The Greatest Works of D. H. Lawrence. D. H. Lawrence

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СКАЧАТЬ himself in his brown blanket, crouched in front of his mother, watching. She looked dreadful, with the bottom jaw fallen back. He watched. Sometimes he thought the great breath would never begin again. He could not bear it—the waiting. Then suddenly, startling him, came the great harsh sound. He mended the fire again, noiselessly. She must not be disturbed. The minutes went by. The night was going, breath by breath. Each time the sound came he felt it wring him, till at last he could not feel so much.

      His father got up. Paul heard the miner drawing his stockings on, yawning. Then Morel, in shirt and stockings, entered.

      “Hush!” said Paul.

      Morel stood watching. Then he looked at his son, helplessly, and in horror.

      “Had I better stop a-whoam?” he whispered.

      “No. Go to work. She'll last through to-morrow.”

      “I don't think so.”

      “Yes. Go to work.”

      The miner looked at her again, in fear, and went obediently out of the room. Paul saw the tape of his garters swinging against his legs.

      After another half-hour Paul went downstairs and drank a cup of tea, then returned. Morel, dressed for the pit, came upstairs again.

      “Am I to go?” he said.

      “Yes.”

      And in a few minutes Paul heard his father's heavy steps go thudding over the deadening snow. Miners called in the streets as they tramped in gangs to work. The terrible, long-drawn breaths continued—heave—heave—heave; then a long pause—then—ah-h-h-h-h! as it came back. Far away over the snow sounded the hooters of the ironworks. One after another they crowed and boomed, some small and far away, some near, the blowers of the collieries and the other works. Then there was silence. He mended the fire. The great breaths broke the silence—she looked just the same. He put back the blind and peered out. Still it was dark. Perhaps there was a lighter tinge. Perhaps the snow was bluer. He drew up the blind and got dressed. Then, shuddering, he drank brandy from the bottle on the wash-stand. The snow WAS growing blue. He heard a cart clanking down the street. Yes, it was seven o'clock, and it was coming a little bit light. He heard some people calling. The world was waking. A grey, deathly dawn crept over the snow. Yes, he could see the houses. He put out the gas. It seemed very dark. The breathing came still, but he was almost used to it. He could see her. She was just the same. He wondered if he piled heavy clothes on top of her it would stop. He looked at her. That was not her—not her a bit. If he piled the blanket and heavy coats on her—

      Suddenly the door opened, and Annie entered. She looked at him questioningly.

      “Just the same,” he said calmly.

      They whispered together a minute, then he went downstairs to get breakfast. It was twenty to eight. Soon Annie came down.

      “Isn't it awful! Doesn't she look awful!” she whispered, dazed with horror.

      He nodded.

      “If she looks like that!” said Annie.

      “Drink some tea,” he said.

      They went upstairs again. Soon the neighbours came with their frightened question:

      “How is she?”

      It went on just the same. She lay with her cheek in her hand, her mouth fallen open, and the great, ghastly snores came and went.

      At ten o'clock nurse came. She looked strange and woebegone.

      “Nurse,” cried Paul, “she'll last like this for days?”

      “She can't, Mr. Morel,” said nurse. “She can't.”

      There was a silence.

      “Isn't it dreadful!” wailed the nurse. “Who would have thought she could stand it? Go down now, Mr. Morel, go down.”

      At last, at about eleven o'clock, he went downstairs and sat in the neighbour's house. Annie was downstairs also. Nurse and Arthur were upstairs. Paul sat with his head in his hand. Suddenly Annie came flying across the yard crying, half mad:

      “Paul—Paul—she's gone!”

      In a second he was back in his own house and upstairs. She lay curled up and still, with her face on her hand, and nurse was wiping her mouth. They all stood back. He kneeled down, and put his face to hers and his arms round her:

      “My love—my love—oh, my love!” he whispered again and again. “My love—oh, my love!”

      Then he heard the nurse behind him, crying, saying:

      “She's better, Mr. Morel, she's better.”

      When he took his face up from his warm, dead mother he went straight downstairs and began blacking his boots.

      There was a good deal to do, letters to write, and so on. The doctor came and glanced at her, and sighed.

      “Ay—poor thing!” he said, then turned away. “Well, call at the surgery about six for the certificate.”

      The father came home from work at about four o'clock. He dragged silently into the house and sat down. Minnie bustled to give him his dinner. Tired, he laid his black arms on the table. There were swede turnips for his dinner, which he liked. Paul wondered if he knew. It was some time, and nobody had spoken. At last the son said:

      “You noticed the blinds were down?”

      Morel looked up.

      “No,” he said. “Why—has she gone?”

      “Yes.”

      “When wor that?”

      “About twelve this morning.”

      “H'm!”

      The miner sat still for a moment, then began his dinner. It was as if nothing had happened. He ate his turnips in silence. Afterwards he washed and went upstairs to dress. The door of her room was shut.

      “Have you seen her?” Annie asked of him when he came down.

      “No,” he said.

      In a little while he went out. Annie went away, and Paul called on the undertaker, the clergyman, the doctor, the registrar. It was a long business. He got back at nearly eight o'clock. The undertaker was coming soon to measure for the coffin. The house was empty except for her. He took a candle and went upstairs.

      The room was cold, that had been warm for so long. Flowers, bottles, plates, all sick-room litter was taken away; everything was harsh and austere. She lay raised on the bed, the sweep of the sheet from the raised feet was like a clean curve of snow, so silent. She lay like a maiden asleep. With his candle in his hand, he bent over her. She lay like a girl asleep and dreaming of her love. The mouth was a little open as if wondering from the suffering, but her face was young, her brow clear and white as if life had never touched it. He looked again at the eyebrows, at the small, winsome nose a bit on one side. She was young again. Only the hair as it arched so beautifully from her temples was СКАЧАТЬ