The Bay

by L. A. G. Strong

  I turned a corner, and the light on the water, where the river curved, came up in a diffused splendour and dazzled my eyes. I stood, delighted with the shock of it, and heard laughter and a hoarse scream. Shading my eyes against the light, I saw a girl leaning against the parapet of the river. She was very drunk, hardly able to hold herself up. A small crowd of sailors and corner boys stood jeering at her, and she was abusing them with choked obscenities. As I watched, she leaned to one side, vomited, then raised her head and gasped out fresh abuse at her tormentors. I recognised her as one of Eily’s friends, named Sally. It was her voice as much as anything that told me, for her face was red and swollen, and her mouth bleeding where somebody had hit her.

  A corner boy made a run for her, and swerved aside with a squeal of laughter as she grabbed unsteadily for her hatpin. She took a lurching step or two in pursuit of him, but he scurried back to his friends. One of them stooped, picked up an old cabbage from the débris of a vegetable stall, and threw it very hard at her. It hit her in the stomach. Her face twisted in pain, and she clasped her hands over her stomach.

  “Yee-ow!” they yelled in glee. “Yee-ow! Will yez look at the whoor!”

  And they began all of them to pelt her with what refuse they could find.

  Feeling slightly sick, I turned my face away, and went on. An upbringing in the neighbourhood of the Fish Bank had so inured me to this kind of thing that it didn’t horrify me as it would a gently nurtured person. Such things happened, and next day the victim, if indeed she remembered anything about it, would be little the worse. They are of tough fibre, those people, or they couldn’t live at all. To interfere would be to take a short cut to the hospital, and earn one no thanks even from the victim. In fact, in such circles it would be looked on as an unforgivable liberty, an anti-social act. If you saw a person being murdered, you would be justified in shouting “Mind yourselves! here’s the polis!” a way of restoring order that was recognised, in desperate circumstances, both as tactful and compatible with the honour of all parties. But the circumstances had to be desperate. Little short of saving life would justify such interference: while every man’s hand was against him who interfered in a private fight.

  So I was going my way, when all of a sudden a ringing cry stopped me.

  “Stop it, you brutes! Let her alone! Let her alone, do you hear? “

  I turned, and saw a small, slender figure run out and stand in front of Sally, who had now fallen, and lay, retching and cursing feebly, in the mud. The figure turned and was revealed as a slim girl in a mackintosh cape and hood. The light fell full on an oval face and eyes blazing with anger.

  As she stood there, tense, vibrant, she seemed the very incarnation of the evening’s splendour.

  “You brutes! Do you call yourselves men? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Go away this minute, and let her alone.”

  They stood, undecided. One or two tried to jeer half-heartedly, but they could not face the girl that stood there with small clenched fists, defying them. Ashamed, they shrank away. For a few seconds she stood looking after them. Then she stooped in swift compassion over the figure on the ground.

  Sally seemed in a bad way. She was struggling, and making choking noises. I hesitated, and strode across. The girl looked up, pale, anxious.

  “What can we do? I’m afraid she’ll suffocate.”

  The “we”, the instant assumption that I had come to help, made my heart leap. I went down on one knee.

  “Let me have a look.”

  She made way for me, with a little grimace of repulsion. It was not pleasant. Sally, less than half conscious, was choking herself with her own vomit.

  “I know, in nursing, we ought to hold her, so that it can get away. But I can’t quite manage.”

  “It’s this way, I think.” I recollected having seen the Doctor deal with a sudden emergency, in the person of a negro ship’s fireman. “If you lift her on to her side—look—like this——”

  We worked hard. Sally’s face turned purple. She made a horrible whooping noise.

  “She’s got something stuck. Look. Hold her jaws there— with your thumbs. That’ll keep her mouth open. That’s good. There. Now.”

  I put my hand in, and found that Sally was doing her best to swallow her tongue. It wasn’t easy to get hold of; just as I got it, she gave a convulsive heave, and the girl’s hold on her head slipped. I pulled my hand away, but not quite in time. The strong teeth snapped on my thumb. I felt them grate on the bone. There was a moment of white agony: then I forced her jaws apart, and got free. She rolled over, and was epically sick on the cobbles.

  “Oh! Your poor hand.”

  I looked up from it to see the girl gazing at me in such horror that I had to smile.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, and got up, holding it away so that I shouldn’t bleed on my clothes. Then I was hit full on the heart by the worst single moment of panic I ever had in my life. A bite on the thumb—Siff and Guntey—Sally’s way of life!

  I must have gone dead white, and I all but fell. The girl sprang to me, and held me up by the elbow. Even in that stress, I felt a dull surprise at her strength.

  “What is it? Are you feeling faint?”

  Her eyes were very wide. The brows arched darkly over them. They were—I could not tell what colour they were.

  She supported me over to the kerb.

  “Sit down. Put your head between your knees.”

  I submitted. I felt, not faint, but sick. A cold patch began to spread on my right buttock, where the wet was getting through. I looked up and smiled at her.

  “It’s all right. I’m not faint.”

  I struggled to my feet, and reeled. She caught me.

  “We must get your thumb seen to, at once. But——” She glanced at Sally. I pulled myself together. The first cold wave of panic was receding, and I felt a glow in the pit of my stomach.

  “There’ll be a policeman at the next corner but two. Tell him about her. I’ll wait and see she comes to no harm.”

  She gave a quick smile at that; then looked anxiously right into my eyes.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Quite.”

  I watched her go with quick little neat steps like a bird. She hesitated at the corner, and looked back. I pointed. She nodded, and sped off.

  I went to the parapet, and leaned against it. A queer detachment had fallen on me. My thumb ached and burned. As if in afterthought, I pulled out a handkerchief and bound it loosely round. All fear had gone. I waited in quiet trustfulness, like a child. She would come back, and take charge of me. I looked about me, and saw that the sky was closing up, and the light dying off the river. Another barge was coming along, with no golden fleece, but a dirty old grey boa at its throat. Half a dozen gulls wheeled and screamed above it. They looked shabby and tired. The buildings on the far side of the river shrank to meaner bulk.

  Sally coughed, and called thickly on her Redeemer. I took a couple of steps, and looked down at her. An old woman like a grey rat appeared from nowhere, and shuffled across. She wore a shawl with a ragged fringe the colour of her hair.

  “Why don’t ya help the poor gerrl up, ya dirty sod ya?” she enquired, without bitterness.

  “She prefers to be where she is,” I said. “She’s not able to stand.”

  The old woman peered at Sally, and gave a loud sniff.

  “Has she drink taken?”

  “Buckets of it.”

  “Ya shouldn’t give her drink, ya dirty sod ya.”

  “I didn’t. Look—I was trying to help her, and that’s what I got.”

  I showed her my thumb. She shot her head forward, and eyed it.

  “Serve ya right,” she pronounced, and shuffled off.

  I laughed. Sally began to kick, like a fallen horse trying to get up, and uttered a series of indistinct blasphemies.

  “Shut up,” I said to her, and, probably by accident, she lay quiet. I laughed again, and looked up to see the small figure s
wiftly returning. She came swinging along the kerb, and stepped off sharply into the road, purposeful, authoritative, and graceful. I stood up, and smiled in welcome.

  “Did you find him?”

  She nodded. “They’ll send an ambulance for her. How is she?”

  “Beginning to curse. Need we wait?”

  “Well—is there any chance of her choking again?”

  “Not she. She’s nothing left to choke with. No. She’ll be all right, really. I’ve seen ‘em. I know.”

  She hesitated.

  “All right, then. Come along. Can you manage? Would you like to take my arm?”

  “I’d love to take your arm.”

  I did so, lest she withdraw the offer. It was difficult to fit my step to hers. I succeeded after two attempts. A great peace flowed over me. I sighed. She gave me a quick glance.

  “All right?”

  “Yes. Yes, thank you.”

  “You still look a bit shaky.”

  “I’m feeling better each minute.”

  “Good. This way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “A chemist, first, close to where I live. He’ll dress your hand. Then I shall take you to my house, and make you rest, and give you something to eat and drink.”

  I could ask nothing better. People loomed up out of the dusk, were big and vivid, and had gone by. Drays rattled on the cobbles. Trams, all alight, sailed unsteadily over the bridge. We turned off into a side street, skirted a knot of yelling small boys who were monopolising the pavement, turned down another street, and another, and came to the chemist’s shop.

  A young man with a moustache and glasses came out and showed strong white teeth in a smile for my companion. His eyebrows met in the middle.

  “Good evening, Miss.”

  “Good evening. I want you to look at this gentleman’s hand for me.”

  I felt a warm thrill of pleasure. The young man turned his attention to me. I unwound the handkerchief, and held out my thumb. He whistled.

  “How——?”

  “A bite,” I said. “Maybe not too clean a bite, either.”

  “Oh?”

  I told him briefly what had happened, doing my best to convey to him, by nods and winks, the sort of girl who had bitten me. I couldn’t say right out, in front of my new friend. I think he took the point, for he nodded.

  “I think it will be safest to cauterise it,” he said.

  My companion looked at me.

  “Oh you poor dear. That will hurt, I’m afraid.”

  I smiled. “It’s the best thing,” I said: and submitted to the dressings and all the business. I kept my eyes on her, and hers did not swerve from mine. When the caustic came—and it did hurt, like hell—I looked all the time into her eyes, and saw them darken and grow large. I had an Illusion of rushing to meet them and their rushing to meet me, growing larger and larger, till I passed through them into some region I knew, but had lost, and … Then I felt very cold, and heard the chemist’s voice, far away.

  “There. That’s all.”

  The next thing he said was very loud, and the shop and the ordinary world rushed back, and warmth glowed in my body, and I felt young and lighthearted and gay.

  She was looking at me, her lips parted, in a kind of wonder.

  “You’re very brave,” she said, a little breathlessly.

  “I hadn’t the courage to do what you did.”

  “To—oh, that. Yes! I was cross with you. Why weren’t you doing anything to help the poor creature?”

  “If I’d interfered, I’d have been dropped in the Liffey for my pains. With a few broken bones into the bargain.”

  She considered that. Then she nodded. The chemist finished tying me up.

  “Come in again tomorrow, and let me have a look at it. It should be quite all right now.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Thank you. How much——”

  She was feeling in her purse. I turned, scandalised, and put a hand on her arm.

  “Here,” I said, “you can’t do that sort of thing,” and smiled as I said it. She stopped, then smiled back. I paid the chemist, thanked him again, and we bade him good night, and walked out.

  Once in the street, I took her arm.

  “Now,” I said, “for the second part of the programme.”

  “This way.”

  She led me along. I felt active now, strong, certain of myself. I wanted to laugh aloud.

  “Did it hurt terribly?”

  “It did, quite a bit. But I didn’t mind, with you there.”

  I wasn’t trying to flirt with her: I was stating a fact. She did not answer. I looked at her, trying to see her profile. I saw it under a lamp, slender, regular. The nose was straight, and threw a deep shadow on the lip, and the chin was beautifully modelled. I never forgot that glimpse.

  We reached a large-sized house. What I could see of its outline looked angular and forbidding.

  “Down here.”

  She led me down a little alley at the back, and stopped at a tall dark door in a wall. She took a key out of her purse, and opened the door.

  “In here. Careful—there are twosteps up. Mind the dustbin. Now.’’

  She opened a door, and I stepped in after her. Everything was in darkness. Her gloved fingers closed lightly over my wrist.

  “I’ll have to lead you along. The matches are in the hall.”

  She drew me along, then left me while she went forward. I heard the rattle of a matchbox. Then the light leaped up, and she bent over a lamp. The light shrank, and she became a dark shape bending over the small table. Then she stood back, the orange lozenge of light grew, and the steam cleared off the globe.

  The lamp had a handle, like a teapot. She picked it up.

  “Now,” she said. “I’m ashamed to keep you standing all this time. But Lucy and I are like cats. We can see our way in the dark. It’s rather fun. If you always put things in exactly the same place, you can find them as quickly as if it were light.”

  I caught at this in my mind, and held it for future reference.

  “Who’s Lucy?” I asked, as I followed her up the stairs.

  “Lucy’s my greatest friend. And my cousin. I put the friend first, because it’s more important, don’t you think?”

  “By God I do. There’s lots of relatives that hate each other, and yet go on pretending.”

  “In here.”

  She held the door open, but I stood and signalled her to go in. She acknowledged me with a swift movement, and went in ahead. There was a glow in the room from a fire which had sunk to red embers. She put the lamp on the table, and kneeled in front of the fire, rattling at it vigorously with a poker. In a few seconds the flame leaped up to a blaze.

  She got up, and dusted her hands together.

  “You’ve taken off your gloves,” I exclaimed irrelevantly.

  She gave me a glance of surprise, and laughed.

  “Have you ever tried to strike a match and light a lamp with gloves on?”

  I felt confused, for I knew the words had jumped out of me because I was still disappointed that she had had her glove on when she took my wrist in the hall.

  “No. I never did.”

  “Well. Try, and you’ll see why I took off mine.”

  She busied herself lighting a big lamp on the table. I watched her in delight. Her features were regular, except for the mouth, which was unexpectedly full and generous for so slender a face. Her eyes were grey or blue, with dark brows and lashes. Her nose was perfect, with firm but delicate nostrils.

  When she spoke, I gave a jump.

  “You said that very feelingly just now, about relatives.

  Have you lots of them?”

  “No. I’ve hardly any. But I’ve seen it, in other families.” She turned up the wick, frowning at it carefully.

  “Have you a lot?” I asked her.

  “Not very many. But I hate all the official, family reasons for liking or disliking a person. I always want to take thi
ngs and people as they are.”

  “So do I,” I cried in wonder. “But one’s so seldom allowed to.”

  “Allowed to? I’m afraid I do, whether I’m allowed to or not.”

  There was nothing challenging about the way she said it. Her voice was soft, and thoughtful.

  “There. That’ll do. Come and be comfortable by the fire, and I’ll get something ready for you. Here—try this chair. They’re both a bit small, I’m afraid. But then, Lucy and I are small people.”

  I sat down, and looked full up at her.

  “You’re astonishingly kind to me,” I said.

  She laughed. “I’m house-proud. I love doing the honours. It’s not often I get the chance. Especially for a gentleman. Look —excuse me just a minute, while I take off my things and get something from the kitchen.”

  She was out of the door before I had time to answer. Yet there was nothing jerky in her movements. They were extraordinarily sure and accurate. I lay back in the chair, and smiled to myself. My hand was throbbing, not unpleasantly. I felt both elated and subdued, a feeling I did not remember since I was a child and had recovered from a fit of crying.

  I looked around the room. It was comfortable, easy, lived in, full of grace: the sort of room two girls might well share, I supposed, but with so many touches that, to me, were unexpected and individual. I had seen so little.

  “This is a lovely room,” I said, as soon as she came back. “It makes one feel happy just to sit here.”

  She coloured. “I’m so glad you like it. It is a friendly room. At least, we hope so.”