The Green Knight (6 page)

The ground was not exactly where he expected it to be. His eyes were dazzled as by a white flash. He hit the ground hard, his legs violently jarring his body, then slipping from under him, scraping a track in loose stones. He fell on his side, an outstretched arm jolted, his shoulder taking the impact. A surge of outraged annoyance bore him up, and in an instant he was on his feet, leaning against the wall and brushing earth and stones off his shirt. He felt a blush of shame and anger run up his neck and across his face. How could he have been, at the very last moment, such an
idiot
! He could hear the girls chattering in Italian.

 

Bellamy was saying, ‘Are you all right? You haven't hurt yourself?'

Clement said, ‘You bloody fool! I was going to shake you, only it seems you've shaken yourself! Now come on, get a move on, we're late, let's get away from this awful place!'

Harvey said, ‘Yes, sorry.' He touched his cheek which had evidently also been grazed in the fall, and looked at the blood on his fingers. He had instinctively lifted one foot from the ground. When he put it down and placed weight upon it, trying to step forward, a sharp pain ran up his leg. He was conscious now of a continuous pain in his foot and ankle.

Clement repeated, ‘Come on!'

Bellamy said, ‘He's hurt.'

Harvey said, ‘I'm all right.' He tried to walk, limped, then hopped as far as the white post and leaned against it. The girls, who had retired to a distance, were watching. ‘Damn it, I'm sorry, I seem to have wrenched my ankle, I expect it'll be OK in a minute or two.'

‘We haven't got a minute or two,' said Clement. ‘All right, rest it – but then we must go.'

Bellamy said, ‘Oh dear, I shouldn't have said it, it's all my fault!' They stood looking at him.

Harvey was panting. He felt breathless and suddenly helplessly weak. There was a raging furnace in his foot, which he was holding up clear of the ground. Rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand and trying to calm his face he put his foot down firmly and began to walk. The pain was great. But more than that, he realised he
ought not
to be walking. Whatever it was that had happened
didn't like it
, and was threatening that if
that
went on, it would get much worse. Harvey hopped forward, taking hold of the nearest support which was Bellamy's arm.

‘It's not all that bad, is it?' said Clement.

‘I'm sorry,' said Harvey, ‘I'm
sorry
.'

‘You'll just have to walk to the car, there's no other means of transport.'

‘We could carry him,' said Bellamy.

‘Don't be silly!'

A few yards further on along the path there was a seat. Hopping on one foot and leaning hard on Bellamy's arm Harvey got as far as the seat and sat down, burying his face in his hands. Kneeling before him Clement undid the laces of his shoe and with some difficulty eased the shoe off. The foot was dangling at an unusual angle. He gently rolled the sock off and revealed the swollen foot and ankle, crimson and blue, the distended skin burning hot to the touch. Opening his eyes Harvey looked at it. He groaned.

‘Something must be broken,' said Bellamy, ‘oh
dear
, oh
God
, it's
my fault
.'

‘I can't walk,' said Harvey to Clement, ‘I
can't
.'

Clement said, ‘Don't worry. Just rest a little. I'm afraid we can't get the car any nearer, the way's blocked. Bellamy and I can hold onto you and you can hop.'

‘We can still get to Ravenna in time – '

‘We aren't going to Ravenna,' said Clement.

‘Of course not,' said Bellamy, ‘we must get a doctor in the town to look at your ankle.'

‘If it could be just strapped up a bit,' Harvey was going on, ‘it'll be better in a day or two.'

‘We'll see,' said Clement, ‘but if it's as bad as it looks I think we must head for the nearest airport and take you back to London.'

‘Poor Harvey!'

Everyone was saying this.

The first news came to Louise, when Harvey telephoned her from the airport at Pisa, asking her to tell his mother. The news was that he had hurt his foot and was coming home, just briefly he said, to have it seen to. The gravity of the situation dawned upon his anxious friends, and indeed upon him, after his return. Harvey had first, after the mishap, visited the nearest
pronto soccorso
in the little town. The first-aid man had, after a glance, told them to go to the hospital. They decided to drive to Pisa to the hospital there, where they could also if necessary get a direct flight to London. At Pisa X-rays revealed a thoroughly smashed ankle. Harvey's foot and leg were immediately put into plaster for the journey home. At Heathrow he left the plane in a wheelchair. At the Middlesex Hospital the plaster was removed, more X-rays were taken, and the grim diagnosis was confirmed, with hints of further complications. The leg went back into plaster, and Harvey was issued with crutches and
forbidden
to let his foot touch the ground. It was agreed at a conference consisting of Harvey, Joan, Clement, Bellamy and Louise, that it would be prudent, for the present, to keep Harvey in London near to the specialist who was dealing with his case. To the surprise of the others, Harvey had accepted this plan. He had, everyone said afterwards, more sense than they had realised! The walk over the bridge remained a secret however. Clement and Bellamy, present when Harvey telephoned his mother, noticed that he had simply told her that he had ‘jumped off something'. This now appeared to be the story as generally reported, and Clement and Bellamy did nothing to disturb it. They were easily able to imagine that Harvey did not want, with this outcome, to talk about the exploit which had given him so brief a moment of triumph.

 

 

‘You start, Moy, you're the artist,' said Aleph.

Laughing, sitting in the large armchair in the Aviary, Harvey rolled up his trouser leg and extended his heavy white plaster cast. Its weight, with every movement, still startled him. It was late evening, he and Clement had had supper with Louise and the girls.

The others stood watching while Moy, solemn, kneeling before him, armed with thick coloured crayons drew, round the top of the cast, a green wiggling design which turned out to be a caterpillar. Sefton, who was next, declined the privilege, declaring that the thing was already a work of art and should now be left alone. This was voted to be a negative spoilsport approach, the point being to cover the thing with random scribblings which would in the end, as Moy said, add up to a complex work of art. Aleph then quickly drew some sort of animal (‘It's a dragon,' said Sefton) then criss-crossed it out. ‘I can't draw!' ‘Anyway, it's a something,' said Moy. Louise, saying she couldn't even manage a something, wrote in fine well-spaced capital letters – HARVEY GET WELL. Clement, sitting on the floor, drew a comical dog with a fancy hat and a sweeping line to make the dog say what Louise had written. Everyone laughed, Moy's caterpillar was voted best, and all agreed it was a good start. Harvey, laughing longest, thanked them all.

The atmosphere, thick with love and goodwill, was slightly forced. The company was still suffering from shock. Harvey's return had been so unexpected, after they had been resignedly bemoaning his absence and envying his luck. Of course his mishap was trivial, a ridiculous accidental fall, his recoyery would be rapid, Rosemary Adwarden, when she had broken her leg skiing, had been quite mobile after a few weeks. It was just that it was surprising, even embarrassing, to find Harvey back so soon and suffering from
any
ailment, it seemed quite out of character! It was also surprising that he had not insisted on setting off at once for Florence.

Harvey was a tall slim youth with glossy blond slightly curling hair which at school he had worn ridiculously long; more lately he had trimmed it to fall flowing back to a length just above the shoulder, and had allowed himself the adornment of a sort of fringe which, though derided, was at once said to suit him, producing that ‘raffish Renaissance look' which was his intention. He had a pretty nose, and a pouting mouth not too full-lipped, criticised as feminine, dubbed by its owner ‘pensive', contributing to a certain forward pressing eagerness and air of lively curiosity. His eyes were brown and large, able (amicably) to blaze, and when narrowed and laughing, to glow. He was said, by Emil, to resemble the
kouros
in the Copenhagen museum. When Harvey managed to find a photo of this handsome and powerful youth he was suitably gratified. He played tennis and cricket and squash, ran faster than most people, and was a good wrestler, though not as good as Clement, and a good dancer, though again not as good as Clement. He had often wrestled with Clement and on some occasions danced with him too. He was sweet-tempered and popular, though in some quarters thought to be conceited, and by his schoolteachers lazy and facile, able to excel but unwilling to exert himself in pursuit of perfection. His air of cheerful self-satisfaction was reassuring to some, irritating to others. Those who knew him little could scarcely have guessed that he had had any troubles in his life.

The affecting little scene round Harvey was breaking up a bit. Sefton, leaning against the books, looking up something she had suddenly remembered to look up, was tapping her square teeth with her fountain pen. Moy, who had been dusting Harvey's cast with the fluffy end of her plait (known as ‘Moy's magic whisk') had left the room followed by Anax. Aleph, sitting at Harvey's feet with her shoes off, was holding forth reassuringly about Rosemary's experiences. Clement and Louise were standing at the window looking out at the evening rain.

‘So you arranged it all by telephone? That was clever of you.'

‘Yes,' said Clement, ‘they left their telephone number with me.'

‘Everyone leaves their telephone number with you!'

‘And they left the keys, so it was easy.'

‘And they're staying on in Greece and going to buy a house on an island?'

‘They' were Clive and Emil, the gay pair alluded to by Joan Blacket. Clement had ‘cleverly' arranged for Harvey to move into their flat while Joan was to continue occupying Harvey's. This made sense as Emil's flat was reached by a lift, and Harvey's by several flights of stairs. Clive and Emil were a steady couple. Emil, the elder, was German but had lived a long time in London. He had been a picture dealer, and was said to be rich. He wrote books about art history which were published in Germany. Clive, Welsh, who said (presumably a joke) that Emil picked him up on a building site, had been a schoolteacher in Swansea.

‘Yes,' said Clement, ‘but they'll keep the London flat. I must say, I miss them, they are so entertaining and so sweet.'

‘Didn't they make some advances to Harvey?'

‘No! They just pull his hair!'

‘You pull his hair too! Clement – any news of Lucas? Well, of course not, you would have told me.'

‘No news.'

‘My dear, I'm so sorry. I feel sure he's all right. He's such an eccentric creature. He'll turn up.'

‘He'll turn up,' said Clement. ‘I just so – very much wish that he would.'

‘I know how close you are. I was thinking just the other day – remember that game you used to play with him in the basement when you were children. What was it called? It had some funny name.'

‘ “Dogs”.'

‘Yes, of course, “Dogs”. Why did you call it that?'

‘I forget.'

As Louise turned away from the window Clement, looking out into the dark rainy street, saw something odd. A stout man in a trilby hat was walking slowly down the other side of the street, now folding his umbrella. The rain must be abating. He looked familiar. Clement thought, haven't I seen that man before? He looks like that chap I saw a few days ago outside my place. He looked as if he were waiting for someone. He was about to say something about the man to Louise when something struck his foot. It was a red ball. As he stooped to pick it up a yellow ball followed, then a blue one, then more, reds, yellows, greens. Moy had fetched the ball box down from her room and was bowling them fast across the carpet, while with her other arm she restrained Anax. Swiftly Clement gathered the balls up, distributing them with magical ease about his person, Then moving into the middle of the room he began to juggle, with four balls, five balls, six balls, balls without number. The balls moved faster and faster, seeming to find their way, balanced upon air, making patterns which owed nothing to the juggler's swift hands. And to Clement itself it was as if the creatures themselves, innocent of gravity, were playing like birds a weightless game around his head. How do I do it, he thought, how is it done? I don't know what I'm doing. If I did know what I'm doing I would not be able to do it.