words very clearly, very distinctly, and yet could find no meaning in them, they were in some foreign tongue. All her senses had become more acute, everything seemed hard-edged and perfectly defined in shape, her ears picked out the sound of every separate person’s breathing.
Then, it burst upon her, as overwhelmingly as on the way home from Thefton market. There seemed to be a light within everything, the stones of the church walls and the dark wood of the pulpit, the white and yellow flowers on the coffin, the stained glass windows, the brass rail, everything shone and was caught up together in some great beauty, and all things were part of a whole. The pattern had fallen into place again, and the meaning of all things was ringing in her head, she could tell them, she could tell them, and then, at last, she heard words which she understood.
‘Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband: and I heard a great voice from the throne saying, “Behold the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them and they shall be his people and God himself will be with them. And he will wipe every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.”
This it was that set her apart from them, as she stood at the front of the church with her dark red hair loose over her shoulders, this revelation that she shared with Ben. Who was here, here. She felt faint, not with grief but with joy, because love was stronger than death.
*
The wind blew into their faces and stirred the funeral flowers and the heads of the poplars behind the church, and the clouds were fast-moving, heavy with rain to come.
When the clods of soil fell lightly on to the pale coffin lid, she thought that if she were to kneel down now, and prise it open, the box would be empty. She could not imagine how they believed, as they did, all black as crows, around the grave, that Ben was dead. She saw that they were watching her and thinking that she had still not accepted the truth, or else that it was her pride which kept her from crying. But how could she cry? Why should there be any reason for it? Their faces were all lifeless, carded and blotched with weeping, she wanted to shout out to them, ‘You are the dead people. You!’ For they seemed not to belong to any life she knew about, there was no link between them and the vibrant, dancing colours of the flowers and grasses and the holy breath of the wind, and the blood coursing through her own body.
Someone was touching her. Jo. People were moving away. It was finished. She looked at the rust-dark soil, piled up neatly on either side of the open grave.
‘Ruth …’
Jo had been crying, his eyes were dark as bruises. She took his hand and felt the trembling in it, and they came a long way behind the others, away from the churchyard.
People hovered, perhaps waiting to speak to her, tell her what they themselves felt, but seeing her face, they dropped back or turned aside and remained silent.
Dora Bryce was walking unsteadily, clinging to her husband’s arm, and to Alice on the other side, and so it was around her that people gathered, for they knew what to do with a woman who wept or fainted, who behaved in the way that seemed right, because customary.
Again, they were all crowded into the front room. Ruth watched them as they began to relax, in their unfamiliar clothes, and were easier, talking to one another, now that the coffin had gone from the house. She saw their hands reach out for sandwiches and small cakes, their fingers stirring spoons round and round, in the best china cups. Jo sat beside her, not speaking, and after a while, they stopped pressing her to eat or drink, they ignored her, out of
Then, it burst upon her, as overwhelmingly as on the way home from Thefton market. There seemed to be a light within everything, the stones of the church walls and the dark wood of the pulpit, the white and yellow flowers on the coffin, the stained glass windows, the brass rail, everything shone and was caught up together in some great beauty, and all things were part of a whole. The pattern had fallen into place again, and the meaning of all things was ringing in her head, she could tell them, she could tell them, and then, at last, she heard words which she understood.
‘Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband: and I heard a great voice from the throne saying, “Behold the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them and they shall be his people and God himself will be with them. And he will wipe every tear from their eyes and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.”
This it was that set her apart from them, as she stood at the front of the church with her dark red hair loose over her shoulders, this revelation that she shared with Ben. Who was here, here. She felt faint, not with grief but with joy, because love was stronger than death.
*
The wind blew into their faces and stirred the funeral flowers and the heads of the poplars behind the church, and the clouds were fast-moving, heavy with rain to come.
When the clods of soil fell lightly on to the pale coffin lid, she thought that if she were to kneel down now, and prise it open, the box would be empty. She could not imagine how they believed, as they did, all black as crows, around the grave, that Ben was dead. She saw that they were watching her and thinking that she had still not accepted the truth, or else that it was her pride which kept her from crying. But how could she cry? Why should there be any reason for it? Their faces were all lifeless, carded and blotched with weeping, she wanted to shout out to them, ‘You are the dead people. You!’ For they seemed not to belong to any life she knew about, there was no link between them and the vibrant, dancing colours of the flowers and grasses and the holy breath of the wind, and the blood coursing through her own body.
Someone was touching her. Jo. People were moving away. It was finished. She looked at the rust-dark soil, piled up neatly on either side of the open grave.
‘Ruth …’
Jo had been crying, his eyes were dark as bruises. She took his hand and felt the trembling in it, and they came a long way behind the others, away from the churchyard.
People hovered, perhaps waiting to speak to her, tell her what they themselves felt, but seeing her face, they dropped back or turned aside and remained silent.
Dora Bryce was walking unsteadily, clinging to her husband’s arm, and to Alice on the other side, and so it was around her that people gathered, for they knew what to do with a woman who wept or fainted, who behaved in the way that seemed right, because customary.
Again, they were all crowded into the front room. Ruth watched them as they began to relax, in their unfamiliar clothes, and were easier, talking to one another, now that the coffin had gone from the house. She saw their hands reach out for sandwiches and small cakes, their fingers stirring spoons round and round, in the best china cups. Jo sat beside her, not speaking, and after a while, they stopped pressing her to eat or drink, they ignored her, out of
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