The Stars Look Down (46 page)

“But it’s so good, my dear,” she remonstrated in her troubled voice. He shook his head silently, seeing her through his pain. He had a sudden impulse to unburden himself to her, to pour out the whole affliction that lay upon his mind. But he restrained himself, he saw clearly that it would be purposeless. Aunt Carrie was kind, she loved him in her own way, yet her timidity, her awe of his father, rendered her incapable of helping him.

He got up from the table and went out of the dining-room. In the hall he stood with head bent, undecided. At a moment such as this his gentle nature thirsted for sympathy. If only Hetty had been here… a lump came into his throat… he felt lost and helpless. Turning, he went slowly upstairs. And then, as he passed his mother’s room, he stopped suddenly. With a spontaneous gesture he put his hand upon the door knob and entered the room.

“How are you to-night, mother?” he asked.

She looked round sharply, propped up on her pillows, her pale fat face both querulous and questioning.

“I have a headache,” she answered. “And you gave me such a start opening the door so sharp.”

“I’m sorry, mother.” He sat down quietly on the edge of the bed.

“Oh
no
, Arthur,” she protested. “Not there, my dear, I
can’t bear anyone sitting on my bed, not with this headache, it worries me so.”

He stood up again, flushing slightly.

“I’m sorry, mother,” he said once more. He made himself see her point of view, refusing to let himself be hurt. She was his mother. Out of subliminal depths a memory of early tenderness affected him, a vague sensation of her bending over him, her lace gown open and drooping upon him, enclosing and protecting him. Now he yielded to that childish recollection and, craving her loving kindness, he exclaimed in a broken voice:

“Mother, will you let me talk something over with you?”

She considered him querulously.

“I have such a headache.”

“It won’t take long. Oh, I do want your advice.”

“No, no, Arthur,” she protested, closing her eyes as though his eagerness startled her. “Really, I can’t. Some other time perhaps. My head does ache so frightfully.”

He drew back, silenced, his whole expression altered by the rebuff.

“What is it, do you think, Arthur,” she went on with closed eyes, “that keeps on giving me these headaches? I’ve been wondering if it’s the gun-fire in France, the vibrations, you know, travelling through the air. Of course I can’t hear the firing, that I do fully understand, but it has occurred to me that the vibrations might set up something. Naturally that wouldn’t explain my backache and that has been quite bad lately, too. Tell me, Arthur, do you think the gun-fire has any influence?”

“I don’t know, mother,” he answered heavily and paused, collecting himself. “I should hardly think it could affect your back.”

“Mind you, I’m not complaining too much about my back. The liniment Dr. Lewis has given me helps it tremendously. Aconite, belladonna and chloroform. I read the prescription, three deadly poisons. Isn’t it strange that poison should be so beneficial externally? But what was I saying? Oh yes, the vibrations. I was reading in the paper only the other day that they were responsible for the heavy rain we’ve been having lately. That seems to prove my point. It shows that they are, well, about. And Dr. Lewis tells me there is a distinct condition known as gun headache. Of course the root cause of the whole thing is nerve exhaustion. That’s always been my trouble, Arthur dear, sheer nerve exhaustion.”

“Yes, mother,” he agreed in a low voice.

There was another slight pause, then she began to talk again. For half an hour she talked of her own condition, then raising her hand suddenly to her head she begged him to leave the room as he was tiring her. He obeyed in silence. Fifteen minutes later as he came back along the corridor he heard the loud sound of her snoring.

The sense of being isolated in his own trouble grew upon Arthur as the days passed, the sense of being cut off from the other people, almost of being outcast. Instinctively he began to curtail the sphere of his activities. He went out only to his work, and even there he caught strange glances directed towards him—from Armstrong and Hudspeth, from certain of the men. In the streets on his way to and from the Neptune abuse was frequently shouted after him. His differences with his father were common knowledge and were attributed to his refusal to join up. Barras had not hesitated to define his views openly; his firm and patriotic attitude was applauded on all sides; he was considered to be doing a fine thing in refusing to allow his natural feeling to interfere with his sense of what was due in this great national emergency. It paralysed Arthur to realise that the whole town was watching the conflict between his father and himself.

During February things steadily got worse, then in the middle of March the Sleescale Tribunal came into action. The Tribunal was made up of five members, James Ramage, Bates the draper, old Murchison, the Rev. Enoch Low of New Bethel Street Chapel and Richard Barras, who, by a unanimous vote, was elected Chairman. Besides these five there was the Military Representative, Captain Douglas from Tynecastle Barracks, a standing Counsel on behalf of the Army authorities. Rutter, the clerk to the Sleescale Town Council, acted as clerk to the Tribunal.

With a strained and painful interest Arthur watched the early activities of the Tribunal. He was not long in doubt of its severity; case after case was refused exemption. Douglas was a hardened autocrat, he had a way of browbeating applicants, then looking up and declaring summarily: “I want that man”; Ramage and his father were both swollen with unbridled patriotism; the others were of little account. The line taken was extreme. The Tribunal argued that since the applicant had to prove an objection to combatant service it was only from combatant service they could exempt
him. Combatant service became the vital issue; and the alternative to service was prison.

As the days passed Arthur’s indignation rose passionately against the arbitrary methods of the Tribunal. With a pale suppressed face he observed his father return from the administration of justice. Barras’s mood was invariably elated, and for Arthur’s benefit he often described to Caroline the choicer incidents of the session. On the last day of March Barras came home in exactly this fashion, late for tea, but in an even greater flow of spirits than usual. Ostentatiously disregarding Arthur he sat down and helped himself largely to hot buttered toast. Then he led off with the case which had most engaged him that afternoon: a young divinity student claiming exemption on religious grounds.

“Do you know what Ramage’s first question was?” he remarked with his mouth full of soft toast. “He asked him if he ever took a bath.” He paused in his mastication to laugh triumphantly. “But Douglas went one better than that. Douglas gave me a side look, then he barked at him: ‘Do you know that a man who refuses military duty is liable to be shot?’ That got him all right. You should have seen him crumple up. He agreed to join up. He’ll be in France in three months.” He laughed again.

Arthur could stand it no longer. He jumped up from the table, pale to the lips.

“You think it’s amusing, don’t you? You like to feel you’ve shoved a gun into his hands against his will. You’re glad you’ve forced him to go out and shoot, kill, murder somebody in France. Kill or be killed. What a lovely motto. You ought to have it made into a banner and hung above your seat at the Tribunal. It suits you. I tell you it suits you. But I’ve got some respect for human life if you haven’t. You won’t frighten me into killing. You won’t, you won’t.” Panting, Arthur broke off. With a hopeless gesture he swung round and made for the door, but as he did so Barras stopped him.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “You and I have got to have a talk.”

Arthur turned; he heard Aunt Carrie catch her breath.

There was a pause.

“Very well,” Arthur said in a suppressed voice. He came back and sat down again.

Barras helped himself to more toast and ate steadily with his eyes in front of him. Aunt Carrie had turned a sickly
grey. She endured the silence for a few moments in a palpitating agony; then she could bear it no longer. She excused herself in a trembling voice, rose hurriedly and went out of the room.

Barras finished his tea, wiped his mouth with a restless movement, then fixed Arthur with that full, injected eye.

“It’s just this,” he said in a contained tone. “For the last time, are you going to join the army?”

Arthur returned his father’s look; his face was very pale but quite determined. He answered:

“No.”

A pause.

“I’d like to make it quite clear that I don’t need you at the Neptune.”

“Very well.”

“Doesn’t that help you to change your mind?”

“No.”

Renewed pause.

“In that case, Barras said, “you might as well know that your case will come up before the Tribunal on Tuesday of next week.”

A sickening sense of apprehension rushed over Arthur. His eyes fell. In his secret heart he had not expected his father to go as far as this. Though he had no official position at the Neptune he had imagined himself outside the scope of the present Act.

“It’s about time you realised that being my son isn’t going to protect you,” Barras went on heavily. “You’re a young, fit man. You have no excuse. My views are well known. I’m not going to have you hide behind my back any longer.”

“You imagine you can force me into the army that way,” Arthur said in a shaking voice.

“I do. And it’s the best thing that could happen to you.”

“You’re quite mistaken.” Arthur felt himself trembling violently inside. “You think I’m afraid to go before the Tribunal?”

Barras gave his short laugh.

“Exactly!”

“Then you’re wrong. I’ll go. I’ll go.”

The blood rose to Barras’s brow.

“In that case you’ll be dealt with like any ordinary shirker. I’ve talked it over with Captain Douglas. There’ll be no preferential treatment. My mind is made up. You’ll have to go to the army just the same.”

There was a silence.

“What are you trying to do to me?” Arthur asked in a low tone.

“I’m trying to make you do your duty.” Barras rose abruptly. He stood for a moment by the sideboard, erect, with his chest thrown out. “Get into Tynecastle to-morrow and join up. For your own sake. Join up before you’re made to. That’s my last word.” And he walked out of the room.

Arthur remained seated at the table. He still felt himself trembling and he leaned his elbow upon the table, supporting his head upon his hand.

Aunt Carrie, stealing back into the room ten minutes later, found him in this attitude. She came forward and slipped her arm round his bowed shoulders.

“Oh, Arthur,” she whispered, “it’ll never do to go against your father. You must be reasonable. Oh, for your own sake you must.”

He did not answer but continued to stare palely in front of him.

“You see, Arthur dear,” Aunt Carrie went on appealingly, “there’s some things you can’t stand out against. No one understands that better than me. You’ve just got to give in whether you like it or not. I’m so fond of you, Arthur. I can’t see you ruin your whole life. You must do what your father wants, Arthur.”

“I won’t,” he said, as though to himself.

“Oh no, Arthur,” she pleaded, “don’t go on like that. Please, please. I’m afraid something awful will happen. And think of the disgrace, the terrible disgrace. Oh, promise me you’ll do what your father wants.”

“No,” he whispered, “I must go through with it in my own way.” Rising, he gave her the pitiful semblance of a smile and went up to his own room.

Next morning he received his summons to appear before the Tribunal. Barras, who was present when the post came in, observed him with a sidelong scrutiny as he opened the thin buff envelope. But if he expected Arthur to speak he was disappointed. Arthur put the letter in his pocket and walked out of the room. He was aware that his father had calculated upon his submission. And he was equally determined that he would not submit. His nature was not strong but now a form of exaltation gave him strength.

The intervening days went by and the morning of Tuesday arrived. The time of Arthur’s summons was ten o’clock and
the place Old Bethel Street School. The Tribunal had been set up in the hall of the old school where there was ample accommodation for the court and a gallery at the back to accommodate the public. At the top of the hall was a raised platform with a table at which the five members sat. Rutter the clerk occupied one end of the table and Captain Douglas, Military Representative, the other. A large Union Jack hung upon the wall behind, and beneath it was a disused blackboard, a few left-over chalks, and a ledge bearing a chipped water-bottle covered by a tumbler.

Arthur reached Old Bethel Street School at exactly five minutes to ten. Roddam, the sergeant on duty, informed him that his case was first on the list, and with a brusque sign led him through the swing door into the court.

As Arthur entered the court an excited hum went up. He lifted his head and saw that the gallery was packed with people; he made out men from the pit, Harry Ogle, Joe Kinch, Jake Wicks the new check-weigher, and a score of others. There were a great many women, too, women from the Terraces and the town, Hannah Brace, Mrs. Reedy, old Susan Calder, Mrs. Wept. The reporters’ bench was full. Two cameramen stood together against a window. Arthur dropped his eyes quickly, painfully aware of the sensation his case was creating. His nervousness, already extreme, became intensified. He sat down in the chair assigned to him in the middle of the hall and began in an agitated manner to fumble with his handkerchief. His sensitive nature shrank at all times from the glare of publicity. And now he was in the centre of the glare. He shivered slightly. It was the intensity of his weakness which had brought him here, which held him fast in the determination to go on. But he had no hardihood. He was acutely aware of his position, of the mass hostility of the crowd, and he suffered abominably. He felt like a common criminal.

Here, another buzz of sound broke out in the gallery and was immediately subdued. The members of the Tribunal filed in from a side door accompanied by Rutter and Captain Douglas, a stocky figure with a reddish, pock-marked face. Roddam, from behind Arthur, said “Stand!” and Arthur stood. Then he raised his head and his eyes, as though magnetised, fell upon his father now in the act of seating himself in the high official chair. Arthur stared at his father as at a judge. He could not withdraw his eyes, he existed in a web of unreality, a hypnotised suspense.