Jackson's Dilemma (15 page)

Edward was in no hurry. Here he was, right above the waves, at the top of the tumbling cliff of stones which were perpetually falling and returning. He dug his boots into the fall of the stones, he felt them faintly shifting down below. The noise of the waves was deafening, like gun-fire, their strength terrifying, the droplets of their spray struck his face like pellets. The breaking waves looked grey and white. Further out the water looked blue, advancing, huge, fast, moving forward in order like galloping horses. Beyond, the line of the horizon was clear and dark as if drawn with a pencil. There were no boats. Ahead there was just the sea and above it the sky, a pale blue above the pencilled line, a few chubby white clouds lounging dreamily below a radiance of gold, but higher up the sky seeming to lose its colour altogether in a trembling stillness of pure light. It is a wonderful day, Edward thought. The stones were warm. A lovely day for swimming, he thought. Only Edward had given up swimming.

 

Edward and Randall had been on a bicycling holiday, in perfect weather, staying in little accidental inns, free, happy, just themselves. It was early in the season, in the spring. They were very fond of each other. Randall, the younger by two years, revered Edward. Edward lovingly protected his young brother. Their ages were now seventeen and fifteen. The death of their mother, now well in the past, was fadingly mourned by the children, still bitterly by the father. Somehow connected with that sad death was the fact, it was now clear, that the father loved the younger son more than he loved the elder son. All three, aware of this, watched it in silence. Edward certainly felt it as a faint but continuous scar. None of this however damaged his love for Randall, or Randall’s love for him. The boys had set out upon their cycling holiday with their father’s blessing and his command that they should be very
careful
and
behave themselves.
Earlier, and not for the first time, he had told Edward that he must be
very careful
and look after Randall.

There was a lot of laughing over their departure, at dawn, their rucksacks full of shirts and boots and bathing costumes and knives and forks and plates and fruit and sandwiches, their father and the servants waving them off. The weather was perfect, and they rejoiced as they rode steadily farther and farther away from Lipcot, southward, toward the sea coast. Of course they had gone on many such sallies before, but never quite so far and with quite so much money in their pockets. They were in no hurry. Their rucksacks, soon half-empty, were filled up again in grocers’ shops, and they even (contrary to their father’s orders) bought a bottle of wine. They were in a hurry to get to the sea, but somehow, it was as they meandered slowly south, still far away. Random nights spent at various small villages carried them to Bath, where they stayed two nights, then on to spiritual and exciting Glastonbury then another spiritual night at Dorchester, where they bought a book by John Cowper Powys, and lingered at Maiden Castle, then on to Weymouth where at last, together with numerous other people, they ran across the sand and leapt into the sea. They spent that night at Weymouth, and Edward suggested that they should stay there for another night. Randall however wanted to press on along the sea road, with its ups and downs and have their second swim in the ‘real sea’. Edward, who was now rather tired of cycling, reluctantly agreed. So they set off slowly, upon the main sea road, not without replenishing their rucksacks here and there, and not forgetting the wine which they had not yet opened. The main road was full of ups and downs, sometimes losing even a glimpse of the sea. The sun was now well up in a cloudless sky. The brothers, tired of pedalling or pushing their machines up hills (though it was fun shooting down) decided that they must now find some little road which would lead them to the water, where perhaps there might be another more modest road to follow. After all, as Randall said, it’s the
sea
that matters. They found such a little road, sometimes a track, running along, close beside the waves. The sun was blazing down, there was nobody about, slowing they selected a place for lunch, leaving their bikes chained up on the sandier inland. Then, putting down their rucksacks upon the stones, they decided that of course they must have a swim before lunch. Here the shore was composed of stones, beautiful stones, light grey, dark grey, smooth like eggs, large and small, their lovely forms covered with lighter criss-cross and speckled backgrounds of paler streaks and circles of pure white. Randall at once ran back and opened his rucksack and began collecting stones. How strange it was that, although the boys had had many holidays by the sea, they had never discovered
this
part of the coast,
this
perfectly magic place with nobody there!

They went down, crunching over the stones, to the edge of the water, where the waves struck the stones and dragged them down. Here they swiftly undressed and plunged in naked. They could master the stones, they could breast the water, they swam far out, where the quiet lilt of the water silently lifted them up and laid them down, then after much dolphin play they were standing and climbing easily up the sloping shore and onto the beach, and on to where they had left their rucksacks. They lay down naked upon warm stones, finding how pleasantly tired the lovely sea had made them. They put on shirts and slowly ate their delicious lunch and opened their bottle and drank a little wine. After that they slept.

Sitting upon the stones they had already noticed, upon a quite high hillock beyond the so-called ‘road’, a sort of hut, solitary it seemed, not large. Time, they realised, had passed now and they were still quite a long way from their next destination. Soon it might be twilight! Randall suggested that they might spend the night in that hut - it had been such a hot day, it must be a warm night! Edward, the cautious one, said that the hut was not theirs, it was someone else‘s, anyway it was probably locked up, and anyone might come to inhabit it at any moment, after all they had seen nobody coming or going. Randall said they were miles from anywhere, it would take ages to drag their bikes up to the main road, and he for one was feeling very tired. Anyway it would be an adventure, and they could easily get up to the hut. Edward, to please him, at last agreed, and they set off with their rucksacks, then unleashing their bikes and loading them up and pushing them first along the sandy verge, then, just after reaching the little ‘road’ that they had come along, discovering a path which seemed to lead straight up to the hut. They abandoned their bikes, chained up and covered over in brambles, in a ditch, and struggled on up the rather steep way with their rucksacks. The hillock was a little higher than it had seemed from below, and it appeared it must be reached through a meadow, after a crawl under some barbed wire. Here they paused for a dispute. Edward said that it was ridiculous, evening was coming on, they should carry on with their bikes, surely they would soon find some pub and relax, as they had done before. However he gave way to Randall’s excited begging that at least they must go on now as far as the hut and perhaps - As they reached it, at last, with caution, dragging their rucksacks exhaustedly through the long grass, the sun was falling behind the hills beyond. They stood still for a short while outside it, breathing deeply. They could hear nothing. They cautiously pushed the door, which to their joy was not locked. They stepped inside. The hut consisted of one small empty room, with a pile of wood in a grate with a chimney, which they had not noticed from below. It was all made of wood, the floor, the walls, and the roof, with a delicious woody smell, very clean and neat. Whoever lived there, or more likely visited there, must be a careful, fastidious, perhaps thoughtful, person, they agreed. It was now beginning to be a little dark in the hut. Randall suggested that they could make a fire in the grate, but Edward vetoed this. They would not want to draw attention to themselves - that is supposing they
were
to stay - Randall then discovered beside the fireplace a small box containing candles, and insisted on lighting one at once. He declared that in this little house, which was just for now their own, they would not light a fire, but they must have candlelight to celebrate their feast after which they would sleep. The hut was already very warm from the sunlight. Edward was still anxious, but was overcome by Randall’s childish delight. They began to unpack. It was then that Randall suddenly noticed that after all some contents of his rucksack, including the bottle of wine, which he had put in a separate bag, had been left down on the beach! Edward suggested just leaving them but Randall
insisted
that they
must
have their wine to drink by candlelight, it would be so romantic, and anyway the tide might cover that part of the beach during the night. He said he would run and fetch it all in no time, and Edward could stay and light the candles. Edward, who felt very much like resting now, hesitated, then he thought I must go with Randall, he might get lost or fall or hurt himself on the wire. So they set off together in the twilight, back down the hill.

The sun had almost set and the cloudless sky had become a darkening blue. The moon, nearly full, was now faintly gleaming. Randall commented upon the fact that it had been invisible before. A perceptible wind was now blowing. Edward thought, we shall be jolly cold in that hut at midnight! However he did not say that to Randall. They got through the wire all right, passed their bikes invisible in the ditch, then ran down to the track and out onto the beach. They could hear the strange rhythmic grating sound of the great waves upon the stones. It took them a little while to find the bag, now lying almost invisible. Edward picked it up. He felt the wind blowing. Randall had run past him to look at the sea whose harsh grinding sound of the waves breaking was louder now in the quiet darkness. Edward followed him slowly, then as he neared him he saw that Randall was undressing. Edward was at once alarmed. ‘Oh Randall, not
another
swim, and it’s getting dark, and -’

Randall, now undressed, was standing up, his body pale in the uncertain light, looking down at the crashing waves which were scrabbling at the shifting wall of stones. He cried, ‘A moonlight swim, you
must,
come on, the water will be warm — ’ He began descending, holding his balance upon the shifting stones, seeming to vanish in the coming waves, then seen instantly a little farther out, bobbing about in the white crested water and waving to Edward.

Edward shouted, ‘Hurry up, come in, come back!’ He feared the currents, the wind, the grim force of the waves, more savage now, larger, louder, taller, curling over in great white arches, hurling themselves in deafening impact against the slithering wall of stones, and in destroying themselves, each wave in its demise receding, dragging clattering down a grinding mass of sand and stones. Edward stood for another minute watching, he shouted out to Randall, he thought he could see him far out, he thought, I must go with him, I must look after him, oh dear all this is
daft.
He took off his jacket, pants and shoes, he tried to walk, searching for a foothold, then fell down the slope of sand and stones, kept his feet for a second as a wave broke violently over him, then found himself swimming. Here, the surface of the sea was a confused churning mass of white foam, coming and going, sucking back, sucking down, leaping up, then suddenly swinging into a trough, waves fighting with each other. Ordinary swimming was impossible. Edward, almost upright in the water, trying to tread his legs below him, swallowing water, attempting a breast-stroke, managed to keep his head up. He tried to move in the direction of where he had seen Randall. He thought that he glimpsed him in the chaotic darkness and tried to move towards him, but great curtains of racing churning heavy waves struck him violently making progress impossible. He kept trying to cry out, swallowing more water. Then suddenly Randall was beside him, he fumbled in the water, trying to grip Randall’s wrist, saying perhaps aloud or to himself,
thank
God,
thank
God. He thought he heard Randall say ‘Can’t get out.’ He thought, Randall is
terrified
and so
am
I. Holding his brother’s wrist he kept on, not exactly swimming, but moving, trying to paw the water with one hand. Low down, between the wave crests, jerking his head up and swallowing water, he had entirely lost his sense of direction. Randall seemed to be jerking away from him or being pulled away. Edward, now putting his trailing legs into violent motion, thought he had caught a glimpse of what must be land, the final breaking of the waves. He also saw, in sudden glimpse, as if a wave had lifted him intentionally up, the moon now very bright. Edward was thinking
I mustn’t let him go -
but am I drowning him by holding onto him? He turned his head and glimpsed Randall’s gasping horrified face. Then suddenly he felt the movement of the water changing, they were close to the land, to the place where the waves ended their journey and smashed themselves against the perpetually descending cliff of stones. Edward felt the sudden change, he thought, now I must get a foothold, I must get a
foothold,
otherwise we shall fall under the wave. He felt water suddenly lifting him up, he lost his grip on Randall, he was caught inside the curling wave as he tried to stand, above him the dome of the wave, he could not stand, he was dashed down onto his knees, he struggled, feeling for a second the swift strong moving sand of the undertow, now racing back through his fingers, while the running cliff of stones, falling against him, were making him unable to rise, he was choking, drowning. He got up, crouching, attempting to get his legs apart, he thought,
I must stand,
or the next wave will kill me. He braced himself to the wave, and found himself still upright, moving, climbing, stretching out his hands against the tumbling stones. He had lost hold of Randall, indeed he had completely forgotten Randall, now he was crawling, now at last standing upon the shore. He turned back gasping, choking, looking back into the violent chaos of the huge towering waves. Where was Randall now - must he go
back into this hell and die himself
? Surely Randall too must be somewhere near to him, clambering out? Out of the sea, at last, he turned stumbling along, looking out at the waves and screaming. There was no sign of Randall. He returned to the sea, breasting the waves, losing foothold, swimming, choking, then desperately attempting above all with his weary battered limbs, to get back to the land without drowning. His eyes were filled with water. He knelt, he stood, then knocked down to all fours, crept, stood again, desperately at the edge of the sea, staring and calling out. About twenty minutes later or perhaps more he saw Randall, floating face downward, carried in by a wave. He returned to the water, pulling at the limp body of his brother, wailing and crying and screaming, hauling him out onto the stones. He tried to remember what to do, laying him down on his face, pressing his back. It was all senseless and useless. They were alone in the dark on the empty beach. He could find no help.