It was Christmas. Martin sat on a rock and stared blankly at the sea. He didn't notice the beauty of the scene, the warmth of the weather, the gentle breeze. Seeing nothing and feeling nothing he sat insulated by gloom and inertia from the world around him.
He was jerked into attentiveness by a shriek and a splash. A little girl had fallen off the rocks into the sea. Her mother, holding a baby, was screaming hysterically at him.
Martin had become passive since his wife died. He was an old man. Nobody asked for his advice or help any more - yet here was this woman screaming and looking at him as if he could do something. What could he do? He saw the blonde curls bobbing in the water - little hands being cut on the rocks. he forced himself to think. There was no lifebelt around. No boats. No lifeguard . . . only him. He used to be a good swimmer her remembered - won a lifesavers badge sixty years ago.
The woman was still screaming. The curls had disappeared. Without thinking he kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his belt and tripped over his trousers on his way to the sea. Cold. The rocks cut him painfully. He dived several times before he found the child. He managed to struggle back, cradling her - hardly more than a baby - in his arms and taking the beating of the rocks on his back until someone snatched the child from him. He floated off into the deeper water, away from those lethal rocks. To his amazement, he was glad to be alive! He was content to be washed by the water wherever it took him. He wondered vaguely if the child was alright. He noticed the sun sparkling on the waves. He heard people shouting from the shore. He tasted the salt water. 'This is being alive,' he thought, still buoyant and drifting out to sea.
As he floated he remembered the last five months as in a dream: Mary's death; the funeral; the sympathy of friends. But he hadn't cried. He'd given Mary a good send-off. He'd seen to all the business. He'd done his duty. But, somehow, he'd gone off people: their false jollity or equally false sympathy left him cold. In fact, everything left him cold.
Shouts aroused him from his reverie. A boat came alongside, and friendly arms helped him aboard. He was wrapped in blankets and felt warm. A long time since he felt warm. The child was OK he was told. He was pleased. Warm and pleased - first time for a long time. His eyes filled with tears. He broke into painful sobs.
Martin had come here alone for Christmas to get away from people, from sympathy, from having to pretend. He hadn't wanted to be alive, but now he was glad, and for the first time since Mary's death felt sadness, pain, joy and relief.
No comments:
Post a Comment