North Face (15 page)

“I expect,” the girl said suddenly, “you’re thinking much the same as I am.”

“Well—” began Neil in a good deal of embarrassment, before reflecting that this was very unlikely. He smiled quickly and changed it to “Well?”

“How long it will be before something like this is all that’s left of us too. Perhaps this is part of some other planet that grew a dangerous animal in its old age.”

“Yes,” said Neil unwillingly. Like the pang of an old sickness he felt again, mocking his struggles, the deadening sense that his own trouble and effort were meaningless dust in the path of a cosmic disaster. Since he had ceased to believe collectively in humanity, the only answer he could see was beyond personality altogether, and, so far beyond his strength. He did not see much profit, or pleasure, in discussing all this.

“You might as well forget all about it,” he said, “and go on picking up shells. You can’t do anything; you’re young. No one gets power till they’re half rotten. What does Leonardo say in one of those jottings of his? I thought I was learning how to live, while I was learning how to die.” He had not meant to say so much.

“I don’t suppose,” she said a little impatiently, “that I’m so much younger than you are. No one’s young, who was more than a child when this began.”

Considering what they were discussing, his momentary pleasure struck him as a fantastic comment on human vanity. Well, he thought, they dug up coupled skeletons under the lava at Herculaneum. He glanced at the girl; she looked too shy and vulnerable to be thought at in this way, and he talked on rather to protect her from his own mind than in any wish to share it.

“It’s a drift,” he said, “like sand drifting into a ravine. You put out your hand, and it drifts through your fingers. Men in the mass are a dead weight, like shale. Take them separately, most of them know not to kill, or steal, or say ‘My people are better than yours, so clear out.’ But put a dozen together so that they can say, ‘Of course, I’m not doing this for myself.’ … Talk about the Truth Drug. They didn’t need to invent that, while they could watch a mob.”

“What do you mean by a mob exactly?” She had looked up; she had grey eyes, faintly streaked with brown in the centre.

Neil smiled without amusement. “Where two or three are gathered together, there am I.” He had wanted to shock her, and, as soon as he had done so, could not imagine why. “I’m sorry; there’s no particular need to be blasphemous about it.”

“It’s all right,” said the girl quietly. She did not speak as if she were smoothing a rebuke, but as if he had apologised for an involuntary sound of pain. He wondered why this did not make him angry.

“The way I think of it,” she went on, “is that all these people who are running things are like a man who’s been told that he’ll die unless he knocks off drink. He believes it in an abstract kind of way; but each time he pours out another, he says to himself it’ll be all right if he knocks off before the next, and this one can’t be really decisive.”

“You’re optimistic if you relate this kind of process to any individual personality, even the worst. Hitler was probably almost human, till the first time he got a cheer. No, it’s a drift, like sand.”

She looked at the bit of clinker in her hand, as if he were telling her something about it; then straight into his face.

“Well—what ought we to do?”

He said, wearily but not unkindly, “My dear child.”

“You mean it’s too late already?”

“It’s a lovely day,” said Neil gently. “Here we are at the sea-side. Why not enjoy it?”

She dropped the meteorite on the pebbles, where it fell with a dry brittle noise. “But isn’t all this because everyone’s saying that?”

“Of course,” he said indifferently, more concerned with watching her. “Human drift is the most powerful force in the world. It wiped out a city of seventy thousand, only the other day. The people we think are controlling it are drifters too; just conspicuous pebbles lying on top.”

“Very well.” He could see a tension in her body like that of a stretched bow. “Perhaps it’s no good. It was no good last time, and people wondered why they’d wasted so much effort, and started tired. But what I think is, we’ve got to go on caring, and swimming against
t
he stream, to keep alive. I mean, to keep alive until we die.”

“You’re right,” he said slowly. “But you’re young.”

She said with a half-hidden and what seemed an old bitterness, “All right, you needn’t keep rubbing it in.”

“I’m sorry,” he said a little blankly.

“You don’t have to take any notice of that.” She turned away towards the sea. “But anyhow, you can’t back out by just pretending you belong to the older generation. You know that yourself.”

“That’s a courteous rebuke.” He found himself exerting his will to make her turn and meet his eyes.

“Was I rude?” she said, turning. “I didn’t mean to be.”

He smiled at her without saying anything. It was hardly fair, for he had known she couldn’t cope with it. She blushed faintly—she was getting tanned, but clearly and evenly, so that it still showed—and, picking up a pebble, did a duck-and-drake with it on the sea. In spite of the ripples, she managed to make it bounce once.

Neil found a flatter one; not without satisfaction—he had not tried for at least twenty years—he got his to bounce twice.

“Talk about catharsis. We must have unloaded enough to make room for lunch. Let’s have it on this raft, or whatever it is.”

It was roomy, and had one gunwale intact, making a good back-rest. They explored their lunch-packets; Neil, who did not like cake but had always lacked the nerve to tell Mrs Kearsey so, swapped his portion with Ellen for some bloater sandwiches. She assured him earnestly that he was losing in food-value as the cake had dried eggs in it; but she ate the sweet stuff with childish enjoyment. He stopped himself just in time from saying that they must repeat this practical arrangement another day. He would probably not feel like company tomorrow, and would be sorry if he had landed himself with it.

“No, thank you,” she said afterwards. “I really never smoke out of doors.”

“I used not to either.” He lay down to protect his lighter from the wind, and feeling too lazy to get up again, stayed there. A gull mewed, close overhead. He realised he had been as nearly asleep as made no matter, and ought to apologise. He turned his head to do so, still feeling drowsy and regretting the need to start conversation again; with relief he perceived that she was nearly asleep too. The position into which he had turned himself was more comfortable than the one he had left; he would drop off again in a minute. A faint drone of insects came from the edge of the woods above, and the sea made a sleepy plashing and sucking against the stones.”

She had curled sideways, half away from him, an arm locked round her bare knees. In the strong sunlight, her brown legs had a film of golden down, flat and silky, which had been invisible when she stood. It reminded him of something; he pursued the likeness with the obstinacy which accompanies a flight from serious thought, and presently remembered the pale silk that some rock-growing plants have on their leaves. In the satisfaction of one who has tidied something up, he relaxed again; but the desire for sleep had become less pressing. A few minutes later he told himself, sharply, This is ridiculous. I’d better wake up before I start taking it seriously.

“I nearly went to sleep then,” said Ellen without moving.

“So did I.” An undeveloped child, he thought. Oh, well, it happens like weather. Take no notice and it goes off.

“They say lettuce has bromide in it,” she remarked.

“Mm-m?” She did not answer; she had settled again, thinking he did not want to be disturbed. This, he now perceived, had been his intention. He sat up quickly.

“The water looks nice today. Mind if I go in?”

She stirred idly. “Have you got a swim-suit or shall I clear out?” She might have been talking to a brother; she was a contradictory mixture, he thought.

“No, of course don’t move, I’m all equipped. Plenty of trees.”

“I’ve brought mine too. Thanks for waking me up, I’d have wasted the whole afternoon. You take that end and I’ll take this.” She fished a towel and costume out of her rucksack and strolled off.

Neil was first in the water. It did not take him long to realise that it was a most unpleasant beach for bathing at low tide. The stones, which were smallish at the top of the slope, got progressively larger, developing into boulders; and the tops of what looked like full sized rocks were visible further out. As he picked his way uncomfortably into deeper water, where it was still unsafe to swim, he thought, She might have been drowned, bathing here on her own.

“Look out for the rocks,” he called when she came out of cover. “You won’t manage any swimming. I’m going in in a minute.”

“All right,” she said cheerfully, and ducked down to wet her shoulders. From where he was she looked very young, awkward and angular, edging about in the ungraceful way which is inevitable with sharp stones underfoot. He was glad to be doing something active; already he was wondering what it had all been about. Finding a fairly clear stretch of water, he got in a short swim. A sharp little cry halted him, followed by a splash. He was still in his depth; feeling for a flat surface he stood up. She had disappeared.

The next few seconds, during which he was floundering over, felt like several years. Speed was impossible, one could neither walk nor swim. He used hands and feet indiscriminately on the rocks, nearly falling several times himself. Recovering from one of these slips, he saw her standing safely a dozen yards away. For a moment, in his relief, he felt angry. “Are you all right?” he shouted, out of breath.

“Yes. Sorry; I slipped on some seaweed. I only bumped my knee a bit. There’s not much point in this, though, is there? I think I’ve had enough for today.” She started to walk shorewards.

“So have I. Not a very good idea of mine.” He lingered to let her get ahead. When she got near the water’s edge, however, she checked and stood still looking down. I suppose, he thought, she’s found some more rubbish she thinks might appeal to Mrs Kearsey.

Suddenly she turned, and started walking out to sea again. He looked at her curiously; she was going as if she could not see.

“What is it?” he asked, coming towards her.

In a voice as blank as her face she said, “Don’t come this way.”

Neil came over—the stones were easier here—and walked past her to the place where she had been. At first he thought it was a long boulder with weed on it; he found himself anxious to go on thinking this. His next step fell on a loose stone; he stumbled, and pitched forward almost on top of the thing. He just saved himself; but he had seen more than enough, and only took a second look because he knew that she must have seen everything. Half the skull was missing; there was slime in it, and, as he looked, a crab scuttled out. Part of the clothing remained, some kind of overalls; the arm was gone from inside one sleeve. His stomach heaved; he would have felt better if he could have vomited, but forced it back somehow, remembering the girl.

When he turned back to her she was still standing much as before, except that she seemed to know he was there. Making his voice as commonplace as he could manage, he said, “I’m sorry about that; it’s not very nice, is it? Come round this way with me.”

He put out his hand for hers, but she did not move. He saw that her face was the colour of vellum. Her body leaned forward, slowly; he reached out just in time to catch her.

She was slippery with salt water, and her dead weight almost slid through his arms. He managed to gather her into a transportable shape, and carried her up to the beach, the stones which he could not see cutting his feet. The raft where they had sat was partly sheltered; he laid her on the sun-warmed boards. Something rang as he put her down; it was a little gold St Christopher medal, hanging backward from a chain round her neck. He fished it up lest it should constrict her breathing, and saw the Air Force wings on the other side.

She looked as if she were dead, and he could not see her breathe. He felt for her wrist, but failed to find the vein. It’s only a faint, he told himself; don’t be a fool. All he knew to do for it was to throw water; and she was dripping wet already, even her hair. People did die of shock, he remembered suddenly; and, pulling down a shoulder-strap, he felt for her heart. Her breast was light, firm and cold, and pale like her lips. It was not till he had found the slow pulse under it that he had time to think what he was doing, and covered her again quickly.

She must have been shaken already by her fall among the rocks (he noticed now that her knee was grazed) and the other had happened within minutes. Warmth was the thing for shock, he remembered; but he had no idea where in the dense woods she had left her clothes. He had better fetch his own. As he was about to get up, she opened her eyes. Her face looked, now, both vacant and terrified. As a boy he had gone off once himself after a fall, and remembered the nightmare struggle to recreate oneself out of nothing. He rubbed one of her hands (the nails looked disconcertingly pallid and blue) and said “It’s all right now,” hoping it sounded rather less ineffectual than it felt.

The drowning look passed, and her eyes began to wander. When they found his face, they rested there in a dim relief. In the thin uncontrolled voice of a sick child she said, “I’m cold.” Her teeth began to chatter, turning her breath as it passed through them into a sobbing noise; there were blue-brown streaks under her eyes. “Of course you are,” he said. “Just a moment, I’ll get you something.”

He ran off to the trees, found his shirt, slacks and towel (it had been too hot to bring a jacket) ran back and bundled them round her. She ought, he knew, to be got out of her wet costume without delay. In her present state she would hardly notice it, but she was too shy a creature not to be horribly upset afterwards. As he was wondering which consideration was the more urgent, she plucked uncertainly at a fold of the shirt and sat up.

“I am
so
sorry.”

The abject apology in her voice affected him queerly. He said, “Don’t be silly, lie down for a bit,” and put her back again.