The Book of Ebenezer le Page (66 page)

His mother was genteel. She came, or thought she came, of a better family. In the house everything had to be so-so. It was covers on the cushions, d'oyleys on the table, and never a speck of dust anywhere. If she had heard a swear word she would have dropped dead. Neville, in spite of himself, was urged by some devil to do everything he wasn't supposed to do. He finished up by knocking round with the roughest types of St Sampson's and the Vale; only to find himself the leader of a gang of hooligans, who repeated every word he said and copied him in everything he did. ‘If there is one thing makes you sick of yourself,' he said, ‘it is to see yourself being imitated by a gang of nit-witted hangers-on! It makes you realise there is something very wrong with you, if that can happen.' He had succeeded in shaking them off; but now the good people had no use for him because of his bad reputation, and the wild youngsters didn't trust him and steered clear of him. That was quite to his satisfaction. It was only when he was painting he felt good; even if the painting itself wasn't good. ‘Practically everybody is after power,' he said, ‘power over other people. Well, I can have it, if I want it; but I don't want it! It isn't worth a tinker's curse! The only power I want is over my paints and brushes.' He was going on painting, and painting what he wanted to paint, and painting it in his own way. For the rest, he didn't care a damn!

He was pretty near broke. His house, Sea View, was let and was going to be sold to the people living in it; but there wouldn't be much left for him to play about with, when the debts on it was paid. For the present, he was living in a room in the attic, and feeding out at cafés as best he could. ‘I hope you got a good lawyer to manage your affairs,' I said. ‘Yes, I have, as a matter of fact,' he said, ‘Eustace de Lisle.' I said, ‘I had an uncle who used to work for a de Lisle who lived in the Grange.' ‘I don't know where he lives,' he said, ‘his office is with the Advocates.' ‘Robbers' Row,' I said, ‘that is what my father used to call it.' ‘Oh, he is not as bad as that,' he said. ‘He does his best for me.' ‘I don't know him,' I said. I wasn't asking any more. He had let out exactly what I wanted to know. ‘It is getting a bit fresh out here now,' I said, ‘how about coming back indoors and having a snack before you go home?' ‘Rightio!' he said.

I cooked him a good meal of ham and eggs, and he gollopped it down with mugs of tea. I chatted about the visitors I had staying with me, and told him about the old girl who hid behind the pigsty. He roared with laughter. It is his laugh saves him. It warms the world. I was sorry when he had to go. I walked down the road with him as far as the Vale Church. ‘I have thoroughly enjoyed myself,' he said, when he wished me good-bye, ‘I really and truly have.' ‘Then come again whenever you like,' I said. ‘Next time I will bring my painting things,' he said, ‘and see what I can make of your house.' I trotted back to Les Moulins feeling lively as a cricket. I don't know when I have felt so well. I had no sooner put my head on the pillow than I was sound asleep.

The next morning I woke up feeling flat as a pancake. I had as much as I could do to spruce myself up to go to Town and get my money. I knew I ought at the same time to go and see that lawyer, but I had great doubts in my mind if, after all, what I was going to do was for the best. It wasn't because I thought Neville was a young criminal; and, to tell you the truth, I didn't care if he was. He was innocent, as Raymond used to say, and I wondered if it was right for me to interfere, and perhaps change the course of his whole life. I interfered in Raymond's case, and it didn't do much good. I have the excuse Raymond was helpless, and couldn't fight his own way out; but Neville is the fighting sort, and will fight his way out of any trouble, if only to land himself into a worse. Yet I took out the few papers have to do with the house from the drawer in the dresser and put them safely in my inside pocket. If I did it, it might turn out bad; but if I didn't, it might turn out bad too. How was I to know which would be the worse? The truth was the thought of not doing it made me lose heart, and feel I had nothing to live for. I can only say it is something for which Neville will never have to thank me. I am doing it for myself: to keep alive.

I went to Town and after I came out of the States Offices nearly killed myself, by being fool enough to climb up the Pier Steps. I thought it would save time. I got to the top puffing and blowing, and my old heart going like a hammer; and saw myself dropping dead in the middle of the High Street. I must never do that again. When I had recovered more or less, I walked slowly up Smith Street; and, at the top, I stopped to have a look at Jim's name on the War Memorial. I don't expect there is anybody on the island now who remembers what he was like; and yet I could see his old smile as plain as if it was only yesterday I had seen him. I turned to the left and passed in front of the Court; but I don't know my way around there very well. It is a part of the town I have never been to much, and there have been a lot of new big offices built down Robbers' Row. I examined the brass plates on the doorposts, and was lucky, for only the second block along I found one with Eustace de Lisle's name on it. The front door was open and I walked in. On the right, in a small room with a desk and a lot of papers, was a girl with pale yellow hair done up like a beehive on the top of her head, and a skirt up round her neck, and hands that flapped like the fins of a fish. ‘Can I help you?' she said.

‘Please can I speak to Mr Eustace de Lisle?' I said. ‘I am afraid not,' she said. ‘He is engaged at present.' ‘It is important,' I said. ‘If you will give me some idea of what it is about,' she said, ‘I can tell you if it is business Mr de Lisle will care to undertake.' I said, ‘It is Mr de Lisle himself I want to speak to.' I wasn't going to tell this slip of a girl all my business. ‘In that case, you could write,' she said. ‘It is not something I can write myself,' I said, ‘I want to explain to Mr de Lisle; and it is him who will have to write it down.' ‘I could book you an appointment,' she said, ‘but there will be a fee.' I could see she thought I didn't have a penny to my name. ‘I don't mind about the fee,' I said, ‘but I only come to Town Fridays.' She opened a book and turned over the pages. It was a thick book with hard covers like the books I buy for myself. ‘Mr de Lisle could see you next Friday morning at eleven,' she said, ‘if that will be convenient.' ‘I suppose it will have to be,' I said. She asked for my name and address to put down in the book; and I had to tell her. ‘Thank you, good-morning,' I said and came out. It was a smack in the eye for me. I had hoped to have it all settled that morning; and imagined myself coming home with the will in my pocket. Now I expect I will have to pay seven-and-six for her writing down my name and address.

I could have kicked myself when I got outside for not saying I could go and see him on the Monday, but it didn't enter my head when I was in the office. The idea of having to wait a whole week was almost more than I could bear. How about if something was to happen to me before the next Friday? All the winter I hadn't cared a button if I woke up from one day to the next; but now there was something I wanted to do, I was worried to death I might pop off any minute. The Sunday evening I got out my book and wrote down about the day Neville came to see me. It brought him back to me with all his sparks and full of life, and I wanted more than ever for him to live in Les Moulins some day, and I didn't care how soon. I knew I would have to wait at least until the Thursday before I could expect to see him again, for the other days he would be working; and for my part I went about my work from day to day as if I was going to live for ever, and tried not to worry or get excited.

The moment I woke up on the Thursday morning I knew it was going to be a good day. I felt as I used to feel Christmas morning when I was a kid, and woke up knowing Santa Claus would have put something in my stocking; though I had been told it was my father really, for my mother said Santa Claus was a heathen superstition. I didn't care if it was superstition, and would have bet anything Neville would come; and, sure enough, I was just finishing my dinner, when in he walked by the back door. ‘Hullo!' he said, ‘and how is Ebenezer?' I noticed it wasn't Mr Le Page this time. ‘Fine!' I said. ‘I've brought my gear,' he said. He was carrying an easel and a stool, and had a box slung over his shoulder, and several pictures under one arm. He unloaded the lot on to the green-bed. ‘How about something to eat before you begin?' I said. ‘No, thanks,' he said. ‘I wouldn't mind a cup of tea.' ‘Help yourself, then,' I said. He got a mug from the dresser and poured himself a mugfull. He would have made a good picture himself, as he stood there drinking it. He was wearing a blue vest with red rings around it, and blue trousers with sandals; but no socks. For a minute I hated him because he was young and fine-looking, and I was an old crab. He had everything to come, and I had nothing to look forward to; but I couldn't hate him for long. He was far better to look at than I had ever been; and I was glad he would be in the world when I was gone.

‘I have brought a few of my great works to show you,' he said. ‘I won't understand,' I said, ‘I don't know nothing about pictures.' ‘There is nothing to understand,' he said, ‘and you don't have to know about pictures. All you got to do is look at 'em.' He stood one up on a chair by the window, so as to catch the light. ‘Another Wildscape,' he said. It was a picture full of wild and lovely colours, but I was frowning: I couldn't make out what it was meant to be. ‘It is too near for you to be able to see it as a whole,' he said, and moved the chair further away. ‘Why, that's in Fontenelle Bay!' I said. ‘Right first go!' he said. The rough sea was pouring over a lop-sided rock, and there was clouds heavy with rain and rain falling, and rays of sunshine coming from between the clouds and across the rain and shining bright on the sea. It was so real to me I wouldn't have been surprised if I had heard the wind blowing. ‘It's good, that!' I said. ‘At least it's better than the one got the prize,' he said. That was of the Pea-Stacks in a storm. ‘Too obvious,' he said. A gentleman in Town bought it for twenty quid.

I thought that was a lot of money to pay for a picture. ‘Well, that's a good beginning, anyway,' I said. ‘It will give me a couple of weeks off,' he said, ‘but it is a warning.' ‘How d'you mean?' I said. ‘I mustn't paint with the Market in mind,' he said, ‘that would be the end of me.' I said, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's.' He gave me a quick look. ‘Something like that,' he said. He raved on about painting; but most of it I didn't understand. He had no use for this: he had no use for that. He was a modern; and against the moderns. He thought many of the old painters had more to teach the young painter than any modern. As for abstract art, it was long past the time to have grown out of such nonsense. He had more sympathy with the lunatic fringe. It was genuine to the painter: to start with, at least. He must beware. A chap can make a fortune by going fashionably mad. ‘I will be post-modern; or nothing,' he said. ‘All I want to paint is the real feel of the actual thing in front of me. I will never get to it, I know; but I can try.' I liked him very much when he was talking about his painting. For all his swagger, Neville is humble really.

I couldn't help thinking how, in his place, I would have put that twenty quid away for a rainy day; but I didn't say anything and let him go on showing me the others. There was one of Birdo Harbour at low tide, and Herm quite close. It was evening, and shining peaceful with a few boats quiet on the sea. He thought it was the best he had done so far, and I thought it was good; but the one I liked best myself was of L'Ancresse Common. He had written underneath it
Defences
. It wasn't L'Ancresse Common quite as it is now, for he had left out the bungalows and the new buildings; nor was there any sign of it being a golf links, and Fort Le Marchant with its many windows was not a ruin, but looked as if there might be soldiers living in it yet. There was a grey martello tower quite near, and the others in the distance guarding the full round of the bay. The colours of the sand and of the few rocks, and of the sea and the sky, was really wonderful in that picture; and as different as imaginable from those of the glaring colours of the views of Guernsey they sell in the shops in Town. ‘What I like about your pictures,' I said, ‘is they are quite different from picture-postcards. They sing.' He said, ‘That is the most encouraging remark ever made about my work. I only paint because I am not musical.' I said, ‘What I don't understand about your pictures is there are no human beings in them. There is not a living soul on L'Ancresse, or anywhere else.' ‘Human beings spoil the picture,' he said. ‘I can do with some of the things they have left behind.'

He was in a hurry to get on with it, and picked up his stool and easel and box, and was going. ‘Don't wait for me for tea,' he said, ‘I won't show up until I got something done.' ‘You'll have a meal before you go home, I hope,' I said. ‘Thanks very much,' he said. He hadn't given me very much time to look at his pictures properly; and when he was gone I had another look at them. There was some of places on the island I had never been to: rocks and cliffs on the south coast, I think; and one glorious with golden gorse. Those of places I knew I thought even more of the second time I looked at them: there was so much I had missed the first. I couldn't have been more wrong judging from the picture in the
Press
. There was nothing mixed-up or slapdash when you stood away and looked at the whole thing, and all the colours fell together. Afterwards, when I had washed up the dinner things and got the room tidy, I pottered round in the greenhouse and outside. I can't say how happy I was to think he was down on the beach painting; and would be coming back to have a meal with me when he had done. He wasn't in by five, so I made myself some tea; but didn't eat much. I was wondering what he would like for his supper. I had some fresh whiting I could cook with fried potatoes; or he could have ham and eggs again. It was after seven when he came in. He looked dog-tired, and flopped down on the green-bed. ‘God, it does take it out of you!' he said. ‘Well, food now!' I said, and asked him which he would like. ‘The whiting, if it's not too much trouble,' he said, ‘but first have a look at your picture.'