If Winter ComesHutchinson, A. S. M. (Arthur Stuart-Menteth)
General
If Winter Comes
Hutchinson, A. S. M. (Arthur Stuart-Menteth)
Fiction
She spoke very slowly; almost with a perceptible pause between each
word. She said, "Well, I'll tell you. I said 'flotsam', didn't I? If I
explain that--you know what flotsam is, Marko. Have you ever looked it
up in the dictionary? The dictionary says it terribly. 'Goods
shipwrecked and found floating on the sea.' I'm twenty-eight, Marko. I
suppose that's not really very old. It seems a terrible age to me. You
see, you judge age by what you are in contrast with what you were. If
you're very happy I think it can't matter how old you are. If you look
back to when you were happy and then come to the now when you're not, it
seems a most terrible and tremendous gulf--and you see yourself just
floating--drifting farther and farther away from the happy years and
just being taken along, taken along, to God knows where, God knows to
what." She put out the palms of her hands towards where misty evening
banked sombrely across the park. "That's very frightening, Marko."
The live thing ran beneath the leaves banked at their feet. A stronger
gust came in the air. A scattering of leaves clustered together and
moved with sudden agitation across the sward before them; paused and
seemed to be trying to flutter a hold into the ground; rushed aimlessly
at a tangent to their former direction; paused again; and again seemed
to be holding on. Before a sudden gust they were spun helplessly upward,
sported aloft in mazy arabesques, scattered upon the breeze.
"Those leaves!" she said. And as if she had not made the interjection
she went on, "Most awfully frightening. Well, all the time there was
you, Marko. You were always different from anybody I ever knew. Long ago
I used to chaff you because you were so different. In those two years
when we were away it got awful. In those two years I knew I was flotsam.
One day--in India--I went and looked at it in the little dictionary in
my writing case, and I knew I was. Do you know what I did? I crossed out
flotsam in the dictionary and wrote Nona. There it was, and it was the
most exact thing--'Nona: goods shipwrecked and found floating in the
sea.' I meant to have torn out the page. I forgot. I left it there and
Tony saw it."
Sabre said, "What did he say?" In all she had told him there was
something omitted. He knew that his question approached the missing
quantity. But she did not answer it.
She went on, "Well, there was you. And I began to want you most awfully.
You were always such a dear, slow person; and I wanted that most
awfully. You were so steady and good and you had such quiet old ideas
about duty and rightness and things, and you thought about things so,
and I wanted that most frightfully. You see, I'd known you all my
life--well, that's how it was, Marko. That explains all the things you
asked. I said 'There'; and I said I had to come; because I'd wanted it
so much, so long. And I wanted you to write to me because I did want to
go on having the help I had from you--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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