— You know, sometimes I feel that a whole race is passing. Certainly, Stephen, your father is an example. Not just a generation mind, but, yes, a whole race. Don’t you agree?
Stephen said nothing, and the little man turned to the wife.
— Don’t you agree with me, Alice?
She stared at him in fright and said:
— What? Yes. O yes.
Stephen glanced at her, but she had retreated again, her hand to her mouth.
— Ah yes, a whole race, the little man said with satisfaction. It will be a great loss when they are all gone. What has this new generation to offer the world? Only the fruits of their fear.
After a little silence Stephen said stiffly:
— I don’t see how the world can be made any worse.
The little man looked up at him from under his eyebrows, slyly smiling.
— But there are so many new evils, he said softly.
Stephen coughed.
— Surely there are no new ones.
But the little man was gazing away out at the ugly sea, lost in thought. Suddenly he started.
— What say? Pardon?
— I said — I said surely there are no new evils. You said—
— Ah yes yes yes. We’re told there can be nothing new, yes, but look at the things that have happened these last few years. Terrible. Terrible indeed. Sometimes I think that — that — what was I saying?
He was becoming agitated, and was looking about him again in fear. Stephen watched him with puzzled eyes. He went on:
— There is a new brand of despair in the world. The old ways are dying, and the old religion too. When people turn their backs on God what can they expect? What can they expect, I say?
He looked at them with his bright, troubled eyes.
— I know, he said. I turned my back on God. I wanted to serve him. The call was there, the call to serve, but I told myself it led to death. I was proud and now I have nothing.
They reached the car.
— I have nothing left.
Stephen opened the door for his wife and she got hurriedly inside.
— Without God nothing. Do you hear me?
He put his hand on Stephen’s arm, and Stephen tried to push it away, but the fat little fingers held him.
— Do you know what I’m talking about, do you? Have you seen the terror and felt the angel of death brush your face with his wing? Have you?
His eyes were wide now with a fixed stare, and there were spots of white on his mouth. Stephen said with difficulty, looking anxiously to see if the people in the other cars were watching:
— Look, I don’t know who you are.
— Have you seen it, I say? Have you?
— Listen …
— Admit it. Admit that everywhere you look is desolation. The hand of a spurned god has touched the world and still we ignore it. I tell you, that same hand will touch us with only death unless we —
— Let go of my arm.
— Admit it. Only admit it.
— You’re mad.
Abruptly the little man relaxed, and the brightness went from his eyes. It was as though he had been awaiting this accusation. Quietly he said:
— Mad. Indeed. I saw the horror and the desolation but I would not call it by its name. I had no courage or not enough. If I’m mad it’s that failure that drove me to it. But you. You could if you chose, you could —
— Shut up, Stephen cried. Shut your mouth you old fool and get away from me. Get away.
He pushed the little man off, and his ill-fitting hat slipped from his head and rolled in the gravel. He came back again, his finger outstretched, his lips wet. Stephen got into the car and slammed the door. While he started the engine the little man came near and pressed his face against the window. He stared at them silently with his burning eyes. Stephen forced the gears, and the tyres screamed as the car fled away down the drive.
They came to the road that led to the village. Stephen was shaking and he said between his teeth:
— Madman. Jesus.
Alice said nothing, and he turned and looked at her sharply. He asked:
— Who was he?
She shrugged her shoulders.
— But you knew him, he said.
— What makes you think that?
— You recognized him, he insisted. You stopped on the path when you saw him coming.
— Does that mean I knew him? she asked, regarding him calmly.
Stephen was confused. He looked out at the road and muttered:
— He knew us. He knew our names. Who the hell was he? This is a small place, I grew up here. I should know him.
For a time there was silence, and then he muttered:
— These bloody lunatics should all be locked up.
— He was sad.
— Sad? Sad? He was a lunatic.
— But he was still sad. Why are you so cruel?
— Cruel, you say? Did you hear the things he said to me? Don’t talk rot.
— I’m not talking rot.
— He was a complete head-case and it was obvious to everyone but you. Did you see how no one would come near us when they saw him there? Did you see that? Yes. They bloody well knew, but of course Alice with her gentility and kindness would say nothing but just stand there and let me walk right into it like a fool. Jesus.
— O stop it, for god’s sake. I told you I didn’t know him.
She covered her ears and began to rock back and forth in her seat. He said:
— I’m sorry.
— That’s all you can ever say.
He cast agonized eyes at the roof.
— Jesus, Alice, don’t start. It’s been a rough day and I’ve had all I can take. Please don’t start.
She sat upright and rubbed her eyes. Lighting a cigarette she said:
— We started long ago.
— Alice …
— Leave me alone.
Beside him the evening fields flowed silently, swiftly past. The day was fading now, and the trees were full of darkness.
— Do you want to go home tonight? he asked, and tried to make it sound like an apology.
— I don’t mind.
Her voice was cold, and held a world of weariness. He made a noise with his teeth and said:
— I was going to write a book one time. Did you know that?
She looked at him in surprise.
— No, I didn’t.
He laughed.
— O yes, I was going to write a book. A love story. The story of Stephen and Alice who thought that love would last forever. And when they found that it wouldn’t or at least that it changed so much that they couldn’t recognize it anymore, the blow was too heavy. They retreated into themselves like rabbits into a burrow.
He stopped, and she sighed.
— You’re too cruel, she murmured. Too cruel.
When they came into the kitchen Lilian was by the table, bent over a cup of tea. She did not look at them. Stephen watched her, his only sister, as he took off his scarf and gloves. She was growing old, there were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and grey in her hair. The old man’s death had wounded her deeply. Now she would have no one to care for and bully in her ineffectual way.
— Is there any tea? Alice asked, struggling out of her coat. She blew her nose.
— In the pot, Lilian answered, lifting a listless hand.
Stephen left the room and the two women together in their silence. He was washing his hands in the bathroom when Alice tapped on the door.
— Steve, I’m going to lie down for a while. I’m tired.
— Yes. A rest will do you good. You’ll have to take it easy now until the baby comes.
She leaned against the door, pale and drab, running a damp knotted handkerchief through her fingers.
— I think we’ll go back tonight, she said.
— Are you sure you’re up to it?
— Maybe you’re right. It’s been a long day.