by Paul Almond
Eric doffed his light coat — even the early spring here in Sydney was warm. Rene ushered him through the living room to a triangular window looking out across Sydney Harbour.
“My! What a wonderful view,” Eric breathed.
“We’re on the ridge line of Woolloomooloo Hill. That’s why I picked it.” She showed Eric around, and then in the bedroom watched him take in the heavy brown rafters exposed in the opened peak above the bed. The apartment had all sorts of interesting nooks and crannies. Not used to such architecture, Eric took his time absorbing it all, but it grew on him. With so many flats like square boxes around these days, Rene offered, it took time to find an interesting nesting place. She paused and looked down at Eric as he sat for a moment on the bed.
“So do you think,” he said slowly, “that after the wedding, we might stay here?”
Rene watched. “Whatever you think...”
Eric looked around, and nodded. “I couldn’t have imagined anything nicer.”
He paused, looking up at her.
“Good. Let’s pour a drink.”
“Thanks.” He shook his head and got up. “So, our first problem solved.”
Rene gave her fiancé a good shot of whiskey and herself a gin and tonic. She had already prepared dinner and needed only heat a last-minute dish. They sat talking: no shortage of events of the last few months to run over. Her school was doing exceptionally well, with more women applying every day; Rene had even hired an assistant to deal with appointments and classes. “Everyone seems to have money nowadays.”
“They sure do in Canada,” Eric agreed. “I met a fellow on the train coming across, he told me that even out West, everything’s booming. If one were smart enough to get into the market.”
“I’m sure the Mater has all that in hand. The family is mainly in property,” Rene told him. “She’s always acquiring more houses. When the war was starting, in that recession I believe she snapped up a good many.”
“I think Old Poppa is doing well on the farm, too, with Earle. Certainly no shortage of food. Tough in the winter though,” Eric added.
“So did you send off your telegram to them? I sent Hilda one in New Zealand, and another to the Mater first thing this morning. You found the telegraph office, all right?”
“Right where you said it was.” But then Eric changed the subject, which Rene noticed. Had he not sent one? “Do you remember that pleasant fellow you were telling me about, married to one of your students?”
“An older one? Oh yes, my oldest pupil. She does well, considering.” Rene looked at him. What was coming?
“Well, I went to see him.”
“Whatever for?”
Eric smiled. He seemed pleased with himself. “Well, you said he was the one arranging for your course to be part of the school curriculum here.”
Rene nodded. “Yes.”
“I saw him about perhaps doing a bit of teaching.” Rene looked at him with appreciative eyes. Eric smiled. “I can’t spend all my time sightseeing, you know.” He grinned again.
“Eric! You did? So what happened?”
“I think I have a job. Mathematics, actually,” Eric stated proudly. “Not full time, because I might be doing something else... But he is going to try to arrange it. They really need teachers. The worthwhile young graduates all want to go into business, with this boom going on. So once we’re married, we’ll both have jobs!”
He was pleased to see that Rene liked his initiative. In fact, he had quite astonished her.
This evening, filled with laughter, joy, gossip and catching up, augured well for the future, they both agreed. After an embrace that foretold of many pleasures to come, they retired to their separate dwellings, hearts inseparable.
***
While Rene spent the rest of the week teaching, organizing, getting invitations printed, setting up the wedding reception, Eric soon discovered, close by, Sydney’s beautiful and hilly Botanical Gardens. There, he felt the peace that he had known only in his own garden at the Old Homestead. And one of those days, as he sat on a bench looking down toward the docks where the liners from all the world were coming and going, so slowly, like sleek heavy turtles, he was struck by a dreadful and overwhelming thought: had he forgotten that he was a prey to being attacked, at the most unexpected times, by shell shock?
So what? Wasn’t he free of it now? Possibly. But could he really, having won her, impose it on his Rene?
It might strike at any time. He was fully aware that the condition was not under his direct control. Had that stay in military hospital vanquished it completely? Or did that malady lie, lurking beneath the surface, waiting to rise up and swallow them both?
He had asked the doctors, “Will this ever happen again?”
They had no answer. “Possibly. We don’t have enough experience. Some men stay cured, some men return.” That was all they could offer by way of assurance.
So what should he do about this marriage? Could he honestly burden Rene with his affliction? Had he only been thinking, oh so selfishly, of himself and his own wants, his own love? But if he truly loved her, would he foist a “disabled” veteran on her?
Perish the thought! He remembered a comrade in hospital opening his heart one night: “I’m in pretty bad shape. I would give the world to see an old girl friend of mine.” Then the soldier went on, with words that pierced Eric here in the Botanical Gardens: “But who would want a young girl to be tied to a broken soldier — not me! I would shoot myself like a dog first. I let her go, and I just pray for her every night.”
Eric heaved a sigh as he slowly came to agree. However painful, he must face up to doing the honourable thing, regardless of his own longing.
C H A P T E R F I F T E E N
Thursday evening when Eric came for dinner, Rene noticed how changed her fiancé seemed. Withdrawn, deflated, he even gulped down the first whiskey she poured. Something surely wrong?
She turned down the vegetables and refrained from putting on his choice Australian steak. She came to sit beside him, sipping her drink. Her normally talkative companion was shut tight.
She made small talk for a few moments, telling him about her school. “You know, we’re doing awfully well. Word is still getting out, I’m happy to say; we’re pretty well full, for our size. If we keep growing at this pace, I shall have to get another teacher. Hilda might come and join me...”
Eric said nothing, but was drinking faster than normal. He held up the empty glass and looked at it, as though surprised.
Rene got up, took it to the sideboard, and then turned and came to stand before him. “Eric, I want you to tell me what’s wrong?”
He held out his glass.
Rene shook her head. “No, I want you sober. You have to tell me first. I want to know what’s happened.”
Eric shifted uncomfortably. Clearly, he did want to speak, but something held him back.
“Eric...” She mouthed the word slowly, tenderly, standing, then turned, poured the drink and brought it over.
Eric took a slug, then another one, with her watching, and then burst out, “Rene, we can’t go through with this.”
The colour drained from her face. She took a chair, pulled it across, and sat. Her hand went to her brow and wiped her hair back. “Why ever not, Eric?”
“Just because ...”
“No, Eric, that won’t do. Because? Because of what?” She asked no more.
Eric forced himself to look at her. She was so lovely, but now her face showed an inner anguish. He took a deep breath. “Rene, in my letters, I never really told you what happened.”
“What happened? When?”
“Well, before they put me in hospital.”
“I knew, I knew something must have driven them to do that.” She leaned back. “Tell me about it. I won’t mind, I promise. “
Eric hedged. But Rene persisted, and Eric began. He recounted the details of his time marching with the Officers Training Corps, and coming to believe they faced Passchen
daele again. He spared no detail. The whiskey had gone down, and now she could see that he wanted her to know it all. After all, how could he break this off without being utterly honest? If he were not going to see her again, she deserved a complete explanation.
After filling her in about that first episode and how he had recovered at the Old Homestead and thus been able to return to college, he paused.
Rene nodded. “Keep on, Eric. I’m ready.”
So then he told her about the second event in the hotel after the rugby season, and Jack coming to find him in bed, in the depths of despair. How they had checked him in at the Military Hospital in Ste. Anne’s, and then Eric gave her a truncated version of his stay there.
After he finished, he sat back on the sofa and held out his tumbler once more. More than ever, he wanted to avoid that hospital, and sink himself into the arms of his new, though long- standing, love. The pressure made him begin, just slightly, to shake. Which made him feel worse, of course. And the more he tried to control it, the worse it got. What was he doing to himself? But the right action was the only action.
Rene got up to pour another. “Now, Eric, don’t drink this all at once, please. I want you clearheaded. We have to discuss this.”
Eric nodded dumbly and waited as she poured his third drink. “I asked them, you see, the doctors, I pleaded, I had to know. Would it occur again?”
“And what did they say?” Rene sat upright, composing herself, listening.
“Rene, they could give me no assurances. They said that some veterans, they spend the rest of their lives happily, more or less able to deal with everything. Other veterans ...” he shrugged. “It comes back.”
Rene nodded.
“And so,” Eric sighed deeply, shifted awkwardly, “and so... when I was sitting on that park bench — my gosh, Rene, those gardens are so beautiful. Anyway, as I was sitting there, I knew that I should not ever burden you with this awful — and to me frightening — possibility. And that’s why ... that’s why I’ve decided we should perhaps... Just not to go through with our marriage.”
Rene sat silent and nodded.
Then she leaned forward. “Eric, my darling Eric, we have waited eight long years. I don’t know if you’ve been to a wedding recently, but there’s a phrase in it, “for better or for worse ...” I am ready to take that vow, Eric. Very ready. In fact, I welcome it. That’s what marriage is, we both know that. Good times and bad. With luck, there will be only good times.” She paused. “But the way things go in life, there are also bound to be bad ones, too.”
Eric nodded. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” His shoulders were hunched, tense.
“Don’t be. I think, if we do this together, we can overcome anything. Have you met anyone — in fact, I’m sure you haven’t — who could handle all this better than me? I’ve travelled, I’ve come here on my own, set up a school, and now, I’m ready to be married, to mingle my soul with yours..”
Eric looked up, and met her steady gaze.
She looked right back, square in the eyes.
“Rene, you know something?” He broke into a big grin. “You always surprise me. And I hope you always will. Surprise, that’s one of the great things in life, isn’t it.”
He jumped up, grabbed her by the arms, hauled her off the chair, wrapped himself around her and kissed her as much and as strongly as he could. “My God, Rene, I love you so much.” And that love they consummated at last, under the great brown rafters, in a wild burst of joy.
***
Eric had taken to walking everywhere and now knew Potts Point and its surroundings top to bottom. So he felt drawn to investigate Sydney University. He wondered if it compared to Bishop’s University, or was it more like McGill? So he caught a tram and got off at the campus.
What a surprise! The great main building before him was indeed, as he had heard, one of the country’s best examples of Gothic Revival architecture. From a superb clock tower two wings extended, the right hand one ending in a chapel with sharply peaked roof, a large window flanked by tall statues in attractive niches, and a narrow tower on guard to the right. No college architecture he’d seen in Canada could rival it and he warmed to the idea of furthering his education here. He began to wander the grounds, the Anderson Medical building, and the new Zoology and Physics building.
Then he went into the aged — well, seventy-five-year-old — quadrangle with its tawny stonework, its cloistered walk, and stood drinking in the pale blue of the jacaranda tree, unknown in the Gaspe. His conversation with Clarence at Sunday dinner came drifting back. “You should take a look at our local college, Moore. Lovely place. Great spot to study. I would have loved doing courses there.”
“I shall. But isn’t it only for students taking up the cloth?”
Clarence had looked at him. “What’s so wrong with that, Eric? You seem to me an ideal candidate.”
Eric was taken aback. “Well, I admit that my brother, Jack, often told me I should look into it.” Clarence knew of this Canon who had run the Canadian Chaplaincy Corps. “And to be honest, I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do.” That did sound a bit odd, Eric knew, and added, “With this wonderful new union coming, Clarence, you may be sure, that I’m giving the future serious thought.”
And so, without any predispositions, Eric turned toward the red brick buildings of Moore to the south. Entering it, he found the place rather like Bishop’s, in fact. Curious, he thought as he sat on a bench watching the students wander by, I do feel comfortable here. I might even enjoy myself. More learning about St. Paul and more of Him who strode the Holy Land, to whom I pray nightly...
A day or two later, Eric was taking his constitutional around the Botanical Gardens. He felt now, with Rene by his side, he could conquer the world. But he wanted to take on something that would be of use, of help to others. Something that also might afford him the peace and quiet he needed after the devastation of his teenage years on the Firing Line. His thoughts drifted towards his Maker. Ask Him, he prompted himself. Usually he found these conversations soothing.
“You know,” he began, “with all the excitement crossing Canada and then the Pacific my search, and then — thanks to who else but You — finding Rene free to marry... Well, You have blessed me so far. But I confess, I’ve given far too little thought about what comes next.
“Now,” he continued in this heavenward conversation, “my marriage is in ten days. So I have to get on with deciding... what to do. Help me, please.”
As he strode around, studying the different trees and their leaves, many he’d never seen before, passing colourful plots of flowers so different from the Old Homestead, he kept turning these matters over in his mind.
He came upon a path that turned into some undergrowth by a grove of trees. It wound roughly around hillocks, up and down dips, coming to rest at a clearing with its weathered bench and an attractive man-made pool — empty now, for it was still spring. He sat on the bench and leaned back, reaching his arms along the back of the bench.
He sat, staring into the waterless pool.
To a passerby, this young veteran, only thirty but looking older, might have seemed asleep. But he sat upright, almost rigid, eyes straight ahead; one might take him for blind as they focussed on nothing. A disconcerting sight, but fortunately no one passed, for it was mid-morning when wives were busy making meals, and mothers would never push their prams along this twisted pathway.
A couple of clock towers telling the hour of noon seemed to awaken our veteran. He shook his head and looked about him, then glanced at his watch. He gathered himself, and then, knowing absolutely and firmly what he had to do, set off at a brisk pace for his boarding house.
***
That night, as soon as Rene let Eric in she knew something was up. They had only really been together for a few dinners; she herself had been so busy, dealing with new pupils, the well-wishing of friends, the notes arriving, the telegrams of congratulations from the Mater and Hilda. But she knew Eric well
enough to realize that all was not as is should be.
As they mounted the stairs, Rene chatted gaily, trying hard to keep an eye on Eric without his noticing.
“I’ve certainly been looking forward to this dinner,” Eric told her. “For someone who claims you haven’t done much cooking, you sure know how to make food tasty!” They entered the apartment. “And you know, the more I’ve thought about it, the more I love this attic flat. Absolutely wonderful, big open beams. Our Homestead has an attic, too, but we closed it in with low ceilings. This is so interesting.”
“The builders had just finished the conversion when I saw it,” Rene told him. But wasn’t he a bit too excited? She went over to the sideboard, got out two tumblers and poured them each a drink. “I don’t think too many hereabouts like this sort of thing, so I was able to make rather a good financial agreement with the landlord. I’m glad you like it.”
She came across and sat beside him. They exchanged a kiss, and then another, but before it got too heated, Rene drew back and asked, “Well, so what have you been up to?”
Eric tried to control his excitement. “Oh well, I’ve been walking around, seeing the neighbourhood. I looked at the University, my goodness, so much more magnificent than anything we have in Canada. Closest I’ve seen is Oxford, which I did visit once.”
“I remember you telling me.”
“Then, I even went into Moore Theological College. Clarence suggested it. Amazing, really, how it resembles my old college in Lennoxville.”
The first thought that entered Rene’s mind was: that’s where he had those two episodes of shell shock. But she brushed it aside. “And you loved your time at Bishop’s, didn’t you?” she said, by way of avoiding the thought.
“Oh yes. Yes indeed.” Eric paused as though wanting to continue, but said nothing.
They both sipped their drink. Eric got up and went to the window and looked out. “Just a wonderful view. Just wonderful...” He took a slug of his drink.
Rene watched him. He’s avoiding something, she told herself. But she decided to wait.