Transit

NINETEEN

They did not start until late in the morning. Tom held no brief for what he called ‘the exploring jaunt’. He voiced his objections loudly. What if they got lost? What if they ran into something they couldn’t handle? What if the golden people found out they had gone and decided, in view of the reduced garrison, to attack Camp Two?

Avery met all his objections stolidly. They wouldn’t get lost because they would stick to the coast. They wouldn’t run into anything they couldn’t handle, because they would take damn good care to avoid it. If the golden people had had it in mind to attack Camp Two, they could have found several perfectly good opportunities during the last few months; and anyway it was psychologically bad to let fear of attack dominate their lives all the time. It made for stagnation and withdrawal.

‘I think you’re a bloody nut case,’ said Tom with heat. ‘If you want to take risks, that’s up to you—but why you have to drag Barbara off on this damnfool jaunt is completely beyond me.’

‘I am not exactly dragging her with me,’ retorted Avery drily. ‘In fact, I’d be perfectly happy if she didn’t come.’

‘Well, I am coming, and that’s an end of it,’ snapped Barbara.

Tom looked at them both in bewilderment.

‘How long do you think you’ll be away?’

‘Can’t say. Perhaps three or four days.’

‘Not good enough,’ said Tom. ‘You must fix a definite limit. If you aren’t back by then, we’ll assume the worst and plan accordingly.’

‘In that case,’ said Avery, with sarcasm; ‘what would you propose to do?’

‘That’s our business,’ said Tom shortly. ‘But you can bet your boots we propose to stay alive.’

‘I hardly expected you to harbour the death-wish.’

‘No. It’s a damn good job it isn’t infectious,’ said Tom meaningly.

‘We’ll be back by the end of the fourth day, if that makes you feel any happier,’ said Avery.

Strangely enough, Mary, the most timid one, was not against the venture. She was, in many respects, much wiser than Tom; and she sensed that there was a great deal more to Avery’s obsession to find fresh woods and pastures new than was immediately apparent.

‘Look after yourselves,’ she said gently. ‘Maybe Richard is right. Maybe we are sinking into a rut—’

Anyway, it should be exciting. We’ll have a party when you get back. It’s the best excuse that’s come up for a long time.’ She kissed Barbara on the cheek, then turned to Avery. ‘You’d better take special care of her, or I shall be really cross.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

Suddenly, Avery and Tom found themselves shaking hands.

‘If you find any gold mines, send me a telegram,’ said Tom.

Avery smiled. ‘If They drop by with a bunch of return tickets to Earth, tell them we’ll wait for the next ship.’

It was a hot morning. For some weeks it had seemed that the days were getting hotter and longer. Avery had formed a tentative theory that they had arrived on the planet in the winter season, and that it was now high summer. As he climbed down the ladder from Camp Two he was already sweating heavily. Maybe it would be a good idea to rest a little in the afternoon and save the main travelling spell until the relative cool of the evening.

His plan—if it could be dignified by such a name—was simply an extension of that one early and abortive attempt at exploration. He proposed to travel mainly along the coast—this time in the opposite direction— and, perhaps, on the way, make one or two sample probes inland. On the whole, travelling along the coast should be easier and faster than a long inland journey; and he also felt there would be less chance of being surprised by the golden people.

For obvious reasons, he and Barbara were travelling light. They took one of the large sleeping bags that They had provided, a couple of old whisky bottles that now did duty as water bottles, Avery’s pocket gas lighter (for which They had even provided refills), a packet of cigarettes—though both of them only smoked rarely—a first-aid kit and the standard equipment of hunting knives and tomahawks.

Tom had wanted them to take the gun, but Avery refused. He felt that since the garrison was being reduced, Camp Two should be left as secure as possible.

The ground they covered on the first morning, being nearer to camp, had already been gone over several times. It held no surprises. Avery, with the sleeping bag hanging in a neat roll over his shoulder, set a fast pace, as if he were impatient to get away from the known into the unknown. Barbara had difficulty keeping up with him. For the most part, they walked in silence.

After a couple of hours, they were both drenched in perspiration. The heat of the day had intensified, and even Avery felt that it would be far too tiring to attempt to walk through the afternoon.

They cut away from the shore and found a pleasant patch of grass, shaded by trees. While Barbara sank gratefully down on it, Avery went to collect fruit for lunch.

They slept and dozed almost till sundown. They did not lie in each other’s arms. It was too hot for that and, besides, they were both still acutely conscious of what had happened the previous night.

The remainder of the fruit was finished off for the evening meal. They ate it as the sun, red and enormous, slipped smoothly over the edge of their world. The air had been still and heavy, but twilight brought an invigorating drift of coolness in from the sea. They went down to the shore, bathed their feet luxuriously and began to walk once more.

The coast rippled like a serpent. Sometimes, the shore disappeared and they had to find their way over small cliffs. Twice they had to wade across streams. But the going was not too difficult; and the twin moons, hanging in the sky like remote Hallowe’en lanterns, cast an entrancing silver haze over the land and the sea.

Presently the air became unnaturally clear, and the sky was shot through with stars. From being depressed, Avery was suddenly exhilarated to a pitch of ecstasy. He felt he had never seen so many stars. They were like fire crystals lining the black velvet pocket of the universe: they were like glow-worms in a celestial forest.

The ecstasy intensified. He was no longer conscious of fatigue. He was hardly conscious of walking. And Barbara had ceased to exist.

At least, she ceased to exist until, after several hours, she said quietly: ‘Sorry, Richard, I don’t think I can go on any longer.’

He looked at her, surprised. Not surprised that she was tired, but surprised that she was actually there with him. They were on a smooth strip of sand that seemed to be absolutely and geometrically straight, stretching before and behind them uatil it was lost in the darkness.

At the sound of Barbara’s voice, Avery felt oddly like a sleepwalker jerked out of his private dreamscape into a puzzling world of reality. He stood looking at her, almost without recognition. It was several seconds before he pulled himself together sufficiently to take in the meaning of what she had said.

‘Well, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t sleep here just where we are,’ he managed to say. He dropped the sleeping bag and began to unroll it.

Barbara started to undress. ‘I’m going to bathe. Maybe it will take a bit of the weariness out of my limbs.’

Avery said nothing. He sat on the sleeping bag and lit a cigarette. He inhaled, and there was a burning sensation in his throat. The cigarettes had been kept too long. They wouldn’t be fit for smoking much longer. Not that it mattered. He threw away the one he had just lit.

Barbara stood naked and stretched her arms luxuriously, revelling in the cool touch of the breeze.

Avery looked at her. She was all silver. Silver hair, silver shoulders, arms, breasts and body; slender silver legs. Only her face, half turned to the sea, was hidden in shadow.

He thought that he was seeing her—really seeing her —for the first time. Not the Barbara of Camp Two, not the ex-TV actress who used to need whisky, not even the patient creature with whom he had half-heartedly attempted to enter into the conspiracy of sex. But someone he had never known. A stranger, or perhaps a witch-girl Or just a woman…. Just Woman—

The moment was hypnotic. It was only a moment, but it was hours. He was drowning in things he didn’t understand. He was drowning in a whirlpool of life—his life. The pictures danced around him—around Barbara— crazy, kaleidoscopic. Fragments of the days when he could paint, fragments of his life with Christine, fragments of Christine herself—they all whirled about him like the tom pieces of a photograph…. Or like the contents of a museum razed by a hurricane….

Only Barbara stood still, a living column of silver—the still centre of a darkly spinning world.

He wanted to paint again. He wanted to paint a stranger, a witch-girl, a woman. He wanted to paint in colours that could not exist. He wanted to make patterns that had never been seen before. He wanted to snatch unimaginable contours from many dimensions.

But the moment had ended. She turned and ran towards the sea.

‘Barbara! ’ he called. But either she did not hear or she did not want to hear. The moment had gone.

He was left breathless, dazed, appalled. Barbara was already in the sea, a silver woman in a silver ocean.

Surely none of it—and the thought made him afraid— surely none of it could be real?

But it was real, disconcertingly real. Even painfully real….

It was too real. He wanted to exorcize it.

He wanted to think of Christine, and couldn’t. He wanted to see her, feel her near, listen to words frozen by time. He stared at the sky, but there were only the stars. He stared at the beach, but there was only the sand. The ghost—his only insurance against participating in all the lovely, unnerving pangs of life—the sweet, sad ghost would not come.

He stared at the water. For a splintering second, he could see nothing but the swell of a great liquid mirror. He was alone in the universe, because life had decided to wait for him no longer. Then suddenly Barbara’s head broke the surface, and drops of water fell from it like dying stars. And he was no longer alone.

He wanted to call out to her, but the words would not come—not the right ones. Instead he began to tear feverishly at his clothes and shoes, hysterically afraid that he would lose something he had not even had time to know that he had found.

Avery ran down to the water, plunged in and began to swim towards her. She seemed to think it was some kind of game, for she dived away from him and was lost under the mirror. The water came up a little above his waist. He stood there uncertainly, wondering where she could be.

Barbara surfaced behind him. He spun round and gripped her shoulders. A look told her, even before he did. A strange look. An angry tenderness….

‘I love you!’ he cried in a loud and surprised voice. ‘I love you! I love you!’ He felt like a blind man with the sudden, terrible gift of sight.

‘Darling,’ whispered Barbara. ‘Oh, darling.’ She clung to him with a great fierceness, as if there was much pain to be driven away by sheer pressure before they could hold each other gently and in peace.

Presently, he carried her back to the beach. It was not a time for words. They lay down and made love with more joy than passion.

Then they talked.

And presently, Barbara said: ‘Darling…. Darling…. Love me again—please.’

And this time the passion was as great as the joy.

At first, they wanted the night to have no ending. At first, they wanted to smash the invisible glass of time with a tremendous hammer blow of love. But then it came upon them—a discovery that seemed, itself, to be time-shattering—that love need not end with the night, that it could rise with the sun, blaze radiantly at noon, stir mysteriously and darkly with the shadows of evening.

They discovered, as for the first time, the impossible unending promise of tomorrow.

Presently, aching with all the pleasurable aches of passion, dazed and even joyously hurt with the sharpness of their love, they managed to get as far as the sleeping bag—and then shared and joined and finally demolished the two separate lonelinesses of their lives, in the short remaining hours of darkness.