The Sea, The Sea Part 13

'Charles, darling.'

'Yes.'

'If you lived with Lizzie I could be the butler. Would you like a drink?'

'No, thanks.'

'Mind if I do? I wish I could give up drink, it's a symbol of depravity, a proof that one's a slave. Being in love, that's another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into G.o.d. That can't be right. Thank heavens I'm out of that trap. Real love is free and sane. Obsession, romance, does one grow out of them? Lizzie and I used to talk about that. Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. Or love when you're older, like love I feel for you, darling, only you don't want to know. It's good to feel how different it is from the old craving. Not exactly that I don't want anything for myself, but going that way. Love. G.o.d, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we ever thought about it.'

'Freddie's coming to stay at the pub?'

'No, at Amorne Farm^ that's where the other Arkwrights live. Such a nice boy. Did you know he was queer?'

'No.'

'G.o.d, it was such h.e.l.l being queer when I was young.'

And of course all the time, whether I was talking to Gilbert or remembering Clement or watching the waves destroying themselves in the cauldron, I was thinking about Hartley and waiting for her and wondering how soon my nerve would break. I had already decided in general outline what my next move would be should she make none, but I was superst.i.tiously reluctant to make detailed plans before I felt the time had come to change the world by force. I was continually conscious of Hartley, as of her real presence, and she was with me as Jesus used to be with me when I was a child. And I thought about her intensely, and yet, again superst.i.tiously, deliberately, in a respectfully abstract way. I let memories from the far past come and go as they would. But about the terrible present and the gulf of those suffering years my imagination was squeamish and discreet. I did not want to become simply obsessed with her misery. I did not want to waste my energy on hating that man. It would soon be irrelevant. So I reverted to the past when she was the unspoilt focus of my innocent love, seeing her as she had been when she seemed my future, my whole life, that life which had been taken from me and yet still seemed to exist somewhere as a packaged stolen possibility.

However, in the event, before I had time to decide to move upon my waiting and upon the fact of her silence, something else, quite unexpected and extraordinary, took place.

I may have described the period of my odd quiet tete-a-tete tete-a-tete with Gilbert as if it could have covered weeks, but in fact it covered days. Upon the last of these days, the one on which the with Gilbert as if it could have covered weeks, but in fact it covered days. Upon the last of these days, the one on which the tete-a-tete tete-a-tete came to an abrupt end, I felt, in the morning, an exceptional restlessness. Avoiding Gilbert, I went out onto the rocks with my field-gla.s.ses hung round my neck, intending to look at birds. I also had it in mind that I might see a seal, since Gilbert said that he thought he had seen one. However, once I was but there, upon the top of my minuscule cliff, I was a.s.sailed by a kind of fear which seemed familiar. To begin with I felt giddy, as if the sea were a hundred feet below me, instead of being, at that state of the tide, about twelve feet, and I had to sit down. Then I felt a nervous need to scan the surface of the sea carefully with the gla.s.ses: but not looking for seals. came to an abrupt end, I felt, in the morning, an exceptional restlessness. Avoiding Gilbert, I went out onto the rocks with my field-gla.s.ses hung round my neck, intending to look at birds. I also had it in mind that I might see a seal, since Gilbert said that he thought he had seen one. However, once I was but there, upon the top of my minuscule cliff, I was a.s.sailed by a kind of fear which seemed familiar. To begin with I felt giddy, as if the sea were a hundred feet below me, instead of being, at that state of the tide, about twelve feet, and I had to sit down. Then I felt a nervous need to scan the surface of the sea carefully with the gla.s.ses: but not looking for seals.

Of course, with every day that pa.s.sed, I knew that something which frightened me was coming nearer, the need to initiate what I must think of as a rescue; or at any rate to initiate something in response to Hartley's dreadful silence, the causes of which I did not yet want to reflect upon. When you rush the house to rescue the hostage from the gunman how will the gunman behave, how will the hostage behave? It may have been this fear which had now decided to inhabit the huge empty scene. It was a sunny day, cool, with a certain wind. The sea was a choppy dark blue, the sky pale, with a smooth gleaming buff-coloured cloud just above the horizon like a long tatter of silk. I was wearing Doris's Irish jersey. I began to study the sea through the gla.s.ses. I searched the restless white-flecked surface with an increasing anxiety, realizing that what I was now looking for and expecting momently to behold was my snake-necked sea monster. I put the gla.s.ses down and found that my heart was beating fast, thumping with an accelerating sound like that of the hyos.h.i.+gi hyos.h.i.+gi which I had last heard in that sombre vaporous gallery in the Wallace Collection. which I had last heard in that sombre vaporous gallery in the Wallace Collection.

With deliberation and to calm myself by the discovery that there was of course nothing to see I began again to study the jumping waters. One or two thick darker patches I identified as floating seaweed, there was a piece of wood which kept lifting its end up jerkily, some floating gla.s.sy-eyed gulls, a cormorant which pa.s.sed suddenly through the bright circle of vision. Then, for no particular reason, I s.h.i.+fted so that my charmed and magnified gaze could move from the sea to the land. I could see the waves breaking on the yellow rocks at the foot of the tower, the foaming water spilling back from folds and crevices. The wet rocks, then the dry rocks, then some patches of the fleshy cactus-like gra.s.s, then a windblown clump of the papery white campion. Then the level gra.s.s beside the tower. Then the base of the tower itself, the big cut stones blotched with ochre-coloured lichen, patched with black crannies. Then, part way up the tower, a human foot encased in a shabby gym shoe.

At the sight of that foot I dropped the gla.s.ses, and looking with dazzled eyes and shading my brow I could see quite clearly half-way up the tower a figure straddled frog-like against the stones, clawing for handholds, dabbling for footholds, descending. In fact, for an agile person, the tower was not an impossibly difficult climb, but I felt an immediate pang of fear which made me seize the gla.s.ses and raise them again. In that interval the climber had descended further and now leapt the remaining distance to the ground, and when I had again focused upon him had turned round, leaning back against the tower, with his hands spread out on either side, and looking straight towards me, reminding me suddenly of a figure caught in the headlights of a car and pinned against a rock. My climbing intruder, now gazing into the lifted gla.s.ses, was a boy, or rather a being in the full yet indeterminate efflorescence of earliest manhood. He was wearing brown trousers rolled up almost to the knee, and a white round-necked tee s.h.i.+rt with something written upon it. His face was bony, with a freckled pallor which brought out the rather sugary pinkness of his parted lips. His fairish faintly reddish brown hair, tangled rather than curly, fell to his shoulders, some of it actually spread out upon the rough stone behind him and adhering to it. He was staring back towards me with a marked attention. There was nothing so very unusual about a trespa.s.ser on my little promontory. But this was no ordinary trespa.s.ser. I got up hastily and began to move across the rocks. It was somehow clear that I was to come to him, not he to me. The gla.s.ses impeded my progress, so I paused to perch them on top of a rock and clambered on, now losing the boy to sight. I crossed Minn's bridge. The final climb, up from a gully to the level above, required all my strength, and I was breathless when I got up onto the gra.s.s and stood there, breathing deeply and resisting an impulse to sit down. The boy had moved and was standing near to the further edge of the gra.s.s with the sea behind him.

I spoke first. 'Is itby any chanceis your name t.i.tus?'

'Yes, sir.'

Amid the whole surprise that 'sir' was a separate little shock. Then I sat down, and he, approaching me, sat down too, kneeling and looking at me. I could see his quick breathing, the dirty tee s.h.i.+rt with the legend Leeds University Leeds University, the moist pinkness of his lips, the stubble growing in the scar. He had put one hand, with a gesture of unconscious grace, upon his heart.

'Are youMr Arrowby Charles Arrowby?'

'Yes.'

His eyes were long rather than large, narrow, a wet grey-blue, like stones. His freckled mobile brow was puckered with anxiety. I had of course, in the first instant, apprehended a resemblance to Hartley, a ghostly resemblance which hung upon him or about him, as the resemblance to Wilfred Dunning hung upon Gilbert. And I had seen the hare lip.

The next thing he said was, 'Are you my father?'

I was sitting holding my knees, with my feet tucked sideways. I felt now the desire to leap up again, to beat my breast, to make some absolute declaration of emotion, as if this question should be celebrated rather than answered. I also felt a distinct impulse to say Yes Yes, and a stronger clearer veto on any lie, to this boy, ever. But why had I not thought about just this, this apparition, this question, why had I not expected it? I was confused, taken by surprise, and did not know how to address him.

'No, I'm not.' The words were weak and I could see his face unchanged, still frowning. I knew that it was very important to convince him at once. Any muddle here could breed horrors. I moved into a kneeling position so that I faced him level. 'No. Believe me. No No.'

He looked down and his lips pouted and trembled. There was a momentary childish look. He drew his lower lip in and clasped it with his teeth. Then with a quick movement which startled me he stood up, and I stood up too. We were now close to each other. He was slightly taller than me. Enormous vistas of thought were unrolling in my mind.

He was frowning again now, looking stern, his head thrown back, stretching his long thin neck. 'I'm sorry. I mean, I'm sorry I troubled you.'

'Oh, t.i.tus, I'm so glad you've come!' This was the most immediate of a great number of things which I wanted to say to him and which I was already inhibiting and placing in order in my mind. I held out my hand to him.

With a little air of dignified surprise he shook my hand rather formally and then took a step backward. 'I'm sorry. It was a stupid question. And perhapsimpertinent.'

Something about the slight hesitation conveyed, in the odd way that speech so quickly can, an impression of intelligence. I had also noticed his clear almost reflective articulation, although he spoke with the flattened Liverpool-style voice which was now the tribal accent of the young, and which I had found my novice actors so reluctant to abandon.

I said, 'No, notat all' And then, 'So you are a student? You are at Leeds University?'

He frowned again, scratching his scar and narrowing his eyes and lips. 'No, I'm not at any university. I just bought this. You can buy them in shops, you don't have to be what it says.' He continued in an explanatory tone, 'They have American ones too, Florida andCalifornia andAnyone can buy them.'

'I see.' The whirl of my thoughts then brought up the obvious, the uncomfortable, question. 'You've been with them?'

'Them?'

'Your father and mother.'

He reddened, his face and neck flus.h.i.+ng quickly. 'You mean Mr and Mrs Fitch?'

'Yes/ I was terrified, the awkwardness, the vulnerability, terrified of hurting him as if he were a little helpless bird.

'They are not my father and mother.'

'Yes, I know, they adopted you'

'I have been looking for my parents. But I was unluckythere are no records. There should be records, I have a right to know. But there are none. Then I rather hoped that'

'That I was your father?'

He said, with a look of sternness and formality, 'That I could clear the matter up somehow. But I never really imagined '

'Have you been with them, over there, at the bungalow, where they live?'

He gave me his cold wet-stone stare, withdrawn and stiff. 'No. I only came here to see you. I'm going now.'

I kept my head against a wave of panic. The boy could vanish, be lost, never seen again. 'Aren't you going to see them, to tell them you're here? They are very worried about you, they'll be glad to see you.'

'No. I'm sorry I bothered you.'

'How did you know where I lived?'

'I saw it in a magazine I takea music magazine.' He added, You're famous, people know.'

'Tell me about yourself. What are you doing now?'

'Nothing. I'm on the dole. Unemployed. Like everyone else.'

'But did you finish your trainingelectricity, was it?'

'No. The college was closed down. I couldn't get into another. Well, I didn't try. I took the dole. Like everyone else.'

'How did you get here?'

'Hitch-hike. I'm sorry. I've bothered you, taken up your time. I'm going now.'

'Oh, I hope not. I'll go with you to the road, it's easier this way. But first, would you mind fetching my field-gla.s.ses? They're over there on that rock.'

t.i.tus seemed pleased to be asked this. In a second he had slithered down the steep incline which I had so laboriously ascended, and was leaping goat-like from rock to rock in the direction of the bridge. I wanted a short interval in which to think. Oh, he was slippery, slippery, touchy, proud. I must hold him, I must be tactful, careful, gentle, firm, I must understand how. Everything, everything, I felt, now depended on t.i.tus, he was the centre of the world, he was the key key. I was filled with painful and joyful emotions and the absolute need to conceal them. I could so easily, here, alarm, offend, disgust. He was back but too Soon, coming up the steep rock in a precarious scrabbling run, handing me the gla.s.ses with the first smile I had seen on that reserved suspicious still half-childish face. 'Here. Did you know there's quite a good table lying over there in the rocks?'

I had forgotten the table. 'Oh yes, thanks. Maybe you could help me with it later. Look, don't go away, I'd like to talk to you. Won't you stay to lunch? You must be hungry. Aren't you hungry?'

It was at once evident that he was hungry. I felt a rush of concern and pity, of all those dangerously joyously strong emotions which were biding their luxurious secret moment. He hesitated. 'Thank you. Well, OK, I'll stay for a quick bite.

I have to besomewhere else'

I did not believe too much in that somewhere else.

By this time, by the easy route, we had almost reached the road. We climbed up the last bit and stood a moment looking out over Raven Bay where the calmer shallower sea was the colour of turquoise.

'Lovely country, isn't it. Do you know this part of the world?'

'No.' He said, suddenly stretching out his hands, 'Oh, the sea, the seait's so wonderful.'

'I know. I feel that too. I grew up in the middle of England. So did you, I think?'

'Yes.' He turned to me. 'Look'

'Yes?'

'Why did youI meandid you come here for my mother?'

There was so much to discover, so much to explain, and it must be done so carefully and in the right order. I said, 'I'm glad you call her your mother. She is, you know, even if you are adopted. There's a kind of reality, a kind of truth. They are your real parents, it would be unjust to deny it.'

'Yes, I understand about that. But there areother things'

'Won't you tell me?' This was a mistake, too much, too soon.

He frowned, repeating his question. 'You came here for my mother, after her, or what?' The tone was austere, accusing.

I faced him, resisting an urge to take him by the shoulders'No, believe me, I didn't come, as you put it, after her. My coming here was pure chance. It was the oddest coincidence. I didn't know she was here. I didn't know where she was. I lost touch with your mother completely a very long time ago. I was absolutelystunned, amazedto meet her againit was the purest accident.'

'A funny sort of accident'

'Don't you believe me?'

'Yes. F think so. Yes. All right. Anyway, it's none of my business.'

'I've told you the truth.'

'OK, OK. It doesn't matter. They don't matter.'

'They?'

'Ben and Mary. They don't matter. You very kindly offered me food. Perhaps I could just have some cheese or a sandwich. Then I must push off.'

Ben and Mary was a shock too. We began to walk slowly back towards the house. t.i.tus picked up two plastic bags which were lying on a roadside rock. was a shock too. We began to walk slowly back towards the house. t.i.tus picked up two plastic bags which were lying on a roadside rock.

'Your worldly goods?'

'Not quite all.'

As we turned onto the causeway Gilbert came out of the front door, and stopped in amazement. It occurred to me that I had never mentioned t.i.tus's existence to either Lizzie or Gilbert. Gilbert knew what Lizzie had told him about the 'old flame', but I had checked his eager attempts to pursue the matter. t.i.tus had not appeared to be part of the story; and what a ghost he had seemed in Hartley's own mentions of him. Whereas now...

As we neared I said to Gilbert in my ringing tones, 'Oh, h.e.l.lo, this is young t.i.tus Fitch, the son of Mr and Mrs Fitch, you know, my friends in the village. And this is Mr Opian who helps me in the house.'

The tone and the description were designed to establish Gilbert, for the present at any rate, as being beyond some unspecified barrier. Gilbert's eyes had already taken on a dazed and gauzy look. I did not want any trouble of that sort; and, to tell the truth, I was already feeling rather possessive about t.i.tus.

'Come along,' I said. As I hustled t.i.tus through the door I gave Gilbert a kick on the ankle by way of ambiguous warning. 'Gilbert, could you set lunch for me and t.i.tus in the red room? t.i.tus, a drink?'

He drank beer and I drank white wine while Gilbert, who had now donned his ap.r.o.n, quickly and discreetly laid out and then served luncheon for two on the bamboo table. I think Gilbert would have been glad to serve me thus every day, only he feared to annoy me by suggesting it. His studied and meticulous 'butler' would have graced any drawing room comedy. At one point, catching my eye over t.i.tus's head, he winked. I gazed coldly back. We had ham cooked in brown sugar to a recipe of Gilbert's, with a salad of Italian tinned tomatoes and herbs. (These excellent tomatoes are best eaten cold. They may be warmed, but never never boiled as this destroys the distinctive flavour.) Then cherries with Gilbert's little lemon sponge cakes. Then double Gloucester cheese with very hard biscuits which Gilbert had rebaked in the oven. Our butler, instructed by telepathy, soon made himself scarce. We drank white wine with the meal. t.i.tus ate ravenously. boiled as this destroys the distinctive flavour.) Then cherries with Gilbert's little lemon sponge cakes. Then double Gloucester cheese with very hard biscuits which Gilbert had rebaked in the oven. Our butler, instructed by telepathy, soon made himself scarce. We drank white wine with the meal. t.i.tus ate ravenously.

I made a little polite conversation by way of introduction, and while Gilbert was still in evidence. 'I expect you're very left-wing, like most of the young.'

'Oh no.'

'Interested in politics?'

'Party politics? No.'

'But some kind of politics?'

He admitted to being interested in the preservation of whales. We discussed that. 'And I'm against pollution, I think the problem of nuclear waste is terrible terrible.' We discussed that too. At the next pause I said, 'So you didn't come here to see them them?'

'No, I came to see you.'

'To ask me that question?'

'Yes. Thanks for answering it. Needless to say I won't bother you again.'

'Oh, don't say that. Butsoyou aren't going to call on them, to let them know you're here?'

'No.'

'Oughtn't you to? Of course I quite understand you mightn't want to. Now I had a very happy relation with my parents, but'

'I had a very unhappy one with mine.'

Drink had loosened his tongue. I had been doing a lot of urgent thinking. A plan, the the plan, was emerging. 'With both of them?' plan, was emerging. 'With both of them?'