1Lesson15

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Lesson 15

No Signposts in the Sea

V Easkoille-West

In

the

dining-saloon

I

sit

at

a

table

with

three

other

men;

Laura

sits

some

way

oft

with

a

married

couple

and

their

daughter.

I

can

observe

her

without

her

knowing,

and

this

gives

me

pleasure,

for

it

is

as

in

a

moving

picture

that

I

can

note

the

grace

of

her

gestures, whether she raises a glass of wine to her lips or turns with a remark to one of

her neighbours or takes a cigarette from her case with those

slender

fingers. I have never

had

much

of

an

eye

for

noticing

the

clothes

of

women,

but

I

get

the

impression

that

Laura

is

always

in

grey

and

white

by

day,

looking

cool

when

other

people

are

flushed

and shiny in the tropical heat; in the evening she wears soft rich colours, dark red, olive

green,

midnight

blue,

always

of

the

most

supple

flowing

texture.

I

ventured

to

say

something

of

the

kind

to

her,

when

she

laughed

at

my

clumsy

compliment

and

said

I

had better take to writing fashion articles instead of political leaders.

*

The tall Colonel whose name is Dalrymple seems a nice

chap

. He and I and Laura

and

a

Chinese

woman

improbably

galled

Mme

Merveille

have

made

up

a

Bridge-four

and thus

beguile

ourselves for an hour or so after dinner while others dance on deck. The

Colonel,

who

is

not

too

offensively

an

Empire-builder,

sometimes

tries

to

talk

to

me

about

public

affairs;

he

says

he

used

to

read

me,

and

is

rather

charmingly

deferential

,

prefacing

his

remarks

by

'Of

course

it's

not

for

me

to

suggest

to

you…

and

then

proceeding

to

tell

me

exactly

how

he

thinks

some

topical

item

of

our

dome,

the

or

foreign

policy

should

be

handled.

He

is

by

no

means

stupid

or

ill- informed;

a

little

opinionated

perhaps, and just about as far to the Right as anybody could

go, but I like

him, and try not to tease him by putting forward views which would only bring a puzzled

look to his face. Besides, I do not want to become involved in discussion. I observe with

amusement

how

totally

the

concerns

of

the

world,

which

once

absorbed

me

to

the

exclusion

of

all

else

except

an

occasional

relaxation

with

poetry

or

music,

have

lost

interest for me eve to the extent of a bored distaste. Doubtless some instinct

impels me

gluttonously

to

cram

these the last weeks of my life with the gentler things I never had

time

for,

releasing

some

suppressed

inclination

which

in

fact

was

always

latent.

Or

maybe Laura's

unwitting

influence has called it out.

*

Dismissive

as Pharisee, I regarded as

moonlings

all those whose life was lived on a

less

practical

plane.

Protests

about

damage

to

'natural

beauty'

froze

me

wit,

contempt,

for I believed

in progress and could spare no regrets for a

lake dammed into

hydraulic

use for the benefit of an industrial city

in the Midlands.

And so it was for

all things. A

hard

materialism

was

my

creed,

accepted

as

a

law

of

progress;

any

ascription

of

disinterested motives aroused not only my suspicion but my scorn.

And

now

see

how

I

stand,

as

sentimental

and

sensitive

as

any

old

maid

doing

water-colour s of sunsets! I once flattered myself that I was an adult man; I now perceive

that I am gloriously and adolescently silly. A new Clovis, loving what I have despised,

and

suffering

from

calf-love

into

the

bar

gain,

I

want

my

till

of

beauty

before

I

go.

Geographically I did not care and scarcely know where I am. There are no signposts

in

the sea.

*

The young moon lies on her back tonight as is her habit in the tropics, and as, I think,

is suitable if not seemly for a virgin. Not a star but might not shoot down and accept the

invitation to become her lover. When all my fellow-passengers have finally

dispersed

to

bed, I creep up again to the deserted deck and slip into the swimming pool and float, no

longer

what

people

believe

me

to

be,

a

middle-aged

journalist

taking

a

holiday

on

an

ocean-going liner, but a liberated being, bathed in ()

mythological

water s, an Endymion

young

and

strong,

with

a

god

for

his

father

and

a

vision

of

the

world

inspired

from

Olympus. All weight

is lifted from my limbs; 1 am one with the night; I understand the

meaning of

pantheism

. How my friends would

laugh if they knew I had come to this!

To have

discarded

, as I believe, all usual

frailties

, to have become incapable of envy,

ambition,

malice

, the desire to score off my neighbour, to enjoy this

purification

even

as I enjoy the clean voluptuousness of the warm breeze on my skin and the cool support

of the water. Thus, I imagine, must the

pious

feel

cleansed

on leaving the

confessional

after the

solemnity

of

absolution

.

*

Sometimes

Laura

and

I

lean

over

the

taffrail

,

and

that

is

happiness.

It

may

be

by

daylight, looking at the sea, rippled with

little white ponies, or with no ripples at all but

only

the

lazy

satin

of

blue,

marbled

at

the

edge

where

the

passage

of

our

ship

has

disturbed it. Or it may be at night, when the sky surely seems blacker than ever at home

and the stars more golden. I recall a phrase from the diary of a half-

literate soldier, ‘The

stars

seemed

little

cuts

in

the

black

cover,

through

which

a

bright

beyond

was

seen.'

Sometimes these untaught

scribblers

have a way of putting things.

The wireless told us today that there is fog all over England.

*

Sometimes

we

follow

a

coastline,

it

may

be

precipitous

bluffs

of

grey

limestone

rising sheer out of the sea, or a low-lying

arid

stretch with miles of white sandy beach,

and no sign of habitation, very

bleached

and barren. These coasts remind me of people;

either

they

are

forbidding

and

unapproachable

,

or

else

they

present

no

mystery

and

show all they have to give at a glance, you feel the country would continue to be

flat

and

featureless however far you penetrated inland. What I like best are the stern cliffs, with

ranges of mountains soaring behind them, full of possibilities, peaks to be scaled only by

the most daring. What plants of the high

altitudes

grow

unravished

among their

crags

and valleys? So do I let my imagination play over the

recesses

of Laura's Character, so

austere

in

the

foreground

but

nurturing

what

treasures

of

tenderness,

like

delicate

flowers, for the discovery of the venturesome.

My fellow-passengers apparently do not share my admiration.

‘Drearee sorter cowst,' said an Australian. ‘Makes you

long for a bit of green. '