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CHAPTER V |
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PAUL LAUNCHES INTO LIFE （I） MOREL was rather a heedless man, careless of danger. So he hadendless accidents. Now, when Mrs. Morel heard the rattle of an emptycoal-cart cease at her entry-end, she ran into the parlour to look,expecting almost to see her husband seated in the waggon, his facegrey under his dirt, his body limp and sick with some hurt or other. If it were he, she would run out to help. About a year after William went to London, and just after Paulhad left school, before he got work, Mrs. Morel was upstairs and herson was painting in the kitchen--he was very clever with his brush--whenthere came a knock at the door. Crossly he put down his brush to go. At the same moment his mother opened a window upstairs and looked down. A pit-lad in his dirt stood on the threshold. "Is this Walter Morel's?" he asked. "Yes," said Mrs. Morel. "What is it?" But she had guessed already. "Your mester's got hurt," he said. "Eh, dear me!" she exclaimed. "It's a wonder if he hadn't, lad. And what's he done this time?" "I don't know for sure, but it's 'is leg somewhere. They ta'ein''im ter th' 'ospital." "Good gracious me!" she exclaimed. "Eh, dear, what a one he is! There's not five minutes of peace, I'll be hanged if there is! His thumb's nearly better, and now--- Did you see him?" "I seed him at th' bottom. An' I seed 'em bring 'im up ina tub, an' 'e wor in a dead faint. But he shouted like anythinkwhen Doctor Fraser examined him i' th' lamp cabin--an' cossed an'swore, an' said as 'e wor goin' to be ta'en whoam--'e worn't goin'ter th' 'ospital." The boy faltered to an end. "He WOULD want to come home, so that I can have all the bother. Thank you, my lad. Eh, dear, if I'm not sick--sick and surfeited,I am!" She came downstairs. Paul had mechanically resumed his painting. "And it must be pretty bad if they've taken him to the hospital,"she went on. "But what a CARELESS creature he is! OTHER men don'thave all these accidents. Yes, he WOULD want to put all the burdenon me. Eh, dear, just as we WERE getting easy a bit at last. Put those things away, there's no time to be painting now. What timeis there a train? I know I s'll have to go trailing to Keston. I s'll have to leave that bedroom." "I can finish it," said Paul. "You needn't. I shall catch the seven o'clock back,I should think. Oh, my blessed heart, the fuss and commotionhe'll make! And those granite setts at Tinder Hill--he mightwell call them kidney pebbles--they'll jolt him almost to bits. I wonder why they can't mend them, the state they're in, an'all the men as go across in that ambulance. You'd think they'dhave a hospital here. The men bought the ground, and, my sirs,there'd be accidents enough to keep it going. But no, they musttrail them ten miles in a slow ambulance to Nottingham. It's acrying shame! Oh, and the fuss he'll make! I know he will! I wonder who's with him. Barker, I s'd think. Poor beggar,he'll wish himself anywhere rather. But he'll look after him, I know. Now there's no telling how long he'll be stuck in that hospital--andWON'T he hate it! But if it's only his leg it's not so bad." All the time she was getting ready. Hurriedly taking off herbodice, she crouched at the boilerwhile the water ran slowly into her lading-can. "I wish this boiler was at the bottom of the sea!" she exclaimed,wriggling the handle impatiently. She had very handsome, strong arms,rather surprising on a smallish woman. Paul cleared away, put on the kettle, and set the table. "There isn't a train till four-twenty," he said. "You've time enough." "Oh no, I haven't!" she cried, blinking at him over the towelas she wiped her face. "Yes, you have. You must drink a cup of tea at any rate. Should I come with you to Keston?" "Come with me? What for, I should like to know? Now, what haveI to take him? Eh, dear! His clean shirt--and it's a blessing itIS clean. But it had better be aired. And stockings--he won't wantthem--and a towel, I suppose; and handkerchiefs. Now what else?" "A comb, a knife and fork and spoon," said Paul. His fatherhad been in the hospital before. "Goodness knows what sort of state his feet were in,"continued Mrs. Morel, as she combed her long brown hair, that wasfine as silk, and was touched now with grey. "He's very particularto wash himself to the waist, but below he thinks doesn't matter. But there, I suppose they see plenty like it." Paul had laid the table. He cut his mother one or two piecesof very thin bread and butter. "Here you are," he said, putting her cup of tea in her place. "I can't be bothered!" she exclaimed crossly. "Well, you've got to, so there, now it's put out ready,"he insisted. So she sat down and sipped her tea, and ate a little, in silence. She was thinking. In a few minutes she was gone, to walk the two and a half milesto Keston Station. All the things she was taking him she had in herbulging string bag. Paul watched her go up the road between thehedges--a little, quick-stepping figure, and his heart ached for her,that she was thrust forward again into pain and trouble. And she,tripping so quickly in her anxiety, felt at the back of her herson's heart waiting on her, felt him bearing what part of the burdenhe could, even supporting her. And when she was at the hospital,she thought: "It WILL upset that lad when I tell him how bad it is. I'd better be careful." And when she was trudging home again,she felt he was coming to share her burden. "Is it bad?" asked Paul, as soon as she entered the house. "It's bad enough," she replied. "What?" She sighed and sat down, undoing her bonnet-strings. Her sonwatched her face as it was lifted, and her small, work-hardened handsfingering at the bow under her chin. "Well," she answered, "it's not really dangerous, but the nursesays it's a dreadful smash. You see, a great piece of rock fellon his leg--here--and it's a compound fracture. There are piecesof bone sticking through---" "Ugh--how horrid!" exclaimed the children. "And," she continued, "of course he says he's going to die--itwouldn't be him if he didn't. 'I'm done for, my lass!' he said,looking at me. 'Don't be so silly,' I said to him. 'You're not goingto die of a broken leg, however badly it's smashed.' 'I s'll nivercome out of 'ere but in a wooden box,' he groaned. 'Well,' I said,'if you want them to carry you into the garden in a wooden box,when you're better, I've no doubt they will.' 'If we think it'sgood for him,' said the Sister. She's an awfully nice Sister,but rather strict." Mrs. Morel took off her bonnet. The children waited in silence. "Of course, he IS bad," she continued, "and he will be. It's a great shock, and he's lost a lot of blood; and, of course,it IS a very dangerous smash. It's not at all sure that it will mendso easily. And then there's the fever and the mortification--if it tookbad ways he'd quickly be gone. But there, he's a clean-blooded man,with wonderful healing flesh, and so I see no reason why it SHOULDtake bad ways. Of course there's a wound---" She was pale now with emotion and anxiety. The three childrenrealised that it was very bad for their father, and the housewas silent, anxious. "But he always gets better," said Paul after a while. "That's what I tell him," said the mother. Everybody moved about in silence. "And he really looked nearly done for," she said. "But theSister says that is the pain." Annie took away her mother's coat and bonnet. "And he looked at me when I came away! I said: 'I s'llhave to go now, Walter, because of the train--and the children.' And he looked at me. It seems hard." Paul took up his brush again and went on painting. Arthur wentoutside for some coal. Annie sat looking dismal. And Mrs. Morel,in her little rocking-chair that her husband had made for herwhen the first baby was coming, remained motionless, brooding. She was grieved, and bitterly sorry for the man who was hurt so much. But still, in her heart of hearts, where the love should have burned,there was a blank. Now, when all her woman's pity was roused to itsfull extent, when she would have slaved herself to death to nursehim and to save him, when she would have taken the pain herself,if she could, somewhere far away inside her, she felt indifferentto him and to his suffering. It hurt her most of all, this failureto love him, even when he roused her strong emotions. She broodeda while. "And there," she said suddenly, "when I'd got halfway to Keston,I found I'd come out in my working boots--and LOOK at them." They were an old pair of Paul's, brown and rubbed through atthe toes. "I didn't know what to do with myself, for shame,"she added. In the morning, when Annie and Arthur were at school, Mrs. Moreltalked again to her son, who was helping her with her housework. "I found Barker at the hospital. He did look bad,poor little fellow! 'Well,' I said to him, 'what sort of ajourney did you have with him?' 'Dunna ax me, missis!' he said. 'Ay,' I said, 'I know what he'd be.' 'But it WOR bad for him,Mrs. Morel, it WOR that!' he said. 'I know,' I said. 'At ivry joltI thought my 'eart would ha' flown clean out o' my mouth,' he said. 'An' the scream 'e gives sometimes! Missis, not for a fortune wouldI go through wi' it again.' 'I can quite understand it,' I said. 'It's a nasty job, though,' he said, 'an' one as'll be a longwhile afore it's right again.' 'I'm afraid it will,' I said. I like Mr. Barker--I DO like him. There's something so manlyabout him." Paul resumed his task silently. "And of course," Mrs. Morel continued, "for a man like your father,the hospital IS hard. He CAN'T understand rules and regulations. And he won't let anybody else touch him, not if he can help it. When he smashed the muscles of his thigh, and it had to be dressedfour times a day, WOULD he let anybody but me or his mother do it? He wouldn't. So, of course, he'll suffer in there with the nurses. And I didn't like leaving him. I'm sure, when I kissed him an' came away,it seemed a shame." So she talked to her son, almost as if she were thinkingaloud to him, and he took it in as best he could, by sharing hertrouble to lighten it. And in the end she shared almost everythingwith him without knowing. Morel had a very bad time. For a week he was in acritical condition. Then he began to mend. And then, knowing hewas going to get better, the whole family sighed with relief,and proceeded to live happily. They were not badly off whilst Morel was in the hospital. There were fourteen shillings a week from the pit, ten shillingsfrom the sick club, and five shillings from the Disability Fund;and then every week the butties had something for Mrs. Morel--fiveor seven shillings--so that she was quite well to do. And whilstMorel was progressing favourably in the hospital, the family wasextraordinarily happy and peaceful. On Saturdays and WednesdaysMrs. Morel went to Nottingham to see her husband. Then she alwaysbrought back some little thing: a small tube of paints for Paul,or some thick paper; a couple of postcards for Annie, that the wholefamily rejoiced over for days before the girl was allowed to sendthem away; or a fret-saw for Arthur, or a bit of pretty wood. She described her adventures into the big shops with joy. Soon the folk in the picture-shop knew her, and knew about Paul. The girl in the book-shop took a keen interest in her. Mrs. Morelwas full of information when she got home from Nottingham. The threesat round till bed-time, listening, putting in, arguing. Then Pauloften raked the fire. "I'm the man in the house now," he used to say to his motherwith joy. They learned how perfectly peaceful the home could be. And they almost regretted--though none of them would have owned tosuch callousness--that their father was soon coming back. Paul was now fourteen, and was looking for work. He was arather small and rather finely-made boy, with dark brown hair andlight blue eyes. His face had already lost its youthful chubbiness,and was becoming somewhat like William's--rough-featured, almostrugged--and it was extraordinarily mobile. Usually he lookedas if he saw things, was full of life, and warm; then his smile,like his mother's, came suddenly and was very lovable; and then,when there was any clog in his soul's quick running, his face wentstupid and ugly. He was the sort of boy that becomes a clownand a lout as soon as he is not understood, or feels himselfheld cheap; and, again, is adorable at the first touch of warmth. He suffered very much from the first contact with anything. When he was seven, the starting school had been a nightmare and atorture to him. But afterwards he liked it. And now that he felthe had to go out into life, he went through agonies of shrinkingself-consciousness. He was quite a clever painter for a boy of his years,and he knew some French and German and mathematics that Mr. Heatonhad taught him. But nothing he had was of any commercial value. He was not strong enough for heavy manual work, his mother said. He did not care for making things with his hands, preferred racing about,or making excursions into the country, or reading, or painting. "What do you want to be?" his mother asked. "Anything." "That is no answer," said Mrs. Morel. But it was quite truthfully the only answer he could give. His ambition, as far as this world's gear went, was quietly to earnhis thirty or thirty-five shillings a week somewhere near home,and then, when his father died, have a cottage with his mother,paint and go out as he liked, and live happy ever after. That was hisprogramme as far as doing things went. But he was proud within himself,measuring people against himself, and placing them, inexorably. And hethought that PERHAPS he might also make a painter, the real thing. But that he left alone. "Then," said his mother, "you must look in the paperfor the advertisements." He looked at her. It seemed to him a bitter humiliationand an anguish to go through. But he said nothing. When he got upin the morning, his whole being was knotted up over this one thought: "I've got to go and look for advertisements for a job." It stood in front of the morning, that thought, killing alljoy and even life, for him. His heart felt like a tight knot. And then, at ten o'clock, he set off. He was supposed to bea queer, quiet child. Going up the sunny street of the little town,he felt as if all the folk he met said to themselves: "He's goingto the Co-op. reading-room to look in the papers for a place. He can't get a job. I suppose he's living on his mother." Then hecrept up the stone stairs behind the drapery shop at the Co-op.,and peeped in the reading-room. Usually one or two men were there,either old, useless fellows, or colliers "on the club". So he entered,full of shrinking and suffering when they looked up, seated himself atthe table, and pretended to scan the news. He knew they would think: "What does a lad of thirteen want in a reading-room with a newspaper?"and he suffered. Then he looked wistfully out of the window. Already he wasa prisoner of industrialism. Large sunflowers stared over theold red wall of the garden opposite, looking in their jolly waydown on the women who were hurrying with something for dinner. The valley was full of corn, brightening in the sun. Two collieries,among the fields, waved their small white plumes of steam. Far offon the hills were the woods of Annesley, dark and fascinating. Already his heart went down. He was being taken into bondage. His freedom in the beloved home valley was going now. The brewers' waggons came rolling up from Keston with enormousbarrels, four a side, like beans in a burst bean-pod. The waggoner,throned aloft, rolling massively in his seat, was not so muchbelow Paul's eye. The man's hair, on his small, bullet head,was bleached almost white by the sun, and on his thick red arms,rocking idly on his sack apron, the white hairs glistened. His red face shone and was almost asleep with sunshine. The horses,handsome and brown, went on by themselves, looking by far the mastersof the show. Paul wished he were stupid. "I wish," he thought to himself,"I was fat like him, and like a dog in the sun. I wish I was a pigand a brewer's waggoner." Then, the room being at last empty, he would hastily copyan advertisement on a scrap of paper, then another, and slipout in immense relief. His mother would scan over his copies. "Yes," she said, "you may try." William had written out a letter of application, couched inadmirable business language, which Paul copied, with variations. The boy's handwriting was execrable, so that William, who did allthings well, got into a fever of impatience. The elder brother was becoming quite swanky. In London he foundthat he could associate with men far above his Bestwood friendsin station. Some of the clerks in the office had studied for the law,and were more or less going through a kind of apprenticeship. William always made friends among men wherever he went, he was so jolly. Therefore he was soon visiting and staying in houses of men who,in Bestwood, would have looked down on the unapproachable bank manager,and would merely have called indifferently on the Rector. So he beganto fancy himself as a great gun. He was, indeed, rather surprisedat the ease with which he became a gentleman. His mother was glad, he seemed so pleased. And his lodgingin Walthamstow was so dreary. But now there seemed to come a kindof fever into the young man's letters. He was unsettled by allthe change, he did not stand firm on his own feet, but seemed to spinrather giddily on the quick current of the new life. His mother wasanxious for him. She could feel him losing himself. He had dancedand gone to the theatre, boated on the river, been out with friends;and she knew he sat up afterwards in his cold bedroom grinding awayat Latin, because he intended to get on in his office, and in thelaw as much as he could. He never sent his mother any money now. It was all taken, the little he had, for his own life. And shedid not want any, except sometimes, when she was in a tight corner,and when ten shillings would have saved her much worry. She stilldreamed of William, and of what he would do, with herself behind him. Never for a minute would she admit to herself how heavy and anxiousher heart was because of him. Also he talked a good deal now of a girl he had met at a dance,a handsome brunette, quite young, and a lady, after whom the menwere running thick and fast. "I wonder if you would run, my boy," his mother wroteto him, "unless you saw all the other men chasing her too. You feel safe enough and vain enough in a crowd. But take care,and see how you feel when you find yourself alone, and in triumph." William resented these things, and continued the chase. He hadtaken the girl on the river. "If you saw her, mother, you wouldknow how I feel. Tall and elegant, with the clearest of clear,transparent olive complexions, hair as black as jet, and suchgrey eyes--bright, mocking, like lights on water at night. It is all very well to be a bit satirical till you see her. And she dresses as well as any woman in London. I tell you,your son doesn't half put his head up when she goes walking downPiccadilly with him." Mrs. Morel wondered, in her heart, if her son did not gowalking down Piccadilly with an elegant figure and fine clothes,rather than with a woman who was near to him. But she congratulatedhim in her doubtful fashion. And, as she stood over the washing-tub,the mother brooded over her son. She saw him saddled with anelegant and expensive wife, earning little money, dragging alongand getting draggled in some small, ugly house in a suburb. "But there," she told herself, "I am very likely a silly--meetingtrouble halfway." Nevertheless, the load of anxiety scarcely everleft her heart, lest William should do the wrong thing by himself. Presently, Paul was bidden call upon Thomas Jordan,Manufacturer of Surgical Appliances, at 21, Spaniel Row, Nottingham. Mrs. Morel was all joy. "There, you see!" she cried, her eyes shining. "You've onlywritten four letters, and the third is answered. You're lucky,my boy, as I always said you were." Paul looked at the picture of a wooden leg, adorned with elasticstockings and other appliances, that figured on Mr. Jordan's notepaper,and he felt alarmed. He had not known that elastic stockings existed. And he seemed to feel the business world, with its regulated systemof values, and its impersonality, and he dreaded it. It seemedmonstrous also that a business could be run on wooden legs. Mother and son set off together one Tuesday morning. It was August and blazing hot. Paul walked with something screwed uptight inside him. He would have suffered much physical pain ratherthan this unreasonable suffering at being exposed to strangers,to be accepted or rejected. Yet he chattered away with his mother. He would never have confessed to her how he suffered over these things,and she only partly guessed. She was gay, like a sweetheart. She stood in front of the ticket-office at Bestwood, and Paul watchedher take from her purse the money for the tickets.As he saw her hands in their old black kid gloves gettingthe silver out of the worn purse, his heart contracted with painof love of her. She was quite excited, and quite gay. He suffered because sheWOULD talk aloud in presence of the other travellers. "Now look at that silly cow!" she said, "careering roundas if it thought it was a circus." "It's most likely a bottfly," he said very low. "A what?" she asked brightly and unashamed. They thought a while. He was sensible all the time of havingher opposite him. Suddenly their eyes met, and she smiled tohim--a rare, intimate smile, beautiful with brightness and love. Then each looked out of the window. The sixteen slow miles of railway journey passed. The motherand son walked down Station Street, feeling the excitement of lovershaving an adventure together. In Carrington Street they stoppedto hang over the parapet and look at the barges on the canal below. "It's just like Venice," he said, seeing the sunshineon the water that lay between high factory walls. "Perhaps," she answered, smiling. They enjoyed the shops immensely. "Now you see that blouse," she would say, "wouldn't that justsuit our Annie? And for one-and-eleven-three. Isn't that cheap?" "And made of needlework as well," he said. "Yes." They had plenty of time, so they did not hurry. The townwas strange and delightful to them. But the boy was tied up insidein a knot of apprehension. He dreaded the interview with Thomas Jordan. It was nearly eleven o'clock by St. Peter's Church. They turned up a narrow street that led to the Castle. It wasgloomy and old-fashioned, having low dark shops and dark green housedoors with brass knockers, and yellow-ochred doorsteps projectingon to the pavement; then another old shop whose small window lookedlike a cunning, half-shut eye. Mother and son went cautiously,looking everywhere for "Thomas Jordan and Son". It was like huntingin some wild place. They were on tiptoe of excitement. Suddenly they spied a big, dark archway, in which were namesof various firms, Thomas Jordan among them. "Here it is!" said Mrs. Morel. "But now WHERE is it?" They looked round. On one side was a queer, dark, cardboard factory,on the other a Commercial Hotel. "It's up the entry," said Paul. And they ventured under the archway, as into the jawsof the dragon. They emerged into a wide yard, like a well,with buildings all round. It was littered with straw and boxes,and cardboard. The sunshine actually caught one crate whose strawwas streaming on to the yard like gold. But elsewhere the placewas like a pit. There were several doors, and two flights of steps. Straight in front, on a dirty glass door at the top of a staircase,loomed the ominous words "Thomas Jordan and Son--Surgical Appliances." Mrs. Morel went first, her son followed her. Charles I mounted hisscaffold with a lighter heart than had Paul Morel as he followed hismother up the dirty steps to the dirty door. She pushed open the door, and stood in pleased surprise. In frontof her was a big warehouse, with creamy paper parcels everywhere,and clerks, with their shirt-sleeves rolled back, were going aboutin an at-home sort of way. The light was subdued, the glossy creamparcels seemed luminous, the counters were of dark brown wood. All was quiet and very homely. Mrs. Morel took two steps forward,then waited. Paul stood behind her. She had on her Sundaybonnet and a black veil; he wore a boy's broad white collar and aNorfolk suit. One of the clerks looked up. He was thin and tall, with asmall face. His way of looking was alert. Then he glanced roundto the other end of the room, where was a glass office. And thenhe came forward. He did not say anything, but leaned in a gentle,inquiring fashion towards Mrs. Morel. "Can I see Mr. Jordan?" she asked. "I'll fetch him," answered the young man. |
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