"If the killer thinks that he kills, if the killed thinks that he is
killed, they do not understand; for this one does not kill, nor is that
one killed."
Passion Week, two years after Roddy's death; Roddy's death the measure
you measured time by still.
Mamma looked up from her Bible; she looked over her glasses with eyes
tired of their everlasting reproach.
"What have you got there, Mary?"
"The Upanishads from the Sacred Book of the East."
"Tchtt! It was that Buddhism the other day."
"Religion."
"Any religion except your own. Or else it's philosophy. You're destroying
your soul, Mary. I shall write to your Uncle Victor and tell him to ask
Mr. Sutcliffe not to send you any more books from that library."
"I'm seven and twenty, Mamma ducky."
"The more shame for you then," her mother said.
The clock on the Congregational Chapel struck six. They put down their
books and looked at each other.
"Dan not back?" Mamma knew perfectly well he wasn't back.
"He went to Reyburn."
"T't!" Mamma's chin nodded in queer, vexed resignation. She folded her
hands on her knees and waited, listening.
Sounds of wheels and of hoofs scraping up the hill. The Morfe bus, back
from Reyburn. Catty's feet, running along the passage. The front door
opening, then shutting. Dan hadn't come with the bus.
"Perhaps," Mamma said, "Ned Anderson'll bring him."
"Perhaps.... ('There is one eternal thinker, thinking non-eternal
thoughts, who, though one, fulfils the desires of many....') Mamma--why
won't you let him go to Canada?"
"It was Canada that killed poor Roddy."
"It won't kill Dan. He's different."
"And what good would he be there? If your Uncle Victor can't keep him,
who will, I should like to know?"
"Jem Alderson would. He'd take him for nothing. He told Ned he would. To
make up for Roddy."
"Make up! He thinks that's the way to make up! I won't have Dan's death
at my door. I'd rather keep him for the rest of my life."
"How about Dan?"
"Dan's safe here."
"He's safe on the moor with Alderson looking after the sheep, and he's
safe in the cowshed milking the cows; but he isn't safe when Ned drives
into Reyburn market."
"Would it be safer in Canada?"
"Yes. He'd be thirty miles from the nearest pub. He'd be safer here if
you didn't give him money."
"The boy has to have money to buy clothes."
"I could buy them."
"I daresay! You can't treat a man of thirty as if he was a baby of
three."
She thought. "No. You can only treat a woman.... 'There is one eternal
thinker'--"
A knock on the door.
"There," her mother said, "that's Dan."
Mary went to the door. Ned Alderson stood outside; he stood slantways,
not looking at her.
"Ah tried to maake yore broother coom back long o' us, but 'e would na."
"Hadn't I better go and meet him?"
"Naw. Ah would na. Ah wouldn' woorry; there's shepherds on t' road wi' t'
sheep. Mebbe 'e'll toorn oop long o' they. Dawn' woorry ef tes laate
like."
He went away.
They waited, listening while the clock struck the hours, seven; eight;
nine. At ten her mother and the servants went to bed. She sat up, and
waited, reading.
"...My son, that subtle essence which you do not perceive there, of
that very essence this great Nyagrodha tree exists.... That which is the
subtile essence, in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It
is the Self, and thou, O Svetaketu, art it."
Substance, the Thing-in-itself--You were It. Dan was It. You could think
away your body, Dan's body. One eternal thinker, thinking non-eternal
thoughts. Dreaming horrible dreams. Dan's drunkenness. Why?
Eleven. A soft scuffle. The scurry of sheep's feet on the Green. A dog
barking. The shepherds were back from Reyburn.
Feet shuffled on the flagstone. She went to the door. Dan leaned against
the doorpost, bent forward heavily; his chin dropped to his chest.
Something slimy gleamed on his shoulder and hip. Wet mud of the ditch he
had fallen in. She stiffened her muscles to his weight, to the pull and
push of his reeling body.
Roddy's room. With one lurch he reached Roddy's white bed in the corner.
She looked at the dressing-table. A strip of steel flashed under the
candlestick. The blue end of a matchbox stuck up out of the saucer. There
would be more matches in Dan's coat pocket. She took away the matches and
the razor.
Her mother stood waiting in the doorway of her room, small and piteous in
her nightgown. Her eyes glanced off the razor, and blinked.
"Is Dan all right?"
"Yes. He came back with the sheep."