his head.
The road looked different at night, the grass verges a brilliant green, the grey-golden walls of tall-windowed houses looming up quickly and vanishing, the trees bunched and mysterious above the range of the headlights. Every now and then a cat was to be seen running in front of the car or deep in the undergrowth, its eyes glowing brightly as it faced the beam of light.
“You’re a scientist,” said Michael. “Why don’t human beings’ eyes glow like that?”
“Are you sure they don’t?” said Toby.
“Well, do they?” said Michael. “I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes glow.”
“It may be that human beings always turn their eyes away,” said Toby. “I remember learning at school that Mon-mouth was caught after the rebellion, when he was hiding in a ditch near Cranborne, because his eyes were gleaming in the moonlight.”
“Yes, but surely not like
“I believe there’s something about special cells behind the eyes,” said Toby. “But I’m still not completely sure that our eyes mightn’t glow too if we really faced the headlights. Let’s try it! I’ll get out and come walking towards you facing the light, and you see what my eyes look like!”
“You
Toby fell silent and they drove along for a while without speaking. Michael could hear him yawning. At last he said,“That cider has made me quite sleepy.”
“Well, go to sleep then,” said Michael.
“Oh, no,” said Toby. “I’m not as sleepy as all that.” In a few minutes he was asleep. Michael could see from the corner of his eye the boy’s head hanging forward. Days of hard physical work followed by the dose of potent cider had knocked him out completely. Michael smiled to himself.
The Land-Rover proceeded more slowly than on the journey out. Michael still felt a bit drunk though perfectly capable. The exaltation and delight which he had felt in the pub had faded into a purring contentment combined with a most luxurious heaviness of the whole body. He leaned upon the steering wheel, turning it with the length of his forearm, and singing inaudibly to himself. Toby hung forward, obviously dead asleep. Then on a corner he slumped quietly sideways and Michael could feel his weight against him. The boy’s head descended gently on to his shoulder.
Michael drove on in a dream. He could feel Toby’s knee touching his thigh, the warmth of his lean body against his side, his hair brushing his cheek. The unexpected delight of the contact was so great that he closed his eyes for a moment and then realized that he was still driving. He tried to breathe more quietly so as not to disturb the boy, and found that he was taking long deep breaths. He slowed the Land-Rover down a little, and calmed his breathing. He could feel distinctly, as if his frame were suddenly magnified, the rise and fall of his ribs and the corresponding movement of Toby’s body. He was afraid his heart-beat alone might wake the sleeper.
He drove on slowly now at an even pace. If he didn’t have to stop there was no reason why Toby shouldn’t sleep all the way to Imber. He manoeuvred the Land-Rover gently round corners. Fortunately the roads were clear. That Toby should just go on sleeping seemed the most desirable thing in the world. Michael felt an ecstasy of protective joy; and for a moment he remembered an old peasant he had once seen high in the Alps sitting on a green bank and watching his cow feeding. The absurd comparison made him smile. He went on smiling.
On a piece of straight road he ventured to look down at Toby. The boy was curled against him, his legs drawn up, his hands touchingly folded, his head lying now between Michael’s shoulder and the back of the seat. The white laundered shirt hung open almost to his waist. As Michael looked at him, and then returned his gaze to the road, he had a very distinct impulse to thrust his hand into the front of Toby’s shirt. The next instant, as if this thought had acted as a spark, he had a clear visual image of himself driving the Land-Rover into a ditch and seizing Toby violently in his arms.
Michael shook his head as if to clear away a slight haze which was buzzing round him. He began to realize that he had a headache. He really must control his imagination. He was surprised that it could play him such a trick. He was blessed, or cursed, with a strong power of visualizing, but the snapshots which it produced were not usually so startling. Michael felt solemn now, responsible, still protective and still joyful, with a joy which, since he had taken a more conscious hold on himself, seemed deeper and more pure. He felt within him an infinite power to protect Toby from harm. Quietly he conjured up the vision of Toby the undergraduate, Toby the young man. Somehow, it might be possible to go on knowing him, it might be possible to watch over him and help him. Michael felt a deep need to build, to retain, his friendship with Toby; there was no reason why such a friendship should not be fruitful for both of them; and he felt a serene confidence in his own most scrupulous discretion. So it would be that this moment of joy would not be something strange and isolated, but rather something which pointed forward to a long and profound responsibility; a task. There would be no moment like this again. But something of its sweetness would linger, in a way that Toby would never know, in humble services obscurely performed at future times. He was conscious of such a fund of love and goodwill for the young creature beside him. It could not be that God intended such a spring of love to be quenched utterly. There must, there must be a way in which it could be made a power for good. Michael did not in that instant feel that it would be difficult to make it so.
He realized with intense disappointment that they were nearing Imber. He must have been following the road without noticing it. He wondered how drunk he still was. Thank heavens there had been no mishaps. He turned smoothly onto the main road and in a few minutes the high stone wall of the estate appeared on the right. Michael was deeply sorry to arrive. Toby was still heavily asleep. It was a shame to wake him. The Land-Rover began to slow down. Following some instinct Michael did not drive it as far as the Lodge gates. He stopped some hundred yards short of the Lodge and turned off the headlights. Then he switched off the engine. A terrible silence followed.
Toby stirred. Then he rolled back in his seat and opened his eyes. He became at once wide awake. “Good heavens, was I asleep?” he said. “I’m so sorry!”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Michael. “You had a good sleep. We’re home again now.”
Toby exclaimed with surprise. He stretched, yawning. Then he said eagerly, “Look, we can do that thing with the headlights now. Do you mind? You turn them right up and I’ll come walking towards you looking straight into them.”
Michael obediently turned the headlights full up, while Toby jumped out of the Land-Rover. He saw the boy running away down the road until he was nearly beyond the range of the beam. Then he turned and began to walk slowly back, keeping his eyes steadily fixed on where Michael was behind the blaze of the lights. His brightly illuminated figure approached at an even pace. His dark eyes, wide open and strangely like those of a sleepwalker, were unblinking and clearly visible. They did not gleam or glow: he walked with a graceful slow stride, very slim, the white sleeves of his shirt uncurling on his arms. He was a long time coming.
When he reached the van he leaned his head in through the window towards Michael. Michael put one arm across his shoulder and kissed him.
It happened so quickly that the moment after Michael was not at all sure whether it had really happened or whether it was just another thing that he had imagined. But Toby remained there rigid, where he had stepped back, pulling himself away from Michael’s grasp, and a look of utter amazement was to be seen on his face.
Michael said, and found his voice suddenly thick and stumbling, “I’m sorry. That was an oversight.” The remark was idiotic, not what he had meant to say at all, that was not the word he wanted. There was a moment’s silence. Then Michael said, “I’m sorry, Toby. Just come round the other side and get in and I’ll run you to the Lodge. We’re still a little way away.”
Toby came round the front of the car, averting his face. As he had his hand on the door on the other side, someone came into view on the road, another figure vividly revealed and walking slowly up into the beam of the lights. It was Nick. As soon as Michael saw him, following an instinctive desire for concealment, he switched the lights off again. Nick’s form loomed up near the car. Toby was still standing in the road.
“Hello you two,” said Nick. “I thought you were never coming. What’s the game, stopping such a long way from the gates?”
“I made a mistake,” said Michael. “Perhaps you’d see Toby in. I’ll be off now. Cheerio, Toby.” He put the lights up, started the car with a jolt, and moved off down the road and in through the Lodge gates which fortunately were open. He and Toby had been behind the headlights; but Nick might have seen something all the same. As he drove
