Too Late the Phalarope

by Alan Paton

  Therefore when he went home for lunch, he went by his usual way, and saw old Herman Geyer standing by his gate, waiting for a chance to talk. But it was too late to turn. And when he was near the gate, and his heart was beating, old Herman Geyer turned away from the gate and walked up the path to his house. Then he saw that he was a fool to take such comfort from a trifling thing, and the fear returned to him, so that again he would not eat his food in the sun and under the sky, but told Johannes to take it into the house.

  And now, after these days of terror and want of sleep, he was too spent for fighting, and when it was time again to take his hat and stick and venture into the street, he turned away again from van Onselen Street, and turned right and right, and came to the Police Station by the quiet way. And when he crossed van Onselen Street he met Hannes de Jongh, who said to him, are you right for the match? For the match was no ordinary match, but was the Northern Transvaal against the grass country, and the Northern Transvaal breeds a race of giants. And he thought of the match with dread, for if the watcher were to strike, then let him strike now or wait till after the match, for if he were full of malice and evil, he could wait till the day of the match itself; then on one day thirty thousand people would know what Pieter van Vlaanderen had done, and remember him with especial bitterness.

  — I’m all right, he said.

  And Hannes said, not like a man judging, but like a man a little anxious, is it true, Pieter, that you’ve taken to cigarettes?

  — Ah, one or two.

  Hannes de Jongh looked relieved.

  — I heard twenty or thirty, he said.

  And that was true too, that he had smoked twenty or thirty a day under the stress of the terror.

  — One or two’s all right, said Hannes, but twenty or thirty’s unbelievable, so I wouldn’t believe it.

  — Danie smoked twenty or thirty a day.

  — Danie wasn’t a great footballer, said Hannes shortly.

  — He was good.

  — I wasn’t talking about good ones, said Hannes, I was talking about great ones.

  And with that he walked on, and the lieutenant went into the Police Station; and that was the afternoon that Japie came to see him. He was carrying the case with all his papers, and he liked to sit down and open the case, and take out all the papers, and look at them without speaking, as though they brought back great thoughts and memories of great transactions, that were very important and too grave to share with his present company. But he was not really a man for vanity, and he would come back to his ordinary self and make you laugh at something. And now he brought out some papers in a cover, what the English call a file, and he looked at it and said ah, and then he looked at the lieutenant and said, the girl Stephanie.

  And the lieutenant was in a moment behind his armour, and he said, what about the girl Stephanie?

  — She’s working well, said Japie. Old Ma Griesel says she’s never had a girl like her.

  And the lieutenant said, that’s good.

  — So we hope she’ll keep it up, said Japie, then we won’t have to touch the child. Mind you, although your Aunt Sophie agrees that we shouldn’t touch the child, she thinks I should get the girl away from Venterspan altogether.

  — Does she?

  — Yes, she does. But what’s the point, old brother? Will she do any different anywhere else? But all these people are the same, get this girl away from here, get this klonkie away from here, get him anywhere so long as it’s somewhere else. They’ve got no overall picture at all. But you see Tante Sophie has me on the spot, because she knew me when I was a boy, and still thinks she can order me about. You’ll have to speak to her, old brother.

  And the lieutenant sat and considered it, that he should speak to me about the girl Stephanie.

  Japie packed away his papers with a sigh.

  — It’s a big job reforming the grass country, he said.

  — And how’s the girl with a V?

  Japie was serious.

  — It’s bad, he said, it’s bad.

  He looked at the lieutenant gloomily.

  — That’s why I don’t joke any more, he said.

  He stood up with his papers.

  — Marriage is a serious thing, he said. I’ve kept out of it so long that sometimes I take fright at the very idea.

  He turned to his friend with decision.

  — I’m coming to see you one night for advice, he said.

  Then he went, but was back again in a moment, putting his face around the door, and the man that did not joke any more was full of jokes.

  — How’s the girl with an A, he said.

  The lieutenant looked at him blankly.

  — What girl with an A, he said.

  — Anna, of course. Did you think I didn’t see you two in the Royal, billing and cooing?

  The lieutenant smiled.

  Then Japie said, didn’t you get the note on the door?

  Then he went down the passage laughing his terrible laugh, but suddenly remembered the captain and was silent, and went tiptoeing on. But the lieutenant was out of his chair in a moment, and in the passage too, asking in a trembling voice, what note on the door?

  And Japie shook a finger at him, and spoke softly because of the captain, and said, I saw you, I saw you.

  SO THE MIRACLE CAME AFTER ALL. And the twig breaking in the dark was only the twig breaking in the dark. And the watcher and tormentor was no watcher and tormentor at all, but only a joking friend. And the sun was shining and the doves were calling in the trees, and people had no trouble greater than General Smuts or the Government, and the thought of the black procession in Johannesburg. So the prayers of thanks to God were poured out in the office in the Police Station.

  He came out of the Police Station, past a boy smiling with adoration, into a street of safety and friends.

  Kappie’s store had just closed, so he went to the little room at the back, and said to Kappie in a great voice, what are we having, tea or coffee? And Kappie, though he was glad that the lieutenant should treat him so, was amazed in his heart, because the lieutenant had never said such a thing before, but would wait till he was asked. And the lieutenant walked round the small room with smiles and pleasure, and said pleadingly to the little bird that was Kappie’s friend, come now, won’t you sing? Then he went to the books of the records and said, I’m going to my mother’s tonight, but tomorrow night we’ll have some music. Then he said, none of your sad stuff, Kappie, something cheerful and light, what about a Gilbert and Sullivan?

  So he opened more pages of the secret book of his life than Kappie had ever seen, and each stranger than the last, making the book more secret than it was before. But the other knew that the great agony had been lifted.

  — How’s your wife, lieutenant?

  — She’s well, Kappie. Do you know what I wrote to her?

  — No, lieutenant.

  — I wrote to her, one day I’ll ask Kappie not to call me lieutenant, but by my name.

  And Kappie was embarrassed, and fiddled with the teapot, and said, I couldn’t do it, lieutenant.

  And the lieutenant laughed at him and said, you’re old enough to be my father.

  And Kappie said, that doesn’t make any difference.

  And the lieutenant felt his friend’s embarrassment, and said gravely, why, Kappie?

  And Kappie shrugged his shoulders, and fumbled with the teapot, and with the words too, and said, respect, lieutenant.

  But he saw the sudden mark of pain that came between the eyes. He busied himself with the tea, and poured it out, and they sat there gravely drinking. And Kappie sat there like a man with a puzzle with a hundred pieces, with a picture all but complete, with six or seven pieces that would not fit at all, whatever way you turned them; so that you knew this could not be the picture at all, but that the real picture must be something strange and different, and that the parts that looked complete must be something quite other, if these six or seven pieces were to be made to fit.

&
nbsp; Then the lieutenant told him that he had a puzzle too, for why should old Herman Geyer spit and turn. Kappie smiled and said, there could be two reasons for that.

  — What are they, Kappie?

  — One because you’re a policeman, and one because you’re a neighbour. You see one of his neighbours complained to the captain about the stables and the flies, so the captain inspected the stables. He told old Herman that he must either build a new stable or send the cows back to the farm, and you know old Herman could not be without his cows, and you know to spend his money is like giving blood. So Herman is very angry with the police and with his neighbours. And you are both policeman and neighbour, so for you he spits.

  So the lieutenant left Kappie with still another page of the book, and Kappie sat by himself and thought of the strangeness of his friend, and of the deep agony that had been lifted and the small pain that could still return, and of the tall grave man that went round the room smiling and pleased. And he could not understand it, except to know that it was deep and strange.

  And that night my nephew came to our house, and stole behind his sister Martha and put his hand over her eyes, and said in a squeaking voice, guess who it is.

  And she said at once, Pieter.

  But he said in the squeaking voice, No, guess again.

  And she said again, Pieter, and tried to struggle free to look at him, though she might have saved her breath.

  And he said, No, guess again.

  — I give in, she said.

  Then he bent and whispered something to her, so that she went red as fire, and was so angry as such a girl could be. But he laughed at her anger, and walked round our house too, looking with eyes of pleasure at all the things he had seen so many times before. His father, who was now recovered from the influenza, gave him one swift heavy-lidded look, and returned to his paper. But his mother and I watched him with wonder.

  And at dinner my brother was jovial too, and told us the story of how he had taken Sybrand Wessels into the Social Welfare Office that was the old butcher’s shop, and how he had asked Japie, why do you have that hook? And Japie did not want to tell him, for he knew that the Oubaas knew quite well the story of the hook, and though Japie likes to make himself a fool, he does not like others to do it too. And when my brother saw that Japie did not want to tell the story of the hook, he looked at him as he had looked at him on the farm Buitenverwagting, when Japie was a boy, and he said to him again, a little cold and stern, why do you have that hook? Then Japie had to tell them about the hook, and Sybrand Wessels was spluttering with laughter, not because of the story of the hook, but because my brother had already told him how he would force Japie to repeat his joke, and because he knew that the devil was in my brother, and because he knew that the devil and my brother were laughing together inwardly, and because he could see that Japie was embarrassed at having to tell the joke. So the two old clowns laughed at the young one, and the young one the biggest clown of all.

  — And now, said my brother, when I go to the Social Welfare Office, Volkswelsynbeampte Grobler is suddenly not there.

  Then he grunted at us.

  — I’ll teach the Government, he said, to give me Japie Grobler for thirty minutes of my time.

  Then my nephew said, I’ll tell you another story just like that.

  And he told us the story of the Duke of Wellington, who when he was old and famous and no longer a fighting man, went one night to his old regiment for dinner; and all the officers were nervous and excited at having so great a man. And the Duke of Wellington told them the story of how on one of his campaigns, his man had opened a bottle of port after the dinner, and there in the bottle was the body of a rat. So one of the officers said nervously, it must have been a big bottle, sir. And the Duke of Wellington looked at him and said, it was a damned small bottle. And the officer said, foolishly and nervously, it must have been a small rat, sir. And the Duke of Wellington looked at him and said, it was a damned large rat. Then he looked round at them all, but no one said another word.

  And the story caught my brother under his guard, even though his son used the word verdomde which he does not like, so that he suddenly spluttered some of the food in his mouth out onto his plate. And we all laughed, but my brother did not laugh, because he was putting back his guard. He growled, and looked like the Duke of Wellington himself, so that we all laughed more than ever. And you could see that he was secretly proud to be likened to the Duke of Wellington, even though he had been an Englishman. And my sister-in-law watched her son with wonder.

  And the next Saturday he went to Pretoria, and there the grass country beat the giants of the North, for the first time in history. And thirty thousand people clapped their hands, and called out, van Vlaanderen, van Vlaanderen. And they called out for the young dominee too, for it was Pieter van Vlaanderen and the dominee that beat the giants of the North. And the young girl went with them too, and came back with her face all shining, having seen thirty thousand people go mad over the two men that she loved.

  And I remember that time, for our happiness came back again, like a moment of sunshine snatched from a heavy sky.

  And I remember that time, for Sergeant Steyn went for his holiday with his family, to the South Coast of Natal, where all the English people are. And his daughter Henrietta, who was ten years old because the sergeant had not been to the war, collected the small coloured shells that lie on the beaches there. She collected them in her innocence, and put them into a box, and brought them back to Venterspan; and by one of them collected in innocence, the house of van Vlaanderen was destroyed.

  THEN NELLA AND THE CHILDREN came back from the farm Vergelegen all brown and healthy, for the sun is hot even in winter down there on the edge of the low country. He went to meet the bus in a great excitement but also in a great constraint, for he could think only of the letter, and how he had revealed himself again to her, and how she had again drawn back. While he waited for the bus, which was a little late, he thought that perhaps he should have had a meeting after all, or some visitors, partly to defend himself against her, and partly to show that he was cold and did not care; and he thought of the letters they had written since, full of news, news, news, and the formal words of love. So when she came they kissed, not coldly, but with constraint; and when she came she did not look at him even from the bus, nor come at him with the shining eyes, but shepherded the children and said, look, there’s your father.

  But the warmth broke out of him nevertheless, at the sight of his children. And he put the small boy into one great arm and the small girl into the other, and pressed them without mercy against his body, and they did not cry out, being used to his ways.

  Then they got into the car, and drove to the house, and it was nearly dark, so they put on the lights and pulled down the blinds. And she did not say, it’s nice to be home, or kiss him again, but busied herself with the children and the bath, and went about the house as though she were intent on a thousand duties. And so remote was she that he went and stood in the study, and heard the noises of the children in the bath, and heard her say to them, now be good and I’ll fetch your pappie.

  And he thought he would not go, for how could a woman be so blind? He would fling out of the house, and go to the Royal and drink with his friends, and sit with them too, and come back when the house was dark.

  Then she came into the study and shut the door, and came at him with the shining eyes, and went into his arms, and said, my love, my love. And he held her with gratitude and hunger, and kissed her mouth and eyes and neck, and put his hands over her breasts. And she pulled down his head and whispered to him, I’m sorry about the letter, so that his joy was complete.

  Then she said to him, any visitors tonight?

  And he said to her, only three.

  And she said to him, I didn’t bring any relations.

  Then he held her to him again, and kissed her mouth and eyes and neck, and she said to him, but not coldly, be sensible now and come and see the children
in the bath.

  So they went to see the children and the joy of life burst out of him, so that he pulled them about in the bath, and could have hurt them, but that his strength was gentle. Then he punished his son for being so long away, and kissed him better; then the daughter must be punished too. Then he punished them both for sending him only crayon drawings and no letters; then he punished them both because the bus was late. And they laughed and shouted, and splashed the water all over the room, so that Nella came in and said, you’re all naughty to make such a mess.

  Then they had their meal, and neither he nor she could eat, being sick of love. The children were put to bed, and the boy Johannes went to his room, and the kitchen door was locked, so that they had the house to themselves. Then she, not he, made for them a bed in front of the fire, which was a thing they had not done since the earliest days of their love. And their joy was so complete that there was not need for any words, save for the words of love. Nor did he need to talk to her about the love which is both of the body and of the soul, nor of the dangers that were all about him; for there was no danger there, nor need have been again, had she had some deeper understanding than she had. And he kissed her feet, remembering, and she remembering also, that the first time he had done it she had wept; but she would not let him stay there, but drew him up to her, head by head, so that they might be equal.

  And he said to her, I worship you.

  And she said to him, I worship you also, so that the mark of pain came there between his eyes in the dark.

  Then she got up and put on her gown, and made coffee for them over the fire. And there was no need to fetch anything, because everything was there already.

  She said to him, now’s your chance to smoke.

  — I haven’t even brought my pipe.

  — You’re in a bad state, she said.

  Then she went in her gown to fetch his pipe and tobacco.

  When she came back she said, what’s happened to your favourite pipe?