THE CINDER PATH (38 page)

"Oh aye!" The last chair was swung round by one hand, and there he was looking at Arthur, what was left of him, a stump of a body and one arm.

"Charlie!"

Arthur's voice was a mere whisper at first,

and then it exploded into almost a yell as he now

shouted, "Charlie! Why Charlie! Polly said you were here. Aw, man!" The hand was thrust out

towards him and he was gripping it; then before he could speak Arthur was addressing the half-dozen men who

had made up the group and was crying at them. "This is Charlie, the fellow I told you about on the farm,

he was me boss but we were like mates . . . Eeh!

what am I sayin"?" Arthur now pulled his hand away and flapped it towards Charlie. "You'll have

me court-martialled for talkin' like this, forgettin'

meself." His voice dropped now and he stared up

into Charlie's face for a moment in silence before he

said, "Sit down, won't you, Charlie?"

Charlie sat down and, speaking for the first time andwitha tremor in his voice, he said, "It's good to see

you, Arthur."

"And you, Charlie. Eeh! and a major. Who would

have believed it!"

"Yes, who would have believed it."

"Oh no offence, man. You remember me sayin'

to you that day, why didn't you put in for an officer.

Did you take me advice?"

"No, I'm afraid I didn't, Arthur; they

. . . they just sprung it on me."

"They knew good stuff when they saw it."

"Huh!" Charlie turned his head to the side; then casting his eyes about him and noticing that the men

were still looking at him, he said, "Nice ward this ...

the whole annexe."

"Oh aye. Aye, they do us proud. Well"-

Arthur now leant towards him-"they owe us somethin', don't they, and they're payin' us in the only way

they can."

"Yes, yes, I suppose so."

"How are things with you, Charlie? I heard you were badly knocked up, but I see they've left you

your limbs, and that's something."

Yes, it was certainly something. Having been

riddled with shrapnel, he thought he had come off

badly, but these poor devils in here, God! why

did they go on? Yet the atmosphere was cheerful,

bright, you could even say happy. But, of course, this

was the stiff upper lip attitude, putting a face

on things. He wouldn't like to be inside one of their

minds at night.

He answered Arthur now saying, "Oh, I got

some shrapnel here and there."

"Oh aye. . . . Have they got it all out?"

"Well, not quite, so I understand; they've had a few goes but it roams you know."

"Aye, shrapnel has a habit of doing that. .

. . Nurse!" Arthur hailed a young

nurse who

was passing and as she came towards him he said,

"Bet you didn't know I had a major for a friend?"

"How do you do, Major?" She inclined her head towards him, smiling widely.

He had risen to his feet and he answered,

"How do you do?"

"We were brought up together, would you believe that?"

"I believe everything you tell me, Arthur."

"Then do you believe I love you?" He had now

placed his only hand on his heart and with his face poked towards her and in what he imagined to be dramatic

tones he said, "An' the morrow I go to Sir

Humphrey to ask him for your hand."

"And you'll get mine across your ear-hole if you

don't behave." She had come close to his side

now and she caught hold of his hand and, looking across at Charlie, she said, "He's impossible, this friend of yours, Major; he's a philanderer, no girl

is safe where he is." She now patted Arthur's

cheek, and as she made to go away he said, still in a

bantering tone, "Don't leave me, love."

She was about to make a jocular rejoinder when a

strange sound came from the other side of the room and

she said quickly, "Oh

dear me! I've got to go. I can see you'll be

needed later on, Arthur." She nodded at him, and

he nodded back at her now in an ordinary

fashion, and when she had left them he muttered below

his breath, "One of the chaps, he gets depressed

like, howls like a banshee. I make him laugh."

He grinned at Charlie now. "I make "em

all laugh. Funny, isn't it?"

Yes, yes, it was funny. This wasn't the

Arthur he remembered. Less than half of him

remained, yet in that half he had grown another

personality. He remembered the dour, ignorant

boy that used to irritate him, he remembered the

youth who became a bundle of nerves through fear

instilled by Slater. But those people were no more, the war had cut him into bits, yet had left him with a new character, a different character, a strong character. It was a fantastic thought but nevertheless true, he was sure, that Arthur was happier now than he had been in his life before. He

had no responsibility, he was being cared for

by pretty nurses; he was sure of good food and

warmth, and he hadn't to worry about the wherewithal

to provide them; what was more, this Arthur was liked as the other Arthur, the young Arthur, never was.

He was now leaning towards him whispering,

"You heard Slater got it?"

He felt the old desire to open his mouth and

gasp for air, but he pressed his lips together

tightly before saying, "Yes, yes, I heard."

"Died bravely on the field of battle.

By God! that wouldn't have happened if I'd come across

him. An" I mean that, Charlie, I do. That was

one thing I prayed for, to come across him. God! he

led me hell. An' you had a taste of him an'

all, hadn't you?"

"Yes, yes, I had a taste of him."

"Couldn't understand our Polly; she was so upset.

She got to like him, man, and when he lost his stripes

through her she wanted to pin medals on him herself."

"Lost the stripes through her, how do you mean?"

"Oh well, she was about to have the third bairn and things went a bit wrong and he thought she was a gonner and he wouldn't leave her. He told the doctor he

was on leave and he stayed by her for three days, four

I think, before they came and took him. I wish

I'd been there when they stripped him down. Of

course you can't say that to her. She talks about him as if he were a bloody hero." He

TCP 15

paused now, then ended, "Funny, what the

war's done to us lot, isn't it, Charlie?"

"Yes, indeed, Arthur."

"How's things with you, Charlie, I mean you happy

like?"

"Well, you could say yes and no, Arthur.

Victoria and I are getting divorced."

"No! No, man! Is ... is that why you've

sold up the farm?"

"What!"

"I said is that why you've sold up the farm and

things?"

"Sold the farm? I haven't sold the farm."

Arthur blinked his eyes, then looked down towards

the blanket sagging from his waist, and he said now,

"Well, Polly must have got it wrong. She heard

a rumour, likely it was only a rumour, but she

heard that you were selling up and likely going

to Australia or some such place as that. She thought it was because you were in a bad way and wouldn't be able

to manage any more."

His mouth was open, he was drawing in great draughts

of air. No! No! He yelled at himself he had

to keep steady; there was something afoot that he must see into, and now, right now.

He wasn't cware that he had risen from

the

chair but he was bending over Arthur now, saying,

"Look, Arthur, I'll be back, but there's something I've got to see to."

"Have I said something wrong, Charlie, I mean

startled you in some way?"

"Yes, I suppose so, Arthur. There's something

not right over there. I ... I have no intention of

selling the farm."

"No!"

"No, none whatever. I'll be back, Arthur.

I'll be back." He squeezed the hand held out

to him, then turned and hurried down the ward.

"You're in no fit state to drive a car,

Major."

"Then I can take a taxi." Doctor Arlet

looked across his desk at the tall, solemn-faced

figure before him and he closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head as he said, "I think you know the

position as well as I do, Major, any extra

physical activity, over-excitement at least for the

present. ..."

"I am aware of all that, Doctor." "Then why take unnecessary risks?" "Doctor, I am being

given to understand that my farm is being sold

up, I want to know

what it is all about. I left my sister in charge.

The farm is my only means of livelihood, that

is if I'm given the opportunity to work it."

"Why don't you get your solicitor, or

better still your friend, Miss . . . Miss-was He

looked about him as if searching for a name, until

Charlie said, "Chapman."

"Yes, Miss Chapman. Now she would go out

there." . . .

"She lives out there and I'm now under the

impression that she knows more about it than she said, her intention being not to worry me. Now, doctor, whatever

way I get out there I'm going, and the frustration of

being kept here is going to be more detrimental than my driving a car or sitting in a taxi."

"I'm. . . I'm not worried about the journey out

there, Major." The doctor's voice was tight

now. "What I am worried about is your reaction

to whatever situation you find out there. Doctor

Morgan's report said ..."

Charlie now put his hand to the side of his head as

if he were shutting off his hearing and he said, "I know, doctor, only too well Doctor Morgan's

opinion, and I respect it, and also from where

I'm standing if this thing

inside here moves to the right then I won't need

to worry any more about the farm or anything else. But

there's a fifty-fifty chance it will give me a

break and move to the left, or even north or south,

and if that should happen then I'd be pleased to let you all get at it and hoick it out."

The use of the dialect word brought a twisted

smile to Doctor Arlet's mouth, and he said on a

sigh, "Well I won't say I'll wash my

hands of you, but I'll say, for your own sake, go

careful, both physically and mentally. Now"-he

rose from his seat-"a taxi I think would be the best bet, although it's going to cost you a pretty penny

to get out there."

"I think I'll just about manage it."

"All right. I suppose you'll have to stay

overnight but I'll expect you back tomorrow, mind.

Is that a promise?"

"That's a promise."

He left the taxi on the main road. The

driver, looking at him, said, "Will you be all right, sir?"

"Yes, I'll be all right."

"Have you far to walk?"

"A couple of miles or so."

"Do you think you'll manage it?"

"Oh yes, I'll manage it. If I can't

walk I'll slide; the sun's forgotten to come round

this way." He indicated the frost-tipped ridges

of the fields and the stiff grass.

As he left the road and walked down the bridle

path he knew that the taxi driver was still watching and he thought, I must look awful, like death.

It was a few minutes after he heard the taxi

start that he stopped and looked about him. The sky was lying low on the hills, the light was grey, yet

let the sun appear and the sky would be pushed back and the light would be white and clear. He drew in great

draughts of air. If it wasn't for the anxiety

within him he'd feel like celebrating his return

by leaping over the walls ahead and running across the

fields. But would he ever run across the fields again?

No mental excitement, no physical exertion,

they said. One might as well be dead.

When he came to the copse he was out of breath and not

a little fearful. What would he say to Betty? Or

what would she say to him? That was more to the point. He hadn't seen her since her visit to the hospital.

He'd had two letters from her since, both

saying that

she was too busy to get away. But that was before

Christmas. He hadn't questioned her not visiting him

since he had been brought North again. That was

Betty, she wasn't given to sentimental

sympathy, and so over the weeks her absence hadn't

troubled him. Nellie had come and that was all that

mattered. Only now was he telling himself that it was

strange that Betty hadn't once come to visit him

over the past weeks.

The change struck him immediately he left the

copse. It was in the silence and the absence of any

animals. The cows would be inside but you could always

see sheep sprinkled over the hills yonder. The

only sound that came to him was from the burn. It was

running high. His step slowed as he approached the

gap in the stone wall; then he was in the middle of the yard gazing about him. The place was deserted. Was he

dreaming? There was no one here, nothing. His mouth opened wide, he gasped at the air, then took his gloved

doubled fist and pressed it against his ribs as he warned himself to go steady. He looked first towards the cowsheds, then turned his head and looked towards the house, then again towards the cowsheds.

Now he was in the cowsheds and being unable

to believe what his eyes were seeing. The stalls were

empty, dry, they had been cleaned out. He turned