Such Men Are Dangerous (31 page)

Geraldine looked at him gratefully but Simon, who had seemed strangely disorientated by his surroundings even before Josh had made this statement and hadn’t up till then appeared to concern himself greatly with their expenses, was at first inexplicably resistant. The inn overlooked a village green and was indeed—after Simon had finally, but suddenly, caved in—found to be an oasis of comfort.

Now they were each drinking a late-night whisky in its chintzy, inglenooked lounge, at present its sole occupants and sitting in a companionable if sleepy silence. Had she been able Geraldine would have stopped Josh from ending that silence, although she couldn’t feel in any way hostile to what he was saying, only worried about its effect on someone she had grown to love.

“Look, Simon,” Josh said, “we’ve got to face facts. This has been going on for
weeks
!” In fact, it had been going on for only about five, yet because of the unremitting pressure it had seemed more like twice that figure, not simply to Josh but to all of them. “And we’re just not getting anywhere, are we? We’re all utterly worn out. Wouldn’t this be a good time, maybe, to admit defeat?”

“
Defeat
?” It might have been theft—murder—betrayal that Josh was wanting to admit to. And in Simon’s eyes, of course, that’s precisely what it was. Betrayal. “When Gabriel himself pointed us the way to victory?”

“Simon, perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps my sons
were
hallucinating.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it.”

“Then why is God now making it so difficult? I’m aware you’ll probably talk about free will but free will hasn’t stopped his intervention in the past.”

“What intervention?”

“Miracles.”

“In other words you’re hoping he’ll suddenly provide a great tidal wave of humanity”—Simon clearly liked that metaphor, he used it fairly often—“to crash against the walls of No 10 and sweep away all opposition? Beat it to smithereens?”

“Well, yes, if that’s on offer. It would help.”

“A tidal wave composed of puppets?”

They had up to now collected over ten thousand signatures but relatively few actual marchers: at the period of their greatest success (numerically) they had had a hundred-and-eighty-seven walking with them—men, women, children—yet all of them had eventually fallen away; even the record-holder had lasted only thirteen days. Nevertheless, there’d been a moment when Simon had grown practically euphoric. “A hundred-and-eighty-seven!” he’d declared. “Dear Lord! We really
are
going to end up with a million!” Josh, touched by what he thought of as appealingly delusional, had merely said, “These country lanes are going to get a mite congestedin that case, but no doubt we’ll be happy to keep to the motorways.”

He thought it might have been the last time he’d seen Simon laugh. Simon’s optimism was by then at its zenith and he was possibly visualizing a small army, even a large one, bringing gridlock, mayhem and salvation, with every few minutes
another
driver deciding to fall into step with the marchers and cheerfully abandoning his car as a first flamboyant gesture.

“All right, forget the tidal wave,” said Josh. He leaned back and tried to derive inspiration from a watercolour which most likely dated from the nineteen-twenties and had a caption
Trust the Umpire
! “How about this? Why not let Gabriel put in a second appearance? To you and Geraldine and me; if he came now he could join us in a nightcap. All he’d have to say is, ‘Cheers, you brilliant little trio, well done, here’s to your continuing success!’ Which, may I submit, is hardly going to tinker with
anyone’s
free will?”

“Except ours.”

“No, I don’t see it.”

“Josh, you’re asking for authentication. God wants
faith
to be our touchstone. Life would be very easy if there were little dollops of proof awaiting us at every turn.”

“But a small sign of his approval—a bit of skywriting or another rainbow—would that really be
too
much to ask?”

“Yes, if his purpose is to test us.”

“I thought his present purpose, his
overriding
purpose, was to make the world a better place.”

“Yet he doesn’t lose sight of the individual even in his concern for the mass.”

“Then perhaps he ought,” grumbled Josh. “He doesn’t have to impress
me
with all that multi-tasking.”

“Josh, do you want to go home?”

“Well, since you ask…” His tone was still light, although he remembered his dream of getting away from Scunthorpe, of finding a life far more fulfilling. He couldn’t really understand why but this dream had now lost a lot of its pulling power.

“Then go.”

“You mean, without you? No. I was talking about the three of us. The three of us! Geraldine, you haven’t said a word. Have we sent you to sleep?”

“No, no, I’ve been listening and trying to work out exactly what…”

“Geraldine, do
you
want to go home?” asked Simon, when she paused.

She said slowly, “Like Josh, I certainly wouldn’t be happy to do so on my own.”

“We’re still a fair distance from London and—if you remember—I announced publicly my intention of walking to London.”

Again, it seemed something new in Simon: this use of mild sarcasm. “Then announce publicly,” broke in Josh, “that you have now—through experience—judged it wiser to change your mind. It’s not a sin to change your mind.”

“Yes, it would be, in this case. So I suggest, Josh, you have a good night’s rest and then you’ll feel fresh to return to Scunthorpe in the morning.”

“You know, I might almost take that as positive permission to be sinful.” Josh smiled. “Anyhow, there’s no way I would leave you both.”

“Why?”

“Because I respect you too much, respect the pair of you, although I’m not addressing this next bit to Geraldine. I just wish you weren’t so pigheaded and could see that there are other ways to bring about what you want to bring about; and that I and lots of others would do everything we could to help you…Eh, Jericho?” Absent-mindedly he had slipped back into using a name he was fond of but nowadays realized would be tactless. He didn’t even know he’d said it.

Simon, however, didn’t appear to have heard any of that last bit. “
Want
to bring about?” he repeated, a little mystifyingly. “That’s only part of it. More exactly—what I’ve been
asked
to bring about, given the
duty
to bring about…And, no, there are no other ways.”

“Wouldn’t you think that’s a hell of a duty to place on the shoulders of any one individual?”

“Yes. I would.”

But there was neither rancour nor pride in the utterance of that statement, it sounded purely matter-of-fact.

Geraldine’s utterance was a lot less neutral. “I think it’s a duty more than
anyone
could bear.”

“Nobody is given more to bear than he’s capable of bearing. And as I say, it’s a test.” Simon’s voice suddenly acquired a tremor. “I feel honoured.”

“Honoured?” exclaimed Josh. “The very fact you can use that word! Doesn’t it strike you it could be a form of arrogance?”

“Oh, Josh, Josh…,” said Geraldine. She stood up. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m shattered. I think I have to go to bed.”

“I can well see why you’d say that,” replied Simon, after she had gone.

“
Is
it a form of arrogance?”

“Possibly—and, if it is, God would certainly be counting on it. I’m sure he uses all the traits in somebody’s character, good or bad, to help him achieve his purpose.”

Josh laughed. “And is that, then, your definition of free will?”

Simon said wearily: “Josh, go home. You’ve been wonderful—a tower of strrength—and I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. But now it’s time for you to go back to Dawn and the children.”

“No. Not without you. Whether you realize it or not, you plainly aren’t yourself any longer. You’ve changed, and in some ways, I’d say, not for the better. I’m sure God never intended that. I remember the man who tried—and tried again—to get me to have a pint with him and who laughed about our handbook,
How to be the Perfect Clergyman
. Would he laugh now? Where have you gone, Simon? The essential
you
? What’s the number of that paragraph which deals with arrogance?”

“I’m really sorry if the essential
me
has disappeared, rather than—on the contrary—risen to the surface. But people have to develop, Josh, in accordance with the times. In accordance with a duty that’s finally been revealed to them.”

“Oh—and you keep on talking about duty! Duty, duty, duty! Stuff duty! I hate it.”

“But you yourself, Josh, have developed in accordance with the times. I called you a tower of strength just now. I didn’t do so lightly. It’s a term which Ginny would sometimes…What I mean is, it’s a phrase I always associate with her.”

“Your wife?” Josh knew she’d been his wife but couldn’t think what else to say.

“Yes. And tonight she happens to be especially on my mind. It’s this place…the way it overlooks a village green. Also that picture I saw you looking at. Reminds me of a cricket game I once took part in. While I waited to bat, the two of us were lounging on the grass, her grandmother and great-aunts were sitting in their deckchairs…” He stopped, his expression more relaxed. “But, then, she’s always on my mind. Literally not an hour goes by when I don’t in some way draw comfort from her presence. It was she who wanted me to be a vicar.”

Josh said nothing.

“I truly feel she walks beside us and that if anything hurtful were ever to happen to me”—he bit his lip for a second—“I know that she’d be right there to hold my hand. Basically, it’s largely the thought of Ginny which enables me to carry on. More than that: gives me the inspiration and the willpower, even the courage—the sheer physical courage—to make sure that I’ll keep going.”

There was a fairly long pause.

“Would you ever consider marrying again?”

“No. I shall never do that.”

“I think Geraldine might be rather sorry to hear it. I suppose you realize she’s in love with you?”

Simon nodded.

“And in other circumstances—who knows what might have happened? But, no, I’ve been shown that I shall never get married again.” Yet, despite the repetition, his words sounded hesitant and once more his voice revealed the hint ofa tremor.

“Shown?”

This question was ignored, but in favour of something far less intense. “It’s pretty clear she’s fond of you, as well.”

“There was a time when she was
anything
but that!”

“Though—as I must have told you in a dozen different ways—you too, Josh, are a changed man. And, in your case, most
definitely
for the better!”

“Thank you. I hope so. However, I trust you’re not encouraging me to think of Geraldine romantically!”

“Of course not.”

They went to their rooms soon afterwards. Josh slept well. Simon didn’t, but anyway he had more or less given up the idea of being able to sleep. Or even of wanting to. Although for much of the day he felt so tired there were moments when it was hard to keep his eyes open he nonetheless had no wish to squander his nights mainly in a state of unconsciousness. It would have been an escape, yes, but it would also have meant a reawakening. He wondered how a person felt awakening on the day of execution. And, besides that, time was much too precious. Although he wanted to
rest
and be recharged as fully as was humanly possible he also wanted to spend each hour in preparation: in thinking, remembering, coming to accept the things that had to be: in communing with his God as peaceably and as submissively as he could.

43

The next day was November 5
^th
. In the evening there was to be a firework display, together with a bonfire: a bonfire visualized as being so large—their landlady had mentioned whilst serving them breakfast—that locals had spent over twelve hours building it. Both Geraldine and Josh had persuaded Simon of the great opportunity awaiting them here; they felt surprised that persuasion should have been necessary and that Simon’s objections should have seemed not simply atypical but even feeble—chiefly to do with people being in the sort of festive mood non-conducive to any consideration of serious issues.

In the end, though, Simon relented and gave them the real, if slightly inarticulate, reason.

“When I was a kid…a bonfire pretty much like tonight’s…a couple of stray cats must have sought shelter…exits either got cut off—or in their panic the cats simply couldn’t find one. And their screams weren’t recognized until it was far too late to do anything.”

He shrugged.

“I dreamt about that blaze for weeks; and—ever since—have found it hard even to go anywhere near a bonfire.”

They sympathized, of course: with the cats, with Simon, with everyone who’d been there. But, after a minute or so, they grew practical.

“Yet don’t forget,” observed Josh, “that we do have a megaphone. You wouldn’t need to go within a dozen yards of the bonfire.”

“And, yes,” added Geraldine, “people in a jolly mood mightn’t want to listen to a preacher, not to any old common or garden preacher, but Simon you’re different, a celebrity—”

“A charlatan?”

“No, not at all. Yet even if that were true you’d still be a very handsome charlatan, so don’t underestimate the difference sex appeal can make. In other words,” she said, “a charlatan with charisma. Lots of pull at the box-office!”

Yesterday, Josh might have felt a lot more jealous than today.

“Oh, yes?” said Simon. “No doubt they’ll be queuing up for autographs?”

“Or else queuing up to give
theirs
,” she answered.

And in the end she prevailed; and it turned out roughly as she’d foretold. Far from being resentful of any interruption to its enjoyment the crowd showed itself by and large to be good-natured—with scores of its members ready to furnish their signatures. Even some of the initial excitement appeared to have returned.

Otherwise it was the old story. Their signatures would have to stand proxy for the signatories. Next morning the original three were still on their own.

Simon seemed more than usually disappointed.