hospital, it was my wife's own wish not to have a medical
examination until she herself felt completely sure that she
was pregnant. I was quite content to agree with her. I
believe it's not altogether unusual for girls to feel this. Most
ordinary girls don't give much thought to the risk of things
like ectopic pregnancy.'
Kathe raised her hands a few inches, palms down, and
slowly lowered them again. Understanding her at once, I
paused and looked down at my papers with an air of getting
my feelings under control. No one spoke.
'During the evening of last Monday my wife was restless
and seemed not altogether herself. She told me she'd like to
377
go to the sea for a day or two and suggested that we might
combine a trip with looking for purchasable pieces of antique
china in this area. I ought to make it clear that she was
rather fond of doing things in sudden and unconventional
ways. She wanted us to get up and leave very early, in order
to enjoy the run down in the early morning on empty roads,
and I decided to indulge her impulse and telephone my staff
at the shop later in the day to tell them what we'd done.
As to a hotel, I thought we'd probably get in somewhere, in
spite of the time of year.
'What she really wanted was to go to the sea. She loved
the sea and said she'd been missing it. So we went straight
there. She herself didn't drive, so I drove all the way. I'd
slept badly the night before - one often does before an early
start, I think - so I was rather tired and drowsy when we
reached the place where we left the car. All the same, I was
very happy about the whole trip. We were both in good
spirits.'
Kathe was looking at me now with a kind of teasing interest,
as though longing to hear what on earth I might be
going to say next. I looked steadily back at her, waiting until
she should have put it into my mind. The coroner waited
courteously and at length I resumed.
'She was a good swimmer, sir, and so am I. It was a
cloudy, overcast morning, but the sea was unusually calm
and she suggested that we might bathe. I was rather reluctant,
because it looked cold, but she - well, again acting
on impulse in her characteristic way - she undressed at once.
The beach was entirely deserted, as you said you supposed;
and as you've learned, sir, we made love there. I can't help
thinking that many people in similar circumstances have
probably given expression to their natural feelings in that
way.'
'You needn't extenuate that now, Mr Desland.'
'Thank you, sir.' (But Kathe was silently laughing. As I
watched, she touched the third finger of her left hand.)
'Perhaps I ought to explain now, sir, that often, at such
times, my wife liked to feel that she was entirely naked what
I believe is sometimes called "mother-naked". And
378
from time to time, also, she used to pretend - it was a sort
of fantasy of hers - that we were not married at all. It
amused her. That was why she took off her rings, including
her wedding ring, and gave them to me to keep.'
I became conscious of an atmosphere of disapproval in the
court. I had shocked them now all right. From somewhere I
heard a low, female 'T's, t's, t's'. Instantly the coroner looked
round sharply, his rimless glasses flashing.
'The witness is showing the greatest moral courage and
obviously making every effort to be frank and truthful,' he
said. 'I rely on everyone in this court to bear that in mind
and not to add to his difficulties. I hope that's clear and I
don't want to have to mention it again. Please go on, Mr
Desland.'
Kathe put her two hands together beside her head and,
closing her eyes, laid her cheek against them.
'Thank you, sir. After - well, afterwards, sir, I fell asleep
on the sand. As I've explained, I was already tired from the
drive. And I woke - I can't tell exactly how long after - to
find her gone. Naturally, this alarmed me. Her clothes were
still beside me and I couldn't see her anywhere.
'I was even more worried than I might have been, on
account of another characteristic of my wife which I must
explain to you. It was always important with her never to tell
anyone - even me - if she was in pain. I remember, once, she
burnt her hand quite badly on the cooking-stove. She was
obviously in considerable pain, but she wouldn't admit it
and whatever she did about it she went and did alone. It was
the same with headaches or anything else. She told me once
that King George V used to pray, "If I am called upon to
suffer, let me be like an animal which goes away to suffer
by itself."'
'Yes, I - er - think I remember reading that somewhere,'
replied the coroner.
'I believe that in the first place, that morning, she went
away intending to return quite quickly - perhaps she just
went to relieve herself - and that it was only when she was at
a distance that she was overcome by the pain and shock
which Dr Eraser has described to us. She hadn't woken me
379
but, as I've explained, not to do so would be like her, even
if she was already in pain. I ran back to the car, but she
wasn't there. I couldn't see her, sir, and she didn't answer
when I called. I became frantic. I searched in the sandhills
but couldn't find her, and after a time I grew - well, sir,
hysterical, really. I began to fear that she might have been
attacked or something like that. And then I thought I saw I
thought I could see - an extended arm, among the brambles.
I plunged in at once and tore my way through them, and of
course I-got badly cut and scratched. I remember cutting
my wrist very badly on the edge of a tin, and I must have
fainted. When I came to, later, I saw immediately that she
wasn't there at all. I made my way out and that was when
the constable found me. It was almost a relief, sir, as I'm
sure you'll understand, to be told that she'd been taken to
hospital, but when the police told me she was ill, I naturally
replied that I was sure she was. I don't blame them for
their suspicions. In the circumstances those were understandable.
I also think that she may in fact have tried to tell
something about her illness to Mr Sims, but she was so much
upset by that time that she only spoke in her native tongue
- in German. That would be natural, after all.'
I had the court with me now: I could feel it - everyone.
What would they say when I walked out with Kathe on my
arm and took her home? I looked across to where she was
sitting. She had her notebook open and was pretending to
be reading in it. Now what's that for, darling?
'I understand, Mr Desland,' said the coroner, more gently
than he had spoken all morning. 'And what she said in the
hospital - you recall - "I had no pity" - it's a small point,
perhaps, but a
s its apparently all she did say, can you throw
any light on it for me?'
Kathe turned a page and her eyes travelled across the
notebook.
'Oh, it's a quotation, sir - in German, that is - from a
minor poet - I forget which. In the context, a queen is speaking
of her lover, whom she has exhausted by her demands.
And I hope very much,' I added, glancing angrily round, 'that
no one will feel disposed to comment adversely on that. It
380
was - well, sir, it was a kind of personal joke between us,
if you understand me. It - it must have come into her mind.'
There was a pause.
'Thank you, Mr Desland,' said the coroner. 'That's all I
require from you, and I assume that no one else has any
questions to ask.'
The girl, bent over her notebook, closed it and put away
her pen. Then she once more raised her head. It wasn't
Kathe. It didn't even look like her. Without a glance in my
direction she picked up her bag, rose and slipped out as
quietly as she had entered.
A little child, wandering lost and frightened in a park or
a fairground, suddenly catches sight of her mother at a
distance and runs towards her, full of joy and relief. As she
comes closer the figure turns: it is not her mother, but a
stranger.
I sat down slowly. After some moments I realized that I
was shuddering uncontrollably and sobbing at every breath.
Everyone was staring at me and whispering.
Brian Lucas stood up.
'Sir, I think it's clear that my client has exhausted his
remarkable reserves of courage and self-control. May I request
that he should be allowed to leave the court and wait
in a private room until he feels better?'
'Certainly; that will be quite in order, Mr Lucas.'
My mother and I went out as Lucas was calling Tony to
give evidence about my standing and reputation in Newbury.
The janitor showed us to a little waiting-room, with old
magazines and a pot of withered roses on a plastic-topped
table; and there we sat, my mother stroking my head and
talking gently of Do you remember? and old days at Bull
Banks.
Fifteen minutes later Lucas came in, with Tony, to tell us
that the coroner had given a finding of death from natural
causes, with a rider that in his view no blame or negligence
whatever attached to Mr Desland.
'You didn't really need me, Alan,' he added. 'I admit I felt
rather worried last night about one or two things, but may I
say that I've never heard clearer evidence or a more coura381
geous witness? If you need me any more, don't hesitate, will
you, to get in touch? But I doubt you will.'
As we went out the janitor was standing in the passage.
I suppose he'd been told to keep intruders out of our room.
I stopped and asked him, 'Can you tell me who that girl was
who-'
He stared at me in surprise. A little group of three or four
strangers - reporters, no doubt - were standing near us. I
realized how odd my question must seem and what might
be made of it.
'I'm confused,' I said. 'I'm sorry - I'm not myself, I'm
afraid.' My mother once more took my arm and we left the
building.
That afternoon Tony drove me home. Flick was already
there, with Angela. She had cleared away everything that had
belonged to Kathe. The garden was still untidy and disordered,
but Jack Cain had sawn off the broken ash bough,
cut it into logs and kindling and stacked them in the yard.
After tea I tried for a time to read a book on Meissen, but
soon gave it up and went to bed in the room I had had as a
boy.
I left my door open and asked Flick to do the same; but I
slept soundly until well after first light.
28
THIS is the second Sunday since my return, and all day it
has been windy - patches of silver light coming and going
between the clouds and gleaming through the trees beyond
the lawn. The garden could have done with my attention,
but I have kept to the house, doing little but sit at the bedroom
window, looking out over the cornfield - flattened here
and there - towards the beeches on the crest of the downs.
Flick and Angela left yesterday evening and to-night my
mother is coming for the week. She has postponed her wedding
- until the end of September, I think she said; but I
forget the exact date.
382
From time to time this morning I tried to concentrate,
first on music and then on reading, but could get nothing
from either. I felt as though I were isolated on a high tower,
looking down at the remote words as though at tiny streets,
cars and people far below. To be sure, I could see well enough
what each was, but from such a height could hardly expect
to derive meaning from them or perceive their connection
one with another. In any case, what could they have to do
with me? Similarly, the music seemed merely a kind of
sophistication of the wind outside - a succession of artificial
sounds, sometimes perceptible, when one paid attention, as
patterned or recurrent; their purpose, if there was one, a
matter which could be of no interest. I could not really think
of either words or music as the work of finite beings intent
upon communication. After a while I realized that unconsciously
I had been regarding each in the same way as the
downs towards which I had been looking out of the window;
and so returned to that.
About one o'clock the wind dropped for a time and the
trees, ceasing at last their commotion against the sky, released
me from my watch. I felt hungry and, glancing along
the bedroom bookshelves on my way down to the kitchen to
get some bread and cheese, took with me an anthology of
German poetry. Except to re-read a few favourite poems I
had seldom opened it since Oxford days, but now it occurred
to me that the slightly greater effort involved in reading
German might help me to recover the trick of becoming
interested in what someone else had tried to express.
I happened to open the book at a poem of Matthaus von
Collin - a Viennese dramatist, I remembered, who died in
1824 or thereabouts. It was called 'Der Zwerg' - 'The Dwarf
- and I felt enough interest to read it when I recalled that
once, some years ago, I had heard a setting of it by Schubert.
That had left in my mind a vaguely unfavourable impression
of German death-romanticism, rather like 'The Erl-King'; but
exactly what it was about I could no longer recall.
Im truben Licht verschwinden schon die Berge,
es schwebt das Schiff auf glatten Meereswogen
worauf die Konigin mit ihrem Zwerge.
383
This I could see before me instantly, more plainly than the
silver birches outside the window.
Already the mountains are fading in the sullen light.
The ship hangs on the calm sea.
On board are the queen and her dw
arf.
I read on slowly, hearing the words in my head and translating
loosely as I went.
'Stars, never yet have you told me liesl'
She cries. 'Now I am soon to become as nothing,
For so you tell me. Yet to speak truth, it is of my own
will that I die.'
Da tritt der Zwerg zur Konigin So
then the dwarf approaches the queen; and weeps, as
though soon to be blinded by his own regret.
I shall hate myself everlastingly,
I, whose hand brought thee death.
Yet now must thou disappear into thine early grave.'
'Mogst du nicht Schmerz durch meinen Tod gewinnen -'
Good God! I sat staring at the line, then read it aloud.
' "Mogst du nicht Schmerz durch meinen Tod gewinnen -"'
' "Mayest thou come to no sorrow through my death,"
She says. Then the dwarf kisses her pale cheeks
And at once her senses leave her.'
Weeping bitterly now, I read the last stanza aloud also.
'Der Zwerg schaut an die Frau vom Tod befangen,
er senkt sie tief ins Meer mil eig'nen Handen,
ihm brennt nach ihr das Herz so voll Verlangen.
An keiner Kuste wird er je mehr landen.
'The dwarf gazes on the woman imprisoned by death.
With his own hands he plunges her body into the sea.
His heart, so full of longing, burns for her.
Never again will he land on any shore.'
'An keiner Kuste wird er je mehr landen.' Suddenly, as I
384
finished the poem, the wind sprang up again, moaning on a
deep, sustained note along the wall of the house, and from
the yard came a quick pattering, like running footsteps. I
started, and stood up, to see out of the window some piece
of rubbish - a cardboard box, I think - blown helter-skelter
across the concrete and out on the gravel beyond. The sound,
oddly regular, went tumbling away into the distance until I
could hear it no longer.
Kathe was buried four days ago, in a village churchyard
not far from the foot of the downs. Tony arranged it with
the vicar and took the service himself. It was attended by few
except the family. My mother was much distressed; and
Deirdre, too, could not contain her grief, sobbing bitterly at
the graveside with a kind of pathetic absurdity which that
afternoon was the only thing to come near my heart. I myself
was unmoved, feeling the service as a formality having nothing
to do with Kathe or myself.
Kathe - she had spent the money in her pocket and gone
her way. What had she to do with the Resurrection and the
Life? For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given
in marriage. Kathe had not been suffered to complete what
she came to do: and how could I, standing among the yewtrees,
feel that Tony's words - Cranmer's words - had anything
to do with her? To every thing there is a season: a
time to be born and a time to die; a time to embrace and a
time to refrain from embracing. Her tale was heard and yet
it was not told. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, when
she wilfully seeks her own salvation? We should have burned
her on a great pyre, I thought, on the summit of Combe
Down - sparks and flames roaring to the sky, the cinders
sailing like black rooks on the wind.
Throughout last week I could not but be touched - though
distantly - by the sympathy and kindness of my friends and
beyond them, so it seemed, of virtually everyone in the neighbourhood.
Since my return I have been out only to go down
to the shop for three days of last week, where I worked for
a few hours in the office. Work is good for misery. It was
385
Flick who told me that she could not go into the town without
meeting, everywhere, people who asked her to tell me of
their sympathy, sometimes adding expressly that no one
dreamt of thinking anything but good either of Kathe or
myself. One or two, like Jack Cain, actually contrived to say
this to me personally. Having learned from Flick that I
would be glad to see him in the garden as usual, he came in
for two days last week; mowed the lawn, weeded the herbaceous
border, trimmed the hornbeam hedge and planted
out a bed of asters. Later, we had a cup of tea together. As
with Nurse Dempster, it was easy to talk with him - or at all
events, to listen.
'I just thought as it might be some sort o' comfort to you
to know, Mr Alan,' he said, 'that there ain't no one round
'ere's bin gossipin' ner sayin' nothin' what they didn" ought.