The Book of Ebenezer le Page (64 page)

To my surprise, several others came to see me, and brought me presents for Christmas: people I hardly knew. I got three Christmas puddings and a Christmas cake with almond paste and sugar on it, and a tin of cooked ham and enough fancy biscuits to stock a ship; but the greatest surprise of all was when Doris Hubert, Dora's daughter, came. She wanted me to spend Christmas Day with her and Ted Hubert and the children at the Robergerie; and said he could fetch me and bring me back in his car. I explained to her why I couldn't; but I wished I could have gone. She couldn't stay to tea because she was in a hurry to go home and get her husband's ready. I am ashamed to say I had tears in my eyes when I thanked her: I don't want to go soft in my old age. She wasn't as much like a mermaid as the first time I saw her; but she was wearing a very short skirt for the winter, and her legs must have been cold.

There had been a lot of fog before Christmas, and it is fog of all weathers makes me feel miserable; but after Christmas it was very rough, and I don't mind the rough weather so much. On rough days I often wrapped up well and went down on the beach to watch the white horses racing into the bay; or I would go for walks on L'Ancresse Common. I like it much better in the winter than in the summer: it must be more like Raymond said it was when the Clos-du-Valle was an island. I had as much as I could do to keep on my feet and not be blown over; and sometimes I didn't meet a soul. I don't think I went across the Common once without remembering Abel and how I had walked with him that afternoon and been raised up to the skies, only to be knocked down to the ground like the old fool I was.

One afternoon I made the round and came back by the Vale Church. It was sun and cloud and wind and very cold; and yet, for some reason I thought I would go in the churchyard before I went home. It don't make me sad, it cheers me up to see the graves: I feel here at least I am among Guernsey people. I had a look at my grandfather's. The gravestone is old and greenish, and there are others of my father's family buried there; but my grandfather's was the only name I could make out. Ah well, I thought, I will be under there myself before long. I didn't mind; but I got the feeling I wanted to go in the church. I don't go for the services, but that don't mean I wouldn't like to sometimes: only I can't bring myself to stand up and say with everybody I believe this and I believe that, when I am not at all sure in my own mind I do. I pushed open the heavy door and went in; and, as I expected, there wasn't nobody inside. There is something about a church and, for me, the Vale Church in particular, make it different from a Chapel, or a Mission Hall, or any other building. It isn't only a place where people go to sing and pray and listen to the preacher. It is the House of God. For hundreds of years people have gone there to worship and sing praises and say prayers and sleep through the sermon and be hypocrites for the rest of the week; but then, who isn't? My father took me to the Vale Church one Sunday when I was a small boy. I remember the one thing I wanted in the world at that time was a black oil-skin coat like my father wore when he went fishing. It was before I could read and, while the people was bent over praying the proper prayers from the book, I was praying in my own words to have my little oil-skin coat. The funny part of it is my prayer was answered; for my mother bought me one without my asking. I would never have dared to ask her.

It was peaceful inside the church, after being out in the wind. I stood looking at the font where I was christened. I found it hard to believe I had been a baby once and had the water sprinkled on me. I thought how strange it was one is born small to begin with and grow bigger and bigger, only to get old and small and shrivel up. I wonder why that have to be. I know the answer for me is not in the religion they teach you from the books; but it was in the very stones of the church I was standing in. They allow for everything can happen to a man from the rising to the setting of the sun. It is there you are given your name and it is there you are married, if you marry, and outside is the place where you are buried and your name put upon a stone; and in front of you, raised up for you to see, is the altar of God with a Cross upon it, and every man-jack ever born is on that Cross. It is true, it is true; and say what they like, it will be true, if they fly to Jupiter and put a sputnik round the sun!

I knelt down in a pew and said a little prayer. ‘Please God,' I said, ‘don't let what I got be wasted! Please! Please!' I don't know if He had time to listen to me; but the weather have got better, anyhow. These last weeks it have been a lovely early spring with wild flowers in bloom everywhere, and the gulls having and feeding families and making a hell of a row doing it. The birds outside my window are singing every morning when I wake up; and there is a cheeky blackbird perches on the apple-tree and whistles to me in a rude way every time I go out my back door. I can't help feeling lively in my old bones; and Friday when I went to Town to get my money I was prepared to be jolly even with Fish-eyes behind the desk. ‘Spring is in the air, my boy!' I said; but he froze me with a look. ‘Please check it is correct,' he said.

When I got out on the Esplanade I felt I didn't want to go home yet. I was thinking of old Steve Picquet, and how he would have wiped the floor with that slob. Steve may have been a wicked old bugger, but he made a hole in the air and sparks flew off him wherever he was. Fish-eyes is more of a ghost than a ghost. I thought I might as well have my dinner in the place at the corner of the States Arcade, where I had it with Steve that day; and I half expected to find the old rascal sitting in the room upstairs waiting for me. When I went in the girl said it was early for dinner, and would I have it downstairs? I said I would rather not and went up the stairs; but the room was empty. Steve wasn't there.

The girl was in no hurry to serve me; and I sat thinking how I had lost my knack with girls. That was brought home to me the day I went to the Press Shop in Smith Street to buy this book I am writing in. When I walked in the shop there was three or four girls who was supposed to be serving, but they was standing in a bunch nattering and took no more notice of me than if I was the Invisible Man. A time was when not one of those girls but wouldn't have noticed me, even if she made out not to. I walked straight through to the other part of the shop to look for my book for myself. There was a thin-faced youngish woman sitting at a desk, but she was busy talking to one of the bosses and had no eyes for me. I went to the shelf and picked out the book I wanted. I don't know if she thought I was going to walk off with it without paying, but she got up and came to me then and said, ‘Can I help you?' ‘I want this book, please,' I said. ‘That will be eighteen-and-six,' she said. ‘It is a lot of money for a book with no writing in,' I said. ‘The price is inside the cover,' she said. ‘Shall I wrap it up?' ‘Yes, please,' I said. I gave her a pound note and she gave me the change. There wasn't a smile on her face. I don't expect she would know me again.

The waitress brought me up my dinner; and it wasn't bad. There was some soup and roast pork and a pudding after; and then I wanted a cup of tea; but each time the girl put something in front of me, it was with a heavy sigh. I thought perhaps I had been inconsiderate making her trot up and down the stairs so many times only for me; so I left her a square ten shillings under the plate for herself. Once I got outside I really meant to go down to the quay and get the bus home, for I had nothing to do in Town; but instead I found myself wandering through the meat market in a sort of dream. I was thinking of old Steve going to get bones for his dogs, and how the butcher didn't charge him for the bones, only for the small piece of meat he bought for himself. Well, Steve is dead and buried now; and so are the dogs. He made it known it was his wish for his dogs to be put to sleep when he died. I heard his wish was carried out; but they wasn't buried with him, as they ought to have been.

The meat market isn't anything like as good as it used to be, for most of the meat is either English or foreign; so I cut through to the vegetable, fruit and flower market, and then for a minute I thought I was really back in the old days. It was so lovely it hit you. The only difference was there wasn't the old Guernsey women in scoops and full dresses; but the early flowers and the fresh fruit was there, and the scent and the bright colours. I thought well, here at least is something the visitors won't see nowhere else as good. I thought then I would go through the fish market while I was about it, and perhaps buy a cut of conger, or something, for my supper; but it wasn't a good day. There wasn't much wet fish, and what there was didn't look fresh. The rest was dried or frozen stuff you could buy in a grocer's shop. This is not for me to eat. I was just going to turn out into Fountain Street, and really go home this time, when who should I see come in through the doorway at the far end, of all people in the world, but Master Neville Falla?

I stiffened; and thank God I got a straight back yet! There was no question now of me turning into Fountain Street, and giving his lordship the idea I was afraid to meet him! I couldn't help thinking what a well-grown, fine-looking boy he was. He swung in with his broad shoulders, and his head thrown back, as if he didn't care a bugger for anybody. He was looking to the right, and to the left, at everything around him; and himself looked fifty times more alive than anybody else in the market. He wasn't dressed so fancy as when I saw him before. He was wearing black trousers and a black leather jacket and a red check shirt open at the neck; but he wasn't trying to look like a cowboy on the loose. His black hair wasn't as long as such boys wear it, though long enough: but it is a fine head he got; and where have I seen those eyes?

I was looking straight ahead, as if I hadn't seen him; but summing him up out of the corner of my eye. I was ready for him, and, if he dared to say a word to me, he was going to get as good as he gave. He spotted me from some distance off, and his face broke into a grin; and he got a lovely grin. He was down on me on his long legs, before I had a chance to get out of his way, and had caught hold of me by the arm. I thought I must stand on my dignity against this young rapscallion; but I was helpless in his grip. ‘Got yer!' he said. ‘The master criminal I've been waiting to catch! Who is it rob the States and get a rise for it?' I was flabbergasted. ‘Mind you, I'm not going to lay a charge,' he said. He let me go. I didn't know what to say. ‘I don't believe you remember me,' he said, and looked quite put out. ‘I remember you all right,' I said, ‘but what I want to know is how is it you know my private business?' He laughed. He was happy again. ‘Private Eye, Number One: that's me!' he said. ‘I'm going to find out all there is to know about you. By the time I've done with you, I'll have shown you up for what you are, you'll see!' ‘Well, you're welcome to try,' I said.

‘The million dollar question,' he said: ‘Who was it planted the ancient monument at the Chouey?' ‘Planted?' I said. ‘Stones don't grow.' He gave a comic sigh. ‘No, but they move,' he said. ‘Who was it moved those stones? Was it some neolithic people in something something B.C., or Ebenezer Le Page in A.D. 1930, or thereabouts?' ‘All stones are old stones,' I said. He said, ‘I wonder if anybody has ever got a straight answer to a straight question out of you?' I said, ‘How is it you are so interested in the ancient monument, anyway?' ‘I am interested in everything!' he said. He calmed down a little then and got a bit more reasonable. He said he did know part of the skeleton of an animal had been found. He had seen it for himself in the Museum and there are some odd marks on the jaw-bone. It was those marks made Mr McKendrick and other decide the set-up was genuine. I was finding out to my horror he knew more about it than I did. ‘Yes, a small boy found that skeleton,' I said. ‘I was in my garden watching at the time he found it; and I can tell you without a word of a lie he didn't make those marks on the jaw-bone; and I swear before Almighty God, I didn't!' ‘In that case, I will have to take your word for it,' he said; but I could see he wasn't altogether satisfied.

‘All right, then,' I said, ‘now I will tell you the truth and the whole truth and nothing but the truth about the marks on that jaw-bone. I often heard my father say how his father, my grandfather, had a cow, an old Guernsey cow, called Annabelle. She was buried in that spot. She died of foot-in-mouth disease.' His eyes wrinkled and he opened his mouth and gave a roar; and doubled up laughing. I thought this is the boy I am going to leave my money to. He laugh at a Guernsey joke!

I was all shaken up inside: it was so important to me. I saw in a flash what I would have to do. I would have to get hold of a lawyer and make a will; but for that I would have to know more about Neville Falla: who he was and where he come from. I knew nothing about his father, Deputy Falla, except his name; nor where he had lived when he was alive. Nor could I ask the boy point blank. He must never know what I was up to. If ever I saw him again, I wanted him to be as free and easy with me as he had been those five minutes. I would have to think out ways and means. ‘Well, I'll be going now,' I said. ‘I must get home. I got a lot to do.' ‘Hi, wait a minute!' he said. ‘Can't I come and see you one day?' ‘For sure!' I said. ‘Any day you like. Say in the afternoon. If I'm not round the house, I'll be on the beach.' ‘Good enough!' he said. ‘I'll ask a sea-gull.' He put his hand up and grinned, and strode off through the fruit and flower market; and I turned out into Fountain Street. It was going to work out all right.

He came, but it wasn't until the Thursday afternoon; and every day before, I hoped. I had already written in my book on the Sunday night how I came to meet him; and then, the Tuesday evening, I saw his name in the
Press
. It was a wonder I noticed it, for it was the sort of thing I didn't bother to read, as a rule. There had been some paintings on show in the hall over the Market, and the
Press
had a picture of the four had won prizes. His was the first. It was called
Wildscape
. I looked at it this way, and I looked at it that; but I couldn't make head or tail of it. The third prize was for a painting of the Old Harbour by Rose Guérin. I could see what it was meant to be; and it was her I would have given the first prize to.