Each back window seemed to have a pair of sand-shoes on the sill and some lumps of rock or a bucket or a collection of pawa shells. The bush quivered in a haze of heat; the sandy road was empty except for the Trouts dog Snooker, who lay stretched in the very middle of it. His blue eye was turned up, his legs stuck out stiffly, and he gave an occasional desperate-sounding puff, as much as to say he had decided to make an end of it and was only waiting for some kind cart to come along.
What are you looking at, my grandma? Why do you keep stopping and sort of staring at the wall?
Kezia and her grandmother were taking their siesta together. The little girl, wearing only her short drawers and her under-bodice, her arms and legs bare, lay on one of the puffed-up pillows of her grandmas bed, and the old woman, in a white ruffled dressing-gown, sat in a rocker at the window, with a long piece of pink knitting in her lap. This room that they shared, like the other rooms of the bungalow, was of light varnished wood and the floor was bare. The furniture was of the shabbiest, the simplest. The dressing-table, for instance, was a packing-case in a sprigged muslin petticoat, and the mirror above was very strange; it was as though a little piece of forked lightning was imprisoned in it. On the table there stood a jar of sea-pinks, pressed so tightly together they looked more like a velvet pincushion, and a special shell which Kezia had given her grandma for a pin-tray, and another even more special which she had thought would make a very nice place for a watch to curl up in.
Tell me, grandma, said Kezia.
The old woman sighed, whipped the wool twice round her thumb, and drew the bone needle through. She was casting on.
I was thinking of your Uncle William, darling, she said quietly.
My Australian Uncle William? said Kezia. She had another.
Yes, of course.
The one I never saw?
That was the one.
Well, what happened to him? Kezia knew perfectly well, but she wanted to be told again.
He went to the mines, and he got a sunstroke there and died, said old Mrs. Fairfield.
Kezia blinked and considered the picture again a little man fallen over like a tin soldier by the side of a big black hole.
Does it make you sad to think about him, grandma? She hated her grandma to be sad.
It was the old womans turn to consider. Did it make her sad? To look back, back. To stare down the years, as Kezia had seen her doing. To look after them as a woman does, long after they were out of sight. Did it make her sad? No, life was like that.
No, Kezia.
But why? asked Kezia. She lifted one bare arm and began to draw things in the air. Why did Uncle William have to die? He wasnt old.
Mrs. Fairfield began counting the stitches in threes. It just happened, she said in an absorbed voice.
Does everybody have to die? asked Kezia.
Everybody!
Me? Kezia sounded fearfully incredulous.
Some day, my darling.
But, grandma. Kezia waved her left leg and waggled the toes. They felt sandy. What if I just wont?
The old woman sighed again and drew a long thread from the ball.
Were not asked, Kezia, she said sadly. It happens to all of us sooner or later.
Kezia lay still thinking this over. She didnt want to die. It meant she would have to leave here, leave everywhere, for ever, leaveleave her grandma. She rolled over quickly.
Grandma, she said in a startled voice.
What, my pet!
Youre not to die. Kezia was very decided.
Ah, Keziaher grandma looked up and smiled and shook her headdont lets talk about it.
But youre not to. You couldnt leave me. You couldnt not be there. This was awful. Promise me you wont ever do it, grandma, pleaded Kezia.
The old woman went on knitting.
Promise me! Say never!
But still her grandma was silent.
Kezia rolled off her bed; she couldnt bear it any longer, and lightly she leapt on to her grandmas knees, clasped her hands round the old womans throat and began kissing her, under the chin, behind the ear, and blowing down her neck.
Say never say never say never She gasped between the kisses. And then she began, very softly and lightly, to tickle her grandma.
Kezia! The old woman dropped her knitting. She swung back in the rocker. She began to tickle Kezia. Say never, say never, say never, gurgled Kezia, while they lay there laughing in each others arms. Come, thats enough, my squirrel! Thats enough, my wild pony! said old Mrs. Fairfield, setting her cap straight. Pick up my knitting.
Both of them had forgotten what the never was about.
Chapter 1.VIII
The sun was still full on the garden when the back door of the Burnells shut with a bang, and a very gay figure walked down the path to the gate. It was Alice, the servant-girl, dressed for her afternoon out. She wore a white cotton dress with such large red spots on it and so many that they made you shudder, white shoes and a leghorn turned up under the brim with poppies. Of course she wore gloves, white ones, stained at the fastenings with iron-mould, and in one hand she carried a very dashed-looking sunshade which she referred to as her perishall.
Beryl, sitting in the window, fanning her freshly-washed hair, thought she had never seen such a guy. If Alice had only blacked her face with a piece of cork before she started out, the picture would have been complete. And where did a girl like that go to in a place like this? The heart-shaped Fijian fan beat scornfully at that lovely bright mane. She supposed Alice had picked up some horrible common larrikin and theyd go off into the bush together. Pity to have made herself so conspicuous; theyd have hard work to hide with Alice in that rig-out.
But no, Beryl was unfair. Alice was going to tea with Mrs Stubbs, whod sent her an invite by the little boy who called for orders. She had taken ever such a liking to Mrs. Stubbs ever since the first time she went to the shop to get something for her mosquitoes.
Dear heart! Mrs. Stubbs had clapped her hand to her side. I never seen anyone so eaten. You might have been attacked by canningbals.
Alice did wish thered been a bit of life on the road though. Made her feel so queer, having nobody behind her. Made her feel all weak in the spine. She couldnt believe that some one wasnt watching her. And yet it was silly to turn round; it gave you away. She pulled up her gloves, hummed to herself and said to the distant gum-tree, Shant be long now. But that was hardly company.
Mrs. Stubbss shop was perched on a little hillock just off the road. It had two big windows for eyes, a broad veranda for a hat, and the sign on the roof, scrawled MRS. STUBBSS, was like a little card stuck rakishly in the hat crown.
On the veranda there hung a long string of bathing-dresses, clinging together as though theyd just been rescued from the sea rather than waiting to go in, and beside them there hung a cluster of sandshoes so extraordinarily mixed that to get at one pair you had to tear apart and forcibly separate at least fifty. Even then it was the rarest thing to find the left that belonged to the right. So many people had lost patience and gone off with one shoe that fitted and one that was a little too big Mrs. Stubbs prided herself on keeping something of everything. The two windows, arranged in the form of precarious pyramids, were crammed so tight, piled so high, that it seemed only a conjurer could prevent them from toppling over. In the left-hand corner of one window, glued to the pane by four gelatine lozenges, there wasand there had been from time immemoriala notice.
LOST! HANSOME GOLE BROOCH SOLID GOLD ON OR NEAR BEACH REWARD OFFERED
Alice pressed open the door. The bell jangled, the red serge curtains parted, and Mrs. Stubbs appeared. With her broad smile and the long bacon knife in her hand, she looked like a friendly brigand. Alice was welcomed so warmly that she found it quite difficult to keep up her manners. They consisted of persistent little coughs and hems, pulls at her gloves, tweaks at her skirt, and a curious difficulty in seeing what was set before her or understanding what was said.