Padre, my mind is like a thermometer exposed every minute to a different
temperature, but always high or low--never normal.
To tell, or not to tell, Father Beckett what the man I didn't see said
about Jim--or rather, what Julian O'Farrell said that he said! This has
been the constant question; but the thermometer invariably flies up or
down, far from the answer-point.
When our men came back to Amiens, I almost hoped that Puck would do his
worst--carry out his threat and "give me away" to Father Beckett. In
that case I should at least have been relieved from responsibility. But
Puck didn't. In my heart I had known all along that he would not.
If I could have felt for a whole minute at a time that it would be fair
to wake hopes which mightn't be fulfilled, out would have burst the
secret. But whenever I'd screwed up my courage to speak, Something would
remind me: "Herter sent word that there might be a message from
Switzerland. Better wait till it comes, for he wasn't sure of his facts.
He may have been misled." Or, when I'd decided _not_ to speak, another
Something would say: "Jim is alive. You _know_ he is alive! Herter is
helping him to escape. Don't let these dear old people suffer a minute
longer than they need."
But--well--so far I have waited. A week has passed since I wrote at
Amiens. We have arrived at Jim's château--the little, quaint, old
Château d'Andelle, with thick stone walls, black-beamed ceilings, and
amusing towers, set in the midst of an enchanted forest of Normandy. No
wonder he fell in love with the place before the war, and wanted to live
there! It must have seemed an impossible dream at the time, for the
owners (the château has been in the same family for generations) had
money in those days, and wouldn't have let their home to strangers. The
war has made all the difference. They couldn't afford to keep up the
place, and were eager to let. Beckett money is a boon to them, so
everyone is satisfied. The agents in Paris secured two or three extra
servants to help the old pair left in the house as caretakers; and there
is a jewel of a maid for Mother Beckett--a Belgian refugette. I shall
give her some training as a nurse, and by and by I shall be able to fade
away in peace. Already I'm beginning to prepare my dear lady's mind for
a parting. I talk of my hospital work, and drop hints that I'm only on
leave--that Brian's hopes and Father Beckett's splendid new-born plan
for him, will permit me to take up duty again soon.
The plan developed on the trip: but I'm sure the first inspiration came
from Mother Beckett. While she was ill, she did nothing but lie and
think of things to do for other people. And she was determined to make
it possible for Brian to have a love story of his own, provided he
wanted one. It only needed Father Beckett's practical brain and
unlimited purse to turn her vague suggestion into a full-grown plan. A
whole block of buildings on the outskirts of Paris, let as apartment
houses, is to be bought by Mr. Beckett, for the use of blinded soldiers.
Already his agents have got the refusal of the property for him; and
with a few changes such as knocking down inner walls and putting in
doors where doors don't exist, the houses will become one big mansion,
to accommodate five or six hundred men. Each will have his own bedroom
or cubicle. There'll be a gymnasium, with a Swedish instructor, and
every trade or profession in which a blind man could possibly engage
will be taught by experts. There will be a big dining hall with a
musicians' gallery, and a theatre. The library will be supplied with
quantities of books for the blind. There'll be a garden where the men
will be taught to grow flowers and vegetables. They will have a resident
doctor, and two superintendents. One of these two will himself be a
blind man taught by his own experience how to teach others. Of course,
Padre, you know that this blind teacher is already chosen, and that the
whole scheme centers round him!
In a way Brian realizes that, if it were not for him, it would never
have been thought of. In a way. But--it is _his_ way. He doesn't torture
himself, as I probably should in his place, by thinking: "All these
immense sums of money being spent as an excuse to provide for me in
life! Ought I to let it be done? Ought I to accept?"
Brian's way is not that. He says: "Now I understand why I lost my
eyesight, and it's worth it a thousand times. This wonderful chance is
to be given me to help others, as I never could have helped if I hadn't
been blind. If sight comes back, I shall know what it is to be blind,
and I can give counsel and courage to others. I am glad, glad to be
blind. It's a privilege and a mission. Even if I never see again, except
with my spirit's eyes, I shall still be glad!"
He doesn't worry at all because carrying out the plan will cost Father
Beckett one or more of his millions. What is money for, except to be
spent? What pleasure is like spending to do good? He finds it quite
natural that Father Beckett wants to do this thing; and though he's
immensely grateful, he takes it blithely for granted that the benefactor
should be happy and proud.
Travelling back from Ypres to Amiens they seem to have settled all the
details between them, though they told us their adventures before even
mentioning the Plan. Brian is to be guide, philosopher, and friend to
the inmates and students of the James Wyndham Beckett College for the
Blind. Also he is to give lectures on art and various other subjects. If
he can learn to paint his blind impressions (as he believes he can, with
Dierdre's promised help) he will be able to teach other blind artists to
follow his example. And he is to have a salary for his services--not the
big one Father Beckett wished: Brian wouldn't hear of that--but enough
to live on. And Dierdre and Julian are offered official positions and
salaries too. It's suggested that they should take a flat near by the
College, within easy walking distance. Dierdre is to entertain the blind
men with recitations, and teach the art of reciting to those who wish to
learn. Julian is to sing and play for the men in the house-theatre, once
or twice a week, as he can spare time from his work with De Letzski.
Also he will give one lesson a week in singing and voice production.
Both the O'Farrells are to be well paid (no trouble in persuading
Julian to accept generous proposals for himself and his sister; for him
the labourer is indeed worthy of his hire): and with American dash and
money the scheme is expected to be in working order by next June. It's
now well into November. But after seeing how other schemes have worked,
and how this Château d'Andelle business has been rushed through, I have
the most sublime faith in Beckett miracles.
They are astonishing, these Becketts! Father, the simplest, kindest man,
with the air of liking his fireside better than any adventure: Mother, a
slip of a creature--"a flower in a vase to be kept by her menfolk on a
high shelf," as I told myself when I first saw her. Yet what adventures
they have had, and what they have accomplished since the day Brian
proposed this pilgrimage, two months ago! Not a town on our route that,
after the war won't have cause to bless them and the son in whose name
their good works have been done--cause to bless Beckett kindness,
Beckett money for generations in the future! Yet now they have added
this most ambitious plan of all to the list, and I know it will be
carried out to perfection.
You see now, Padre, from what I've told you, how easy it is being made
for me to slip out of this circle. Brian, beaming with happiness, and on
the point of opening his heart to Dierdre's almost worshipping love:
Mother Beckett slowly getting back a measure of frail, flower-like
health, in this lovely place which she calls Jim's: Father Beckett more
at ease about her, and intensely interested in his scheme: the small,
neat Belgian refugette likely to prove at least a ministering mouse if
not a ministering angel: above all, hope if not certainty that Jim will
one day return--not only in spirit but in body--to his château and his
family. If I am needed anywhere on earth, it isn't here, but down in the
south at my poor Hôpital des Épidémies. Would it be cowardly in me to
fly, as soon as I've persuaded the Becketts to spare me, and throw the
responsibility I haven't dared decide to take, upon my brave, blind
Brian?
Ah, I don't mean telling him about myself and my sins. I shouldn't have
the courage for that, I fear! I mean, shall I tell him about Doctor
Paul's message--or _supposed_ message? It has just occurred to me that I
might do this, and let Brian decide whether Father Beckett ought to
know, even if no further news comes through Switzerland. You see, if I
were gone, and Jim came, I could trust the new Dierdre to do her best
for me with Brian. He could never respect me, never love me in the old
way--but he might forgive, because of Dierdre herself--and because of
the great Plan. Hasn't my wickedness given them both to him?
Writing all this to you has done me good, Padre. I see more clearly
ahead. I shall decide before morning what to do. I feel I _shall_ this
time! And I think it a good idea to speak to Brian. He will agree,
though he doesn't know my secret need to escape, that it's right for me
to take up hospital work again. But, Padre, I can't go--I _won't_
go--until I've helped Mother Beckett arrange Jim's treasures in the room
to be called his "den." She has been living for that, striving to grow
strong enough for that. And I--oh, Padre!--I want to be the one to
unpack his things and to touch each one with my hands. I want to leave
something of myself in that room where, if he's dead, his spirit will
surely come: where, if he lives, his body will come. If I leave behind
me thoughts of love, won't they linger between those walls like the
scent of roses in a vase? Mayn't those thoughts influence Jim Beckett
not to detest me as I deserve?