marry Joe, it was to the sea she had come, the ocean surrounding her always, never out of sight, or out of mind. Joe’s gift to her had been the sea, so she had told him she felt.
He said, ‘I’m not going back on that ship, I won’t.’
‘Oh, God,’ she said, ‘you don’t love me.’
‘What?
Why had she said that? She felt as if she had tripped a switch, moved a gear, was in an uncoordinated helpless condition, and anything she said must come out inept, tactless, even brutal.
She clutched him by the shoulders and saw him wince: she let him go. His singlet, which he had put on to leave the hut, was stuck here and there in ruddy patches.
‘Oh, God,’ she said.
‘The sea spray,’ he said, ‘it’s getting to me.’
She should not have brought him out here, she should have thought, everything had gone wrong.
‘Come on, let’s go in,’ he said.
The tide was turning, beginning to thunder and crash; she felt he was estranged from her; he felt he had failed her.
She took his hand and led him back to the hut. As they went through the bushes, a Coloured Lad came with a note in his hand. He was from the local shop a mile away where there was a telephone.
The note said: ‘Daphne, he’s got to be back on board by tomorrow, midday, Betty.’
She said to the youth, whom she knew, from previous trips here, with her husband, ‘Come to the hut, I’ll give you some money.’ This was done. He was giving her odd looks, as well he might: would he think this money a bribe?
Then she said to James, ‘Deadline for you - twelve tomorrow.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘We’ve got another afternoon and night.’
‘We’ve got all our lives.’
Back inside the hut, they were together again in feeling: the emptiness that had claimed them by the sea had gone.
‘I’ll come for you, after the war.’
She held him close, her head on his shoulder, and felt the rough skin under her cheek.
‘You don’t believe me,’ he said gently, tenderly, as to a child, ‘but it’s true.’
The afternoon and then the night went past, while the tide came in, and thundered over them, and went out, came in. It was low tide when she got off the bed and began packing up. She was afraid he ‘was not going to move, but at last he did.
‘We should have something to eat.’
‘I suppose so.’
They sat with some bread and jam between them and looked at each other.
‘I’ll think of you like this. You’re like a little girl, your hair all over the place. And your face needs washing.’
When they walked back through the bushes to the car, clumps of white spume were flying in on a cold wind, and spattered the bushes.
She drove in silence. He watched her all the way; she received that long look like a prolonged embrace.
At the house, Hetty came running. ‘Our lads have gone. I took them down. They’re already on the ship.’
Her two maids, and her gardener, Daphne’s maids and her gardener, stood on the respective steps, watching, as the soldier went in to Daphne’s house. Daphne staying outside, by the car. He came out in his uniform.
‘I’ll take you,’ said Betty. ‘No, you stay, Daphne.’ Daphne was not fit to drive down to the docks: she was trembling, and had to hold on to the car.
Betty ran back to her house, drove her car to outside Daphne’s, hooted and sat waiting.
Daphne and the soldier stood face to face, not touching, looking. Betty hooted again. The soldier broke away, and ran, pulling his kitbag bumping along behind him. From the car he sent one look back and then, oddly, saluted. He got in. Betty’s car shot off down into the town.
The scene broke. Daphne moved slowly up to the stoep and sat on the end of a wicker lounger as if she might fall through it.
The four maids went back to their duties, the gardeners to their plants.
Mid-afternoon. The great ship stood in its nest of white frills. From here would be seen the activity of embarking; ants crawled everywhere over the ship.
Daphne did not move. Sarah came from inside the house with a tray of tea, which she had not ordered. When her mistress took no notice, Sarah poured a cup of tea. sugared it, held it out to Daphne and said, ‘Your tea, medem.’ Daphne shook her head. The black woman lifted Daphne’s limp arm, and put the cup in her hand.
‘You must have some tea, medem.’
Daphne sat still, her eyes on the docks, and then at last she did drink.
‘That’s right, medem.’
