Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence, page 570
“We will stay here,” she said.
“But the lady, your mother?”
A shadow crossed her brow. She did not answer.
“What when she knows?” he said.
“She begins to know.”
“And would she hurt you?”
“Ah, not me! What I have is all my own. And I shall be big with Osiris...But thou, do you watch her slaves.”
She looked at him, and the peace of her maternity was troubled by anxiety.
“Let not your heart be troubled!” he said. “I have died the death once.”
So he knew the time was come again for him to depart. He would go alone, with his destiny. Yet not alone, for the touch would be upon him, even as he left his touch on her. And invisible suns would go with him.
Yet he must go. For here on the bay the little life of jealousy and property was resuming sway again, as the suns of passionate fecundity relaxed their sway. In the name of property, the widow and her slaves would seek to be revenged on him for the bread he had eaten, and the living touch he had established, the woman he had delighted in. But he said: “Not twice! They shall not now profane the touch in me. My wits against theirs.”
So he watched. And he knew they plotted. So he moved from the little cave and found another shelter, a tiny cove of sand by the sea, dry and secret under the rocks.
He said to the woman:
“I must go now soon. Trouble is coming to me from the slaves. But I am a man, and the world is open. But what is between us is good, and is established. Be at peace. And when the nightingale calls again from your valley-bed, I shall come again, sure as spring.”
She said: “0, don’t go! Stay with me on half the island, and I will build a house for you and me under the pine trees by the temple, where we can live apart.”
Yet she knew that he would go. And even she wanted the coolness of her own air around her, and the release from anxiety.
“If I stay,” he said, “they will betray me to the Romans and to their justice. But I will never be betrayed again. So when I am gone, live in peace with the growing child. And I shall come again: all is good between us, near or apart. The suns come back in their seasons: and I shall come again.”
“Do not go yet,” she said. “I have set a slave to watch at the neck of the peninsula. Do not go yet, till the harm shows.”
But as he lay in his little cove, on a calm, still night, he heard the soft knock of oars, and the bump of a boat against the rock. So he crept out to listen. And he heard the Roman overseer say:
“Lead softly to the goat’s den. And Lysippus shall throw the net over the malefactor while he sleeps, and we will bring him before justice, and the Lady of Isis shall know nothing of it...”
The man who had died caught a whiff of flesh from the oiled and naked slaves as they crept up, then the faint perfume of the Roman. He crept nearer to the sea. The slave who sat in the boat sat motionless, holding the oars, for the sea was quite still. And the man who had died knew him.
So out of the deep cleft of a rock he said, in a clear voice:
“Art thou not that slave who possessed the maiden under the eyes of Isis? Art thou not the youth? Speak!”
The youth stood up in the boat in terror. His movement sent the boat bumping against the rock. The slave sprang out in wild fear, and fled up the rocks. The man who had died quickly seized the boat and stepped in, and pushed off. The oars were yet warm with the unpleasant warmth of the hands of the slaves. But the man pulled slowly out, to get into the current which set down the coast, and would carry him in silence. The high coast was utterly dark against the starry night. There was no glimmer from the peninsula: the priestess came no more at night. The man who had died rowed slowly on, with the current, and laughed to himself: “I have sowed the seed of my life and my resurrection, and put my touch forever upon the choice woman of this day, and I carry her perfume in my flesh like essence of roses. She is dear to me in the middle of my being. But the gold and flowing serpent is coiling up again, to sleep at the root of my tree.”
“So let the boat carry me. To-morrow is another day.”
THE END
The Short Stories
D. H. Lawrence, Katherine Mansfield, Frieda Lawrence and John Middleton Murry at their wedding in 1914
LIST OF THE SHORT STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
A PRELUDE
A FLY IN THE OINTMENT
THE OLD ADAM
LESSFORD’S RABBITS
A LESSON ON A TORTOISE
A MODERN LOVER
GOOSE FAIR
THE CHRISTENING
A FRAGMENT OF STAINED GLASS
DAUGHTERS OF THE VICAR
ODOUR OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS
HER TURN
THE MINER AT HOME
DELILAH AND MR BIRCUMSHAW
ONCE
A CHAPEL AND A HAY HUT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
NEW EVE AND OLD ADAM
LOVE AMONG THE HAYSTACKS
CHRISTS IN THE TIROL
SECOND BEST
THE SHADES OF SPRING
STRIKE-PAY
A SICK COLLIER
THE PRUSSIAN OFFICER
THE THORN IN THE FLESH
THE SHADOW IN THE ROSE GARDEN
THE WHITE STOCKING
THE THIMBLE
ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND
THE MORTAL COIL
SAMSON AND DELILAH
ADOLF
TICKETS, PLEASE
REX
YOU TOUCHED ME
THE BLIND MAN
THE WITCH A LA MODE
WINTRY PEACOCK
FANNY AND ANNIE
MONKEY NUTS
THE WILFUL WOMAN
THE HORSE DEALER’S DAUGHTER
THE PRIMROSE PATH
THE OVERTONE
THE BORDER LINE
THE PRINCESS
JIMMY AND THE DESPERATE WOMAN
THE FLYING FISH
THE WOMAN WHO RODE AWAY
SUN
SMILE
THE LAST LAUGH
GLAD GHOSTS
THE ROCKING-HORSE WINNER
MERCURY
IN LOVE
NONE OF THAT!
THE UNDYING MAN
THE MAN WHO WAS THROUGH WITH THE WORLD
THE MAN WHO LOVED ISLANDS
THE LOVELY LADY
TWO BLUE BIRDS
A DREAM OF LIFE
THINGS
THE BLUE MOCCASINS
RAWDON’S ROOF
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
LIST OF THE SHORT STORIES IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
A CHAPEL AND A HAY HUT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
A DREAM OF LIFE
A FLY IN THE OINTMENT
A FRAGMENT OF STAINED GLASS
A LESSON ON A TORTOISE
A MODERN LOVER
A PRELUDE
A SICK COLLIER
ADOLF
CHRISTS IN THE TIROL
DAUGHTERS OF THE VICAR
DELILAH AND MR BIRCUMSHAW
ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND
FANNY AND ANNIE
GLAD GHOSTS
GOOSE FAIR
HER TURN
IN LOVE
JIMMY AND THE DESPERATE WOMAN
LESSFORD’S RABBITS
LOVE AMONG THE HAYSTACKS
MERCURY
MONKEY NUTS
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
NEW EVE AND OLD ADAM
NONE OF THAT!
ODOUR OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS
ONCE
RAWDON’S ROOF
REX
SAMSON AND DELILAH
SECOND BEST
SMILE
STRIKE-PAY
SUN
THE BLIND MAN
THE BLUE MOCCASINS
THE BORDER LINE
THE CHRISTENING
THE FLYING FISH
THE HORSE DEALER’S DAUGHTER
THE LAST LAUGH
THE LOVELY LADY
THE MAN WHO LOVED ISLANDS
THE MAN WHO WAS THROUGH WITH THE WORLD
THE MINER AT HOME
THE MORTAL COIL
THE OLD ADAM
THE OVERTONE
THE PRIMROSE PATH
THE PRINCESS
THE PRUSSIAN OFFICER
THE ROCKING-HORSE WINNER
THE SHADES OF SPRING
THE SHADOW IN THE ROSE GARDEN
THE THIMBLE
THE THORN IN THE FLESH
THE UNDYING MAN
THE WHITE STOCKING
THE WILFUL WOMAN
THE WITCH A LA MODE
THE WOMAN WHO RODE AWAY
THINGS
TICKETS, PLEASE
TWO BLUE BIRDS
WINTRY PEACOCK
YOU TOUCHED ME
A PRELUDE
IN the kitchen of a small farm a little woman sat cutting bread and butter. The glow of the clear, ruddy fire was on her shining cheek and white apron; but grey hair will not take the warm caress of firelight.
She skilfully spread the softened butter, and cut off great slices from the floury loaf in her lap. Already two plates were piled, but she continued to cut.
Outside the naked ropes of the creeper tapped and lashed at the window.
The grey-haired mother looked up, and setting the butter on the hearth, rose and went to look out. The sky was heavy and grey as she saw it in the narrow band over the near black wood. So she turned and went to look through the tiny window which opened from the deep recess on the opposite side of the room. The northern sky was blacker than ever.
She turned away with a little sigh, and took a duster from the red, shining warming-pan to take the bread from the oven. Afterwards she laid the table for five.
There was a rumbling and a whirring in the corner, and the clock struck five. Like clocks in many farmers’ kitchens, it was more than half an hour fast. The little woman hurried about, bringing milk and other things from the dairy; lifting the potatoes from the fire, peeping through the window anxiously. Very often her neck ached with watching the gate for a sign of approach.
There was a click of the yard gate. She ran to the window, but turned away again, and catching up the blue enamelled teapot, dropped into it a handful of tea from the caddy, and poured on the water. A clinking scrape of iron shod boots sounded outside, then the door opened with a burst as a burly, bearded man entered. He drooped at the shoulders, and leaned forward as a man who has worked heavily all his life.
‘Hello, mother,’ he said, loudly and cheerfully. ‘Am I first? Aren’t any of the lads down yet? Fred will be here in a minute.’
‘I wish they would come,’ said his wife, ‘or else it’ll rain before they’re here.’
‘Ay,’ he assented, ‘it’s beginning, and it’s cold rain an’ all. Bit of sleet, I think,’ and he sat down heavily in his armchair, looking at his wife as she knelt and turned the bread, and took a large jar of stewed apples from the oven.
‘Well, mother,’ he said, with a pleasant comfortable little smile, ‘here’s another Christmas for you and me. They keep passing us by.’
‘Ay,’ she answered, the effects of her afternoon’s brooding now appearing. ‘They come and go, but they never find us any better off.’
‘It seems so,’ he said, a shade of regret appearing momentarily over his cheerfulness. ‘This year we’ve certainly had some very bad luck. But we keep straight — and we never regret that Christmas, see, it’s twenty-seven years since — twenty-seven years.’
‘No, perhaps not, but there’s Fred as hasn’t had above three pounds for the whole year’s work, and the other two at the pit.’
‘Well, what can I do? If I hadn’t lost the biggest part of the hay, and them two beasts —’
‘If —! Besides what prospects has he? Here he is working year in year out for you and getting nothing at the end of it. When you were his age, when you were 25, you were married and had two children. How can he ask anybody to marry him?’
‘I don’t know that he wants to. He’s fairly contented. Don’t be worrying about him and upsetting him. He’d only go and leave us if he got married. Besides, we may have a good year next year, and we can make this up.’
‘Ay, so you say.’
‘Don’t fret yourself to-night, lass. It’s true, things haven’t gone as we hoped they would. I never thought to see you doing all the work you have to do, but we’ve been very comfortable, all things considered, haven’t we?’
‘I never thought to see my first lad a farm labourer at 25, and the other two in the pit. Two of my sons in the pit!’
‘I’m sure I’ve done what I could, and’ — but they heard a scraping outside, and he said no more.
The eldest son tramped in, his great boots and his leggings all covered with mud. He took off his wet overcoat, and stood on the hearthrug, his hands spread out behind him in the warmth of the fire.
Looking smilingly at his mother, as she moved about the kitchen, he said:
‘You do look warm and cosy, mother. When I was coming up with the last load, I thought of you trotting about in that big, white apron, getting tea ready, watching the weather. There are the lads. Aren’t you quite contented now — perfectly happy?’
She laughed an odd little laugh, and poured out the tea. The boys came in from the pit, wet and dirty, with clean streaks down their faces where the rain had trickled. They changed their clothes and sat at the table. The elder was a big, heavy loosely-made fellow, with a long nose and chin, and comical wrinkling round his eyes. The younger, Arthur, was a handsome lad, dark-haired, with ruddy colour glowing through his dirt, and dark eyes. When he talked and laughed the red of his lips and the whiteness of his teeth and eyeballs stood out in startling contrast to the surrounding black.
‘Mother, I’m glad to see thee,’ he said, looking at her with frank, boyish affection.
‘There, mother, what more can you want?’ asked her husband.
She took a bite of bread and butter, and looked up with a quaint, comical glance, as if she were given only her just dues, but for all that it pleased and amused her, only she was half shy, and a grain doubtful.
‘Lad,’ said Henry. ‘It’s Christmas Eve. The fire ought to burn its brightest.’
‘Yes. I will have just another potato, seeing as Christmas is the time for feeding. What are we going to do? Are we going to have a party, mother?’
‘Yes, if you want one.’
‘Party,’ laughed the father, ‘who’d come?’
‘We might ask somebody. We could have Nellie Wycherley, who used to come, an’ David Garton.’
‘We shall not do for Nellie nowadays,’ said the father, ‘I saw her on Sunday morning on the top road. She was drivin’ home with another young woman, an’ she stopped an’ asked me if we’d got any holly with berries on, an’ I said we hadn’t.’
Fred looked up from the book he was reading over tea. He had dark brown eyes, something like his mother’s, and they always drew attention when he turned them on anyone.
‘There is a tree covered in the wood,’ he said.
‘Well,’ answered the irresistible Henry, ‘that’s not ours, is it? An’ if she’s got that proud she won’t come near to see us, am I goin’ choppin’ trees down for her? If she’d come here an’ say she wanted a bit, I’d fetch her half the wood in but when she sits in the trap and looks down on you an’ asks, ‘Do you happen to hev a bush of berried holly in your hedges? Preston can’t find a sprig to decorate the house, and I hev some people coming down from town,’ then I tell her we’re all crying because we’ve none to decorate ourselves, and we want it the more ’cause nobody’s coming, neither from th’ town nor th’ country, an’ we’re likely to forget it’s Christmas if we’ve neither folks nor things to remind us.’
‘What did she say?’ asked the mother.
‘She said she was sorry, an’ I told her not to bother, it’s better lookin’ at folks than at bits o’ holly. The other lass was laughing, an’ she wanted to know what folks. I told her any as hadn’t got more pricks than a holly bush to keep you off.’
‘Ha! ha!’ laughed the father; ‘did she take it?’
‘The other girl nudged her, and they both began a laughing. Then Nellie told me to send down the guysers to-night. I said I would, but they’re not going now.’
‘Why not?’ asked Fred.
‘Billy Simpson’s got a gathered face, an’ Wardy’s gone to Nottingham.’
‘The company down at Ramsley Mill will have nobody to laugh at to-night,’ said Arthur.
‘Tell ye what,’ exclaimed Henry, ‘we’ll go.’
‘How can we, three of us?’ asked Arthur.
‘Well,’ persisted Henry, ‘we could dress up so as they’d niver know us, an’ hae a bit o’ fun. Hey!’ he suddenly shouted to Fred, who was reading, and taking no notice, ‘Hey, we’re going to the Mill guysering.’
‘Who is?’ asked the elder brother, somewhat surprised.
‘You an’ me, an’ our Arthur. I'll be Beelzebub.’
Here he distorted his face to look diabolic, so that everybody roared.
‘Go,’ said his father, ‘you’ll make our fortunes.’
‘What!’ he exclaimed, ‘by making a fool of myself? They say fools for luck. What fools wise folk must be. Well, I'll be the devil — are you shocked, mother? What will you be, Arthur?’
‘I don’t care,’ was the answer. ‘We can put some of that red paint on our faces, and some soot, they’d never know us. Shall we go, Fred?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why, I should like to see her with her company, to see if she has very fine airs. We could leave some holly for her in the scullery.’
‘All right, then.’
After tea all helped with the milking and feeding. Then Fred took a hedge knife and a hurricane lamp and went into the wood to cut some of the richly berried holly. When he got back he found his brothers roaring with laughter before the mirror. They were smeared with red and black, and had fastened on grotesque horsehair moustaches, so that they were entirely unrecognisable.
‘Oh, you are hideous,’ cried their mother. ‘Oh, it’s shameful to disfigure the work of the Almighty like that.’
