The Book of Ebenezer le Page (71 page)

He turned the car round and drove back the way we had come. I noticed the road in one part was further in than it used to be, and the zig-zag was wider, and didn't have ruts in as it had when me and Jim came down it on our bikes. A house or two I seemed to remember being there had disappeared; and where Quertier Le Pelley's used to be was an ugly modern bungalow. When we got to the Imperial, I said, ‘Is there somewhere you can leave your car?' ‘Here will do,' he said; and found a place the other side of the road from the buses. We got out, and he did something to the car so as no one could go off with it; but I had lost my bearings, and wasn't at all sure which way I had to go. When I used to know it along there, it was open grass with only a house or two and a few cottages; but now it was houses, houses, houses. I said ‘Well, we will have to go and look for it: the place I mean.' I don't think he believed there was any such place; but he came with me.

There was quite a lot of people by the buses, and we must have looked a funny pair to any who was watching: him tall and with long straight legs and young, and me old and short and bandy; and I was hanging on to his arm. I wasn't ashamed now. I found a lane behind some new houses I thought might lead to it; and, sure enough, there it was! The gable was against the cliff and the wicked windows was looking at you sideways and there was tall flowers in front and smoke coming out of the crooked chimney. ‘Why, this is out of a fairy tale!' he said. I said, ‘Liza Quéripel live there.'

I let go of him and went ahead up the path and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. I waited and then I said, ‘She will be round the back.' I led the way round the back and he followed. I noticed the back garden was doing well; mostly fruit and vegetables, and a fine patch of potatoes. She must have somebody to help her look after it, I thought. In the far corner a little old woman was feeding the fowls. Yes, it was Liza. Her poor old back, which was once so straight, was bent; and she was wearing a scoop and sabots and a grey dress with a full skirt and a black satin apron. I couldn't see her face. She was throwing corn to the fowls, and making them run for it. I stopped. I didn't want to give her a fright; and I made a sign to Neville not to move. She looked our way. She didn't seem at all surprised; but turned her apronful of corn up-side-down over the fowls as she had done was it thirty, forty years ago? She came slowly towards us. She couldn't walk very fast. ‘Hullo there!' she said, ‘I have been expecting you for a long time.'

Her face was wrinkled and her neck was thin; but her mouth was the same, and her chin as firm as ever it was. Her deep-set violet eyes was bright, and she smiled at me; and it was her angel's smile. She was as beautiful, more beautiful, than the day I saw her first. ‘Who is this you have with you?' she said. ‘A friend who bring me in his motor-car,' I said. She looked him up and down, as I have seen her look at many a man; and the old mischief came into her eyes. ‘Ma fé, mais qu'il est un beau garçon, li!' she said. ‘Tout à fait!' I said. She held out her hand to him. ‘I am pleased to meet you,' she said. Her voice was deep and strong. He took her hand, and held it gently in his, and smiled. I saw he liked her. ‘Your garden is doing well,' I said to her. ‘Who do it for you?' ‘Paul Gallienne,' she said. I couldn't think for the minute who he might be. ‘The grandson of Queen Elizabeth,' she said. ‘The grandson?' I said. ‘Goodness, how the time fly!' ‘Come indoors,' she said.

She stepped out of her sabots on the mat, and put on a pair of black satin slippers, and hung her scoop behind the door. Her hair was white, but thick yet, and she had it cut short and frizzed. I had to take off my beret and was ashamed for her to see my bald head. ‘You are looking well,' she said. ‘So are you,' I said. ‘It is a wonder, then,' she said, ‘seeing as I am so many years older than you are.' I wasn't going to quarrel. The kitchen hadn't changed, and was shining and spotless. The first thing I noticed was the silver Guernsey milk-can I had given her was back in the place of honour on the cabinet, among the windmill and the lighthouse and the ships. She saw me look at it. ‘I buried it while the Germans was here,' she said. She put a kettle on the terpid. ‘Sit down, and I will get you some tea,' she said. For some reason, I sat to the table on the form against the wall, instead of on one of the chairs; and Neville sat beside me. I hadn't thought it might remind her; but it did. ‘My ghosts, my two ghosts, will go away now,' she said.

I can only write down the few words was said on my short visit to Liza. I cannot say how deep they went; and Neville had no idea. She was spreading a brightly-coloured table-cloth on the table. ‘Would you like some pickled ormers?' she said. ‘I have some left.' ‘For sure,' I said, ‘but I don't know if Neville like them.' ‘I have never had any pickled,' he said. ‘Then try some,' I said. ‘I will,' he said. ‘Is his name Neville, then?' she said, ‘Neville what?' ‘Neville Falla,' I said, ‘from Paradise in the Vale.' She set cups and saucers and plates and knives and forks on the table; and the jar of ormers and a loaf and butter, for us to help ourselves. She was thinking. ‘Was your mother a Guille?' she said to Neville. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘why, did you know her?' ‘I wonder if it can be she was the daughter of Don Guille,' she said, ‘who was the son of Jurat Guille?' ‘My great-grandfather was a Jurat Guille,' he said, ‘I know, for my mother often spoke of him. She was proud of it.' I knew then who he was. Liza knew I knew.

She poured out the tea, and sat down to eat facing us. ‘Est-il marié?' she said to me. I answered her in patois so as he wouldn't know what I was saying. He wasn't yet, but was going to be soon, I hoped. Who was the girl? she wanted to know. Adèle de la Rue, whose aunt kept a shop at St Andrew's, I told her. Liza knew the family. The father, Fred de la Rue, so-called, was not a de la Rue really, didn't I know? Edna de Mouilpied from the Villocq married a de la Rue; but the first boy wasn't his. Nobody knew who the father was. I didn't say a word, or give a sign, but it flashed through my mind, and Liza saw it flash, God knows how! I met Edna de Mouilpied one Sunday evening outside the Câtel Chapel, and took her down Skin's Lane. I saw in the
Press
soon after she had got married, and hadn't given her a thought since. Neville looked up and said, ‘I wish to God you people would speak a language a human being can understand!' I said, ‘I was only telling Liza about your Adèle.' ‘What is she like?' said Liza. Neville looked puzzled. ‘I don't know I can say exactly what she is like,' he said. ‘As a matter of fact, she is rather like me,' I said, ‘only much better looking.' Liza threw her head back and laughed in the old way. ‘I should jolly well hope she is better looking,' she said, ‘or it is a poor look-out for Neville!' ‘Now you come to mention it,' said Neville, ‘she is rather like you; and just about as bullet-headed!' ‘This rascal hasn't a spark of romance in him!' said Liza. ‘I am glad it is not me he is going to marry.'

There wasn't much more said over the meal. Neville was too busy eating and enjoying it; and helped himself a second time. Liza was watching his every look and movement; and it was pitiful to see the pride and joy in her old face. He was flesh of her flesh: and I wished with my whole heart he was of mine; but then Adèle couldn't be. How will I face her the next time I see her? When we had done, Liza asked if we'd had enough; and we both said we'd had plenty. She got up to clear. ‘Neville,' she said, ‘d'you mind filling the bucket for me with water from the well?' ‘With pleasure,' he said; and went out with it. It was only an excuse to get him out of the house. As soon as he was gone, she said, ‘How is he off for money, the boy?' ‘He will have enough,' I said, ‘I have seen to that.' ‘I am glad,' she said. ‘Paul has been very good to me, and expects what I've got.' I said, ‘Neville has been very good to me: and expects nothing. He inherit that from you.'

He came in saying it was going to be a beautiful evening, and it was a shame for us to be indoors. I saw Liza's face flinch with the pain; but he didn't mean to hurt her. He didn't know. ‘Yes, you must go now, both of you,' she said, ‘and enjoy yourselves.' ‘It has been lovely meeting you, Miss Quéripel,' he said, ‘and thank you for the grand tea.' He held out his hand; but she went to him and put her arms under his, and her hands round over his shoulders, and lifted up her face. He bent and kissed her on the forehead. He is far from people, as a rule, is Neville; yet when he do come close, he know exactly the right thing to do. She let go of him, and opened the front door for him to go out; and he went down the path. She came to me then, and caught hold of me; and I held her close and kissed her on the mouth. She was small and frail, smaller than me now; but her mouth was hungry yet, and she was soft as a young woman in my arms. ‘Je t'aime, Liza,' I said. She said, ‘Je t'aime, Ebenezer.'

‘Enough canoodlin', you two!' Neville called out; ‘or we'll miss the sunset.' I let go of her, and walked down the path and caught him up; but when we got to the end of the lane, I looked back. She was leaning against the gate-post watching us go. She raised a hand, and I raised a hand; and Neville waved cheerily. He was striding along, and I was trotting along-side him like a boy. I had forgotten I was old. He looked down at me, laughing. ‘I know now why you didn't marry,' he said. ‘There was no one like her.' ‘There isn't,' I said. When we got to the car, I was glad to sit down. He spread a rug over my knees, and got in his side. ‘Where do you want to go now?' he said. ‘Home,' I said. He drove back round Rocquaine.

There was cars and motor-bikes passing us, and others meeting us; but there mightn't have been any, for all I saw of them. I was looking at Fort Grey where the two lovers had jumped together in each other's arms into the sea; and I thought how wise they was, and what a big fool this world is. I saw the rocks where I pushed Liza into the water, and knew that when she said ‘I hate you! I hate you!' it was love. I looked along the road, and there she was coming in her chariot in a white robe and golden sandals and with the helmet on her head. At L'Érée I was blind to everything they have done there spoil it now; but I saw the trestles on the grass and Jim flirting with the Bichard girls, and me sitting on the form with my Coronation mug in front of me, and Liza saying ‘Is there room for me?'

I was wondering why it was I had to be leaving her behind; and was full of loss and sorrow, when the car went round Perelle. I would have told Neville, if I could, to drive back, and looked sideways at his face; but his lean jaw was set firm and merciless. When he drove up past La Catioroc, he kept well in to the left, and was looking more out to sea than at the road. The sun was going down and clouds coming from nowhere, so it seemed, as if they was hurrying for a great event. There was heavy clouds low down, and high mountains of clouds, and fluffy clouds loose in the air, and others like feathers overhead; and all the way round Vazon they was changing from white and grey to red and gold. At Albecq, the rocks was red; and from Cobo, the sun was a huge ball of fire, floating in a cave of fire, and half under the sea. I couldn't bear it. I was going to shout to Neville ‘Stop, stop please: you are killing me!' when at Gran'-Rock he drew in to the side of his own accord and switched the engine off. ‘This is too good to miss,' he said: and we sat and watched the big sun sink lower and lower, until there was only a tip showing; when suddenly, it dipped under, and was gone! Then it happened. I don't know what. The great rocks was not rocks, nor the sea sea, yet they was real as real; and the clouds was gates of glory, and every way I turned my eyes the view was waves of joy and golden light. ‘God, that's magnificent!' said Neville. I had no words but Raymond's. ‘It is a glimpse of the world as God made it,' I said, ‘on the first evening of the first day.' He gave me a funny look. ‘I'd love to paint it!' he said. ‘It can never be painted,' I said.

Neville drove on and the glory faded; but not in me. When we got to Grand Havre, it was dull and grey, and there wasn't a soul by the martello tower on Rousse: yet it was alive with gay marquees and boats sailing, and the sun was shining, and all the boys I knew was there; and I could hear their thick Guernsey voices shouting ‘Bien fait, Monkey! Bien fait, Monkey Le Page!' and Jim was nursing the leg of mutton as if it was a bunch of flowers, and everybody laughing. I don't know how I looked, but Neville said, ‘What you thinking now, Funny-face?' as if I was a child. I didn't want to brag; yet I wanted him to know I had done something once. I said, ‘They used to have the Regatta on Grand Havre, and one year I won the leg of mutton off the greasy pole.' His face wrinkled up in a grin; and his eyes nearly disappeared into his head. ‘Gaw, I can just see you doing it!' he said. He looked like a kid himself then; and usually there is something old about his face. I thought it is him who is the old one, and me the young; for the young are born old nowadays, and it is for the old to show them how to be young again.

He drove on through L'Islet and round Sandy Hook, and stopped at the end of our road. He switched on the lights; and came round and opened the door for me. I was stiff and shaky on my legs when I got out, and he was going to take my arm; but I moved away from him. He have given me too much already, I thought: I must not hang on. ‘I can manage the rest of the way all right,' I said, ‘don't bother to come.' ‘I am seeing you safe to your door,' he said; and walked alongside me. I got the key from under the stone, and unlocked the front door; but I didn't ask him in. ‘Thank you for taking me for a ride,' I said. ‘Bring Adèle to see me soon.' ‘We'll be along tomorrow, don't you worry,' he said. I expected him to go; but he stood there looking at me. I don't know what it was about that look, but all the love left in my old heart went out to bless him. He gave a sort of groan, and caught me in his arms and held me close. I don't know why he did that. I hadn't said a word. When he let go of me, he said, ‘Are you sure you are going to be all right on your own tonight?' I said, ‘I have been all right on my own up to now, haven't I?' He didn't seem to want to go. ‘Well, tcheerie, then!' he said. ‘Tcheerie!' I said.