Dusty Answer

by Rosamond Lehmann

  ‘Now that they have seen me in my beautiful home, against my own background, the only daughter of such richness, they will think more of me.’

  It certainly seemed so. Conversation flowed happily about nothing. She was, for the first time, completely at her ease; and they listened with interest, – even with a sort of deference, as if they thought her rather a special person.

  After tea they went down to the river. The westering sun spread on the water as far as eye could see in a full embrace of shining light.

  ‘Let’s bathe,’ said Martin.

  They ran next door for their bathing suits while she undressed in the boat-house. Then they returned and undressed behind the boat-house; and they all plunged into the water together.

  Judith and Roddy stood on the raft, watching Martin diving sideways, and backwards and forwards, always perfectly, his magnificent muscle swelling and rippling as he moved. He swam and dived with a faultless ease of technique, as if he could never tire.

  But Roddy would not exert himself. After two swift arrow-like dives he stood on the raft looking funny and boyish, with his hair plastered close over his head and his too-slender body shivering slightly. She noticed how delicately he was made in spite of his height. He had the look of a cat, graceful, narrow and lazy; and his skin was almost as smooth as her own.

  When she dived he watched her body and all her movements closely; and she wondered whether his artist’s eye were detecting the faults and virtues of her form and if she compared at all favourably with his models in Paris.

  She swam a little and talked to Martin, and came back to the raft.

  ‘Have you had enough, Roddy?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Do you prefer watching?’

  ‘I always prefer watching.’

  It was true. He would watch with deep concentration while others moved and took exercise, as if he were drawing them in his mind or getting them by heart; but his own impulses towards physical activity were rare and of brief duration.

  ‘I like swimming,’ said Judith; careful not to say she adored it.

  ‘You do it very nicely.’

  ‘But this is dull compared with swimming at night.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Have you ever done that?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘You don’t need to wear a bathing-suit then. It’s far more delicious with nothing on.’

  ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘I do it quite often.’

  Now she was going to tell him something she had never meant to tell him. She could not stop herself. As if he were expecting it, he turned his face to hers, and waited.

  ‘I saw you once when I was bathing. It was before we met again. You were in a canoe, alone, and I knew it was you. I watched you go past.

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘You –’

  ‘I saw you,’ he said.

  She was paralysed; and of the questions which flooded her mind not one could be spoken.

  She lifted her eyes and saw his weighing on her, making her answer him, with something heavy and fixed, dazed almost, at the back of their clear shining. She gazed back; and in a moment was lost, sinking in timeless soundless darkness and clinging to his eyes while she drowned.

  It was all over in the duration of two or three heavy heart beats: and then they were standing together aimlessly, shivering in wet bathing-suits and Martin came all streaming and fresh from the water and broke in upon them with cheerful upbraidings.

  They parted from her with happy thanks and friendly looks, and Roddy said that some day he would come and spend a whole afternoon in the library if he might; and then instead of the casual: ‘See you again soon’ which she dreaded, they gave her a specific invitation to a picnic in two days’ time.

  That had been the last time.

  It was a day without sun. The muffled light fell all day across the countryside as if through faintly shining bluish glass; and beneath it the spring held itself withdrawn and still, as unchanging as a picture. Around the gentle green of the picnic meadow was the wild and ardent green of the little hedge; and here and there across the hedge, the blackthorn flung great scatters of frail-spun snow. Beyond the meadow the larch copse was lit all over with plumes of green fire; and upon its fringes, pure against the dim purple-brown of its tangled trunks, a stripling tree or so sprinkled its fresh leaves out upon the darkness like a swarm of green moths arrested in flight. Everywhere was the lavish, pouring green, smouldering and weighed down with the ache of life, and quiet, quiet, turned inward upon itself and consuming its own heart. Everywhere the white blossom, as it rose, freed itself lightly from its roots in earth’s pangs of passion and contemplation, and, floating upon the air, kept but one secret, which was beauty, paid no heed, gave no sign.

  Roddy lay with his head in the moss, sniffing at primroses, nibbling grasses, teasing Martin under his breath, watching them all with half-closed eyes.

  Everyone was quiet and happy ; all the peevishness was gone, all the tension smashed out. The cigarette smoke curled in patterns into the still air; and now and again the spring stirred, shook out a long breath of blossom and leaf and wet earth; and then was tranced again.

  They made a wood fire and watched it sink to crumbling feathery ash round a glowing core; and they ate oranges and tomates and very young small lettuces stolen from the garden by Martin who was still, so Roddy said, a tiger for raw vegetables. But there were no onions: he declared he given them up.

  Nothing memorable was said or done, yet all seemed significant, and her happiness grew to such a poignant ecstasy that her lips trembled. She rolled over and hid her face in her hands for fear it should betray her by indecent radiance; but nobody noticed. Their eyes looked calm and dreaming: even Mariella’s had a less blind stare, a depth of meditation.

  If only the moment could stay fixed, if their strange and thoughtful faces could enclose her safely for ever in their trance of contentment, if she could be able to want nothing from them beyond a share of their unimpassioned peace: if only these things could be, they would be best. For a moment they seemed possible; for a moment she achieved a summit and clung briefly to it, tasting the cool taste of no desire. But it would not do: it was the taste of being old and past wanting people, – past wanting Roddy who already tasted so sharply and sweetly that she must have more of him and more of him; and whose presence in the circle made collective indifference a pretence too bleak to strive for.

  The sun flooded the meadow all at once in a tide of pallid light; and the earth ceased to struggle and brood in the dark coil of itself, and spread itself smiling and released. The spell within the clouded crystal of the afternoon broke; they stretched and stirred. Judith looked up at the big elm.

  ‘Who can climb this?’ she said.

  ‘Up with you,’ said Martin.

  She climbed as she had not climbed since childhood, lifting herself lightly, unhesitatingly from branch to branch. At the top she looked down and saw them all small beneath her, looking up. Boldly from her eminence she called to the little creatures to come up; but not one of them would.

  She descended again, feeling young and silly in the face of their lack of physical ambition. But they were all smiling upwards to receive her. Martin held his hands up to her and she took them and jumped from the bottom bough.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten your stuff,’ he said, and his eyes dwelt on her with their faithful brown look.

  ‘I wish I could do that,’ said Mariella. ‘I never could.’

  ‘And now,’ said Julian, ‘divert us with a hand spring or so,’ – and his harsh face looked half-amused, half-clouded with an odd look, – almost like jealousy.

  He had never been really pleased with the spectacle of other people’s successes: He found it too bitter not to be himself the one to excel. But he could not trouble her today or make her dou
btful.

  Roddy said nothing, – only looked at her out of glinting, twinkling eyes.

  It was time to go home.

  She parted from them gaily, taking her immense happiness with her unbroken, for once stepping clear out of the day into sleep with it wrapped round her.

  But now, when she looked back for that day, it was a million miles behind her, floating insubstantially like a wisp of shining mist: and all that returned to her out of it, clear and whole, were two detached impressions which, at the time, had barely brushed her consciousness: the look of young lilac-leaves with the sun on them, glittering above the garden-gate where she had bidden them good-bye; and the expression she had surprised on Mariella’s face some time in that day, – but when, she had forgotten.

  Whatever had disturbed Mariella’s face then, it had not been happiness. The other faces, even Roddy’s, had unaccountably become blurred in the mist; but Mariella’s came back again and again, as if to stress the significance of its momentary defencelessness; as if, could it only be solved, there, in a flash, would be the whole clue to Mariella.

  She got up and studied her hair in the mirror above the mantelpiece. While she stared there came a tap on the window behind her. She turned and there was Roddy peering through the pane and laughing at her. She ran to the window and opened it.

  ‘Roddy!’

  It did not seem possible that he should have come when she wanted him so badly.

  ‘I’ve knocked twice. You were too busy to hear me.’

  ‘I’ve put my hair up.’

  ‘It’s ravishing. Will you please come in it to a fireworks party which Martin is giving in about an hour’s time?’

  ‘Fireworks! of all heavenly things! Hurrah for Martin!’

  ‘He only thought of it this afternoon, and he dashed into the town and bought up the whole stock. He sent me to fetch you. He says he must have you, Julian’s terrified of the big rocket and he wants you to persuade him to light it. And you’re to stay to supper afterwards. Mariella’s away for the night. Can you face it?’

  ‘Oh, how glorious!’

  He gave her a hand and she jumped out of the window.

  Roddy was in his best mood. He was friendly and talkative; his face was almost wide awake; his very hair looked alert, ruffled about his forehead; and he was sunburnt and clear-eyed, at his ease in grey flannels and yellow shirt and an ancient navy-blue jacket.

  The river had an enchanted beauty and stillness in the half-light. It was moon-coloured, with a dying flush in it; faint opal flickers lit the ripples that broke away on either side of the canoe.

  ‘It won’t be dark enough for a while, yet,’ said Roddy. ‘They’ll wonder where I am.’

  ‘Why? Didn’t you tell them?’

  ‘They didn’t know I’d slip off so soon.’

  She blushed. It really looked as if Roddy had come early in order to have a little time alone with her. He would not say so; but he twinkled and smiled so gaily that she smiled back at him, as if giving him secret for delightful secret.

  ‘They’ll tease me,’ he declared.

  ‘No. Will they?’

  ‘Yes, I assure you –’

  ‘How silly!’

  ‘Isn’t it? Do you know, they’ll suspect us of the most desperate flirtation on this exquisite secluded river.’

  ‘Will they?’ She was troubled.

  ‘What common minds! As if a man couldn’t be alone with a girl without making love to her.’

  ‘Oh, I do agree, Roddy.’

  He threw back his head and laughed silently: he had been laughing all the time. And it had seemed for a moment that Roddy was prepared for the first time in her memory to have a little serious conversation.

  ‘Oh Roddy, how you do laugh at me!’

  ‘I can’t help it Judy. You are so incredibly solemn. You don’t mind, do you? Please don’t mind. I adore people who make me laugh.’

  It was that his laughter left her out, making her feel heavy and unhumorous. If only he would teach her to play with him, how quick and apt he would find her!

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Only I do wish I could be ready for you.’

  Being himself, was Roddy more likely or less likely to fall in love with a person he never took seriously?

  ‘You’d forgive anybody, however badly they treated you, wouldn’t you, Judy?’

  ‘Forgiving or not forgiving doesn’t mean much to me. I never could feel wronged. I might not be able to help feeling hurt, but forgiveness wouldn’t come into it.’

  ‘Hmm!’ said Roddy. ‘Are you sure you’re so civilized? Personally I never forgive anybody anything. I’m like God. I love my grievances, and want people to feel them.’

  ‘I know you’re laughing really. I know it isn’t true, what you say.’

  He said quickly, quite seriously:

  ‘I never would forgive a person who made a fool of me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like it; but if it only affected myself, it wouldn’t be important. A thing that happens to yourself alone doesn’t matter.’ She stopped and blushed painfully, thinking: ‘How he’ll mock’; but instead he looked at her gravely and nodded, saying:

  ‘I dare say you’re right.’

  It was beginning to get dark.

  He steered the canoe under the willows into narrow shadinesses, lit a cigarette and lay back watching her.

  ‘And what will they teach you at college, Judy?’

  No one but he knew how to say ‘Judy.’

  ‘I don’t know, Roddy. I’m rather frightened, – not about the reading, – about the girls, all the people. I don’t understand a bit how to live with lots of people. I never have. I shall make such mistakes. It oppresses me, such a weight of lives crammed together in one building, such a terrifying press of faces. I prefer living alone.’

  ‘Don’t get standardized, or I shan’t come and visit you.’

  ‘Will you come and visit me?’

  ‘If I ever find myself not too desperately busy,’ he said twinkling.

  ‘I shall look forward to that. Perhaps I’ll see Martin sometimes too. Perhaps it won’t be so bad … Roddy, do you realize I’ve never known anyone of my own age except the gardener’s little girl and one or two local children – and all of you? After you left, when we were little, I was so lonely I … You don’t know. Daddy would never let me be sent to school. Now you’re back, I expect every day to wake up and find you all vanished again.’

  ‘We shan’t vanish again.’

  ‘If only I were sure!’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh you! You’re the most vanishing of all. You slip through my fingers.’

  ‘Not I. It’s you who do that.’

  ‘I?’

  ‘Yes. You elude …’ He made a gesture with his hand. ‘I don’t understand how you work. You’re an enigma. You intrigue me.’

  ‘I’m very glad.’

  ‘And I’m afraid of you.’

  ‘You’re not. You’re only amused at me.’

  ‘No. You’re wrong.’

  He fell silent, smoking and watching her; all his attention fixed in his eyes. It was as if he could not look away. Her head swam, and she stammered:

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘That it’s a good thing we – agree so – completely about the standards of conduct proper between the sexes; otherwise it might be a good thing you’re so exceptionally forgiving.’ His voice had an edge of question.

  ‘Roddy, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing. A slight emotional conflict, – now resolved.’

  He sat up suddenly, brushing some mood all in a minute from his mind and his eyes and his voice. He lit another cigarette and started paddling.

  Supposing Roddy had been going to say: ‘Kiss me?’… Better not to think about
it.

  The stars were bright now: it must be dark enough for Martin’s fireworks. Things were happening next door: Martin was preparing to celebrate in earnest. He had hung a row of fairy lanterns all along the eaves of the verandah, and the lights glowed rose, blue, green and white among the leaves of the vine. His shadowy figure was moving on the lawn, and another moved beside it: that was Tony Baring, Roddy explained, his friend and Martin’s, staying for the night. Julian was playing the piano; he was visible in profile against the window.

  ‘What a party, Roddy! And I the only lady. Please protect me.’

  ‘Oh yes, we all will. We’ll each protect you against all the others, so you’re fairly safe.’

  A sudden light flared up in the garden.

  ‘Hey!’ said Martin’s voice. ‘Hi! Here everybody! My fireworks have started. Where the hell has Roddy got to? I wanted –’

  ‘Here we are!’ shouted Judith. ‘Hullo, Martin! Martin! We’re here, we’re watching. Hurrah for you, Martin!’

  ‘Oh good! Is that you, Judy? I’ve got some pretty hot stuff here. Watch!’

  He spoke in the anxious excited voice of a small boy displaying the charms of his hobby to some indulgently attentive adult.

  ‘Oh Martin, that’s splendid. Oooh, what a beauty! How I adore fireworks!’

  It was essential that dear Martin should be made to feel his fireworks a success. They had behind them so eager a purpose of giving amusement to others that they deserved tremendous encouragement. You felt he had spent every penny of his pocket-money on them.

  There was a shout of laughter and screams from Julian. He had left the piano and was joining the others on the lawn; and the Catherine Wheel had broken loose and was after him, snapping and leaping at his heels.

  A shower of golden sparks went up in a fountain and poured down over the tulips and wall-flowers. Another followed; but this time the shower was rainbow-coloured. The deep talk and laughter of Martin, Julian and Tony was a strange not quite human chorus in the moonless dark.

  ‘Oh Roddy, isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘It is indeed.’