3   NOT LONG FOR THIS EARTH

    He got himself wheeled to the window so that he would be able to see what was going on in the street. His medical friend was by his side talking -- talking of this and that, saying " My dear Paul." But Paul was not giving any attention. He had not had any desire to see his friend, and he was not interested in anything he would say. In addition to this, he was not pleased with this " My dear Paul."
    It was strange how simple it was to say the right thing even when one was not interested. It was simple to seem to be giving attention without hearing a word. But after a time the force of the talk itself seemed to overtake Paul so that two or three words here and there got slowly into his mind. This had to be stopped.
    " Look ! " he said, " What is it all about? " He made a sign with his finger in the direction of the street. His hand was very thin because he had been ill now for a year. " They have given themselves such a number of things to do," he said, " such a number of places they have to get to today, persons they have to see as quickly as possible. But why ? It would be quite as good if they went out walking for an hour or two at a fixed time."
    Paul took a long look at the ant-like mass in the street under the window. " It’s surprising that they don’t keep running into one another," he said, and at this minute three persons going quickly in different directions did so. One of them went over on his back and the heads of the other two came together.
    Paul gave a laugh. " How pleased I am that I am ill," he said. He had made his point clear, and now was no longer interested. So, wheeling himself away from the window, he went back to the fireside.
    " This seat is much better than the last one," he said to the medical man. " You see, I am able to get about in it by myself, and that makes me dependent on no one."
    " Possibly you will have no need for it much longer."
    He had come to the ill man’s house with good news. He had not been conscious that it would be so hard to say. It might be because there was something in Paul which made news, good or bad, hard to put into words. He had been changed by what he had gone through. There was a strange, far-away look on his face as if he was waiting for something. He seemed like one " not long for this earth." He was even then going slowly away from the earth -- going away without regret.
    The medical man had been talking of » this and that, without seeming to be able to get to the point.
    The table by the fire was covered with books. They were new, still in their covers.
    " All my books have come," Paul said. " You see, before my smash I did no reading, and now quite half my day is taken up with books."
    " It probably is," the medical man said, " but it may not be for long." He went straight on, saying his words quickly through Paul’s look of surprise. " You will have the use of your legs again."
    He was so pleased about it that he took a grip of the ill man’s arm which was resting on one of the wheels of the seat. " What about that ! You will have the use of your legs again."
    Paul gave him a long look, quiet, white, and angry. " No," he said at last, " It is not true."
    " But it is true. It will be true."
    There was a man who was able to do the operation, who was able to make Paul well again. The medical man was on his special field now. He was no longer self-conscious. He went on talking, talking. Naturally it would take time -- but, in the end Paul would have the use of his legs, Wasn’t that a great thing ?
    " A great thing, yes," Paul said, " and a shocking thing."
    " Shocking ?"
    " It is probably hard for you to see why I say that, but make an attempt at the old impossible trick of putting yourself in my place. Naturally that is far from simple." Paul said nothing for a minute. " But if you were able to do it, you would see yourself at thirty-three, your best friends dead in an airplane smash, broken in body, an ill man." He was quiet for a minute, looking hard at his friend as if they had taken one another’s place, and then he went on. " But for the first time in your existence you would make the discovery that your mind was starting to do some work. Before that last flight you would have had, or they might have said that you had, an interest in living, and even a young man’s desire to go far. But it was nothing; it is nothing -- at least nothing good enough to go back to."
    Paul took another look at the medical man. " I see you have not been able to put yourself in my place," he said. " That’s only natural. After all, your friends are not dead and you have not been through months of pain. Pain, you see, pain is death to desire, love, everything -- everything goes but the desire for the pain itself to come to an end. The body goes on living, the heart goes on working ; that is to say, one is still living, but outside this, there is nothing, nothing but a desire for rest from pain. You are a medical man yourself -- you are living so near to pain -- but because you have not had experience of it yourself, I see you have no knowledge of it."
    Paul gave a turn of his head. A tired feeling had come over him. He was frequently like that now, after he had been ill. Everything outside became a mist. His hand was still resting on the wheel of his seat. He had an impulse to get himself wheeled away but this was not possible -- to get out of the mist. "I have no desire to go back." It was hard now to get the words out. " I am certain there is no going back without pain. How is it possible? "
    " No, not without pain, possibly, but after all, at the end of everything you will have the use of your legs ".
    " I have no desire to have the use of my legs again," Paul said. " This seat is good enough for me. It was my selection from a list. It was very dear."
    The medical man gave a laugh. Paul made an attempt to see through that laugh. Was the man being kind to him, in the belief that he was off his head ? He was overtired and in no humour for laughing, so he only gave a sad smile, a cold smile, as if he was coming down to the other’s level. It might not be long before the medical man would go away. It seemed as if he had been there almost an hour. But the talking went on as if there was no need for it ever to come to an end.
    Paul said, " In your opinion then, I would be happier if I was like those ants
44 in the street, going about so quickly and running into one another, smashing their heads together in a violent attempt to get nowhere as quickly as possible ?"
    If only the medical man would give up this trick of laughing ! His laugh made it impossible for Paul to put his arguments. into words. It was such a great hammer of a laugh.
    " My books are waiting for me," Paul said. The laugh came down again then, putting an end to Paul’s hopes of peace. He was giving up hope. There was only one thing more to say, only one way to make the man go.
    " All right, I will have the operation. Give me the use of my legs if you are able . . ."
    It had the desired effect The medical man went off, the door was shut after him. The great hammer laugh was on the other side of it now-going away. Paul was free from it.
    He took up one of the books on the table, but it seemed such a great weight that it was hard to get it up in his thin hands, and the print was not fixed, it was moving about, the words were running into one another. He was so tired that reading was impossible. He went to sleep.

*   *   *

    Paul became conscious again. He took a long time to come back. It seemed to be something to do with the rate of normal existence. Everything was working quicker inside him. He had to make his mind slower before hearing, seeing or getting clear about what took place when he was awake.
    Then again Paul had no desire to go back because he was conscious that pain was waiting for him. But there was no way out. It was no more possible to keep from going back than it was possible to keep under the sea. He seemed to get to the top suddenly. He was open again to all the pain of existence. He gave a loud cry. He went on crying out as if he would not ever be able to be quiet.
    A woman came to his bedside. He was conscious of the sharp pain of the needle in his arm. He went slowly away again out of range of pain. A body in pain was there still -- the body on which the man who did the operation was testing his science and his art. But it did not seem to Paul as if it was his body now, its pains were no longer his pains. It was the body of a strange man.
    But it was surprising how he was able to go away from it like this while the heart down there in the body went on working automatically. Persons said things in a very important way about all the desires and impulses which kept one living ; but truly it was all automatic.
    When he came back to that body the voices of the medical men and the hospital helpers came to his ears, He was half-conscious of what they were saying through a mist of pain. They said the operation had had the desired effect, he would have the use of his legs -- he would have the use of his legs.
    Why did they say it again and again like that, going on saying things which were of no interest to him ? And then the pain would get a grip of him again like an animal -- a living animal -- and because it did not get less but seemed to be increasing in power, he had the feeling that he was getting more feeble, and he was overcome by this pain. His mind was unable to keep it back, he was unable to keep himself from crying out, and when this took place it was hard to get quiet again.
    It was then that the woman came to him. He would be conscious of the pain of the needle, and he would go swimming away from his body again.
    At first it put him in mind of earlier experiences in the air. It was on the last that he came violently down to cruel earth. But these flights at the hospital were different from machine-made flights. The everyday limits of walls and roofs were gone ; he was able to get over them, but he was still unable to see through them. He was still unable to see the body of the ill man in Room 33 -- his body. It was such a sad thing, it went out of his mind.
    He was full of desire again now, but it was a different desire. He was getting near to what was true, getting nearer to it all the time. There was, after all, something in the theory of a Place in the Sky, something in the stories with which the old keep the young quiet. True existence was in the skies, and in a short time he would get to it, and then he would have the secret of all existence.
    In the past there had been persons -- wise men, men of thought, men of science -- who had given up all their time t0 this question and had not got the answer. What chance had they ? Their minds were pulled back by great, badly-made bodies from which they had been unable to get away, and, in addition to being limited by the walls and roofs which they saw only in their minds, there was the disease of unhappy love for other men and women. They were false to themselves and went slowly farther away from true existence.

*   *   *

    Paul came back to his body in the hospital bed. He was able to put up with the pain now, because he was conscious it was not possible for it to go on for ever. He was somehow able to keep it away from his true self till the needle gave him his chance of getting free. When the woman came to his bed-side he made a request for a pencil and note-book.
    "A note-book ? " she said.
    " Yes." It was strange how foolish she was. She had seen so much pain, so much loss of hope, and still nothing had come to her; she had not even a normally quick brain.
    " Yes," he said again. " The sort of note-book the young are given at school."
    She was smiling. He was disgusted at that self-conscious air they all had of being kind to those who are ill. It came up all the time.
    She got him the note-book and the pencil, and a little time after he was conscious of the quick touch of the needle in his arm, and he seemed to go far away from the sad, everyday existence of the hospital.
    The pencil and the book were in his hand, and now he would get quite clear about everything. He would put it down in writing. He made a start. It was a strange feeling at first. His body seemed so far away from his true self that it was as if another person was taking the words down.
    And then this strange feeling went away from him. It went out of his mind because he was writing quickly, covering pages of the book, with the knowledge that he would not be free much longer, and he would be in prison again, keeping the pain away -- the man who was ill in Room 33, the man who was living after an airplane smash, though all his friends were dead, the man to whom they were attempting t0 give back the use of his legs.

*   *   *

    The medical man came to the hospital. He had such a good opinion of himself; he was so pleased that the operation had gone all right. Paul would have the use of his legs again ; of this there seemed no doubt. It was true, he said, that Paul had had to put up with much. There had been a danger -- danger that Paul’s mind might give way under the very great pain. But with the help of present-day discoveries it had been possible to keep it down till he had time to get better. But now that danger was past. They had to take care, however, that Paul did not become dependent on these substances. The amounts would have to be made less. That was most important. The medical man kept on saying how important that was.
    Paul slowly became conscious again. It did not seem to him that he had come straight back to his body. He had been in a sleep from which he came back slowly, training himself again to hearing and seeing at the normal rate. The note-book was on the floor.
    Might he have it again ? Everything had gone out of his mind now, but he was conscious that this was only for a time. He would be able to see what he had been writing and get knowledge of all he had been learning. Everything would be clear to him.
    He got the book open. There was nothing in it but one not very straight line.

52




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4   AFTER THE ARGUMENT

    She said nothing. This was not because she had more belief in her face at rest than in her mind at work ; it was simply that she had nothing to say because she was tired of talking.
    All the same Paul was pleased that they were having their meal at a restaurant; they got less angry with one another in public places, and the food was better than at their house.
    They had been given the window table in an angle of the room ; it was the table generally given to persons desiring to be by themselves, but the maitre d’hotel, with the idea that they were two happy, married persons, had taken them without a question to the ' lovers' table. They had been so bad-humoured that they did not see where they were going ; the restaurant had quickly got full, and now there, was no chance of moving. Paul had hopes that some of their friends would come over and say something to them ; a common, everyday talk might make things normal again -- at least for a time. But till then Paul went on with his meal, and Sybil went on saying nothing.
    It was not long before the quiet got on his nerves : it was like a weight ; he had a feeling that he would be unable to keep his wounded feelings to himself much longer.
    " Are we going to have a talk about something different now ?" It was only a trick, and an old one at that, to put him in the wrong.
    " How angry that makes me !"
    " What makes you angry ?"
    " What you said then."
    " Oh, that." Sybil took a cigarette out of her box. She was conscious that he was disgusted to see her smoking at meals ; he had frequently taken the cigarette out of her hands and put it away. But they were not in their house now, and he would not have a free fight with Sybil in a restaurant about a cigarette. She was conscious of this ; she was getting a match lighted as slowly as possible, attempting to make him angry -- and doing so.
    " Oh, that," she said. " My idea certainly wasn’t to say anything comforting."
    " You were right ; it wasn’t."
    " What did you say ?"
    " I said it wasn't."
    His voice, which was naturally deep, went up on a high note. This made him angrier than ever. Sybil gave a little female laugh, and there was quiet again. It seemed to Paul that the exchange of words had come to an end, because anything he said now would seem foolish. He had a picture of himself coming to the end of the meal in a short time, and making payment for it, still saying nothing; then going back with Sybil, getting to the house, and, still without a word, walking in with her.
    It would be uninteresting to see his paintings again after so much quiet. Some of them would have their faces turned to the wall still, because he had put them like that before he went out. Then he would go, still without a word, into his painting-room to do some work. The room was very quiet, but that would not be so bad, because Sybil would not be there. While he was working, she would probably be attempting to put the other room in order. It was not natural to her, and her only idea of putting a room in order was to make it like the sort of picture which gives a general effect without any detail. He would see this strange work of art waiting for him. It had made him angry every time; and still without a word, because by then they would have got used to saying nothing ; he would be quietly angry.
    It was true that some of Sybil’s views were not those of the present-day. She seemed to be of the opinion that a man’s idea of a woman was that she was to be true to him, take care of the house, and keep it in order in exchange for his having made himself responsible for her behaviour and money troubles. Possibly she was right -- but Paul would have been pleased to have done without the attempt to keep things in order.
    They had been together for two years, and now it was hard to go back in memory farther than those two years. It was such a long, slow way back down the lines of memory.
    " Look ! "
    Paul gave a little jump at the sound of Sybil’s voice. He had an idea that she had got used to not talking about any-thing, but simply making points against him.
    " See who’s over there, Paul."
    " That’s Henry and Eleanor ?"
    " I see it is. They're talking hard all the time."
    " So they are -- all the time. But what have they got to say to one another ?"
    " Yes, what ? They’ve been married for three years." " Three years, is it ?"
    " Yes. It was when I was acting at the St. Martin’s Theatre."
    " So it was."
    " They’d been married one year then. I am certain of that because it was my twenty-third birthday and they had got married the year before on the same day."
    Sybil had been much better-humoured in those days. It was true, she was good-humoured when she was working, and at least he was certain where she was every night then, from half-past seven to half-past eleven while the play was running. And while the play was being produced, he was certain where she was in the day-time.
    " It’s a bit of a trouble being out of work," Sybil said.
    " Oh well, it’ll not be for long," was Paul’s answer.
    " What makes you certain of that ?"
    " Well, dear, I am not certain, naturally. I am only hoping it’ll not be for long."
    He was hoping it would be for as short a time as possible. Sybil was far from cheap, there was no doubt about it, and money was not coming in any better now than in the old days. Everything might seem very happy and bright without such connections, but the minute you became responsible for another, it was more than one was able to put up with. He had become responsible for something and was quickly becoming the unhappiest man on earth.
    He took a look at Sybil. She seemed quite untroubled. Well, it was nothing to be surprised at, when she had a man like him to be dependent on.
    " Why are you looking at me ?" she said.
    " I’m not; after all, I have to be looking somewhere."
    He would have been happier if it had been possible to go away for a change, possibly to the tables at Monte Carlo ; he had ideas for a new system -- it took up all one’s thoughts. When your head was full of numbers, there was no room for thoughts about anything different. But Sybil had no use for Monte Carlo. She said she was disgusted by the old, tired look on the faces of the young, and the young look of hope on the faces of the old. She was against playing for money, and he would not be surprised if she would be equally against his doing so.
    If he went to Monte Carlo he would have to go without Sybil ; and that wasn’t done. He would be able to get over this without much trouble, because he had done what wasn’t done before. But he would not be able to get over it if Sybil got another lover. It would be simple for her to have another lover, because he was conscious that he had become uninteresting, troubled all the time by the fact that he was responsible for her. Only the other day she had been protesting that he was not very good company ; she had said that if she had been free he wouldn’t be the one she’d go with for a bright night out. But then, who would she have ? Had she anyone in mind ? If he went away now, what about her friends and their night clubs ? He would have no control over them at all.
    He took another look at her -- to see if she had a far away, up-in-the-clouds air about her. It was a danger sign he had " seen in the old days, a sign that she was about to be in love with another man.
    She said, " Where are we going tonight ?"
    " Food with the Johnsons at eight."
    " Oh yes, the Johnsons ; so we are."
    She was quiet for two or three minutes. Paul was troubled by that sort of quiet. It was not a good sign at all. She had something on her mind and it would be clear what it was in a minute.
    " It is strange, isn’t it ?" she said, " the way all our friends are so kind to us."
    " Are they ?"
    " Yes. They seem to have made a secret agreement to keep us together. You see, they only let us go out to meals together. '1`here’s this business of good form, this unending till-death-makes-us-separate way of looking at it. It’s true ; it’s not only the Johnsons, it’s all our friends. No one will have us by ourselves now, because they have an idea we are still happily in love."
    She seemed to be looking at him with true hate now.
    " No doubt it will be like that for ever, seeing you seated opposite me at different tables."
    " Probably," he said. And then I " What did you say ?"
    He had not been giving attention. That was what came of hearing the sound of another’s voice so frequently. You were no longer able to take in the sense, you only got the sound.
    " I am certain what you are going to say all the time, before you say it " -- Sybil was changing her attack a little.
    Paul said that was foolish; he didn’t see it. After all, it was quite probable he might say something quite different from what Sybil was ready for.
    " You frequently do say something different," was her answer, " and then, naturally, it’s worse."
    " Worse ?"
    " Well, it makes me much angrier." Paul gave a laugh. " It certainly does. I've had that experience over and over again with you, the same thing in every detail."
    " Have you ?"
    The talk went on about getting on one another’s nerves. They became happy, like two persons who have at last come across something in common. It made them so pleased that what was right and necessary for two persons to do who were living together went out of their heads. The thought came to Paul that Sybil had more attraction than any woman he had ever seen, and she came to the decision that in her heart she had been interested in him all the time ; and in comparison with him all the earth was full of men who were foolish because they were not Paul.
    " You see, it seems to me . . ."
    " Well, what ?"
    " That we would get on quite well together if it were possible for us to be separate sometimes."
    Paul took a look round the restaurant as if hoping to see the right thing to say. This was a question ; after all, how was it possible for them to be separate ?
    " Henry and Eleanor are still there," he said.
    " So they are, and still talking hard to one another."
    " Henry has been away for two or three weeks, playing at the tables at Monte Carlo." " Probably Eleanor is pleased to have him back again now." " I have an idea," Paul said. " No !" " The answer to it all. What about getting married ?"

63

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