notice. I murdered her, and I ought to suffer for it. You can’t tell me God isn’t punishing the world, when such evil is allowed to flourish.”
“Well!” said Sonya.
Wesley said, “We are all guilty. I am guilty because I killed my wife’s mother, and you are guilty because you allow me to do it. You don’t think I ought to be punished, I know that.”
“Well, no, I don’t,” I said, “I think you’ve probably punished yourself too much already.”
“You’re right there,” said Muriel.
“Fools!” Wesley said, “The earth is given over to a kingdom of fools, and the Lord is wrath. He sendeth the waters from on high, and those who have turned away from righteousness shall be swallowed up.”
“I never heard such nonsense,” said Sonya.
“That’s just what Mr. Banner told him. Mr. Banner being a clergyman, you’d think Wesley would listen. Miracles, he said; there’s no such thing as miracles nowadays, he said; the Church doesn’t take any account of Divine Punishment. He sat there on the roof of our house with Wesley for hours and hours, explaining to him how that Flood in the Bible had really been caused by the earth shifting its axis or something, and howGod was just a spirit inside us, but it didn’t do any good. Once Wesley has an idea inside that head of his, he won’t change it,” Muriel said tearfully, “I know. It was just the same over Mother.”
*
Another picture stays in my mind.
We had unloaded the dinghy and put it away in the hold, when we saw Tony Ryle, the body-builder.
Tony Ryle was fishing. At one edge of the raft, by the lashed steering bar, there was a little shelter like a sentry-box, and in this he sat. From the back you could see only the wet wooden shelter, peaked at the top, the smooth sea beyond, and the rain like a thickness in the air. From the side, the rod and line projected from the box-like decoration, and so did Tony’s head, wet with the rain as he watched the float.
Just as, Aristotle tells us, every man has within him the possibility of the Good Man, so Tony’s shape was raw material for the Good Shape, and he had gone a long way towards achieving it. Broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, thick of neck, curly of hair, Tony sat, like God, brooding over the face of the waters in the rain and the evening twilight.
*
“You’ll be wanting to shave,” said Arthur.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“You’ll find a razor in the bathroom. There’s no hot water—we try to conserve power to that extent—but the rain water is very soft.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“We like to keep ourselves looking neat. I have always found that a man who allows his appearance to go to pieces, goes to pieces mentally and morally as well.”
“What about soap?”
“You will have to manage without. The skin soon gets used to it.”
Banner’s face, Wesley’s, Tony’s, Arthur’s own face; all bore the scars of cold water, soapless shaving. “Captain Hunter has a beard,” I said.
“He had it when we came.”
Hunter said, “I keep it trimmed, you know.”
“Will you say grace please, Mr. Banner?” said Arthur.
“For what we have just received, may the Lord make us truly thankful.”
“Amen.” Sonya grinned at me across the table; she and I had been the only two people at supper who had been able to finish our portions of fish-head stew.
“We don’t allow irreverence here,” said Arthur. “Not for any superstitious reasons—I am an agnostic myself—but because we find that an element of formality at mealtimes helps to remind us that we are civilized beings.”
Mr. Banner said, “We’re all agnostics nowadays. In a manner of speaking.”
“I’m not,” said Sonya, and Muriel, emboldened, added, “Nor am I, I’m sure.”
“That will do,” Arthur said. “You’ll find the razor on the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet, Mr. Clarke. Please clean it after use.”
I was not in the mood or position to dispute Arthur’s leadership.
“Well!” said Sonya.
Wesley said, “We are all guilty. I am guilty because I killed my wife’s mother, and you are guilty because you allow me to do it. You don’t think I ought to be punished, I know that.”
“Well, no, I don’t,” I said, “I think you’ve probably punished yourself too much already.”
“You’re right there,” said Muriel.
“Fools!” Wesley said, “The earth is given over to a kingdom of fools, and the Lord is wrath. He sendeth the waters from on high, and those who have turned away from righteousness shall be swallowed up.”
“I never heard such nonsense,” said Sonya.
“That’s just what Mr. Banner told him. Mr. Banner being a clergyman, you’d think Wesley would listen. Miracles, he said; there’s no such thing as miracles nowadays, he said; the Church doesn’t take any account of Divine Punishment. He sat there on the roof of our house with Wesley for hours and hours, explaining to him how that Flood in the Bible had really been caused by the earth shifting its axis or something, and howGod was just a spirit inside us, but it didn’t do any good. Once Wesley has an idea inside that head of his, he won’t change it,” Muriel said tearfully, “I know. It was just the same over Mother.”
*
Another picture stays in my mind.
We had unloaded the dinghy and put it away in the hold, when we saw Tony Ryle, the body-builder.
Tony Ryle was fishing. At one edge of the raft, by the lashed steering bar, there was a little shelter like a sentry-box, and in this he sat. From the back you could see only the wet wooden shelter, peaked at the top, the smooth sea beyond, and the rain like a thickness in the air. From the side, the rod and line projected from the box-like decoration, and so did Tony’s head, wet with the rain as he watched the float.
Just as, Aristotle tells us, every man has within him the possibility of the Good Man, so Tony’s shape was raw material for the Good Shape, and he had gone a long way towards achieving it. Broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, thick of neck, curly of hair, Tony sat, like God, brooding over the face of the waters in the rain and the evening twilight.
*
“You’ll be wanting to shave,” said Arthur.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“You’ll find a razor in the bathroom. There’s no hot water—we try to conserve power to that extent—but the rain water is very soft.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“We like to keep ourselves looking neat. I have always found that a man who allows his appearance to go to pieces, goes to pieces mentally and morally as well.”
“What about soap?”
“You will have to manage without. The skin soon gets used to it.”
Banner’s face, Wesley’s, Tony’s, Arthur’s own face; all bore the scars of cold water, soapless shaving. “Captain Hunter has a beard,” I said.
“He had it when we came.”
Hunter said, “I keep it trimmed, you know.”
“Will you say grace please, Mr. Banner?” said Arthur.
“For what we have just received, may the Lord make us truly thankful.”
“Amen.” Sonya grinned at me across the table; she and I had been the only two people at supper who had been able to finish our portions of fish-head stew.
“We don’t allow irreverence here,” said Arthur. “Not for any superstitious reasons—I am an agnostic myself—but because we find that an element of formality at mealtimes helps to remind us that we are civilized beings.”
Mr. Banner said, “We’re all agnostics nowadays. In a manner of speaking.”
“I’m not,” said Sonya, and Muriel, emboldened, added, “Nor am I, I’m sure.”
“That will do,” Arthur said. “You’ll find the razor on the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet, Mr. Clarke. Please clean it after use.”
I was not in the mood or position to dispute Arthur’s leadership.
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