Сарбан - Ringstones

I don't know whether my air of polite attention made Dr Ravelin think I was interested in antiquities or whether he was so absorbed in the subject himself that he could talk about nothing else. I listened all through dinner and long after dinner was over, but often I did not understand what he was talking about; there were so many references to books and names and periods that meant nothing to me, but I suppose he had forgotten that he was not talking to a fellow archaeologist. I listened without being bored because I liked his voice and liked, too, the atmosphere of crowded history with which his talk seemed to fill Ringstones; and if now and again my attention wandered from his philosophising to his own expressive face and hands and to the lovely china and silver and the fine old furniture of the dining−room, I think I did not enjoy my evening any the less for that I was receiving compensations for many years of Green Street and appreciating every minute of it.

When he at length made signs of rising I realised that he had not once mentioned the children. There was a lot now that I wanted to ask about them, but he gave me little opportunity. However, before we got up from the table, after one or two ineffectual attempts, I did succeed in mentioning Nuaman. He gave me a keen glance, then fidgeted with the things before him on the table. It had not been hard to guess that he was completely out of his element with children. He was plainly wondering what I thought about them. I reassured him gladly:

“I think they're all three delightful. I'm sure I'm going to enjoy every minute of being with them. I only hope they'll like me.”

“Oh, no question of that. No question!” he exclaimed. They will keep you busy. But you mustn't let them take all your time. There are studies, no doubt of your own that you would like to pursue. Miss Corrigan, I believe, is greatly interested in biology. There are books here. I will show you the library...”

In vain I tried to keep him to the subject of the children. I wanted to know where they came from, what their language was, whether he had any particular ideas about the kind of thing we should do together. He cut all that short by rising abruptly and saying in a tone of mock consternation:

“But my dear Miss Hazell I hoped you were going to do all that! Really, I know nothing about the education of children. I have by no means completed my own education yet. Please do whatever you think suitable. I leave them entirely in your hands—or you in theirs!”

Before such abdication of responsibility I could only laugh and declare I would do my best. Nothing could have pleased me better; for the first time in my life I could do as I liked.

My breakfast was brought to me in my bedroom next morning by Mrs. Sarkissian. I protested at such unnecessary attention and said I would rather come down and have it with the children,

“They've had theirs and been out a couple of hours,” she said. It was only half−past seven. I was already dressed and had been on the point of going down but I felt so guilty that I would have left my breakfast untouched in my hurry to redeem what I feared might be thought slackness. Mrs. Sarkissian, however, would not let me. I was not to worry about keeping the same hours as the children, she told me. “The young man will be up before daylight sometimes, and sometimes hell he in bed till noon. I let him do as he likes. He'll have his own way, he will.”

Her face was pretty well expressionless. I could not tell whether she approved of Nuaman or not. But as she seemed disposed to be talked to I chatted to her while I gulped down my breakfast: said I hoped the children didn't make too much work for her; it seemed a big house for one person to look after.

“There's always work. But Hagop does a lot in the house. Besides, the maid'll be back in a bit.”

“Your husband doesn't speak English so well as you, does he?” I asked. Except for the one word “Ringstones” uttered when he met me I hadn't heard him speak a word of English.

“He speaks it,” she answered.

“But you always speak Italian together?” I said. She gave a short laugh and said with great disdain: “Italian? Naow! We're Armenians.”

I said I supposed she must have been in England a long time.

“I been here twenty years. I came with Dr Ravelin from Aleppo before the war.” “And the children? Are they from Aleppo, too?”

She shook her head.

I went out into a dazzling summer morning. The air was fresh and cool, but the cloudless sky promised a hot day. There was bird−song from every side and a busy squabbling of jackdaws among the tall beeches about the house.

I had not far to look for the girls. They were sitting side by side on the low stone wall that bounded the terrace. I had no clear idea how I was going to set about my duties, but I thought I ought to spend the first few days in getting to know the children and finding out how good or bad their English was before I could form any plan for improving it. The girls slid off their perch and stood demurely side by side as I greeted them. They replied 'Good morning' carefully and with a correct enough pronunciation, but they were baffled when I went on talking to them in an ordinary conversational way. They stood there with their heads bent and little embarrassed smiles curving their lips, looking as uncomfortable as I should have felt if I had suddenly found myself being talked to, say, by a Frenchwoman in French. The best beginning, I thought, was to get them all together, so I asked where Nuaman was. That, or the name (though I know I didn't pronounce it right) they understood and Ianthe, the brown−eyed one, pointed down the park.

They would have fallen in behind me, but, talking all the time in the hope of overcoming their shyness, I made them walk one on each side of me, and in that way, with an occasional gesture from one of them to show the way, we crossed towards the beck.

The turf we walked on was close and soft and springy, cropped short by the sheep more efficiently than if it had been tended by a professional groundsman. For a wide space before the house it was perfectly level. There was all the room one could desire for games, and as we walked along I was already planning what we could play with four people. The beck flows more towards the east side of the park, that is, the side away from where the road from Blagill comes down, and its course is marked by a line of various trees: alders, willows, mountain−ash, poplars, limes and birches. Beyond it, where the ground is not too steep and rocky to give them root−hold, there are plantations of pine and larch which climb the hillside until they thin out into scattered copses or huddled groups of trees all leaning together and straining away from the whip of the wind. At the bottom of the park, beyond a little oak−wood, the beck plunges between two towering crags and then rushes down a deep wooded glen on its way to join the river Nither.

I saw all this under the golden light of one of those mornings that compensate in one deep breath of their intoxicating air for endless winters of rain and drizzle and heavy skies and grimy fog. I felt that my eyes could never see enough of those innumerable shades of green, nor my ears have their fill of birdsong and the loud, long music of the water. I could feel the strengthening sun begin to pour on my neck and arms, and I smelt the warm sweetness of the deep old turf and all its tiny flowers. I had the absurd fancy that such a morning had never been known before in England; that these children, sun−browned themselves, clad as though to offer their bodies to the sun, had brought a richer and more splendid warmth with them from their Eastern home to this little hollow of the North.

When we reached the bank of the stream I could still not see Nuaman. Without hesitation the two girls jumped down and crossed the foaming water on the boulders. I followed and we turned down the farther bank. The turf grew coarser here and the ground was softer and damper. We picked our way among tufts of rushes and clumps of bog−myrtle and round cushions of moss stitched all over with tiny stars of white flowers. Here grew tall yellow flags and such a profusion of spotted orchises as I have never seen elsewhere. Marvan and Ianthe, wearing sandals, splashed unconcernedly through the wet places, but I, being careful of my shoes and socks, stepped more warily, picking out the clumps of rushes and occasional dark grey stones for my footing. Looking down in this way I did not see Nuaman until we were almost upon him.