Ivy Compton-Burnett - The Present and the Past

‘So that your interview with us should not be too long?’

‘I knew how much I could stand,’ said Cassius, simply. ‘Well, so you have all come to see your father. You know he has been ill?’

‘No, Toby has,’ said the latter.

‘He was upset this morning,’ said Megan.

‘Poor little boy!’ said Toby, looking at his father.

‘Yes, poor little Toby! But Father has been worse than that.’

‘No, Father better now.’

‘Toby can run about,’ said Cassius, ‘and Father has to lie on the sofa.’

Toby laid his head down on this support, and watched his father out of the corner of his eye for a model of invalid deportment.

‘Quite well now,’ he said, looking up. ‘Father and Toby.’

‘No, Father will not be well yet.’

Toby resignedly replaced his head.

‘What is the name of your illness?’ said Henry to Cassius.

‘It is something you would not understand.’

‘But it must have a name. The doctor must have called it something.’

‘I think it would now be called general weakness and depression.’

‘But what was it at first?’

‘Why do you want to know? The name does not make much difference.’

‘I want to tell people about it, when they say it was not an illness.’

‘What do they say it was?’

‘That does not matter, if I can tell them the name. The weakness was just the ending of it.’

‘The after effects,’ said Megan.

‘Poor Father very sad,’ said Toby, without raising his head. ‘Very sad and want to die. But wake up again.’

‘Do people say that?’ said Cassius.

‘We heard them saying things,’ said Megan. ‘They didn’t mean us to hear. And we didn’t know they would say them.’

‘But you knew no better than to listen?’

‘We were not listening,’ said Henry. ‘Megan told you that we heard. But I daresay we might have listened. There isn’t anyone who wouldn’t have, when it was a thing like that.’

‘Why were you as sad as that?’ said Megan.

‘I can hardly tell you the reasons. I hope you will never be so sad.’

‘Everyone is sad sometimes,’ said Henry. ‘But they don’t do what you did. Will you be put in prison?’

‘No, of course I shall not.’

‘I thought that to kill yourself was against the law.’

‘There is no need to use such words. This was not much more than a mistake.’

‘Do you mean you did it by accident?’

‘Well, I hardly knew what I was doing.’

‘Then perhaps it would not count. Perhaps you were delirious. People didn’t know it was like that. They thought you meant to doit.’

‘If I had done a good action, no one would have heard of it,’ said Cassius, looking round.

‘They would certainly have had less opportunity,’ said Mr Clare. ‘It would have made less talk.’

‘Have you ever done one?’ said Henry. ‘You know I don’t mean you haven’t. I just wanted to know.’

‘I suppose so from time to time. Have you?’

‘Well, I don’t think so. I can’t think of one.’

‘Well, I declare, neither can I,’ said Cassius, half-laughing. ‘I declare that I can’t. But I suppose I can hardly have gone through life without doing something for somebody.’

‘People generally count supporting their children,’ said Megan.

‘Well, I do not. That does not put me apart from other men.’

‘And your good action must do that?’ said Mr Clare. ‘You would kill two birds with one stone.’

The elder boys had entered the room, and Fabian came up to his father.

‘We have been fortunate, Father,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I am so thankful, and so is everyone. We could not have spared you.’

Cassius took the hand and sent his eyes over his son’s face. Guy came and stood by his brother.

‘You said you had never done a good action,’ he said, in a hurried, even tone. ‘But you let Mother come and see us, and changed things for us all. And you let her go on coming. It does put you apart from other men.’

‘Did your mother tell you to say these things?’

‘She did not tell us what to say,’ said Fabian.

‘Then I congratulate you in my turn. You have done well. You may tell your mother that from me.’

There was a long silence.

‘You did not tell your son to make a speech?’ said Cassius to Flavia.

‘No, I leave him to depend on himself.’

‘What he said was certainly different.’

‘Which kind of approach do you prefer?’

‘You made a beautiful speech, my boy,’ said Cassius, suddenly to Guy. ‘You brought comfort to your father when he needed it. You have made him proud of you, and so has your brother. I am a happier man, and I had need of happiness.’

Toby ran up and stood ready to share in the compliments.

‘And Toby is a comfort to Father by being himself.’

‘And Henry and Megan,’ said Toby, with an embracing gesture. ‘And Bennet and Eliza and Mother.’

‘What would have happened to us, if you had died?’ said Henry. ‘This house would have belonged to Fabian; so we should still have had a home. But would other things have been different?’

‘And Ainger and William,’ added Toby.

‘Would you not have found that losing me made a difference?’ said Cassius, looking at his son. ‘Yes, but I knew about that.’

‘So that is how you talked, when you thought I might be going to die.’

‘Well, we couldn’t have helped it, if you had,’ said Megan. ‘We shouldn’t have had to feel ashamed about it. That is unfair when people haven’t done anything. And when a thing is done on purpose, it isn’t even sad.’

‘It is sad that anyone should want to do such a thing.’

‘Not if he wanted to when he had an ordinary life. If he had had pain or sorrow, it would be different.’

‘Life itself can be a sorrow, my child.’

‘Only because of what is in it. We are supposed to like life itself. Will you be happier now you have done this? Your life won’t be any different.’

‘I shall be more resigned. And I hope my life will be a little different. I hope something will come out of it, that will make it so. And I must remember what you say, and try to like life itself.’

‘Toby said it,’ said Toby, coming up with something in his hands.

‘What have you there?’ said Cassius.

Toby displayed a box containing various objects.

‘Where did you get that box?’

‘Open drawer,’ said his son.

‘Go and put it back again and shut the drawer.’

‘No,’ said Toby.

‘Do as Father tells you at once.’

‘Bottle,’ said Toby, making a selection from the box.

‘He will break it,’ said Megan.

‘Oh, no,’ said Toby, his voice quavering into mirth. ‘Only hold it. When it break, can’t help it, poor little boy.’

Cassius reached towards the bottle, but desisted and drummed his fingers on the couch.

‘Give the bottle to me,’ said Mr Clare. ‘It is mine, and I have my use for it.’

‘Rattle it,’ said his grandson.

‘No, it is almost empty. It will not make any noise.’

Toby showed that this was not the case, and his grandfather stood with his eyes on it. A change seemed to come into the room. It seemed that time was standing still. Mr Clare and Flavia met each other’s eyes, and the former took the bottle and emptied it pn his hand.

‘Seven tablets! And there were eleven there. So you took four, my son.’

His unusual ending gave weight to his words.

‘Yes, I took four,’ said Cassius, going into deliberate mirth. ‘Enough to make me unconscious and to do no more. But it did a good deal more. It has done its work. And I should not like to face it again, I can tell you. I began to think I should breathe my last. I almost had the experience I was supposed to have had. I thought my last hour had come. But I played a proper trick on all of you. The weak point was that I played it on myself as well. You need not think I did not suffer for what I did, if that is any comfort to you. If four tablets did that, ten would indeed have done the whole.’