3
For hours, it seemed, they had not spoken a word. The paddle fell now and again upon the water with a light musical clash, like the sound of the shattering of thinnest crystal. Now and again the moving blade woke the water to a rich and secret murmur; as if a voice half woke out of sleep to speak a tender word; then swooned into sleep again.
She saw his arm move and glimmer; his form was just discernible in the stern of the boat, shoulders bowed forward, head motionless. Once or twice he started to whistle a fragment of tune, and then was silent again.
She lay among cushions in the bows, and watched the dark yellow moon rise, bare of clouds, behind the poplar trees. The night was heavy and still.
The canoe slipped down towards the islands. Then she would move, if her limbs still remembered how to move: he would give her a hand to help her out and they would stand among the little willows and whisper together.
Mamma was fast asleep at home, her alien spirit lapped in unconsciousness. Her dreams would not divine that her daughter had stolen out to meet a lover.
And next door also they slept unawares, while one of them broke from the circle and came alone to clasp a stranger.
The boat hissed suddenly among willows, and came to rest against a shallow bank. The clustering thin light blades of the willow-leaves fell over them as they stepped out, bit them with infinitesimal teeth.
She followed him without will, or conscious movement, through nettles and long grass, to a clearing among the bushes, in the middle of the leafy little mound which was the island. In the old days they had often picnicked here, and thought the minute patch of earth a whole world and made themselves kings and queens of it. They had gathered blackberries from these low bushes in the hot sun; and come home again with purple mouths and fingers.
Now the little boy Roddy was this tall man whose shoulder touching hers was more bewildering than the moon-rise; whose head above hers was a barrier blocking out the world.
They stood side by side. He turned to her and whispered:
‘Well, Judy?’
‘Oh, Roddy!...’
‘Judy, I’m going to say good-bye to you here.’ His voice was low, grave, distinct.
‘For a long time, Roddy?’
She saw him nod his head; and she bowed her own and began to sob, but without tears.
He murmured some low inarticulate exclamation, and took her gently in his arms.
‘Don’t cry, Judy. Don’t cry.... Darling, don’t.’
The tenderness of his voice checked her in an instant. His hand moved up and down her bare arm, lingering over its curves, tracing the outline with a touch that made her shiver.
‘Lovely smooth arm,’ he whispered. ‘You are so lovely.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. I think so. I’ve always thought so.’
‘As long as you think so, then—that’s all I care about. You—can have it all.’
‘Oh, Judy!’
Now the moon rose, clear at last above the tree tops, and gleamed strangely into the eyes bent upon her face. His lips were smiling a faint fixed smile. His teeth glinted. The two faces gazed at one another, floating wan upon darkness.
The web had broken. Roddy had shaken himself free and come close at last. The whole of their past lives had led them inevitably to this hour.
‘Oh, Roddy, I love your hair....’ Her hand went up and stroked it; and he shut his eyes. ‘I love your eyes.’
‘I love you all—every bit of you.’
Breathless, sure of him at last, with a delicious last-minute postponement of his embrace she moved away, softly laughing.
‘Roddy, how much do you like me? This much?’
She held out her hands, parting them slowly.
‘More than that.’
‘This much?’
He copied her, laughing eagerly but silently.
‘This much?’
He held his arms out wide. She hesitated a moment and then came into them; and he was not laughing any more, but covering her face and neck with kisses.
It was a quivering darkness of all the senses, warm, melting, relentless, tender. This stranger was draining her of power; but underneath, the springs of life welled up and up with a strong new beat. He clung to her with all his force as if he could never let her go. He was a stranger, but she knew him and had known him always. She took his caressing hands and held them on her breast. In that moment he was her child; and she longed to lay his head where his hands quietly lay. He drew deep breaths, and now and then his rich voice murmured a broken word or two.
She raised her head from his shoulder and gazed in passionate detail at his face.
‘Speak, Roddy, speak.’
He shook his head and smiled—a ghost of his former smile, flickering on his lips alone. His half-shut eyes glittered as if with tears. In the moonlight she worshipped his dark head and moon-blanched features. Gradually he loosened his hold, threw his head back, and stood motionless, arms hanging at his sides, his face an unconscious, sleeping mask. If Roddy were to die young, this was how he would look.
‘Roddy—Roddy—Roddy—I love you—I love you—I love you.’
No answer. He stooped his head and fell to closer kissing.
‘Roddy—say——’
‘What do you want me to say?’ he whispered. Again the flickering smile.
‘I love you, Roddy.’
Ah, if he would whisper back those few words, there would be peace for ever.
She laid her cheek against his, murmuring endearments.
‘My dear, my darling, my little one, I love you. My dear, I’ve always loved you. Did you know it?’
He shook his head faintly.
‘I love you too much, I’m afraid.’
Oh, far too much, if she was to wait in vain for any response save kisses....
‘No, Judy, no.’ The words broke from him painfully. ‘You must forget about me now. Kiss me and say good-bye.’
‘Why, oh, why?’ She clutched him desperately.
‘I’m going away,’ he whispered.
‘But you’ll come back? You’ll come back, Roddy?’
He was silent, utterly silent.
‘I can’t. I can’t,’ he said at last.
‘I’ll wait, Roddy. I don’t care how long I wait. I shall never want anyone else. I’ll wait years.’ There was no answer; and after a while she added in a small laboured whisper: ‘If you love me a little.’
‘Oh!’ He threw up his head with a sort of groan. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’
‘You love me?’
He must, he must say it.
‘Yes, I love you.’ The words came out on a groaning breath. She put her lips on his, and stood silent, drinking in her bliss.
He tossed his head suddenly, as if waking up.
‘Oh, Judy, we must go back, we must go back.’
He sighed and sighed.
‘No. A little longer. We’ll talk a little before we go. We must talk.’
He laughed—a normal teasing laugh.
‘A little conversation,’ he said. ‘You’re a tiger for conversation, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t mind your laughing at me.’
They were going to laugh gaily at each other, with each other, for ever.
He put his hand beneath her chin and turned her face up to his.
‘Lovely Judy. Lovely dark eyes.... Oh, your mouth. I’ve wanted to kiss it for years.’
‘Oh, Roddy, you can kiss it whenever you want to. I love you to kiss me. All of me belongs to you.’
He muttered a brief ‘Oh!’ beneath his breath, and seized her, clasped her wildly. She could neither move nor breathe; her long hair broke from its last pins and fell down her back, and he lifted her up and carried her beneath the unstirring willow-trees.
He had brought her back home. Languorous and bemused she stepped out upon the bank in the breaking dawn, and turned to look at him beneath her heavy lids. She could not see him clearly, he seemed blurred, far away.
‘Good-bye,’ he said briefly.
‘I’ll see you before you go,’ she said mechanically.
Not that it really mattered now. Time was not any more and he would be with her for ever.
He nodded; and then abruptly turned the canoe down stream again: looked at her once, faintly smiled, waved his hand an instant and went on.
She walked through the waiting, clear pale-coloured garden, into the house, up to her bedroom; stared in the dim glass at her strange face; sank into bed at last.