Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Present and the Past

‘I thought it happened chiefly in our own homes.’

‘People learn to ignore things there. And at a station they simply confront them.’

‘Well, my brother and sister!’ said a quick, deep voice, as a small, dark woman came rapidly into the room, talking in short, quick sentences. ‘My desertion of you is over. Have you minded it as much as I have? If so, you are as glad as I am. But the culprit is the one who suffers. It is one of the fair things in life. And I shall alter it all for you. I shall tell you its meaning. And you will see it as I do.’

‘I always fail at moments of test,’ said Ursula, as she bent towards her sister. ‘I cannot carry things off.’

‘You are yourself. As I looked to find you. I would not have you rise to an occasion. I should feel you were someone else.’

‘But a more manageable person.’

‘Not the person I looked to see. Not my sister.’

‘Do you think I am a success?’ said Elton. ‘I have meant my silence to cover so much.’

‘You are both yourselves. You have stood the years. My anxiety was in myself. I felt that change had come to me. I feared it might threaten you. But the onslaught of life has been easier on you. May it always be.’

‘But we do not seem people who have not lived?’ said her brother.

‘You have not lived much yet. Your time is to come.’

‘Mine is not,’ said Ursula. ‘I tolerate nothing that looms ahead. I will not be threatened by life.’

‘I am rather flattered by that,’ said Elton. ‘I should have thought it would pass me by.’

‘There is no threat yet,’ said Catherine. ‘Your sky is clear. May it never darken. And now we leave the heights and depths. I see we are rescued from them. Ursula will deal with the tea today. I will be the guest. Anything she has done for years, she can do once more.’

Ursula made some adjustment on the tray and yielded her place to her brother.

‘Does Elton pour out the tea?’

‘Yes,’ said the latter, with his eyes on doing so. ‘My touch is as sensitive as any woman’s.’

‘More sensitive than Ursula’s?’

‘No, but more successful.’

‘This is a thing I had not imagined. I suppose there will be others.’

‘No,’ said Ursula, ‘I think this is the only one.’

Catherine looked from her brother to her sister.

‘You have had your feeling for each other. I did not take that. What if you had not had it? What should I have done?’

‘Would you not have done what you have now?’ said Ursula.

‘I should. It is the truth. I will not fear it. But how we should have suffered, both of you and I!’

‘Are you going to see Cassius?’ said Elton. ‘The question does not savour of curiosity.’

‘It simply contains it,’ said Catherine, smiling. ‘I shall see my sons. I shall know them. They will know me. I may or may not see their father. That means nothing.’

‘You have taken a brave step. Fancy my being able to say a thing like that! I don’t think Ursula’s lips could have framed the words.’

‘It was easy to take the step. I had to do so, knowing I was breaking faith. That had been a thing I could not do. I found I could do nothing else.’

‘I wonder if I could face reality,’ said Elton.

‘What do you call this?’ said Catherine, taking his hand and laying it on Ursula’s. ‘The feeling between you. What is that?’

‘The foundation of our life. All lives must have a foundation. I was thinking of the things that come after it.’

‘It is best to have a foundation and not to build on it,’ said Ursula.

‘Foundations! Mine were torn from under me. I allowed it myself. I confused the incident with the essence. I have paid the price.’

Catherine Clare had a short, spare figure, straight, rather handsome features, iron-grey, curling hair and dark eyes that seemed to realize their own swift glance. Her voice was a quick, deep monotone, and all her movements were directed to what she did.

‘You are an accomplished tea-maker, Elton. I shall hesitate to take your place.’

‘I have always hesitated,’ said Ursula. ‘I am uncertain of myself. It is a thing that is known about me, I think the only one.’

‘You are proud of it,’ said Catherine, smiling.

‘Well, I hope people think I am. They don’t despise you for things, if you are proud of them. They don’t seem to mind a low standard.’

‘It is important to rinse every cup with hot water,’ said Elton, doing as he said.

‘You will find my casual methods a change,’ said Catherine. ‘I hope you will not mind them.’

‘Ursula will not. I shall mind them very much. But wild horses would not drag it from me. Though I hardly think wild horses do as much to drag things from people as is thought.’

Catherine gave her quick, deep laugh.

‘I could never give anything more attention than I felt it deserved,’ she said.

‘But food deserves all attention. And tea is an Englishwoman’s favourite meal. And her standard is mine.’

‘And is it also Ursula’s?’

‘I strive to make it so,’ said the latter, ‘and I am proud if I succeed. I am a person with my own pathos. But I hope no one knows that.’

‘I wonder if I am,’ said Elton. ‘Or is my pathos so much my own that it does not count?’

‘What does it consist of?’ said Catherine.

‘Of asking so little of life. Of feeling that is all I deserve. Of being afraid to publish what I write, for fear people should read it. Of being glad that I cannot afford to marry, in case I should do so.’

‘You would not have to marry because you could afford to.’

‘People do seem to have to,’ said Elton.

‘Would you like to marry, Ursula?’

‘No, but I wish people believed it. I don’t like to have any pathos but my own.’

‘Why do you not want to?’

‘I could not give a house those unmistakable signs of a woman’s presence. I do not even recognize them.’

‘I hardly think I gave my house those signs.’

‘Then perhaps Cassius had his own pathos. And I see it must have been his own. I don’t wonder you could not bear it.’

‘There were things I could not bear,’ said Catherine, in a just audible tone.

‘I could not bear anything. I shut my eyes to that side of life.’

‘What do you know about life?’ said her sister.

‘Everyone knows all about it. It is impossible to help it, though it is best not to put it into words.’

‘Tell me what you know.’

‘Let me do it,’ said Elton. ‘It is not short and will not soon be gone. It is longer than anyone can realize. And it is very brave to end it. To say it is cowardly is absurd. It is only said by people who would not dare to do it.’

‘Some people dare to face life,’ said Catherine.

‘Most people do,’ said Ursula. ‘We are talking of facing death.’

‘I never feel disapproval,’ said Elton. ‘It is a feeling foreign to my nature. I hardly need to know all to forgive all. Considering the pleasure of knowing, that is only fair. I can hardly bear to know it; I forgive so much. I think people do such understandable things.’

‘Yes,’ said Ursula; ‘I am often ashamed of understanding them.’

‘I hope I understand,’ said Catherine, looking straight before her. ‘I hope I had sympathy. I hope I did not give it only to myself. I wonder if I knew my husband’s nature. I wonder if I recognized its signs.’

‘Signs are not things we can be expected to study,’ said her brother.

‘I wonder if I measured our difference. I was of another character. I did not look for thrust or insult. I never retaliated, but I forget none. The load of memory became too great. He did not know what I carried with me. His burden was light.’