‘Whose tent is this?’
‘He’s a newcomer,’ Hen replied. ‘Just recently arrived.’
‘Otherwise you’ve been all alone?’
‘Yes.’
Now the voices began to fade. Evidently, the two of them were moving away towards the river. The conversation dwindled gradually into nothing, accompanied by the receding tramp of feet. After that I lay for a long time dwelling on what I’d heard. Understandably I was a little dismayed at being described as a newcomer, especially by Hen, whom I’d always thought regarded me as a fellow pioneer. Clearly I’d been deluding myself.
There was something else, though, which was rather bewildering. Even in my drowsiness I’d perceived a certain reticence in Hen’s words. During the brief exchange he’d made no mention of his perennial claim to be the first in the field, and vaguely I pondered the cause of this omission.
I wasn’t sure how long I slept after that. When next I awoke my tent was bathed in warm sunshine. The voices I’d heard all those hours ago were like a distant memory; then, as the light came filtering in, I recalled my resolution of the day before. I was due to make a move, so I got up and looked out across the field. To my absolute astonishment I saw a new tent in the south-east. It was pure white, and appeared to be shimmering under the clear morning sky.
After gazing at it with disbelief for several minutes, I finally roused myself and ventured outside. All was quiet. There was no sign of Hen, or anyone else for that matter, and an air of undisturbed calm lay over the entire field. I paused again to contemplate the scene before me. For reasons which I couldn’t explain, the new tent seemed completely familiar, as though it had been standing in the same place for ever. At the same time I felt that it was somehow unapproachable; that henceforward the land it occupied would be out-of-bounds to me. Needless to say, I swiftly dismissed these preposterous notions: what nonsense, I thought; after all, it’s only a tent, nothing more than the product of human invention; then I set off towards the south-east to get a proper look.
I had to admit it was a splendid sight; the outline of the new tent was almost classical in its perfection. Its walls were quite steep, with an upper rim surmounted by a decorative mantle. The canopy was made from some white fabric which I couldn’t identify, and which gleamed softly in the sunlight. Beneath a curved awning hung an elaborate cloth doorway. Apparently the structure was supported by a single centre pole and a multitude of guy ropes. From its pinnacle flew a distinctive black-and-white pennant, but the tent’s most notable characteristic was its shape. Keeping my distance I walked around it in a large circle, counting its many sides. There were eight in total, a fact that confirmed what I already suspected: evidently the octagonal tent had returned.
All of a sudden the doorway parted, and a bearded man emerged. He was dressed in flowing white robes. I knew that he couldn’t have failed to see me standing there: I was barely a stone’s throw away, and actually our eyes met for a moment as he surveyed his surroundings. I waited for a nod of acknowledgement, which was customary in such circumstances, but to my surprise he turned and began closing up his tent. Next there followed a prolonged interlude during which he appeared to do nothing in particular, while constantly ignoring my presence; then eventually he moved off towards the river. Naturally, I was dumbfounded: the newcomer had effectively rebuffed me at a glance. I watched in silence as he neared the river bank. Finally, after a further delay, he entered the water and started wading across to the opposite side. His chosen point of departure was in the extreme south of the field where the river was conspicuously broad and shallow. I’d noticed on previous occasions that the sandy riverbed was clearly visible, but the idea of it being a possible crossing place had never occurred to me. This I found slightly annoying. The man’s progress was seemingly unhindered by his white robes; they swirled around him as he pressed on towards his presumed destination at the far side of the river. When he reached it, however, he didn’t stop; instead, he continued southwards overland before ultimately disappearing from view.
‘What do you make of that?’ said a voice beside me. It belonged to Hen, who had now resurfaced from wherever he’d been lurking.
‘Unbelievable,’ I replied.
I thought Hen was referring to the other man’s inexcusable conduct, but I was mistaken. With obvious bewilderment he peered at me, then at the river, then back at me again.
‘Sorry,’ I said at length. ‘What do I make of what?’
‘The crossing,’ said Hen. ‘I never knew it was feasible.’
‘Oh,’ I murmured. ‘No, nor did I.’
‘I’d always imagined it would be fraught with difficulty, yet Thomas made it look quite straightforward.’
The way Hen uttered the word ‘Thomas’ seemed to imply that I should instantly recognize the name; that its owner should be well known to me; and, moreover, that I should always have known him. As a matter of fact, I could easily hazard a guess who Thomas was. Even so, it was odd to hear Hen talking like this; it was almost as if he was in awe of the newcomer.
I nodded towards the river.
‘Thinking of going across, are you?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Hen, ‘I probably won’t bother.’
‘Alright,’ I said. ‘Well, at least let’s have a closer look.’
We strode down to the water’s edge. The soft sand was indented with recent footprints: these were the only signs that anyone had ever been there, but I sensed they heralded the beginning of a change. There was no bridge; there weren’t even stepping stones; yet the existence of a known crossing place was sure to attract others to the field. Whether this presaged good or ill was far less certain. Only time would tell.
Meanwhile, the river glided quietly past. Hen, I noticed, was gazing abstractedly into the distance.
I half-expected our next port of call to be the south-east. I could picture an enjoyable ten minutes as the two of us subjected the octagonal tent to a detailed evaluation: comparing architectural notes; criticising the features we didn’t like; and reluctantly granting our seal of approval. I saw this as a harmless pastime; therefore, I was mildly surprised when Hen declined to join in.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll be getting back to the west if you don’t mind. It’s where I belong really.’
‘You can’t be persuaded then?’
‘I’m afraid not. Sorry.’
He wished me luck and retreated westward.
Without Hen’s involvement the exercise seemed rather pointless, but I headed for the other tent just for the sake of it. I soon realized, however, that I was hardly in a position to offer a serious assessment. My own tent was no more than a basic pyramid with a pole in the middle, wholly unlike the palatial edifice which stood before me. As I studied the ornately embroidered seams, the intricately spliced guy ropes and the elegantly draped contours, I had to confess I could find no fault at all; on the contrary I was full of admiration. Whether there was a need for such extravagance posed a different question altogether.
Equally hard to justify was the sense of trespass that gradually crept over me as I prowled around the newcomer’s tent. I had as much right to be in the south-east as anybody else, yet repeatedly I caught myself glancing towards the river on the off-chance he might be coming back. Angered by my own foolishness, I resumed the inspection and did not cease until I was satisfied I’d seen enough; then finally I sauntered away.
As it happened, he didn’t return for several days. During this period life went on much as before: the sun shone, the grass burgeoned and I was soon accustomed to the sight of the shimmering white tent. Only one aspect bothered me: undoubtedly the tent looked resplendent in its solitude, but I couldn’t help feeling that the owner was acting selfishly. Essentially, the choicest part of the field was being squandered on an empty dwelling, which struck me as unfair. Reserving a place was one thing; prolonged neglect was quite another.