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Page 36
We walked on for some distance in silence, then he added: 'That was
four years ago. You wonder why I live to tell you of it, why I
haven't cut my throat. I don't know whether it's cowardice or
conscientious scruples. It seems rather inconsequent to say that I
believe in a God, doesn't it?--that I believe one's life is not one's
own to make an end of? Anyhow, here I am, keeping body and soul
together as musician to a _brasserie-�-femmes_. I can't go back
to England, I can't leave Bordeaux--she's buried here. I've
hunted high and low for work, and found it nowhere save in the
_brasserie-�-femmes_. With that, and a little copying now and then, I
manage to pay my way.'
'But your uncle?' I asked.
'Do you think I would touch a penny of his money?' Pair retorted,
almost fiercely. 'It was he who began it. My wife let herself die. It
was virtual suicide. It was he who created the situation that drove
her to it.'
'You are his heir, though, aren't you?'
'No, the estates are not entailed.'
We had arrived at the door of my hotel. 'Well, good-night and _bon
voyage_,' he said.
'You needn't wish me _bon voyage_,' I answered. 'Of course I'm not
leaving Bordeaux for the present.'
'Oh, yes, you are. You're going on to Biarritz to-morrow morning, as
you intended.'
And herewith began a long and most painful struggle. I could persuade
him to accept no help of any sort from me. 'What I can't do for
myself,' he declared, 'I'll do without. My dear fellow, all that you
propose is contrary to the laws of Nature. One man can't keep
another--it's an impossible relation. And I won't be kept; I won't be
a burden. Besides, to tell you the truth, I've got past caring. The
situation you find me in seems terrible to you; to me it's no worse
than another. You see, I'm hardened; I've got past caring.'
'At any rate,' I insisted, 'I shan't go on to Biarritz. I'll spend my
holiday here, and we can see each other every day. What time shall we
meet to-morrow?'
'No, no, I can't meet you again. Don't ask me to; you mean it kindly,
I know, but you're mistaken. It's done me good to talk it all out to
you, but I can't meet you again. I've got no heart for friendship,
and--you remind me too keenly of many things.'
'But if I come to the _brasserie_ to-morrow night?'
'Oh, if you do that, you'll oblige me to throw up my employment
there, and hide from you. You must promise not to come again--you must
respect my wishes.'
'You're cruel, you know.'
'Perhaps, perhaps. But I think I'm only reasonable. Anyhow, good-bye.'
He shook my hand hurriedly, and moved off. What could I do? I stood
looking after him till he had vanished in the night, with a miserable
baffled recognition of my helplessness to help him.
A RESPONSIBILITY
It has been an episode like a German sentence, with its predicate at
the end. Trifling incidents occurred at haphazard, as it seemed, and I
never guessed they were by way of making sense. Then, this morning,
somewhat of the suddenest, came the verb and the full stop.
Yesterday I should have said there was nothing to tell; to-day there
is too much. The announcement of his death has caused me to review our
relations, with the result of discovering my own part to have been
that of an accessory before the fact. I did not kill him (though, even
there, I'm not sure I didn't lend a hand), but I might have saved his
life. It is certain that he made me signals of distress--faint, shy,
tentative, but unmistakable--and that I pretended not to understand:
just barely dipped my colours, and kept my course. Oh, if I had
dreamed that his distress was extreme--that he was on the point of
foundering and going down! However, that doesn't exonerate me: I ought
to have turned aside to find out. It was a case of criminal
negligence. That he, poor man, probably never blamed me, only adds to
the burden on my conscience. He had got past blaming people, I dare
say, and doubtless merely lumped me with the rest--with the sum-total
of things that made life unsupportable. Yet, for a moment, when we
first met, his face showed a distinct glimmering of hope; so perhaps
there was a distinct disappointment. He must have had so many
disappointments, before it came to--what it came to; but it wouldn't
have come to that if he had got hardened to them. Possibly they had
lost their outlines, and merged into one dull general disappointment
that was too hard to bear. I wonder whether the Priest and the Levite
were smitten with remorse after they had passed on. Unfortunately, in
this instance, no good Samaritan followed.
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