Tono-Bungay. Герберт Уэллс

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СКАЧАТЬ my cousin got out of bed and made his brother do likewise, and knelt in the night dimness and prayed at me. That I found trying, but I held out valiantly. “Forgive him,” said my cousin, “he knows not what he sayeth.”

      “You can pray if you like,” I said, “but if you’re going to cheek me in your prayers I draw the line.”

      The last I remember of that great discussion was my cousin deploring the fact that he “should ever sleep in the same bed with an Infidel!”

      The next day he astonished me by telling the whole business to his father. This was quite outside all my codes. Uncle Nicodemus sprang it upon me at the midday meal.

      “You been sayin’ queer things, George,” he said abruptly. “You better mind what you’re saying.”

      “What did he say, father?” said Mrs. Frapp.

      “Things I couldn’t’ repeat,” said he.

      “What things?” I asked hotly.

      “Ask ‘IM,” said my uncle, pointing with his knife to his informant, and making me realise the nature of my offence. My aunt looked at the witness. “Not – ?” she framed a question.

      “Wuss,” said my uncle. “Blarsphemy.”

      My aunt couldn’t touch another mouthful. I was already a little troubled in my conscience by my daring, and now I began to feel the black enormity of the course upon which I had embarked.

      “I was only talking sense,” I said.

      I had a still more dreadful moment when presently I met my cousin in the brick alley behind the yard, that led back to his grocer’s shop.

      “You sneak!” I said, and smacked his face hard forthwith. “Now then,” said I.

      He started back, astonished and alarmed. His eyes met mine, and I saw a sudden gleam of resolution. He turned his other cheek to me.

      “‘It ‘it,” he said. “‘It ‘it. I’LL forgive you.”

      I felt I had never encountered a more detestable way of evading a licking. I shoved him against the wall and left him there, forgiving me, and went back into the house.

      “You better not speak to your cousins, George,” said my aunt, “till you’re in a better state of mind.”

      I became an outcast forthwith. At supper that night a gloomy silence was broken by my cousin saying,

      “‘E ‘it me for telling you, and I turned the other cheek, muvver.”

      “‘E’s got the evil one be’ind ‘im now, a ridin’ on ‘is back,” said my aunt, to the grave discomfort of the eldest girl, who sat beside me.

      After supper my uncle, in a few ill-chosen words, prayed me to repent before I slept.

      “Suppose you was took in your sleep, George,” he said; “where’d you be then? You jest think of that me boy.” By this time I was thoroughly miserable and frightened, and this suggestion unnerved me dreadfully but I kept up an impenitent front. “To wake in ‘ell,” said Uncle Nicodemus, in gentle tones. “You don’t want to wake in ‘ell, George, burnin’ and screamin’ for ever, do you? You wouldn’t like that?”

      He tried very hard to get me to “jest ‘ave a look at the bake’ouse fire” before I retired. “It might move you,” he said.

      I was awake longest that night. My cousins slept, the sleep of faith on either side of me. I decided I would whisper my prayers, and stopped midway because I was ashamed, and perhaps also because I had an idea one didn’t square God like that.

      “No,” I said, with a sudden confidence, “damn me if you’re coward enough… But you’re not. No! You couldn’t be!”

      I woke my cousins up with emphatic digs, and told them as much, triumphantly, and went very peacefully to sleep with my act of faith accomplished.

      I slept not only through that night, but for all my nights since then. So far as any fear of Divine injustice goes, I sleep soundly, and shall, I know, to the end of things. That declaration was an epoch in my spiritual life.

II

      But I didn’t expect to have the whole meeting on Sunday turned on to me.

      It was. It all comes back to me, that convergence of attention, even the faint leathery smell of its atmosphere returns, and the coarse feel of my aunt’s black dress beside me in contact with my hand. I see again the old Welsh milkman “wrestling” with me, they all wrestled with me, by prayer or exhortation. And I was holding out stoutly, though convinced now by the contagion of their universal conviction that by doing so I was certainly and hopelessly damned. I felt that they were right, that God was probably like them, and that on the whole it didn’t matter. And to simplify the business thoroughly I had declared I didn’t believe anything at all. They confuted me by texts from Scripture which I now perceive was an illegitimate method of reply. When I got home, still impenitent and eternally lost and secretly very lonely and miserable and alarmed, Uncle Nicodemus docked my Sunday pudding.

      One person only spoke to me like a human being on that day of wrath, and that was the younger Frapp. He came up to me in the afternoon while I was confined upstairs with a Bible and my own thoughts.

      “‘Ello,” he said, and fretted about.

      “D’you mean to say there isn’t – no one,” he said, funking the word.

      “No one?”

      “No one watching yer – always.”

      “Why should there be?” I asked.

      “You can’t ‘elp thoughts,” said my cousin, “anyhow. You mean – ” He stopped hovering. “I s’pose I oughtn’t to be talking to you.”

      He hesitated and flitted away with a guilty back glance over his shoulder…

      The following week made life quite intolerable for me; these people forced me at last into an Atheism that terrified me. When I learnt that next Sunday the wrestling was to be resumed, my courage failed me altogether.

      I happened upon a map of Kent in a stationer’s window on Saturday, and that set me thinking of one form of release. I studied it intently for half an hour perhaps, on Saturday night, got a route list of villages well fixed in my memory, and got up and started for Bladesover about five on Sunday morning while my two bed mates were still fast asleep.

III

      I remember something, but not so much of it as I should like to recall, of my long tramp to Bladesover House. The distance from Chatham is almost exactly seventeen miles, and it took me until nearly one. It was very interesting and I do not think I was very fatigued, though I got rather pinched by one boot.

      The morning must have been very clear, because I remember that near Itchinstow Hall I looked back and saw the estuary of the Thames, that river that has since played so large a part in my life. But at the time I did not know it was the Thames, I thought this great expanse of mud flats and water was the sea, which I had never yet seen nearly. And out upon it stood ships, sailing ships and a steamer or so, going up to London or down out into the great seas of the world. I stood for a long time watching these and thinking whether after all I should not have done better to have run away to sea.

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