Blindness

by Henry Green

  Spring was beginning here, and the hot rain that fell in short bursts made the room sticky. They said there was a haze of yellowy green over the black trees. He took off his tie and opened his collar.

  Nothing had happened in those last three months, nothing had ever happened down here, or rather, nothing always happened. He had thought a good deal and little had come of it, only he had seen God as a great sea into which all goodness drained, and those who were good pumped the goodness out again and watered the desert to make the flowers grow. Trees drew it up. A pretty notion. And all the time expectancy had quivered in the air, making life unbearable, there had been so much going on behind the scenes. Poor William, he had been sad packing yesterday. He was not coming to London, he was too old, and he was retiring on a pension, like old Pinch. That was another thing, all the old people were being left behind to die, and Nan was dead. There would be a new start in London. Poor Nanny, but she was happy, nursing children who had died young. Would she remember him? On her character in heaven, “Great experience of blind babies.” Oh, he was so happy today.

  But Mamma would be happy in London, she would meet there all the people she had known in Scotland before she had married, and they both wanted to get away from Barwood. A town would be a great hive of houses where people were born and lived and died bitterly, there would be no dozing as in Norbury. They would be in the centre of things there, they would be on the spot, and the echoes of what was happening that one only heard faintly in these muffled fields would be clear up there, as a gong. Life was only nice in retrospect, and they could look back on the mists that coiled round Barwood and make them into an enchanting memory, with Joan rising through them, attracting a stray glance of the sun, and dispelling the mists a little.

  The coal fire burned steadily with a brittle tinkling sound, as though flakes of glass were falling tiny distances. Far beneath something groaned at being moved.

  The train, the first time since the affair. The same boy might sit and throw more stones, one of which might hit his window appropriately. Or there might be a collision, trains were unlucky for him. They would rush through the quiet fields while the telephone wires dipped beside them, over rivers where the fish lay under the bank, through villages where Barwood was repeated, through towns that were not big enough, till they crawled into the biggest town of all, dirtied by all the work that was going on there.

  Far away a steamer whistled on the river, it was the first warning of change. He was so excited. The room was sticky with damp. The soft harping rain fell rustling, rustling, while from the eaves drops pattered down on to the window-sill.

  Feet climbing stair carpet and Mamma came in.

  “We’re off in half an hour. Is everything ready?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  She went down the stairs, more slowly this time, Half-way down she paused to look at her watch, then hurried on.

  “William, they ought to be off now, if they are going to catch that train. Are all the labels on?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  One, two—five—seven, eight. Eight trunks. They were all there, piled on to two cars. Cars were so expensive to hire nowadays. Thirty shillings. Ruinous.

  “Get in, Janet, get in. You have got the money I gave you? Don’t forget to label them to Paddington. The stationmaster is expectin’ you, and I will be there soon, so you’ll be all right. Yes, drive away.”

  Janet waved to William. He had aged, he looked so worn standin’ by the door there. It was a terrible business gettin’ people off.

  “There they go, madam.”

  “Yes.”

  What did he mean? Of course they were going. What?

  “They have not stopped, William?”

  “No, madam.”

  Janet was a capable young thing and she had travelled, so she would be able to manage. Besides, Smith had promised to look out for her.

  “Are the labels on all the suitcases?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Well, we start in half an hour.”

  Half an hour. Now what had she forgotten? Everything must be in. And anyway, Dewars would send her the inventory, so that she could send for anythin’ she did not want to sell. They could come by the furniture vans.

  “William, if there is anything I find missin’, you will send it up in the vans with the furniture.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  Well, that was that. She sank into a chair. A great sigh escaped from inside her. How terrible a house looked when you were gettin’ out of it. And all the doors were always left open. She got up and shut them, then she came back to her chair. This rain was horrible, and there was no fire. Had she said a word to everyone? Of course she was not going away for good, but they were not to live down here any more, so that a word or two was expected of you. It was so difficult, too, to find anythin’ to say. She had loved them all, and they loved her, but they did not understand her going away like this. They were always asking who was going to live here instead, and she did not know. It was a relief, though, now that they were really off, now that those endless discussions were over. Mabel was impossible sometimes, this business had estranged them almost. The clock had stopped. Really, William might have wound it up, even if they weren’t going to be here this evenin’. She looked at her watch. Twenty-nine minutes.

  It was nice of Edward to lend them his house with the caretaker and his wife. The two would quarrel, of course, that was the trouble about having married servants, but they would be comfortable there, and it would give one time to look round. 9 Hans Crescent. A German name, but, after all, the war had been over some time. Nine. But . . . And she had only counted eight, and she had let them go off. What was this?

  “William, William!”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Did you take Mr. John’s trunk?”

  “Mr. John? Mr. John’s box?”

  “Oh, oh. I was afraid that would happen. I should have reminded you. Oh dear.”

  “Will you take it with you, madam?”

  “Yes, that would be best. Will you get it down now, and tell Mr. John that we start in twenty minutes.”

  How terrible all this was. There was William’s voice calling for Robert. He was useless, that boy, quite useless. Why was he never there when he was wanted? He was a good riddance, worthless creature. And William was beginning to forget everything. What could one do?

  They would have to take his box with them. And they would have to start earlier so as to have time to label it and everything. Really, John might have told them that he still had it in his room.

  Ah, this sort of thing exhausted one. She was quite worn out. What with going through the village on a last round of visits and talking to everyone for the last time in one’s official position, so to speak, one was worn out. Then she had given a farewell tea-party to the neighbours, a terrible affair. But they had said nice things on the Board of Guardians, and the Parish Council had presented her with an address, she would never forget that. Weston was going to Mrs. Parks, only three miles away, which was a good thing, for the soil here suited him. Wait, there was Annie! She had not seen Annie. But what was the good, the poor thing was quite crazy? Crayshaw was going to take her on in his garden, so that she would be all right. It was good of him, he had the village at heart. She would send Annie ten shillings when she got to London. Mrs. Lane, too, was only moving two miles away, which was because she wanted to be near Herbert, of course, as he was staying on here to keep the garden tidy, till someone came to buy it. The house was sure to be sold, it was so beautiful, and the garden was the best in twenty miles. With Weston, Mrs. Parks would win all the prizes at the Norbury Flower Show. He was a good gardener, quite excellent with chrysanthemums.

  It was stupid to forget that trunk. Why, he had been sitting on it when she went up. She looked at her watch, ten minutes more, they ought to be off. But no, not quite yet, perhaps.

  It was nice of Edward, he must have understood how terrible leaving Barwood would be to her. H
aving a foothold up there made house-huntin’ so much more comfortable. Goin’ away was like leaving half one’s life behind one, but then the boy would be so much happier. She would be able to look up Mrs. Malinger, who used to live in Norbury years ago, she was such a nice woman.

  Had she put in the medicine chest? There, she had forgotten. But perhaps it was in. She leapt up and hurried upstairs to her bedroom. Out of the window there was the view over the lawn. And there was the cock pheasant being cautious at the bottom there. He and his wives could eat all the bulbs now. That lawn, how beautiful it was. And in the wild garden at the side the daffodils were beginning to come out, such a mass of yellow. Well, they were going. What had she come here for, she had been round the garden yesterday? Yes, the medicine chest. She looked, and it was there still. She had forgotten. It must come up by the van. How stupid of her, for towns were so unhealthy and the boy might need a tonic. Oh dear, the garden. They ought to be off soon. She hurried downstairs again, There was William.

  “The car is round, madam.”

  “Very well.”

  Wait a minute, just to show him she did not have train fever. But that was childish.

  “John dear, get your coat on and come, or we shall have a rush at the station.”

  His voice from above:

  “Coming.”

  “William, I entirely forgot about the medicine chest in my room. Will you send that on in the van?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  His voice, nearer:

  “Coming.”

  “Are the suitcases in?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “Give me my coat, then.”

  “And, William, come and see us in London some time. Your brother is there, isn’t he?”

  “I will, madam, thank you.”

  Poor old thing, he was quite upset. It was rather terrible. Ah, here he was. How quickly he walked alone now.

  “Be careful, dear.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Well, let’s get into the car. We have got plenty of time. Oh, William, the clock has stopped in the Hall there. I hope it isn’t broken. You had better get Brown’s man in to look to it.”

  They were off now. What did the clock matter as they weren’t coming back, but they sold better if they were going. John was waving. No, she couldn’t look back.

  “So we are going?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  He was so happy.

  They were in the car on the way to the station, how extraordinary after so many weeks’ work. Perhaps she had decided too quickly. Mabel, of course, had been right against it from the start. But the boy would only be happy in London, he wasn’t made for the country, especially after he had gone blind like that. Only the other day and here they were. Oh, there was the Vicarage. How fast they were going.

  “Hi! don’t go so fast.”

  “I love speed.”

  “But it’s so dangerous, dear.”

  “Where are we now?”

  “In the sunken bit. He has slowed down, that’s better. Dear boy, are you nearly enough wrapped up?”

  Farther away, farther away. Everything had been leading up to this. The road went by with a swish, the rain made the surface so wet.

  “Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anythin’? There may be still time to go back.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  There was the dove-cote. They were leaving so much behind. How fast the man drove. What was the good? But it was tiresome forgettin’ John’s box like that. It would put the excess luggage out, they would have to make a new bill, and that would take time. It would be a rush. There was Mrs. Trench. She hadn’t seen them, they were travellin’ so fast. She was about to have another baby. There must be something in the family, it was the only way to account for all the Trench babies dying as soon just as they were born. It brought the average of infant mortality in the village so high.

  “Where are we now?”

  “Why are you so jumpy, dear? We are just going under the leanin’ oak.”

  The leaning oak? There was a long way to go yet. The engine purred. London was the temple of machinery. It was hot in here.

  “Shall we have a window down?”

  “As you like. But it is rainin’.”

  The air came rushing in, sown with raindrops that spattered coolly against his face. He drank the wind in gulps, half-choking at the volume of it cramming down his throat. This was good. And the horn on this car had such an imperious note, but after all, great hopes were driving with it. They must go faster, faster, but then Mamma did not like it. The station was so far away, they might not catch their train. The horn again. He would like to take it away and have it in London as a souvenir to blow when things were not going well.

  “Oh, John, look. There are the village.”

  “Which side?”

  “There, to your left. Oh, you have missed them, they are behind now. How nice of them, how nice of them.”

  “Yes, that was nice of them.”

  “They were nearly all there. Oh dear.”

  “We shall come down and see them again soon.”

  “I saw Mrs. Withers, and Mrs. Hartley and old Mrs. Eddy had come from the almshouses. I waved. They were waving. It would have been nice to stop, but we haven’t the time.”

  “No, that would only have made a rush at the station.”

  Stopping like that would have been intolerable. Besides, it was better to break quickly with the old than to linger by it. The village would be all right. They must be on a hill now. How slow it was. They might miss that train. Then they could always take the next one. But it was this train that mattered, they must catch this train, he had thought so much of it, tearing across the country to the biggest town of all. Everything would give way to it, it was his train.

  “We are just passing the last of your estate, dear”; for it was still his.

  “Yes?”

  Thank God for that. They were almost out of the circle now.

  She did feel miserable, yes, it was being worse than she thought it would be. See how the corn was coming up, and the blossom just peeping through the trees. Two partridges, frightened by the car, shot away to curl over the hedge at the bottom of that field. Spring, and they were leaving. But then October was always the best month down here, they would come back for that, she had promised herself and Mabel. There was Norbury, quite close now, with some blue sky over it and a great rainbow,—over the station no doubt.

  “Are you happy, John?”

  “Yes, very.”

  What a fool of a man that was who was driving the cart. Why couldn’t he get out of the way? That kind of labourer went to sleep, so the horses did too, of course. What was that? No. Yes, it was the Vincent boy on his motor bicycle. Mabel had been right, it was mad the pace he drove. Look at him—no, he was gone.

  “Here we are in Norbury.”

  “Are we? Oh, well, it is not so very far now. Yes, I can smell it. Splendid. What’s the time?”

  “We have another ten minutes yet. Look, there’s the Tea Rooms, and Smith the boot shop, and Green the draper’s.”

  The driver had turned out of the High Street. Only another minute. He could hardly sit still. That must be a coal dump they were passing. A train whistled. Joy. The car pulled up, he jumped out and then stood lost.

  “Don’t move a step without me, dear.”

  “All right.”

  “You might fall on to the rails or something. Where’s Janet?”

  That would indeed be an anti-climax.

  “Here, John, come this way and sit on this seat.”

  How quiet it was here. A cursed sparrow was cheeping foolishly so near. The station seemed asleep. But he was going away. Behind in the waiting-room a voice droned on, while another laughed at intervals. There was Mamma’s voice coming. She had got hold of Smith, poor man. He was being allowed to speak, “No trouble at all, Mrs. Haye, at all. I will see to it immediately.” She stopped by him.

  “They a
re making out the excess luggage, my dear. I think it is all going to be all right.”

  “Good.”

  This seat was hideously hard. That sparrow. Why was no one moving? A burst of laughter from the waiting-room, there were quite a number of people in it. They would be travelling by the same train.

  “Janet.”

  “Yes, Mr. John.”

  “How much longer, Janet?”

  “Only five minutes now.”

  Why did she speak as if he was a child? Here were steps coming towards him, boots clanking on the flags. The man had a smell of grease and leather about him.

  “Porter?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Is it a through train to London?”

  “Change at Bridcote, Swindon and Oxford.”

  Why had Mamma not told him? So they were to travel provincially. Oh well. It was London, but it was not the express. They would crawl like a worm instead. Voices on all sides began to make themselves heard, growing louder and louder. Over them all was Mamma suddenly thanking Smith. Then she came and sat down by him.

  “I have done it all, I think.”

  “Good.”

  “It will be in soon now.”

  “So we change three times.”

  “Yes, dear, do you mind? Such a nuisance. But it was the only train in the afternoon, and I thought we had better have lunch at home, it is so much more comfortable, don’t you think?”