The Self-Enchanted (23 page)

Before them, between the broken edges of the rock, was a shelf of stone, scattered with bleached wood. It was in effect a shelving beach. The rocks were icy hard and cut and bruised her, even through her boots. She stumbled down the shelf. The lake was contained inside the cone of the volcano. It was frozen solid. On three sides rose the naked granite, forming a natural parapet, over which she could see still farther mountains, naked and deliriously sharp against the sky.

Everything around her was burnished by the sun.
Immediately
above them towered the farther cliff itself, and from it poured a small glacier, like blue glass. In the centre of the lake was a small islet.

“Oh, God,” shouted Christopher. He turned his face upward to the flat surface of the higher cliff, and his
voice echoed back hollowly from the rocks and the ice. “This is what I wanted to be.”

In his tone was a queer note of exultation that made her shiver. He walked gingerly out over the ice. It was forty feet thick, but quivered beneath him, and close to the edge a little moisture oozed up from the slight cleft between the ice and the shore. He slid carefully across the ice towards the islet. There was a brittle white log there and he sat down on it.

There was a wind up here. It tousled his hair. He sank down and she saw him looking about him almost with an expression of awe. Yet against that background he was a small figure, dwarfed by the granite and ice.

“I should have come before,” he whispered. “This would make me well.”

He looked across the lake. An edge of the glacier reared up at the end of it, and the wind had carved an ice
cave there, fantastic with glittering stalactites and stalagmites.

“This is what I needed,” he shouted. “This is
power.”

She looked around them at the mountains towering up on every side, and far off she heard the rumble of thunder, and saw the clouds flaring out from Banner and Ritter. She shuddered.

“There’s a storm blowing up.”

“Let it,” he laughed.

“You don’t know what a storm up here is like.”

“I don’t care.” He laughed boyishly, happily. “It can’t touch me. Nothing can touch me.” He was feverish and he sounded drunk. Suddenly he shuddered, looking at the storm-head. “You can’t,” he shouted up at it. “I’ll trick you. I’ll live.” The wind had already burnt his face, and he screamed at the sky. “I’ll pay you all back and I’ll
live. I’m stronger than you.” He stood up, swaying to and fro in the quick wind, and suddenly he was still again. He blinked awkwardly at the sky.

She led him back across the lake. The sunlight on the snow had turned him almost blind. She got him down the surface of the cone, half-sliding, half-pulling him. But just before they descended he began to laugh. She would never forget that laugh. It rose and cracked into a sob.

She saw the two mules below them. When they reached bottom she helped him on to one of them, and he winced with pain. Leading his mule, she walked back across the plain. The shadows were lengthening across the meadow. At last she heard the crackle of fire and saw sparks rising.

The tops of the mountains still glittered in the red light of sunset, but the wood was dark and restless. She pushed into it and came on the other mules and the Tatums, crouching around a small fire. It was deathly cold, and Christopher did not speak. She got him off the mule, and spreading a blanket, made him lie down. His face was puffed out and he scarcely seemed to know her. He looked up at her helplessly.

The Tatums had a cast-iron pot over the fire. She poured herself a cup of coffee. They did not move to help her. They stared at her calculatingly, saying nothing. The wind blew cold, and she could hear the storm coming. Behind her Christopher moaned and tossed in his blanket. She went over and felt his forehead. It was burning hot.

“Can you hear me?” she whispered. He only rolled away from her on to his stomach, his fists clenched. She went back to the Tatums. “You’ve got to help me get him back,” she said.

“There’s a storm coming up.”

“But he’s in agony. We’ve got to get him to a doctor.”

“In the morning,” said Old Man Tatum. He kicked some dust with the toe of his boot.

“Now.”

“He can’t ride on a mule.” Tatum was sullen.

“You could make a stretcher and carry him.”

“With this storm brewing?”

It was true. The sky was turning black, and the stars were disappearing. Christopher writhed on the ground. She jerked her head.

“Give him something and tell him to shut up,” said Tatum slowly.

Something in her snapped. She could hear snow falling in the distance, and the glow of lightning flared across the sky. “Do as I say,” she ordered.

The Tatums shifted uneasily.

“Get two poles,” she said. The younger Tatum eyed his father and slowly got up. “We can stretch a blanket over them.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” said Old Man Tatum furtively. He was like her father. She knew him well.

“You’ll be paid,” snapped Sally. She stood there, forcing herself to keep her voice even, intensely aware of Christopher. Old Man Tatum looked away and then rose reluctantly to his feet. He went off to cut down a sapling. She glared after him until she saw him start to work, and then she let out her breath.

They had to strap Christopher to the stretcher with a belt. Old Man Tatum kicked out the fire, puffing
nervously
at a cigarette. At last they got under way,
threading
carefully through the thickening darkness.
Christopher
moaned and twisted under the lashings. A branch brushed across her face. She walked beside the stretcher, trying to do what she could, which was nothing. He raved about Antoinette. She tried not to listen. Then he began to cry out for her. She took his hand, which was wet with sweat. His face was bloated out of recognition by the wind-burn.

Somehow they reached the top of the dam. The crypt of the lake below swarmed with snow. It was impossible to see the trail. The thick, heavy, enraged snow blew in great gusts, so they could scarcely keep upright. Young Tatum shifted his hands on the stretcher, and it wobbled
precariously
, almost turning over. Christopher seemed to be pleading with someone. Over and over again, furiously, he repeated the same unintelligible words. She tried to protect his face from the snow, but without success.

The shacks at the lower lake were boarded up and they couldn’t get in. There was nothing to do but go on. There were some lamps on one of the mules. Feverishly, in the driving wind that tore at her, she managed to light two of them, but they were not much help. They were only red spots in the fury of the storm.

The switchback trail was the most dangerous. The wind made them totter on the brinks of it, and they had to inch their way down. Once they almost went over: she caught at young Tatum just in time. She could see nothing but the merciless snow, hissing in the fury of the wind. The full power of the thunder suddenly broke directly
overhead
, shaking the rocks. She realized at last that they were crossing the wooden bridge.

If she could get him these last few hundred yards she would be safe. He stirred. She leaned over, trying to wipe
his face. Her fingers were frozen. She could scarcely move them and she could scarcely stand.

At last, far ahead through the storm, she saw a faint elusive glow of yellow light. She forced herself on. She forced them all on. Christopher was strangely quiet now. She could only pray that he was not dead. Then, as the mules stumbled, she saw a vague solid shape through the snow, a few yards ahead, and went on. It was the Tatum cabin.

I
t was the next night, and the doctor had come.

She stood at the windows of the hall, looking
towards
the mountains. The storm had cleared that morning, but now the mountain passes were blocked with snow, and would be inaccessible for the rest of the winter. Soon, in a week, in a few weeks, the valley itself would be blocked. The storm-clouds seemed balanced on a point of decision, whether to sweep down on the helpless valley, or to store their rage for a few more days.

The doctor would not yet allow her into Christopher’s room. She had only glimpsed him lying frighteningly
unconscious
on his bed. The house was still. Its shadows were filled with waiting.

Now it was dark again. She had come to dread the night. It was in the small hours of the night that
Christopher
was at his worst. It was then that death could gather him up most easily.

All around her crowded the darkness of the house. The hall was a solarium, and the plants behind her rustled and swayed. The heating system had dried them out, and the tropic vines installed by the decorator hung like withered strings. She slid back the bolt on the sliding doors and stepped out on to the terrace. She hoped the sharp wind
would clear her head. Above her, with nothing to protect her from them now, were the vast and vacillating stars, spread out in an inhuman system yet staring down like animal eyes, in a phosphorescent atmosphere of poisoned light.

She stood at the terrace rail, shivering, her thoughts motionless. Far off, far below in the valley, she could hear a dog barking. The crispness of the air froze in her
nostrils
. She had that helpless feeling of repeating something she had already done. Then she went back to face the doctor.

The doctor looked at her sharply. “How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know. I finally got him to a doctor when we were in Hong Kong. He refused to have anything done.”

The doctor grunted. “He’ll have to be moved. He has to be in a hospital, where he can get proper treatment.”

“He’s dying, isn’t he?” She stared at him quietly. “How long?”

The doctor was embarrassed. “One can’t say. A few weeks, a few months. All that can be done really is
to ease the pain.”

She realized that she had been staring at the doctor for some time. Everything seemed to be suspended in slow air, and she did not quite know where she was.

“I think I’d better give you a sedative,” said the doctor.

“No.” She tried to find some mooring. “Does he know?”

Again the doctor was embarrassed.’ ‘I haven’t told him.”

“Can I see him?”

“If you wish. He’s opiated.”

“How soon will he have to be moved?” she asked.

“As soon as possible. I’ll fly back to-night, and make arrangements. And then come back with a nurse. We can have him in hospital the next day.”

Sally looked at him and then beyond him. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

Christopher stood in the doorway, half-hanging against the jamb. His face was bloated, and he stared at them through drugged eyes. For an instant everything stopped. He tried to speak, and then, in agonizingly slow motion, she saw him begin to crumple and fall. Both she and the doctor ran towards him. They picked him up and got him into the bedroom and on to the bed. His face was
terrified
. She straightened up from folding back the
bedclothes
and looked at the doctor. He led her out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him, and she leaned against the wall. She covered her face with her hands, facing an awful blackness that swept all her senses away.

“Mrs. Barocco!”

She shook off his hand. “I can’t bear to see him like this,” she said. “I can’t.”

“If you go on like this, you’ll break. You’ve got to get some rest.”

She shook her head.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he urged.

“I can watch. He needs me.”

“He may be violent. Even dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

The doctor walked up and down. “I’ll go at once,” he said. “I’d better give you some instructions.”

Her life grasped at the particular. When he had gone she felt helpless terror. She went into the kitchen and told
Mrs. Oland to make coffee. When it was ready, she drank three or four cups black and then forced herself to walk back through the desolate house to Christopher’s room.

She sat by his bed for she did not know how long, watching him. He lay motionless, breathing faintly, his face a blank, but in the darkness it seemed to her that he knew she was there. Then, towards dawn, his face began to relax and his breathing changed. She bent forward, but there was nothing but that faint change, which seemed to pervade the whole room. She knew that something had happened, but she did not know what. His body straightened out and he seemed to be at ease. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she fell asleep in her chair.

*

She sat up, blinking, and saw that Christopher was propped up in bed, half in shadow, and that he was
watching
her. The swelling had gone down, so that his eyes were round and full and very dark. It was late afternoon. She glanced swiftly about the room. The change in him was startling. He seemed thinner and smaller. He seemed to be watching her from an immense distance, and she knew that he must have been watching her for some time.

“Hello,” he said. There was an odd note of emotion in his voice, but not an emotion she could identify. He shifted his position in the bed and shut his eyes. “Get the boy,” he said. “I want to get up.”

She went into the kitchen and told Mrs. Oland to send in the boy. Christopher waved her away. She waited in the hall. At last the door was opened, and Christopher stood there, leaning on the boy. She helped him out through the doorway into the hall, and then out on to the terrace. The boy placed chairs on the terrace, in the
afternoon
sun, and then went away, Christopher moved
warily
and sat down in one of the chairs. The other was empty beside him.

“It’s a clear day,” he said.

“It cleared up yesterday.”

He did not seem to listen. He sat, his arms hanging limp, as though waiting for something, and gazed up at the pass they had climbed only two days before. The trail was invisible now under the snow. In the distance she could hear the wind shivering through the trees.

“How did you get me down?” he asked at last.

“The Tatums carried you.”

“What did I say?”

“You were feverish.”

“I know that,” he said, “but what did I say?”

“You were raving about Antoinette.”

He seemed to shiver. “Come and sit beside me,” he asked, after a moment.

She shook her head to clear it and did as he asked. The mountains seemed to press down on her. For a long time he said nothing. He stirred uncomfortably. “I heard you and the doctor,” he told her at last. He sighed. “I’ve always been afraid of death. When I was a child I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid to die in my sleep, and I watched my mother die. She didn’t want to. You see, she wasn’t sure what was waiting for her.” He sighed wearily. “How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“The doctor does. How long?”

“A few months,” she said unwillingly.

“Drugged in a hospital?”

“Christopher!”

“Oh, I’ll go,” he said bitterly. He looked up at the mountains. “I’m beaten and I’ll go. But I don’t want to be alone. I guess I’m afraid to die alone. Strange, you know, I thought I could beat it. I thought I could beat anything.” He looked up at the pass. “I could have, up there.” His voice cracked. “Oh, God, why couldn’t you have left me there and let the storm have me? I don’t want to go through with this. I could die up there. It’s the right place to die.” He turned his face upwards, and then hugged her as hard as he could. She could feel the
weakness
in his arms. They sat close, and she glanced out at the horrible and relentless mountains.

“Live here,” he said. “I’d like to leave something of myself here.”

He lay against the back of the chair, his eyes closed, and with a curious expression on his face, he opened them, and gazed out at the mountains, as though he did not see them, but something beyond and within them, almost as though he were waiting for an answer from them. It had grown colder. The sun was fading. The cold had turned his hands almost purple. But he lay there until sunset, scarcely moving, a small, dark figure, alone, gazing up at the cliffs which seemed to move, to grow larger, and to come closer as it grew darker. She realized that in his own way he was praying to the mountains for something. Perhaps for strength. She did not know.

Sunset came quickly. She was uneasy. But still he sat there, while she watched him, spectator to a duel she did not understand. Then, as the light withdrew behind the mountains, making their silhouettes loom large against the yellow-green sky, that light too faded, and the first stars came out. She saw him stir. In the darkness his
figure was half lost against the blacker shadows beyond.

“I think I’d better go back to bed,” he said. His body was rigid again, and he was holding himself with
desperate
care. “When will the doctor be back?”

“To-morrow morning.”

He let her take him back to the bedroom and undress him. He lay passively, watching her with a dead calm that upset her more than anything else he could have done.

“Let me sleep in your room,” he said. “I want to watch the mountains.”

She stayed with him all evening. He ate little.
Sometimes
he talked to her, and sometimes he was silent, staring out into the darkness and the blue distances
between
the stars. Hour after hour the stars burned more and more white, and all the minor magnitudes shone forth in the congestion of the skies. At last she rose, and going into the dressing-room, got ready for bed. He watched her movements silently, his eyes following her
everywhere
, seeing each motion that she made. She was
uncannily
aware of what she was doing, as though she were no longer in her own body, but controlling it
from
outside
.

“I’ll be there every minute,” she said. “I’ll get a room next to yours.” She bent to kiss him, and with some last reserve of strength he put his arms around her.

“Don’t go,” he said. “Get in with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

She slipped out of her robe and got in with him. He turned to her, and she felt his body, which she might never feel again. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to save him. She wanted to hold him so close that not even death could take him away.

“If we could have had a son,” he said. “If just once more….” He lay back, quietly, “Why am I so weak?” He turned to her, burying his head on her shoulder, his body shaking, “Oh, love me,” he whispered, “Love me a little. I need love so much.”

At last he fell asleep cradled in her arms, there in the heavy darkness, before the mountains. She knew that there was something he had not told her, something that had happened out there on the terrace, but she could not keep awake, no matter how much she struggled. She lost consciousness. To protect him, she drew him closer,
trying
to drag him down with her into the safety of sleep.