Part 22 (1/2)
”Very well. So I took the lid off my brain, let the stuffy air escape, and let in the wind and the sea. Now don't say 'water on the brain,'
because it isn't true. It just lay open, and then after a time the sea-gulls and--and I've forgotten the name of the blighted thing, and that reminds me that it's sea-blite--the sea-gulls and the sea-blite got in; I think the gulls nested in the blite. So I got interested in them, but still I didn't want to see a single soul, not even you and David. But I sent for enormous books on birds and botany, and you'll find them in my bathing-hut with the bill: unpaid. Those jolly insolent things, going where they chose and growing where they chose healed me of people-sickness. They didn't care, bless them, if a convoy of wounded came in, or if n.o.body loved me. One of them squawked, and the other p.r.i.c.ked my large ankles.”
Dodo sat up.
”Yes, what made me want to see you and David again,” she said, ”was a course of sea-blite and Richardson's skuas. That's what I mean by people and things healing each other. I think I shall go back to Winston to-morrow.”
”If I thought you meant that,” said he, ”I should tell you that you would do nothing of the sort.”
Dodo looked wildly round.
”Oh, don't tell me that!” she said, ”or out of pure self-willed vitality I should do it.”
”Very well; you will go back to Winston to-morrow,” said Jack.
”That's sweet of you; now I shan't. I think if Sister Ellen came and asked me if the seven-tailed bandages had arrived, I should gibber in her face. She hasn't got a face, by the way, she has only two profiles.
How funnily people are made! She's got two profiles and no face, and David has got a duck of a face and no profile: just the end of his nose comes out of a round, plump cheek. I wish I was eleven years old again.
I wish I was a cat with nine lives, or is it tails? Seven lives, isn't it? Or is seven rather too many? How many lives do you want, Jack?
Choose!”
Jack threw down his beautiful tower of stones.
”Oh, this one will do,” he said. ”This and the next. If I must choose, I choose whatever happens. I might spoil everything by choosing.”
”But if you could have your life over again, wouldn't you choose that many things should be different?” she asked.
”I don't think so. If things had been different, they wouldn't be as they are at this moment. You and me.”
Dodo laid her hand on his.
”My dear, are you content?” she asked.
His eyes answered her.
CHAPTER XI
DODO'S NIGHT OUT
It was within ten days of the completion of the fourth year of the war, and since the spring every morning had brought an extra turn of the screw, tightening a little more and again a little more the tension of the final and most desperate campaign of all. Late in March there had opened the last series of the furious German offensives, any one of which, it seemed, might have battered its way through to Paris or the Channel ports. Day by day territory captured by the enemy in their first irresistible invasion of French soil, and won back yard by yard in three and a half years of warfare, had been pa.s.sing behind the German lines again. Once more the Germans advancing in that grim dance of death as in some appalling quadrille had taken Peronne, had taken Bailleul, had swarmed up over Kemmel Hill, had recaptured Soissons, had broken across the Marne. All that could be said was that neither materially nor psychically had the tension quite reached breaking-point. No irremediable breach in the lines had been made, and there was still enough spirit left in the nation to shout over the glorious adventure of Zeebrugge. Finally the counter-offensive of the Allies had begun, and to-day Jack brought to Winston, where the hospital was crammed to overflowing, the news that the Germans had been forced to retreat over the Marne again.
Dodo had entirely refused to learn any sort of lesson from her break-down, and for the last two years had taken no further holiday beyond an occasional day off when David was at home from school, or a flying expedition to the hospital in London. But instead of being ”served out” for her obstinacy, she had remained a glorious testimony of the health-giving properties of continuous over-work, and had shewn not the faintest signs of another collapse. Jack, the matron, the doctor, had all done their best to induce her to be more sensible without the slightest success, and to-day she was lucidly explaining to her husband how wrong they had all been and why.
”The only thing that really can tire one is thinking,” she said, ”and since I came back from Trus...o...b.. two years ago, I haven't thought for two minutes. My mind has been like a 'painted s.h.i.+p upon a painted ocean,' and very badly painted too. That's why I'm the life and soul of the party; I have become like one of the cheerful beasts that perish and I have thought as little about the war as about astronomy. It didn't occur to any of you that it wasn't the acting of silly charades or the ordering of aspirin or the giving out of bandages and books that made me collapse: it was letting my mind dwell on the reason for which I was doing it. But if you will only become a machine, as I have, and go on doing things without thinking why, they are as effortless as breathing.
I shall never get out of the groove now, you know: I shall go on counting blankets and going to bed at eleven, and getting up at seven, till the end of my life. My dear, what did we all do before the war? The only effort I ever make is trying to remember that, and I never succeed.
I think we talked, just talked. Precisely what I'm doing now, by the way. But I used to be an agreeable rattle, such clever chatter, G.o.d forgive me!”
Jack began to laugh.