The Silver Darlings

by Neil M. Gunn

  Finn saw all the places in the valley of the shadow. He found indeed that he could think of and picture many things, and hear at the same time the words of the speaker and accompany him not only in his thought but in the accent of his speech, the persuasive rhythm of his voice, and still have time to himself, time for meditations between the words, time to look upon his own images. There was one visualization of extraordinary clarity: the terrible magnificence of Roddie in the pub; the flattening of lower lip and flesh over the jaw, the rocking power of the body, the roar. Beyond the littleness of man to-day, looming like the far solitary figure of another place and time. Not evil, not good; imminent and terrible. Even the breath that Finn hardly breathed came in cold upon his lips, while his brain cleared still more. So that he could also look round upon the faces of the assembled folk; and these faces, too, he saw with an unusual clearness.

  Not only the faces of the old, with the emotion of the moment wrought deeply upon them, not only that which stirred the lips to a soft moan, the head to shake, the body to rock, but, as if written upon a white page in daylight, the story of their toil and care and pain and forgetting, writ with an iron pencil on the brows, around the eyes, down by the nostrils, at the corner of the lips, upon the lips themselves, in the very shape of the wondering mouth, so that Finn knew them with a profound and loving intimacy—that remained aloof, not intruding. Each face, too, had a physical resemblance to faces he knew at home. He had time to think about this with a faint cool surprise. And the faces of the young, especially of some youths and girls about his own age, were particularly self-revealing. There were two girls of contrasting colour: one reddish-fair, with large blue eyes and a soft formless mouth, and the other dark, with a perfect oval face, a broad face, coming to a pointed chin, with eyes dark and set wide apart. There was a lovely stillness about the dark girl, like still dark water, with a soft tender gleam. He had seen her likeness before in a tinker girl in Caithness, walking the roads with a child, wrapped tightly in a tartan plaid, slung to her back. He had glanced after her and been surprised at the contented look on the pale face of the child that could move neither foot nor hand. This girl had the same kind of dark blue-green plaid wrapped round her, and Finn, listening all the time to the speaker’s words and wandering with them in Caithness and Bethlehem … the star in the east … there was no room in the inn (Roddie flaming magnificent in the inn) … suddenly thought of this dark girl before him as Mary, the Mother of Christ. That was so unexpected, so heretical, so blasphemous an image that his own thought stilled—and stilled every other process in the room for a moment that was a very long time. Then the fair girl sobbed. She was a warm-hearted untidy girl. But others had moaned or groaned. The Word was knocking at their hearts. They knew the evilness of their hearts. They glimpsed far, far away, in hopeless hope, “the lovely state of grace”.

  But the dark girl remained serene, her face a great sweetness, the soft tenderness deepening in her eyes.

  Then Finn became aware of another thing: that Alan, though only giving a glance at this dark girl and never a direct one, was bothered and taut in his emotions because of her, arid in less than an instant he understood every previous act of Alan—the reluctance to go to the meeting, the haunted uncertainties, the covering laugh, the mask of friendly talk. Alan was probably forty and she was twenty-one or twenty-two. Moreover, the awful fear that held Alan now was that this girl might break down like some of the others.

  How extraordinary! For the girl plainly had no thought of Alan’s presence or of anything that might disturb him. But how revealing!

  An old man prayed, haltingly at first, but then fluently and fervently. The preacher led them in singing a psalm. The music brought into the stream of communion those minds that suffered from an individual hardness. The fervour of the meeting increased.

  Time as measurement now ceased. Often, indeed, such meetings, starting at ten or eleven at night, would be carried on until four or five in the morning.

  Time was a vanity, with other vanities. Youthful vanity—that sensitive braggart vanity, that hurt in the pride, that rushing in, that screaming and yelling, that clawing of futility on the figure of terrible magnificence.

  Time disappeared in a darkness.

  But always the dark girl’s face looked up serene. She sat on the floor. All the young sat crowded on the floor, their faces hanging down or uplifted.

  The tenderness in her eyes deepened and glimmered.

  Her shoulders and head uprose like an obstruction, a smooth rock, in the river of time running round and past her. It was shape in the void, it was constancy in the flux, it was beauty’s still flower in eternity.

  The eyes gathered all the light from the candles.

  “There is disputing and anger, there is accusation against false teachers and profane followers, the divisions of Reuben are upon the pinnacles, but oh! how few are our tears for a sight of the beloved Jesus!”

  The eyes filled, and down each cheek a tear rolled.

  Finn heard a smothered grunt by his side. He turned his face. Alan’s head was between his hands, the fingers working in the hair, the left ear showing between curved thumb and finger that closed on it and gripped it. It was like a giant’s head in a fable. Finn looked at his own hands in the shadow of a man’s back and they were remote from him.

  They were in the realm of holiness, of God’s holiness, and thought was soft and warm with it. This holiness was in the inner texture of the flesh; like the memory of a scentless incense in the nostrils; it was in all their minds; it was their minds; it flowed upward with the river-movement of light and shadow from peat-fire and candle; it spread under the floor of heaven and outward beyond the confines of the world. They were under the shadow of the wing of God’s holiness where all uncertainty ceases….

  *

  Finn found himself outside. Seumas was whispering to him, light-toned and friendly as before. “There’s no room in our place. But Alan will take you.” Personal and detached from it all, sounded Seumas; cool as the stirring wind, with a hidden fun of its own.

  All right. He would go with Alan. To go with Alan was what his heart needed. The dawn was in the sky and grey along the grass. But the gable-ends were no longer still and secretive. They went striding away. There was a movement within all stillness. There was invisible movement everywhere. “We’ll go,” said Alan.

  Dark figures pressed through the atmosphere, that was heavy with God’s holiness, going into the night. Alan’s voice was low but rough and hearty. “Here we are,” he said. His two sisters were already inside, and they welcomed Finn with administering kindness. They smiled, their manners practical and friendly, active with quiet grace, the grace of their bodies and the assured grace of God. They gave him to eat and to drink, but his throat would take little, for there was a tremble in his breast, a weariness in his stomach beyond the weariness of death; his eye-sockets were hot as fire and his hand fell heavy on his knee. They were solicitous for him in a kindness that was almost gay. So Alan led him into the little room beyond the kitchen and there they went to bed together.

  On his back, at once Finn felt a great peace, a lightening and floating of his body. Outside, larks were singing in the dawn. A curlew flew overhead in the fluting cry of rain. Peewits, disturbed by the dark figures, passed away into the moor. Oyster-catchers—Servants of Bride, Seumas had named them—called piercingly from the shore. Alan was restless and did not want Finn in his bed, did not want anyone or anything but the secrecy of his own dark thought. Finn knew this and knew why. But he could not help Alan—and did not greatly care. If wakefulness came on him now, his eyes would never more close in sleep until he died. The torment was working upon Alan swiftly. His hot breath was holding and quickening. He was in torture, in the torture of desire, of defeat. The desire of the defeated mind, craving in bodiless agony to have, to possess. Young Mary, the Mother of Christ.

  “Oh, hell,” muttered Alan savagely. “Are you asleep?”

  “No,” said F
inn.

  “Could you be doing with one?”

  “I could.”

  “Hush, then, for God’s sake! These girls will hear a pin drop.” They were as old as Alan himself.

  He got out of bed, and when something bumped, he swore under his breath. Softly spoke a cork coming away from something bigger than a bottle. The running spirit glucked quietly. “Here,” whispered Alan. “It’s brandy.”

  Finn sat up and took the bowl, Alan on his knees beside him. The spirit stung the membranes of his mouth, and though he let it down gently, he coughed and Alan had to take the bowl from his hands. “Hsh, for heaven’s sake!” muttered Alan and drained the bowl noiselessly. Gluck-gluck. “Will you try another mouthful?”

  “I will,” said Finn. “I have never tasted brandy before. It’s got a nice flavour.”

  “It’s a good drop,” said Alan.

  “Give me a little time,” said Finn.

  Alan laughed huskily. “There are three brothers of them. One is a general in the army. One is in command of the Revenue cutter. The third is a ship’s master, and he runs a cargo of one thing from here—and he brings back a cargo of another thing with him.”

  “And the brother on the Revenue cutter has sworn he’ll catch him one day, so I’ve heard.”

  “He has that,” said Alan, on his knees in his shirt waiting for the bowl. “But he hasn’t caught him yet!”

  “If this is some of it, it would be a great pity if he was caught.”

  Alan laughed thickly again. “It’s not wasted on you!” he muttered.

  “I feel the better of that,” said Finn.

  “You will,” said Alan. “And the night is young. I don’t hold with drinking alone if it can be avoided. Sometimes it can’t.” He filled the small bowl again in a profound humour, with a soothed savage happiness. “Your health!”

  “Health to yourself.” Finn lay back. “Sweet Mary, I’m tired,” he breathed.

  “What’s that you said?” Husky and swift was the voice, and threatening.

  “I said I was tired,” murmured Finn. “Sweet Mary.”

  “Who—Mary?”

  So Mary was her name! How strange the chance and how true! “Sweet Mary,” repeated Finn, caring no more for Alan, “the Mother of Christ.”

  There was a stark pause. Then Alan’s voice rose, harshly appalled. “By God,” he said, “it takes an East-coaster for blasphemy! And you, little more than a boy!”

  “Are you not going to sleep in there?” called a voice from outside the door.

  Alan remained silent and still for. some seconds. Then he said gruffly, “We’re going.”

  “He needs sleep, Alan. He’s very tired.”

  “Go to sleep yourself,” growled Alan.

  “Alan!”

  “Oh, go away!” roared Alan. “Leave us alone!” And he moved about on his bare shanks, muttering. Presently he listened. But the plaintive voice had apparently retreated. “That’s them!” he muttered, in a ferocious humour. “That’s them, and they hang on to you. Will you have another mouthful?”

  “I’ll have a small one,” murmured Finn. “But it’s the last. I’m done.”

  “Here, then.”

  After taking a small mouthful, Finn handed back the bowl to Alan. When Alan had emptied it, he sat on the bed, talking in a mutter about women, not directly but with obscure personal meanings and hatreds. Finn’s blasphemy had taken a contorted grip of him. Finn knew that Alan hated him for it and yet was fatally attracted. It was an evil mood for Alan to be in and Finn wondered how he would get him into bed. To ask Alan to come to bed now was the only certain way of keeping him out. Finn felt the minds of the sisters in their kitchen bed, sweet in the grace of God, more sensitive than pain, their thoughts crying: Alan! Alan! But uplifted, with veiled lids, towards the region of God’s understanding and mercy, uplifted in shame not quite showing, held back into their hearts, hoping that what they shielded might not be seen.

  And all at once he saw Alan caught in the tendrils of their mercy, as the sheep of sacrifice was caught in the thicket.

  It was a queer, stark, dreadful vision.

  Roddie—Roddie—caught in the thorns, too. Years, upon years, upon years.

  “Have you no fear of blasphemy?” asked Alan, the harsh laugh held back. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be stricken dead? Eh?”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Finn. “There’s nothing a man should be afraid of in the wide world.”

  “It’s the young hero, you are, what! Afraid of nothing?” Derisive laughter tore huskily through his choked throat.

  But Finn’s mind for some reason had suddenly gone cold and austere. He could not help Alan. He could not help anybody. He was too far away. Here was the calm region of death, cold as a dead face. Of death and of release. No longer any sympathy for Alan, or for himself. An ultimate uncaring. The back of his head fell heavily upon the pillow, his breath came from him in a slow soft stream, and the grey light of the morning passed away.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  LANDING HERRING

  Early on Monday, Seumas and Finn took the road back to Stornoway. Seumas was light and cool as water running in a burn. He refreshed Finn, and chuckled over Alan’s brandy.

  Finn had not awakened until the afternoon of Sunday. Alan had made a great effort with a wry mouth. “We had a drop,” he said to Finn. “We needed it,” answered Finn, smiling, “though I could have done without this head.” The sisters were as kind as if nothing had happened. A terrible beautiful Sunday kindness. Finn’s dazed mind, caught in a thicket of pain and mist, wanted to escape, but Seumas had taken him along and introduced him to his family: the father and mother, three brothers and four sisters. One of the sisters was very attractive, with Seumas’s own brightness behind her grey eyes. So Finn hardly looked at her, for she was his own age and it was Sunday, and Seumas and himself went a long walk.

  In the evening Alan was moody, and Finn’s head was worse. But he was feeling fine this morning, and Seumas’s secret news was something to bring back with him. For a man had come up to the Sunday meeting from the east district of Lochs, having crossed Loch Erisort by boat, with word that herring were so thick down Loch Odhairn way, that they had been seen early that morning flicking the water white, like a shower of hail-stones. Seumas, of course, knew the indebtedness of the Seafoam to the Sulaire, and when Finn asked if he might pass on the intelligence to the Sulaire, Seumas said, “Why not?”

  Seumas was apparently not deeply impressed by the religious revival, though he did not say much about it, but he told Finn all about where the preacher came from, who certain persons were, and many strange stories of that part of the world. Finn admired his coolness, his light friendly manner. It made Finn think of having a bathe, and though Seumas said there was no good place because of the soft peaty ground, he found a spot when he saw Finn was set on it, but he would not let Finn swim out lest he should stick in the bottom.

  As they approached Stornoway, a tremor of excitement caught Finn in the breast and he began to smile in an embarrassed way without knowing it. As Seumas and himself stood for a moment at parting, a door across the way opened and the Seafoam crew came out. Finn faced Seumas, saying, “Well, we may be seeing you to-night yet.” Then they caught up the crew and Callum asked, “Where have you young devils been?” Thus they all came together and walked on, while Finn told how Seumas had taken him to his home at Luirbost over the Sunday.

  “I thought a lot of preaching would do him good,” added Seumas.

  “And I hope he got it,” said Callum.

  “Only ten hours of it,” replied Seumas.

  They laughed at that. Roddie smiled. He was very quiet, the skin of his face unusually reddened, as if slightly inflamed. Finn saw he was gentle as a lamb, and probably in his own way deeply remorseful, but his head was up, as always, and his eyes steady.

  A feeling of security came about Finn. For he had had his bad moments about what might have happened to Roddie. Not but that he would h
ave faced up to anything. Yet it was good to have the crew together, to be walking to work at the nets. Callum and himself fell behind as the others went ahead with Seumas.

  “Is it all right?” asked Finn with a glancing smile.

  “God knows,” said Callum. “We had a terrible time after you left. Oh, terrific. It was the skipper of the Sulaire stopped him finally. You wouldn’t believe it. Turned him to a lamb. The last man, you would think, seeing—seeing how Roddie was indebted to him. Then they were going to lock him up. Big Angus’s jaw was broken. Donald George was a mess of blood and bruises. It was Maciver, the fish-curer, got Roddie free. Bain entered into security for him. But Donald George is swearing now he is going to have the law on Roddie. They say there’s going to be a case, and we’ll all be called as witnesses. Do you know how many bottles of whisky were smashed? Forty-nine.”

  “Forty-nine!” echoed Finn.

  “It’s a good number,” said Callum.

  “Just one short of the fifty,” said Finn.

  “You think he should have made it the round fifty?” Callum nearly laughed. Finn smiled nervously. “What the hell,” asked Callum, “made you behave like yon?”

  “I don’t know,” said Finn. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.”

  “Well, watch yourself, my boy. When you didn’t turn up last night and we saw Roddie’s uneasiness—not that he said anything—I could have skinned you. However, you’re here, and, I’m telling you, we have got to hold together now. One of the crew of the Sulaire passed us the tip. There are a few men after Roddie. They say they’ll get him yet. They say they’ll lie in wait for him somewhere and bash his head in. All the fishermen are annoyed. They have a strong belief here that when you spill blood you drive away the herring. I don’t know whether there’s anything in it or not. But they say it’s a fact. And if it is, then begod the herring will be heading for the Arctic for the next twelve-month!”