‘What are you doing?’
‘Seeing if this old canoe is sea-worthy. You see, there’s a leak, but I don’t think it’s anything much. I’ll leave her in the water over-night. I want to rig her up with a sail.’ He stroked the canoe lovingly.
‘You like going in boats, don’t you?’
‘I suppose I do rather.’
‘I like it too. Especially at night.’
But he would not give himself away. She saw him slipping down the stream, alone in his canoe, the night before, but she was not to know it, she could not say: ‘I saw you.’
He bent over his canoe, fingering the wood, then straightened himself and stood looking down the long willow-bordered stretch of water. The sun had gone out of it and it was a quiet grey limpid solitude. A white owl flew over, swooping suddenly low.
‘There he goes,’ said Roddy softly. ‘He goes every evening.’
‘Yes I know.’
She smiled still in her immense mysterious amusement. She saw him look up at the poplar from whence the owl had come, and as he did so his whole image was flung imperishably on her mind. She saw the portrait of a young man, with features a trifle blurred and indeterminate, as if he had just waked up; the dark hair faintly ruffled and shining, the expression secret-looking, with something proud and sensual and cynical, far older than his years, in the short full curve of his lips and the heaviness of his under-lids. She saw all the strange blend of likeness and unlikeness to the boy Roddy which he presented without a clue.
He caught her smile and smiled back, all his odd face breaking up in intimate twinklings, and the mouth parting and going downward in its bitter-sweet way. They smiled into each other’s eyes; and all at once the light in his seemed to gather to a point and become fixed, dwelling on her for a moment.
‘Well?’ he said at last; for they still lingered uncertainly, as if aware of something between them that kept them hesitating, watching, listening subconsciously, each waiting on the other for a decisive action.
He spread out his hands and looked down at them; a nervous gesture and look she remembered with a pang.
‘Yea, we must go,’ she said softly.
At supper he sat opposite her, and twinkled at her incessantly, as if encouraging her to continue to share with him a secret joke. But, confused amongst them all, she had lost her sense of vast amusement and assurance; she was unhappy because he was a stranger laughing at her and she could not laugh back.
Beside him was the face of Martin, staring solemnly, with absorption, watching her mouth when she spoke, her eyes when she glanced at him.
Thank God the meal was soon over.
A gay clipped exhilarating dance tune sounded from the drawing-room. Roddy had turned on the gramophone. He came and took Mariella without a word and they glided off together. Judith stayed with Julian and Martin in the verandah, looking in at them. She was frightened; she could not dance, so she would be no use to Roddy.
‘Do you dance, Julian?’
‘No. At least only with two people.’
Alas, – wounding reminder of his elegant unknown world where she had no place! … She blushed in the dusk.
‘Julian’s very lordly about his dancing,’ said Martin. ‘I expect he’s rotten really.’
‘It may be,’ said Julian, stung and irritable. ‘It may be that I therefore bestow the burden of my gyrations on the only two creatures of my acquaintance whose rottenness equals mine. It may be that I derive more satisfaction from the idea of this artistic whole of rottenness than from the physical delights of promiscuous contact.’
‘It may be,’ said Martin pleasantly, unperturbed.
Julian hunched his shoulders and went away, clouded by a dreadful mood.
‘Poor old Ju,’ said Martin softly.
‘Yes, poor thing.’ Her voice implied how well she understood, and he looked grateful.
In the drawing-room, Roddy and Mariella moved like a dream, smoothly turning, pausing and swaying, quite silent.
‘Well, shall we?’ Martin smiled down at her.
Now she must confess.
‘I can’t Martin, I don’t know how. I’ve never learnt. I haven’t ever –’ Shame and despair flooded her.
‘Oh you’ll soon learn,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Come and try.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t.’
She glanced at the competent interweaving feet of Mariella and Roddy, at Mariella’s slender back pivoting gracefully from the hips, at Roddy’s composed dancing-face and shoulders. She could not let them see her stumbling and struggling.
‘Well, come and practise in the hall. Here now. Can you hear the music? Follow me. This is a fox-trot. Look, your feet between my feet. Now just go backwards, following my movements. Don’t think about it. If you step on my feet it’s my fault and vice versa. Now – short, long short, two short. Don’t keep your back so stiff, – quite free and supple but quite upright.’
‘Do it by yourself,’ said Judith perspiring with anxiety. Then I can see.’
He chasséed solemnly round the hall, pausing now and then to show her how he brought his feet together; then, with a firm band on her shoulder-blades he made her follow him.
‘That’s good. It’s coming. Oh good! Sorry, that was my fault. You’ve got the trick now.’
All at once the music had got into her limbs; it seemed impossible not to move to it.
‘But you can!’ said Martin, letting her go and beaming at her in joyful surprise.
‘Come back into the drawing-room,’ said Judith, exalted.
They went
‘Now,’ she said trembling.
Martin put his arm round her end they glided off. It was easier then walking, it was more delicious than swimming or climbing; her body had always known how it was done. Martin looked down at her with eloquent eyes end said:
‘You know, you’re marvellous. I didn’t know anyone could learn so quickly.’
‘It’s because I’ve had such a good teacher,’ she said sweetly.
They went on dancing, end every now and then she looked up and smiled at him and his eyes shone and smiled in answer, happy because of her pleasure. He really was a dear. In his looks he had improved beyond expectation. He was still a little red, a little coltish and untidy, but his figure was impressive, with powerful heavy shoulders and narrow hips; and the muscles of his thigh and calf bulged beneath his trousers. His head with the brown wings of hair brushed flat and straight on it, was finely set, his eyes were dark and warm, kindly rather than intelligent; his nose was biggish and thick, his mouth long, thin and rather ineffectual, with a faint twitch at one corner, – the corner that lifted first, swiftly, when he smiled his frequent shy smile. His teeth were magnificent; and he smelt a little of Virginian cigarettes.
‘You must dance with Roddy,’ said Martin. ‘He’s ever so much better than I am.’
Roddy and Mariella were dancing in the porch now, not speaking or looking about them. The record came to an end, but they went on whirling while Martin sought a new tune and set it going; then they glided forward again.
Roddy had forgotten her: she was not up to his dancing.
At last Mariella stopped and disengaged herself.
‘I want to dance with Martin now,’ she said.
Roddy left her and strolled over to Judith.
‘Been giving Martin a dancing-lesson?’ he said.
‘Goodness no! He’s been teaching me. I didn’t know how.’
‘Oh? – How did you get on?’
‘Quite well, thank you. It’s easy. I think I can dance now.’
‘Good!’
It was plain he was not interested; or else was incredulous. He thought she was just a stumbling novice; he was not going to dance with her or even offer to go on teaching her. Roddy would never have bothered to give her hints or be patient while s
he was awkward. He was so good himself that he could not condescend to incompetence. But Judith, still, though more doubtfully, exalted, said:
‘Shall we dance?’
He looked surprised.
‘All right. Certainly. Just let me cool down a bit.’
He was not in any hurry. He sat on a table and watched Mariella’s neatly moving feet.
‘She’s good at her stuff,’ he said.
‘Do you adore dancing?’
‘Well, I don’t know that I adore it. It’s fun once in a way.’
‘It seems funny not to be mad about a thing if you can do it so beautifully.’
He looked at her with amusement.
She must remember not to ask Roddy if he adored things. His secret life went on in a place where such states of feeling were unknown.
‘Shall we?’ he said at last.
She was not going to be able to do it; the rhythm had gone out of her limbs. He was going to be too good for her and she would stumble and he would get disgusted and not dance with her any more …
After a few moments of anguish, suddenly she could, after all. Long light movements flowed from her body.
Roddy looked down.
‘But you can dance,’ he said.
‘I told you I could. You didn’t believe me.’
He laughed.
‘You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never danced before?’
‘Never.’
‘Swear?’
‘Cross my heart.’
‘But of course,’ said Roddy, ‘you couldn’t help dancing, such a beautiful mover as you.’
He had really said that! She lifted her face and glowed at him: life was too, too rich.
The music came to an end. Roddy stood still with his arm round her waist and called imperiously to Martin for another tune.
‘Come on,’ he said, and tightened his arm round her. You might almost dare to suppose he was a little, a very little exalted too.
‘But you do love it, Roddy!’
He looked down at her and smiled.
‘Sometimes.’
‘Do you now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good!’
She was silenced by happiness.
They were alone now. Martin and Mariella were on the verandah, and she heard Mariella say:
‘Darlin’ Martin, fetch me my coat.’
‘Mariella’s very fond of Martin, isn’t she?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose she is. What makes you think so?’
‘I heard her call him darling just now.’
He laughed.
‘Oh yes. She does that now and again.’
‘She doesn’t call you darling,’ said Judith twinkling.
‘No. Nobody ever does.’
‘Not anybody, – ever?’
‘Not anybody – ever’
‘What a pity! And it is so enjoyable to be called Darling.’
‘I’ve no doubt it is. I tell you I’ve no experience.’ He peered into her face, and repeated piteously: ‘Nobody ever does.’
Judith laughed aloud.
‘I will,’ she heard her own voice saying.
‘You really will?’
She waited.
‘Go on,’ he urged.
The word would not come.
‘Go on, go on!’ he shouted triumphantly.
‘Oh, be quiet!’
‘Please! …’
‘No …’
She hid her face away from him and blushed. Laughing silently he gathered her up and started whirling, whirling. A deeper dream started. The room was a blur, flying, sinking away; only Roddy’s dark red tie and the line of his cheek and chin above it were real.
She laughed and gasped, clinging to him.
‘Giddy?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’
He stopped and looked at her amusedly.
‘Oh, I am.’
She threw out an arm blindly and he caught it and supported her.
‘Come out on the verandah and get sober,’ he said.
The spring night greeted them with a chill fragrance. Roddy’s eyes were so bright that she could see them shining, brimming with amusement in the dim light.
‘What are you looking at, Roddy?’
‘You.’
‘I can see your eyes. Can you see mine?’
He bent his head over hers.
‘Yes, of course. They’re like stars. Lovely dark eyes.’
‘Are they? … Roddy paying compliments, – how funny! Roddy, I remember you. Do you remember yourself when we were children?’
‘Not much. I never remember the past. I suppose I’m not interested enough, – or interesting enough.’
She felt checked, and dared not ask the ‘What do you remember about me?’ which should have opened the warm little paths of childish reminiscence. Roddy had no desire to recall the uninteresting figures of himself and the little girl Judith: that trifling relationship had been brushed away as soon as it had ceased. She must realize that, for him, no long threads came dragging from the web of the past, tangling the present.
She stared into the dark garden, wondering what safe topic to propose.
‘When do you go back to Paris, Roddy?’
‘Oh, – soon, I suppose.’
‘Do you work very hard there?’
‘Terribly hard.’
‘Drawing or painting?’
‘Some of both. Nothing of either.’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t show me some of your things?’
‘Couldn’t. I’ve nothing here. I’m having a rest.’ He twinkled at her.
‘What a pity! I should so have loved … Which are you best at, drawing or painting?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Drawing, I think. But I’m not any good. I just waste time.’
‘Why do you?’
‘Why indeed?’
‘How funny! If I could draw I’d draw all day. I’d be so excited at being able to, I’d go on and on. I’d be so horrid and enthusiastic. I wouldn’t have any sense of humour about it. You’d think me nauseating, wouldn’t you?’
He nodded, smiling.
‘But I’d draw. I’d be the best drawer in the world. Oh, you are lucky! I do envy people with a speciality, and I do love them. Isn’t it funny how fingers take naturally to one form of activity and not to another? Mine – mine –’ she spread them out and looked at them – ‘mine wouldn’t draw if I spent all my life trying to make them; but – they know how to touch a piano – only a little of course; but they understand that without having it explained. And some fingers can make lovely things with a needle and thread and a bit of stuff. There’s another mystery! Then there are the machine makers, and the ones that can use knives like artists to take away bits of people or put bits in, – and the ones that can remove pain just by touching … Some people are their hands, aren’t they? They understand with them. But most people have idiot hands, – destroyers. Roddy, why are some of our senses always idiots? All my senses are semi-imbecile, and I’m better off than lots of people, I suppose. Seems to me, what they call the norm is practically idiot, and any departure is just a little more or less so. Yet one has this idea of perfection –’
She stopped abruptly. He was not interested, and his face in the wan light was a blank which might be hiding mockery or distrust of a girl who affected vaporous philosophizing, trying, no doubt, to appear clever. She flushed. Such stuff had been her food for years, chewed over secretly, or confided to the one friend, the Roddy of her imagination; and here she was in the foolishness of her elation pouring it out to this unmoved young man who thought – she must remember this – that he was meeting her for the first time. It was plain, it must be plain to him, that she was a person with no notion of the rule
s of behaviour.
‘Come back and dance,’ suggested Roddy at last.
It was curious how much easier it was to get on with Roddy if he had an arm round you. His mind, the whole of him, came freely to meet you then; there was entire happiness, entire peace and harmony. It was far more difficult to find him on the plane where only minds, not senses, had contact, – the plane on which a Julian, one whose physical touch could never be desirable, was reached without any groping. Roddy put something in the way. He guarded himself almost as if he suspected you of trying to catch him out; or of taking an impertinent interest in him. His mind would be thrilling if you could dig it out: all hidden and withheld things were.
‘I don’t want ever to stop,’ she said suddenly.
‘We won’t,’ he promised and held her closer, as if he were as much caught away and dazed as she.
He bent his head and whispered laughingly:
‘Just say it.’
‘Say what?’
‘That word you like – in your delicious voice – just as a kindness.’
‘No, I won’t – now.’
‘When will you?’
‘You are naughty, Roddy … Perhaps when I know you better.’
‘You’ll never know me better than you do now.’
‘Don’t say that. Why do you?’
‘There’s nothing more to know.’
‘Oh, if there’s nothing more to know, then you are –’
‘What?’
‘More or less – as far as I can tell –’
‘What?’
She whispered:
‘A darling.’
‘Ah, thank you.’ He added rapidly, in the full soft voice of laughter: ‘Thank you, darling.’
‘Now we’ve both said it. Aren’t we absurd?’
‘No, very sensible.’
‘Did you like it?’
‘I adored it.’
‘Roddy, are we flirting?’
‘Are we?’
‘If we are, it’s your fault. You make me feel sort of stimulated. I didn’t flirt with Martin.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it. Martin wouldn’t have liked it at all.’
They laughed and danced on. He held her very close, the cold rim of his ear touching her forehead.
‘To think I’ve never danced before!’
Dusty Answer Page 8