Chapter CXXI

by William Somerset Maugham

　　When the hops were picked, Philip with the news in his pocket that he hadgot the appointment as assistant house-physician at St. Luke's,accompanied the Athelnys back to London. He took modest rooms inWestminster and at the beginning of October entered upon his duties. Thework was interesting and varied; every day he learned something new; hefelt himself of some consequence; and he saw a good deal of Sally. Hefound life uncommonly pleasant. He was free about six, except on the dayson which he had out-patients, and then he went to the shop at which Sallyworked to meet her when she came out. There were several young men, whohung about opposite the `trade entrance' or a little further along, at thefirst corner; and the girls, coming out two and two or in little groups,nudged one another and giggled as they recognised them. Sally in her plainblack dress looked very different from the country lass who had pickedhops side by side with him. She walked away from the shop quickly, but sheslackened her pace when they met, and greeted him with her quiet smile.They walked together through the busy street. He talked to her of his workat the hospital, and she told him what she had been doing in the shop thatday. He came to know the names of the girls she worked with. He found thatSally had a restrained, but keen, sense of the ridiculous, and she maderemarks about the girls or the men who were set over them which amused himby their unexpected drollery. She had a way of saying a thing which wasvery characteristic, quite gravely, as though there were nothing funny init at all, and yet it was so sharp-sighted that Philip broke intodelighted laughter. Then she would give him a little glance in which thesmiling eyes showed she was not unaware of her own humour. They met witha handshake and parted as formally. Once Philip asked her to come and havetea with him in his rooms, but she refused."No, I won't do that. It would look funny."Never a word of love passed between them. She seemed not to desireanything more than the companionship of those walks. Yet Philip waspositive that she was glad to be with him. She puzzled him as much as shehad done at the beginning. He did not begin to understand her conduct; butthe more he knew her the fonder he grew of her; she was competent and selfcontrolled, and there was a charming honesty in her: you felt that youcould rely upon her in every circumstance."You are an awfully good sort," he said to her once a propos of nothingat all."I expect I'm just the same as everyone else," she answered.He knew that he did not love her. It was a great affection that he feltfor her, and he liked her company; it was curiously soothing; and he hada feeling for her which seemed to him ridiculous to entertain towards ashop-girl of nineteen: he respected her. And he admired her magnificenthealthiness. She was a splendid animal, without defect; and physicalperfection filled him always with admiring awe. She made him feelunworthy.Then, one day, about three weeks after they had come back to London asthey walked together, he noticed that she was unusually silent. Theserenity of her expression was altered by a slight line between theeyebrows: it was the beginning of a frown."What's the matter, Sally?" he asked.She did not look at him, but straight in front of her, and her colourdarkened."I don't know."He understood at once what she meant. His heart gave a sudden, quick beat,and he felt the colour leave his cheeks."What d'you mean? Are you afraid that... ?"He stopped. He could not go on. The possibility that anything of the sortcould happen had never crossed his mind. Then he saw that her lips weretrembling, and she was trying not to cry."I'm not certain yet. Perhaps it'll be all right."They walked on in silence till they came to the corner of Chancery Lane,where he always left her. She held out her hand and smiled."Don't worry about it yet. Let's hope for the best."He walked away with a tumult of thoughts in his head. What a fool he hadbeen! That was the first thing that struck him, an abject, miserable fool,and he repeated it to himself a dozen times in a rush of angry feeling. Hedespised himself. How could he have got into such a mess? But at the sametime, for his thoughts chased one another through his brain and yet seemedto stand together, in a hopeless confusion, like the pieces of a jig-sawpuzzle seen in a nightmare, he asked himself what he was going to do.Everything was so clear before him, all he had aimed at so long withinreach at last, and now his inconceivable stupidity had erected this newobstacle. Philip had never been able to surmount what he acknowledged wasa defect in his resolute desire for a well ordered life, and that was hispassion for living in the future; and no sooner was he settled in his workat the hospital than he had busied himself with arrangements for histravels. In the past he had often tried not to think too circumstantiallyof his plans for the future, it was only discouraging; but now that hisgoal was so near he saw no harm in giving away to a longing that was sodifficult to resist. First of all he meant to go to Spain. That was theland of his heart; and by now he was imbued with its spirit, its romanceand colour and history and grandeur; he felt that it had a message for himin particular which no other country could give. He knew the fine oldcities already as though he had trodden their tortuous streets fromchildhood. Cordova, Seville, Toledo, Leon, Tarragona, Burgos. The greatpainters of Spain were the painters of his soul, and his pulse beatquickly as he pictured his ecstasy on standing face to face with thoseworks which were more significant than any others to his own tortured,restless heart. He had read the great poets, more characteristic of theirrace than the poets of other lands; for they seemed to have drawn theirinspiration not at all from the general currents of the world's literaturebut directly from the torrid, scented plains and the bleak mountains oftheir country. A few short months now, and he would hear with his own earsall around him the language which seemed most apt for grandeur of soul andpassion. His fine taste had given him an inkling that Andalusia was toosoft and sensuous, a little vulgar even, to satisfy his ardour; and hisimagination dwelt more willingly among the wind-swept distances of Castileand the rugged magnificence of Aragon and Leon. He did not know quite whatthose unknown contacts would give him, but he felt that he would gatherfrom them a strength and a purpose which would make him more capable ofaffronting and comprehending the manifold wonders of places more distantand more strange.For this was only a beginning. He had got into communication with thevarious companies which took surgeons out on their ships, and knew exactlywhat were their routes, and from men who had been on them what were theadvantages and disadvantages of each line. He put aside the Orient and theP. & O. It was difficult to get a berth with them; and besides theirpassenger traffic allowed the medical officer little freedom; but therewere other services which sent large tramps on leisurely expeditions tothe East, stopping at all sorts of ports for various periods, from a dayor two to a fortnight, so that you had plenty of time, and it was oftenpossible to make a trip inland. The pay was poor and the food no more thanadequate, so that there was not much demand for the posts, and a man witha London degree was pretty sure to get one if he applied. Since there wereno passengers other than a casual man or so, shipping on business fromsome out-of-the-way port to another, the life on board was friendly andpleasant. Philip knew by heart the list of places at which they touched;and each one called up in him visions of tropical sunshine, and magiccolour, and of a teeming, mysterious, intense life. Life! That was what hewanted. At last he would come to close quarters with Life. And perhaps,from Tokyo or Shanghai it would be possible to tranship into some otherline and drip down to the islands of the South Pacific. A doctor wasuseful anywhere. There might be an opportunity to go up country in Burmah,and what rich jungles in Sumatra or Borneo might he not visit? He wasyoung still and time was no object to him. He had no ties in England, nofriends; he could go up and down the world for years, learning the beautyand the wonder and the variedness of life.Now this thing had come. He put aside the possibility that Sally wasmistaken; he felt strangely certain that she was right; after all, it wasso likely; anyone could see that Nature had built her to be the mother ofchildren. He knew what he ought to do. He ought not to let the incidentdivert him a hair's breadth from his path. He thought of Griffiths; hecould easily imagine with what indifference that young man would havereceived such a piece of news; he would have thought it an awful nuisanceand would at once have taken to his heels, like a wise fellow; he wouldhave left the girl to deal with her troubles as best she could. Philiptold himself that if this had happened it was because it was inevitable.He was no more to blame than Sally; she was a girl who knew the world andthe facts of life, and she had taken the risk with her eyes open. It wouldbe madness to allow such an accident to disturb the whole pattern of hislife. He was one of the few people who was acutely conscious of thetransitoriness of life, and how necessary it was to make the most of it.He would do what he could for Sally; he could afford to give her asufficient sum of money. A strong man would never allow himself to beturned from his purpose.Philip said all this to himself, but he knew he could not do it. He simplycould not. He knew himself."I'm so damned weak," he muttered despairingly.She had trusted him and been kind to him. He simply could not do a thingwhich, notwithstanding all his reason, he felt was horrible. He knew hewould have no peace on his travels if he had the thought constantly withhim that she was wretched. Besides, there were her father and mother: theyhad always treated him well; it was not possible to repay them withingratitude. The only thing was to marry Sally as quickly as possible. Hewould write to Doctor South, tell him he was going to be married at once,and say that if his offer still held he was willing to accept it. Thatsort of practice, among poor people, was the only one possible for him;there his deformity did not matter, and they would not sneer at the simplemanners of his wife. It was curious to think of her as his wife, it gavehim a queer, soft feeling; and a wave of emotion spread over him as hethought of the child which was his. He had little doubt that Doctor Southwould be glad to have him, and he pictured to himself the life he wouldlead with Sally in the fishing village. They would have a little housewithin sight of the sea, and he would watch the mighty ships passing tothe lands he would never know. Perhaps that was the wisest thing. Cronshawhad told him that the facts of life mattered nothing to him who by thepower of fancy held in fee the twin realms of space and time. It was true.Forever wilt thou love and she be fair!His wedding present to his wife would be all his high hopes.Self-sacrifice! Philip was uplifted by its beauty, and all through theevening he thought of it. He was so excited that he could not read. Heseemed to be driven out of his rooms into the streets, and he walked upand down Birdcage Walk, his heart throbbing with joy. He could hardly bearhis impatience. He wanted to see Sally's happiness when he made her hisoffer, and if it had not been so late he would have gone to her there andthen. He pictured to himself the long evenings he would spend with Sallyin the cosy sitting-room, the blinds undrawn so that they could watch thesea; he with his books, while she bent over her work, and the shaded lampmade her sweet face more fair. They would talk over the growing child, andwhen she turned her eyes to his there was in them the light of love. Andthe fishermen and their wives who were his patients would come to feel agreat affection for them, and they in their turn would enter into thepleasures and pains of those simple lives. But his thoughts returned tothe son who would be his and hers. Already he felt in himself a passionatedevotion to it. He thought of passing his hands over his little perfectlimbs, he knew he would be beautiful; and he would make over to him allhis dreams of a rich and varied life. And thinking over the longpilgrimage of his past he accepted it joyfully. He accepted the deformitywhich had made life so hard for him; he knew that it had warped hischaracter, but now he saw also that by reason of it he had acquired thatpower of introspection which had given him so much delight. Without it hewould never have had his keen appreciation of beauty, his passion for artand literature, and his interest in the varied spectacle of life. Theridicule and the contempt which had so often been heaped upon him hadturned his mind inward and called forth those flowers which he felt wouldnever lose their fragrance. Then he saw that the normal was the rarestthing in the world. Everyone had some defect, of body or of mind: hethought of all the people he had known (the whole world was like asick-house, and there was no rhyme or reason in it), he saw a longprocession, deformed in body and warped in mind, some with illness of theflesh, weak hearts or weak lungs, and some with illness of the spirit,languor of will, or a craving for liquor. At this moment he could feel aholy compassion for them all. They were the helpless instruments of blindchance. He could pardon Griffiths for his treachery and Mildred for thepain she had caused him. They could not help themselves. The onlyreasonable thing was to accept the good of men and be patient with theirfaults. The words of the dying God crossed his memory:Forgive them, for they know not what they do.