So Much Life Left Over

by Louis de Bernières

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ she asked Daniel, as he took off his motorcycling gear in the hallway and handed it to a servant to be hung up.

  ‘I practically drown in tea every day,’ he said, ‘but yes please, Mrs Williams. Is there any chance of having it à la française? Weak, with no sugar or milk?’

  ‘How very unusual,’ she said.

  ‘I am half French,’ he explained apologetically.

  ‘How fascinating,’ she said flatly, and then passed the request on to the servant, in Tamil.

  Daniel was shown out to the terrace, and the Reverend Williams got awkwardly to his feet in order to shake hands. He was a slightly corpulent gentleman of about sixty years, with two clumps of grey curls sprouting out of either side of an otherwise bald head.

  ‘Daniel Pitt,’ he said, and the Reverend Williams replied, ‘Yes. Yes, we have met before. Though not often. Your wife, I believe, is very much more active as a…as a…as a…’

  ‘Christian?’

  ‘Well, as a member of the congregation, shall we say? She comes here when she’s in town.’

  ‘I see you have a monkey in the garden,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Damned nuisance. This one throws its, er, excrement at the windows, and if you leave one open, it comes inside and steals things, and tears up my sermons and so on.’

  ‘An infidel monkey,’ said Daniel. ‘I suppose you’ve got the monkey man coming?’

  ‘Of course. Anyway, do sit down. What can I do for you?’

  Daniel sat down on the edge of the chair and asked bluntly, ‘Do unbaptised babies go to hell because of having inherited original sin?’

  ‘What? Gracious me! Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because yesterday, Rosemary, my wife, gave birth to a child that died immediately. She is utterly distraught because she thinks it will go straight to hell.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. Is that what you think?’

  ‘I have no faith at all, I’m afraid. To me hell has as much reality as Atlantis. I am just very worried for the sanity and bien-être of my wife.’

  ‘I see your point, I see your point.’

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘Well, we Anglicans have no settled doctrine on the matter. In some churchyards they have unhallowed ground for the burial of the unbaptised, but we don’t do that here. She is an Anglican?’

  ‘Very High Church.’

  ‘Oh dear, the awkward squad. Well, the Romans believe in limbo, don’t they? You don’t go to hell but you don’t see God either. I don’t think it’s official doctrine, though.’

  ‘Please will you do me a very big favour?’

  ‘Well, I will if I can, of course.’

  ‘Will you conduct a service for the burial of the child, and will you come with me to talk to my wife? Pray with her perhaps? She is still in bed. I don’t mind what you tell her as long as it’s comforting. As long as you tell her that the baby is not going to suffer torment. I have my combination outside.’

  ‘A combination? How exciting. I love riding in a combination. I shall have to cancel the Ladies’ Bible Study Group, but, to be honest, I will not be much aggrieved. My wife can look after them. She usually does. Aren’t you nearer to Christ Church in Varleigh, though? Shouldn’t the body be buried there?’

  ‘I couldn’t find the vicar. I think he must be on leave. I don’t mind where it’s buried as long as it’s in hallowed ground, and you tell Rosie that it’s not going to hell. What if we bury it in one of those roadside cemeteries on the plantation, near to our bungalow? Then we could visit it more often.’

  ‘My dear boy, those are Roman Catholic. For Tamils. I think it would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Rosemary might not consider it properly hallowed, and the natives might think they have an unwanted intruder. One has to be terribly sensitive about the natives. Things tend to backfire.’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised. I never snooped in one. I just saw all the crosses.’

  ‘Well, if you do, you’ll see that all the names are Portuguese. I suggest we do the burial at Christ Church. I’ll sort out the formalities afterwards. No one’ll be any the wiser. But how will the grave be dug? I’ve no idea who the sexton is. Perhaps we could slip a few rupees to a native.’

  ‘I’ll dig it myself,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s such a tiny little mite, it won’t take long. Do you think I could borrow a spade?’

  ‘Well, of course. And you’d better take a pick as well.’

  ‘It’s a fair distance. I suggest that you stay the night. It’ll give Rosie more time with you. I promise to feed you well.’

  ‘Mutton chops, I suppose,’ said the vicar.

  ‘I’m afraid so. It’s a wonder there are any goats left on the island.’

  ‘You should take the opportunity to try some of the native foods, you know. Porcupine is absolutely delicious. Of course, one has to wait until one’s wife is away, and then ask the servants, and then you have to put up with their incredulity and disapproval. They hate it when we go native. It’s like having trespassers in one’s garden. Or a damned monkey.’ The Reverend Williams laughed quietly, and Daniel said, ‘What are you laughing about?’

  ‘Oh, I have a sweet boy who’s my podian, and he writes out the menus for dinner, and yesterday my wife called me and said “Look what Ahilesh has written!” and she showed me the menu, and it said “Roman Cream” which is perfectly fine, but above it, he’d written “Wilderness”.’

  ‘Wilderness?’

  ‘Yes. He’d looked in our dictionary to find another word for “desert”. Anyway, I’ll just pack a few things. I expect your wife would like communion.’

  ‘I’m certain she would.’

  ‘And may I ask you something? You seem very concerned about your wife, but how are you bearing up yourself? I don’t mean to intrude, but…’

  ‘Well, Father,’ replied Daniel, ‘it hasn’t properly sunk in yet, and I haven’t slept for two days. At present I feel a strange combination of anger and numbness. I think of these dreadful things as natural mishaps. My wife thinks of them as acts of divine retribution. Sometimes, however, I think of them as evidence that God doesn’t give a fig about any of us. And please don’t tell me that God moves in mysterious ways.’

  ‘No, I shall desist.’

  ‘Thank you. It would only make me more angry.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  Twenty minutes later Daniel and the clergyman were out on the roadside, with Daniel lashing the spade and the luggage to the rack on the back of the sidecar. He removed a small rectangular box from the seat and handed it to the vicar, saying, ‘Do you mind travelling with this on your lap?’

  The vicar was about to shake it to see what was inside, when he suddenly realised what it was. ‘Did you make this yourself?’

  ‘Had to,’ said Daniel. ‘I can’t wait for a coffin. I made it this morning, in the factory workshop.’

  ‘You’ve done a marvellously neat job.’

  ‘Well,’ said Daniel, ‘it’s for my son. One has to do one’s best. Do you know where I can get a headstone?’

  ‘They have to be ordered from home, I’m afraid. It takes months. Why don’t we bury the poor little mite here, in this graveyard? In Nuwara Eliya? Wouldn’t that be more convenient for everyone?’

  ‘It’s too far to visit with any frequency. It wouldn’t feel right.’

  As Daniel put on his flying helmet and goggles, the vicar rubbed his hands together with anticipation. ‘I went up in a balloon once,’ he said. ‘It was marvellous.’

  ‘I was a scout pilot,’ replied Daniel. ‘And that was even more marvellous.’ He turned to face the clergyman. ‘Please remember that I would like you to tell my wife that the child has gone straight to heaven.’

  ‘But I actually don’t know where it’s gone,’ he protested.

&
nbsp; ‘Put it this way,’ said Daniel. ‘The baby’s departed. There’s absolutely nothing we can do for him. What we do for the dead is really for ourselves.’

  ‘Let the dead bury their dead?’

  ‘Exactly so. My concern is for someone I love who is very much alive, and completely desperate. If you must, then cross your fingers and tell her lies.’

  ‘You can’t lie if you don’t know the truth,’ said the Reverend Williams. He looked up at the hills opposite, waved his right hand, and said, ‘Soteriology. It’s all a complete mystery, really. I’m really terribly sorry for your loss.’

  6

  At Christ Church

  The little church was set back from a curve in the road that ascended through the hills, beside the plantations. On the left-hand side they passed stupendous waterfalls whose cataracts ran beneath the road and on down the slopes, until they united with the lakes and rivers thousands of feet below.

  It was a difficult drive for Daniel, not least because of the slow bullock carts heaped with jackfruit, or hay, or scarlet mangosteens, and usually topped off with a few small, dark, laughing children, whilst the adults plodded beside. The road was secure, but not well surfaced, and inclined to be damaged frequently by landslides and heavy rain. Everywhere there were parties of coolies making them good, and Daniel often thanked the God in whom he did not believe that he was neither an ox nor a coolie. He had to stop three times to adjust the carburettor to the changing altitudes.

  When they pulled in, Daniel cut the engine by means of both the choke and the advance/retard lever, and it popped and banged as it struggled, and then gave up. The Reverend Williams and Daniel dismounted and shook the stiffness out of their limbs.

  ‘I do love this little church,’ said the clergyman. ‘They keep it so beautiful, and in July that flamboyant tree is a real pleasure.’

  ‘We’d better walk about and find an empty spot,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I have to warn you that you still might find bones. Sometimes there was never any headstone. We’d just have to put them back after we’ve lowered the coffin.’

  ‘I’ve seen a great many bones,’ said Daniel. ‘They’re the most beautiful sparkling white when they’re freshly exposed. They have a tint of blue.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the clergyman, ‘yes, I can hardly imagine what you must have been through.’

  ‘Old bones would be positively relaxing by comparison.’

  They found a small space by the wall on the right, and Daniel began to dig. The red earth came up easily enough, and when the hole was about three feet deep, he looked down into it as he leaned on the spade, puffing from the exertion, and said, ‘It’s not really practical to dig such a small hole any deeper.’

  ‘Normally you’d go for six feet,’ said the Reverend Williams. ‘Would you let me do some digging? I feel shamefully redundant just standing here watching you slaving away. I’m still quite hale.’

  ‘It’s very good of you, but I’d like to be selfish if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Selfish?’

  ‘Yes. I want to do this for my son. For my little boy. It’s all I can do, all I’ll ever be able to do.’

  ‘I do understand. But let me know if you change your mind.’

  At a depth of four feet, Daniel climbed out, saying, ‘I really can’t dig any deeper. There isn’t the space for getting any leverage on the spade.’

  The Reverend Williams peered down into the hole. ‘It looks deep enough to me,’ he said. ‘In any case, no one will ever know how deep it is, will they?’

  ‘What’s the point of the six-foot rule anyway?’

  ‘To deter thieves and ghouls? I don’t really know. I do know that the deeper the body is, the more slowly it rots. Perhaps it’s just to make the flesh last a little bit longer. I suggest we draw stumps. This is a perfectly good grave as it is. Let’s do the burial service, shall we?’ He took his Book of Common Prayer from his pocket, and thumbed through it until he reached the Order for the Burial of the Dead. Daniel reached for the little coffin, and placed it at his feet. It seemed unbelievable and atrocious that his beautiful little child lay still within it, having had no chance in life at all. Rage and sorrow, rage and sorrow.

  Daniel scrambled out and stood beside the Reverend Williams. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Have you read what it says at the top?’ he said.

  Here it is to be noted, that the office ensuing is not to be used for any that die unbaptised, or excommunicate, or have laid violent hands upon themselves.

  ‘I suggest we ignore it,’ said the Reverend Williams.

  ‘Really? And you a clergyman?’

  ‘This is between God and us. In the end, I’m a Protestant. You look a little shocked.’

  ‘Well, one expects priests to be somewhat fanatical and exigent. To have more exacting standards than the ordinary man.’

  ‘This may seem strange to you, but I am confident that I know what God expects from me. God isn’t the God of the Old Testament any more; He’s not even an Elizabethan. This is the twentieth century. I don’t believe in original sin, and I’m damned if I’m going to consign a stillborn child to unhallowed ground without any kind of blessing. If the Good Lord is offended, He’ll let me know at some future date, if I manage to breach the Pearly Gates, and I shall try to explain myself as best I can. I would just ask you not to proclaim in public what I’ve done. It might get back to the Bishop.’

  ‘I’m not convinced he was stillborn. I think the midwife may have stifled him. He was hideously deformed. All his guts were on the outside.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. She murdered it?’

  ‘I don’t really know. I came in and she was standing there over the dead baby. She had a pillow in one hand. I can’t prove anything. The idea only occurred to me as I was driving here.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to do anything about it?’

  ‘It would have been a mercy killing. Without witnesses.’

  ‘Even so…’

  ‘Well, Father, I can’t be a hypocrite. I’ve shot three of my friends, and two enemies, who were burning to death in the wrecks of aeroplanes. It takes a desperate fight to overcome oneself, to commit such acts of mercy. It still troubles me, almost all the time, but I know it was right. She must have known it was right. Perhaps she saved me from having to do it.’

  Father Williams stared into the tiny pit, and said softly, ‘I think that on this occasion I shall have to defer to you.’ He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and without looking at the prayer book, began to recite: ‘Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay…’

  At the end, the priest bent down and threw a handful of earth onto the little box, and Daniel did the same. They made a light, hollow rattle. Then Daniel took the spade, and set about filling the grave. His anger and grief gave him an unnatural, decisive energy.

  Afterwards, they sat quietly for a while, side by side in the front pew of the little church, and then Daniel asked, ‘That new grave, with five children in it, near the front gate. What happened?’

  ‘Yellow fever.’

  ‘My God, this country really is a white man’s grave,’ said Daniel.

  ‘We’ve still got yellow fever at home in England,’ replied the Reverend Williams reasonably, ‘and my grandfather lost six children in one flu epidemic, in Manchester. They had to begin again. I’m descended from number seven.’

  ‘Even so, have you ever walked around the old cemetery in Kandy? Behind the Temple of the Tooth? There’s barely a soul who reached forty. There must be a dozen who never got to twenty-five. We come here and live like kings, and then we die suddenly of something foul. What on earth do we think we’re doing?’

  ‘It’s the natives who have the hard short lives. Not us. They get yaws
. I dare say that we’re as well off here as we would be at home. The people who reached their threescore years and ten were the ones who went home to retire, and settled into damp little cottages in the Cotswolds, with names like “Adam’s Peak” and “Trinco”. That’s why the ones who got old aren’t in the graveyards of Ceylon.’

  ‘I have my doubts. Has anyone collected any statistics?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, old boy. Anyway, what is upsetting you is the recent misfortune with your poor little boy. You can’t blame that on the Empire. And I imagine you haven’t slept for quite a long time.’

  ‘Only a little. I do feel a kind of drunkenness. Like the woozy disconnection that had everybody reeling during Bloody April.’

  They sat in silence for a long time, and then the priest broke it. ‘If you think of how long eternity is, and put everything into perspective, then you and I haven’t lived any longer than that poor little boy.’

  ‘I know that, Father, but you’re talking like a mathematician. You and I don’t live in eternity. We live in what seems like a fairly long portion that we borrow from it. ’

  The Reverend Williams laughed softly. ‘You know, for some reason, I always get on much better with agnostics than I do with the faithful.’

  ‘My brother-in-law, Fairhead, always says that. He was a military chaplain and now he’s working in a hospital. He sometimes finds believers very tiresome, just as narrow-minded and foolish as atheists. He’s probably my best friend these days.’

  ‘Yes, well, thank God for agnostics, that’s what I say. Let’s go out and find flowers for your little boy, and then we’ll see what we can do for your poor wife.’

  7

  The Beatitudes of Oily Wragge

  The architect of The Grampians had designed it so that it would have a dignified and impressive set of steps up to the front door. The consequence of this was that the ground floor was a good six feet above ground level, and beneath it was a system of passages that meant one did not have to lift any floorboards in order to perform maintenance on the wires and pipes. It was dark in there, but not too damp, and it had been a wonderful playground for the house’s children. With their flickering matches, candles or torches, they had crept around in the cold shadows, frightening themselves with thoughts of spectres and creepy crawlies, and enjoying the absolute absence of adults, with their ‘be careful’ and their ‘never let me catch you doing that again’. If you were very still, you could hear the adults walking and talking above, oblivious to you crouching in the darkness, all your senses alert, like a fox at night. When they were childhood sweethearts, Ashbridge and Rosie had met in there in order to be deliciously and poignantly alone.