FLora,Doll and Gabriel.

It was the third time that morning that the young woman had walked past Gabriel where he sat quietly in his hideout among the trees. He thought of her as a young woman though she was really no more than a child. No better than a child, he revised his assessment, and there was obviously something wrong with her. Maybe she was retarded, or even perhaps a total idiot . It certainly seemed that way. Why else should anyone of her age skip about twirling around and around, acting in such a carefree happy manner as do children in their constant state of partial dementia? That is if they were not in their other mode, engaging themselves in red faced apoplectic tantrums and squalling fit to bust, but that demonstration of their basically demonic natures was generally confined to smaller models than this and most often demonstrated in supermarket checkout queues on Saturday mornings.
It was difficult for Gabriel to be more precise about the state of this girl's faculties, or indeed of her age, because, not wanting to show any sign that might be constructed as a willingness to accept her presence, whenever she hove into view he studiously avoided looking her way and fixed his eyes firmly on the river.
To make matters worse the fact that there was an odd, if rather fey, prettiness about her physical presence, had somehow managed to penetrate his mental defences. Pretty young women were the ultimate disturbance, oddly pretty might be even more of a challenge. But what if she were just a child.? Some sort of giant child who because of a gland defect had been forced to grow too soon to the verge of blossoming womanhood? What if she were a child with all the mental attributes of womanhood? They could be so sly.
But children? They were undoubtedly Hell! It was bad enough having to bear with the screams and shouted laughter, that now so often came more or less faintly, but still intrusively, from the swing in the old orchard, without having these supercharged little horrors, actually prancing about invading one's privacy. Jumping around like lunatics, driving away the memories that had all but replaced the dreams that were still his solace, his sole justification for continuing this farcical life.
For him there was no future, only a past. Half remembered. Conveniently remembered, for some of it had been bad. Very bad, but it had become easier to forget about that. Make believe that the awful things had never happened. Remember the dreams. The good days and the dreams, fast diminishing dreams, but not quite yet demolished.. Perhaps there was still time?.
It had been done deliberately, that swing. A week or two ago some fool had hung it from a branch of one of the massive Blenheim Orange trees that grew there. They must have known it would attract the atrocious little monsters. For sure they knew, because Gabriel could guess who was responsible. That pig dog advertising executive.. It had to be him. Striped shirts with the cuffs rolled back so that they dangled loosely from his wrists. Or, even worse, hanging almost hiding his hands like he must have been a small boy wearing one of his Dad's shirts. Why couldn't he roll them up tidily? Probably aping some so called celebrity.
When Gabriel had first arrived in the little community by the river there had been no children at all. Well none that you would notice. Certainly none in the big house. Years ago there had been a small girl living in one of the cottages that had been developed from the old stable block. But that was when he had merely come to Beaulah as a visitor. Gabriel had once glimpsed her when he had been strolling around the grounds with his father, It was shortly before the old devil died. Lucky. A nice clean quick heart attack. What had he done to deserve so easy a way out?
Gabriel had made the effort to come back and try to re-establish contact with this unloved, unloving parent, Gabriel's mother had so often written begging him that he at least make an attempt. "For my sake. she had said and he had come.
It was a waste of time. He knew it would be. Both of them knew it was not the little contretemps that had been the cause, the fault that had lead to so many years of silent separation. That had been merely an excuse. They simply didn't like each other and that was that. It happens.
On that occasion, as they had passed the cottage, the little girl had rushed out, and, taking hold of his father's hand, said, "hello, in that infuriatingly bright manner that small girls assume. The old brute picked her up, kissed her cheek, and putting her down again, slapped her playfully on the rump and said , " Off you go honey, I'm busy right now. as if meeting with his son was some irksome chore. Gabriel hadn't seen her since. Perhaps they'd moved away.
Good God. The imbecilic child, woman was coming straight towards him. Gabriel dropped his head and looking up slightly beneath his brows, fixed his eyes steadfastly on the edge of the river bank. As if disturbed by his too direct gaze, a water rat jumped from its hiding place beneath a fallen tree and swam quickly, leaving a broadening wake behind, towards a floating raft of weed.
Without moving his head he let his eyes follow it until just as it reached its destination; his line of vision was blocked by a pair of shiny red patent leather shoes. They had slim buckled straps across the instep. He didn't move. He didn't look up, Above the socks there were white ankle socks with pink roses embroidered on them.
The footwear came a step nearer. "Hello, a voice said addressing the top of his bald grey fringed head. "I'm Doll, do you mind if we sit next to you? Still he didn't look up . "Yes I do. I mind very much. Go away, he growled. "Go play with your friends.
She sat down next to him, so close that he could feel her side resting against him. He resisted being pushed. "Move up a bit She said moving even closer. He had resolved to say nothing preserving an icy indifference to the intruder, but in spite of himself he complained loudly, "You've already got more than half the space. Will you please go away. Go and find your own seat.
He knew he should not have spoken. No good ever came of speaking to women or children. He still didn't know into which category this plaguey youngster fell, but either spelt trouble with a capital T. She banged him with her hip." Move up , she ordered, " there's not enough room for Flora to sit.
Now he looked up. He was sure they were alone. "What Flora? He asked glancing quickly behind them.
"Oh, don't tell me you can't see her! Doll, sounding exasperated, turned away from him as if to speak to someone already seated next to her. "This is Gabriel, Flora. I expect you've forgotten his name. He's one of those funny people who pretend they can't see you, but never mind. I expect its just because he is a bit grumpy right now.
For a brief instant Gabriel thought he heard a tinkling little laugh but of course it must have come from the orchard. "I hope you don't intend to stay long. He grumbled, "This is my place. I like to be left alone.
"It's not your place. You just moved the seat back a bit so that it was hidden among the rhododendrons. It's much more our seat than yours. We've been coming here longer than you. Smoke your pipe if you want to, she faced again towards her non existent friend. "We don't mind do we Flora? She turned back to Gabriel. "You see? We don't mind what you do. We've come to cheer you up. You sit here day after day, moping about, whittling away with your knife at pieces of wood. Never making anything. Just looking at the river like it was a picture show. What do you see there that makes you so miserable? We've even seen you doing it in the rain! Sitting, whittling and moping. Mope, mope, mope! Whittle, whittle, whittle. Staring forlornly at an empty river! In a thunder storm once for Goodness sake.
Though he was determined to have nothing more to do with the crazy woman child, Gabriel was surprised into interjecting, " You couldn't have, that thunderstorm must have been more than a year ago.
"We did. Frankly I was hoping the seat would get struck by lightening so we could see if that would liven you up a bit, but Flora said no, you might be hurt. She didn't want that to happen.
"That was big of her.
"She likes you. Though I can't imagine why.
"Oh do shut up will you. If you insist on staying, at least keep quiet.
"Okay. We'll keep quiet, but you better brighten up. You're sulky mood is spoiling this place of ours. Seeing your face looking like that, it's a wonder those primroses haven't all wilted away.
He hadn't even noticed the primroses. "You are a very, very rude young woman. Your mother should have taught you better. A sudden thought struck him and he continued with a hint of menace in his voice. "Didn't she tell you not to speak to strange men?
"You're not strange, Her tone was totally derisive. " You're just bad tempered, I suppose that's because you feel so sorry for yourself.
"I do not.
"You do. Everybody thinks so. Only yesterday I heard Mr Bradick from flat eight, say you were a bad tempered boring old fart.
Bradick was the, 'so called,' advertising executive, and Gabriel could have believed anything of him, but still said, "I'm sure he didn't. Even he would have been a little more polite than that.
"He did. His exact words. There was nothing else he could have said was there Flora? You can't call someone a boring old break wind can you?
"I don't care what he said, Why don't you just go away.?
"Not until you tell us a story. Flora likes stories about the sea.
"I don't know any stories.
"You're a sailor aren't you?
I tell you I don't know any stories. Couldn't you just leave me in peace?
"Story first. It doesn't have to be long. Me and Flora are going to come every day and you better have something to tell us about otherwise we are just going to talk and talk and run around playing and shouting as loud as we can 'till you just have to go back indoors and we know how you hate it in there.
"Just how long do you propose to go on annoying me?
" Until you are less boring.
"I'll tell your parents. I know where you live.
"That wouldn't do you any good. Now be a nice old man. Old men are supposed to be nice. We'll just sit here quietly till you think of something.
Gabriel, feeling defeat looming large, thought, but after a few minutes said, There's nothing.
"What about when you were young and in love and you ran away to sea.
"What? Gabriel was obviously surprised and looked astounded.
"See? It was just a guess. Flora says all sailors run away to sea.
"Well, Flora, Miss clever clogs. You can mind your own damn business, Gabriel realised that he had just spoken to someone who did not exist and added, "You can tell her that from me.
"You shouldn't swear. That's very naughty. She heard you and you have made her sad. It's unfair to make poor Flora sad.
Oddly the child had made him feel quite shamefaced and, clearly chastened, after a moment he murmured, "Well you ought to leave me alone.
She touched the back of his hand and asked gently, "What was your girl's name?
"Julia. It was Julia. He sighed.
"Did you love her very much?
"I thought so at the time.
"What's it like to be in love?
"Not very nice. I think it upsets boys. Drives them sort of crazy, but girls like it a lot. You should know.
"We don't know anything about that. Flora loves me and I love her, but I guess that's sort of different. Why did you leave her?
"She wanted someone else.
"So you just upped and left? That wasn't very clever was it?
"You're just a cheeky brat. You and your Flora. Gabriel stood but the pain in his back and legs left him stooped almost double. Trying to straighten himself as he looked for his walking sticks he growled I'm going.
"Well if you are just going to run away again...
"Listen you, you ... whatever your name is...
"It's Doll. Well really it's Dolores but Flora calls me Doll. You can too if you want.
"I don't want to call you anything. I just want some peace and quiet. Gabriel sat down again and bent forward with his elbows on his knees and his head resting between his hands.
"See? Now you are feeling sorry for yourself again! Doll was relentless.
Gabriel fixed his eyes upon the patch of floating weed. The water rat was sitting up cleaning his whiskers. Gabriel, took his clasp knife from his belt, picked up a stout twig that lay between his feet and starting to sharpen it began hesitantly in a low voice as though he were talking to himself: "We were very young. Much too young, just children really, though she was older than me, but I don't think that means that it wasn't love. He paused as if weighing the problem and continued in a louder tone, "Who knows what love is, but I could think of nothing but her. Julia. With the back of the hand that held the blade he began to rub his eyes as if this may help his vision of the past.
Go on , said Doll, "tell us more
"Once she did say she loved me. Perhaps it was a joke, but just the same my days were ruled by thoughts of her. The whole day long. When we were apart, I would try to imagine where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. He sat now, the blade of the forgotten knife pointing upwards rested on one of his knees and the whittling abandoned, " That gave me nightmares. I didn't want her to be with anyone at all. No one but me. When for any reason she couldn't come out with me, and she had plenty of those. Reasons I mean, I would stand for hours concealed in the bushes opposite her house. Just watching. Huddled up in the darkness. Sometimes it was freezing cold, I didn't care. It was all very stupid, but I guess I never was very bright and , anyway, like I told you, I told you love drives young men crazy. He paused again looking troubled.
"And? Doll encouraged him .
One night her father, - he was a lawyer,- came out and told me to push off, he didn't like me watching the house, and he didn't like me very much anyway, In fact not at all. I was definitely not suitable company for a well bred young lady. He made that mighty clear. The next day Julia told me off. She said it was daft and I was never to do such a thing again. After that I used to take great care to hide myself more thoroughly, Gabriel paused and looked at Doll to see if she was paying attention. She had been staring at the river but now she turned and gave him an encouraging smile and he continued but now speaking more quickly.
"She was able to spare me less and less time so I went there more often than was sensible. They seemed to have lots of parties. People trooping into the place carrying bottles of cider and such. Young women but more young men. I could hear them playing dance music, I hated it. I was never invited but I couldn't ask her why.
She kept me stringing along. I used to take her sailing in my dinghy. That was the sort of thing she liked. Anything so long as I was busy and couldn't get too friendly. My how she used to keep her eye on me, but sometimes she would let me hold her hand. That was really thrilling! " He laughed deprecatingly . " I know it seems silly now, but then the excitement was almost too intense to describe. It took me a long time to realise what was happening and I fought against believing it.
One summer evening, when she had told me she was going to the theatre with her parents, I was wandering by the sea, kicking stones along the beach. I heard a noise and went to investigate behind a sand dune. Almost hidden by the long grass I nearly stumbled over them. Her and one of the regulars at her parties. I recognised him all right. They had a bottle of wine open and were kissing and cuddling. She was too young for that. I was so shocked I just stood there. She had never kissed me like that. Then she saw me and leapt up like a tigress. She screamed at the top of her voice, saying how she was tired of me spying on her.
Roger, her friend, was much older than me, quite a big fellow. Actually a very big fellow now I come to think of it, because I wasn't that small. He shouted to her to get out of the way because he was going to teach me a lesson or two. There was a bit of a scramble. You know. All very pathetic. Gabriel paused and smiled broadly, revealing that, once again, he had forgotten to put in his denture. "It was a lucky punch I guess. he continued quite cheerfully, " Really that was all it was. I don't think either of us really wanted to hurt each other. People seldom do. It was all bravado for her sake and when 'good old' Roger fell and slid back down the sandy slope, I didn't go and give him a good kicking like he deserved and as I might have done when I was older. So. he wasn't really hurt but laid still for a second or two, looking sorry for himself. She ran down to him and cradled his head. He was loving that.... but she really was terribly upset and white as a sheet she yelled at me, ' Get lost you oaf. You big bully. I never want to see you again.' He hesitated then continued. Those were her exact words, I remember them to this day. Funny that isn't it ? He looked at Doll who said nothing.
I thought she didn't mean it and would relent, but the next day, her parent, the lawyer who thought himself so posh, visited my father. He, my Dad. Gabriel stopped. - How had that slipped into his head? He couldn't ever remember calling his father Dad. He had never called him Dad. So why now? - He began again. "My father, of course, took their side. We had an awful row. Mother was crying. The whole house was in uproar. Even the dog started whining.
I ran out of the house and down to the water's edge. I was going to take my little boat way out to sea. I don't know what I intended to do after that, but it didn't matter. I didn't go.
"Yes you did...
No not that way. Down at the Marina there was an enormous private yacht, the 'Atlantic Tern', about to set sail for the Mediterranean . I had often spoken with the skipper about my love of sailing and knew he was short of a deck hand. He saw me coming and calling me over asked if I had come for the job. I hadn't really thought about it but straight away said, yes. I just signed on and that same day we were gone. He thought I had my father's permission and I didn't let on, otherwise he would never have agreed to take me
Once at sea, my troubles seemed less important but still I brooded about life's unfairness. Perhaps you are right and I have always been sorry for myself. This seemed a revelation and the surprise showed in his voice. Gabriel paused considering the matter. He looked for the water rat but it had disappeared, " Okay if you call that running away to sea, that's what happened. Is that a story? Will it do? Does that buy back my privacy?
" Sure. But it is only the beginning of a story. She stood up, " Till tomorrow then. Come on Flora Let's go. To his horror Gabriel realised that Doll had leaned over him and was trying to kiss his cheek . He flinched but she was insistent. Finally he allowed this uncalled for act of intimacy and she started to walk away.
"Tomorrow, She called back, " We'll wait for you, and, holding her hand out behind her as if it was clinging to another, started to skip away. In an instant they were gone.
She was gone, Gabriel corrected himself as he lay sleeplessly in his bed that night. She was gone, but he could almost imagine he had seen another child. It was obvious that Dolores had a screw loose and Flora was probably what people call an ... intimate? No, a familiar. That was it, wasn't it?. A child's imagined friend, but surely only very small children indulge in such fantasies?
Still, nuts or not, Dolores wasn't such a horrid child as most. Quite harmless, he thought as he drifted in to that semi conscious state which was the nearest he ever came to sleep. One could perhaps grow to like such an attractive young innocent as she. That was if one was able to tolerate her at all, he concluded as he turned over and straightened his back bone.
Chapter two.
The next morning a light but persistent drizzle was falling. As Gabriel was making sure that all the windows in his dingy basement flat were properly secured and pushing a cheese sandwich into his pocket, the thought struck him that Doll certainly wouldn't be there today. Walking very slowly, as he must, through the deserted orchard, he caught himself feeling sorry that she would not be, but quickly corrected this aberration. He needed his solitude
Strolling, if a cripple could be said to stroll, along the woodland path that lead to the glade by the river bank, he stood for a moment and, taking off his cap, turned his face up to let the soft warm rain wet his craggy features. What would he have told her anyway? He loved the cool soft feeling of the rain on his skin but, when larger droplets that collected together on the tree's new leaves started to fall and run down his neck, he replaced his battered cap, turned up his collar and walked on. Would he really have told her his life's story? Conjuring the all too vivid pictures back to live once more on the surface of the river. Would he have done that? He had been through it all a million times. It never got any better. There was still no way he could make any sense of it. It certainly wasn't something a child should hear about.
The seat couldn't be seen until one was almost upon it. It was too early yet for the rhododendrons to be in bloom but the buds were filling out. He looked happily at the familiar river. Steely grey, it was as smooth as glass, barely a ripple touching its surface as the rain falling so softly hardly pock marked it at all. He turned to go to the seat and there she was. She sat almost exactly in the middle and to her right a newspaper was spread. " Morning he grunted trying to sound unpleasant but not actually succeeding because, surprisingly, and he would not have admitted it, he felt totally otherwise. He made to sit next to her on the side opposite to where her newspaper lay. "Good morning, she replied quickly at the same time, with her pale, delicate little hands pushing him firmly away. "Don't sit there, silly, you'll squash poor Flora. Here, she picked the paper up, "I put it there to keep your seat dry. This is where you sat yesterday. Sit there today. Its your place, now. Forever. She sounded quite bossy. Did you sleep all right?
He sat down carefully, "No, he tried to balance his sticks against the side of the bench but she took them from him and hung them over the back. "No, he repeated,, "I never sleep.
"Guilty conscience I expect. She smiled.
"Not at all, Doll was wearing a full length transparent raincoat which she had tucked in beneath her knees and her head was covered by a Sou'wester made of the same material. He had spoken firmly and as an additional reproof added, "Are you sure you should be out in this weather?
"Oh yes. I'm fine, she patted her waterproof.
"And how about Flora? he added slyly with a hint of a sneer on his thin lips.
"Oh she's already wet. She likes it don't you Flora? She had turned her head away, so he couldn't see whether her lips had moved when she mimicked a small child saying, 'yes' but she had done it very well and Gabriel heard it quite clearly. Smiling broadly he said, "Oh that's all right then.
"Now you were going to tell us about the Mediterranean. We were looking forward to that.
"Was I?
"You said you set sail for the Mediterranean.
"Oh yes. But I didn't go. The 'Atlantic Tern' developed engine trouble and we put in to Plymouth.
"We thought it was a sail boat?
"Yes, Well you still need an engine. It might have been dangerous to go on without a motor. The repairs gave the skipper's regular crewman time to catch up so he paid me off.
"That was a dirty trick Wasn't it.
"Not really. I didn't care. Gabriel stopped talking, and, after a moment or two, Doll asked, "What then?
"What then? Gabriel took off his cap and ran the palm of his hand over his head as if this might help to collect his thoughts. "Back home. My father's place. I'd always had a lot to do with horses. People did then. He replaced his cap shoved his unlit pipe into his mouth and talked through that, staring at the gently flowing water but apparently not seeing it. "When I was just a little lad I used to ride out in the early mornings at a racing stable owned by an Irishman. It was very early. Before school. I loved it, it was great. Galloping across the downs. The frosty air almost crackled into my lungs. He took a deep breath, " I remember it well. It was so exhilarating. A distillation of everything that was good and clean, and youthful too I suppose, coursing through my veins, expanding my spirit. It promised so much. Like one day maybe I would fly. Just spread my arms, take off and soar up into the heavens. Be forever free! Gabriel paused and looking rather ashamed brought himself firmly back to earth by stuffing his pipe full of black tobacco and glancing surreptitiously at Doll to see if she was laughing.
She wasn't and he continued more prosaically. "I soon got too heavy but I still hung about the stables mucking out and that sort of thing. They had a pair of hunters and sometimes I got a ride on them. That's how I met Julia. Her uncle owned some horses and she was getting lessons. I could tell she was never going to be any good. I think the height frightened her as much as the horse itself. She used to spend most of the time hanging on for dear life, or should that be for grim death? Anyway we don't want to talk about her.
Down there in the West country, I was at a loose end and thought maybe I better get off home. People didn't hitch hike in those days and I had enough money for the train so, though I hadn't finally made up my mind, I was walking towards the station. Suddenly a horse came galloping down the road scattering shoppers everywhere. It looked very distressed, in a real muck sweat, its reins dangling in front of its flying hooves and its eyes wide and rolling. I could see it was going to run into a tram or something and I was afraid it might kill itself, so, as it came by me, I grabbed at its bit. I missed but got hold of its cheek strap. I was being dragged but managed to get a hand into its mane and hold on. Half running, jumping, half stumbling, frightened almost to death, I clung on, cooing to it like a damn dove, talking, trying everything to calm it because I dare not let go. I managed to work my fingers down from the cheek strap towards the snaffle ring.
By now we were already among the thickest traffic, trams ringing their bells and motorists hooting like mad. I don't know what made the silly devils think that might help. I feared the worst, but at last the horse stopped dead. It just stood there trembling, shaking like a leaf. I can tell you I wasn't much better, but I lead it up on to the pavement and then into a quite alleyway. Several people started to gather round but I told them to clear off else the poor creature was likely to go mad again and someone might get hurt. I kept gently talking, stroking its neck, softly pulling its ears, scratching around the base of its mane, until at last it was calmer and stopped shaking. It was a really lovely animal. Its saddle had slipped back and the girth was around its loins. Once I took that off it was all right. That must have been the original cause of the problem. Some idiot had forgotten to tighten the girth properly, though the horse was a bit light behind the saddle and probably needed a breast strap.
Gabriel stopped and finished loading his pipe but still he didn't light it, After about an hour, a policeman had come by to say thanks for stopping it but no one had come to collect it. The horse had cooled right down and I should have liked to give it some water, but of course there was none. I put the saddle back on, being very careful with the girth and started back the way the animal had come. After a while, I stopped and took the girth up another notch or two before we went on our way. Me thinking that soon someone would come forward and claim it, but no one did. A young man fell into step beside me and began asking a lot of questions, my name and all that sort of thing. Telling him to mind his own business, I jumped up into the saddle and rode out of town. When we were in the countryside , I kept asking anyone I saw but no seemed to know who might own my steed.
By the time it started to get dark we were well and truly in the country and there didn't seem much point in going on. Perhaps if I stayed put, whoever owned the horse would eventually come to find me. I took off my leather belt and used it to hobble the, now very docile horse so that it could not stray too far. I took the bit out of its mouth, knotted the reins and left it to get on with grazing the lush grass that grew there. It was obviously happy with this arrangement so I lay myself down with my head resting on the saddle . It wasn't comfortable but there under the stars I slept like a log. In those days sleep came like a dream... and without dreams. Gabriel recalled for a moment those glorious days when he had never even thought about sleep. It just came and went. It was as normal and simple as day following night. It was what happened. Gabriel, remembering his duty to the girls, hurried on.
"When I woke it was daylight and I was cold. The horse was only a few paces away standing with its head drooping like it was asleep. I was ravenous but there wasn't any prospect of breakfast. I stood up slap[ping my arms around myself trying to get my circulation going. This disturbed the horse who whinnied and hobbled a few paces further away.. Then I saw the rider coming across the heath.
He was coming slowly but directly towards me. I went over and bent down to reclaim my belt then readjusted the bridle. By the time I had got it saddled and was doing up the girth the young man had arrived and said accusingly, 'That's my mother's horse.'
Good I replied cheerfully, what took you so long? I've come miles.
'You better hand it over .' He had not dismounted so I handed the reins up to him.
Can I get a bus anywhere? I asked not fancying a long walk.
'Where do you want to go?'
" I was going to catch a train,' I told him.
'The stations a long way. You better jump up and I'll take you home. Someone can take you there later' He still sounded a bit surly and unsure of himself and added , 'You weren't trying to steal Caesar were you? Silly, silly question. I mean did he really think I would say yes if I had been ? Even so I decided an explanation was called for but it was only when we arrived at the stables that he was finally convinced. His mother came out brandishing a local paper that contained a very exaggerated account of the incident. It said that my bravery must have saved many a citizen from injury or perhaps even death. The young reporter that I had told to push off had a very vivid imagination anf enjoyed himself but I denied nothing.
Gabriel paused to blow his nose and, looking round at Doll, saw that her face was turned away from him towards her hand which, stretched out away from her, was making a smoothing motion as though stroking a very large cat. Or maybe consoling a very small child? When eventually she turned questioningly towards him, he continued quickly. " The lady, Mrs Bowers was her name, was anxious to show her gratitude so I let her give me some breakfast. I told her truly that I had never once considered any of the townspeople. That was a fact. My sole concern was that the horse might get hurt. She seemed pleased about it. Anyway, before the meal was over, I'd got myself a job as a groom and what turned out to be a very comfortable room above the stables. Looking back, I can tell you, it was a lot of years before I was ever that comfortable again.
"Flora hopes this story isn't going to be all about horses. said Doll interrupting an introspective pause. "She doesn't like them much. She really wants to hear about the sea. That's what you said...
Gabriel broke in, quite a bit louder than his usual tone and forcefully. "Well excuse me young woman, but Flora will have to put up with what she gets. Then more gently again he continued almost sadly, "Two things have dominated my life, horses and boats. I know that's an unlikely mixture but that is how it was. If you, she, wants to hear a story, I haven't got any imagination, I can't invent things as other people might do. All I can tell her is what happened to me. It was a long, long time ago and that means I've got to do it in some sort of order otherwise I'm going to forget. If the pair of you don't like it you can go somewhere else.
"Sorry, said Doll sounding as if she meant it, "I like it. It's only Flora. What happened next?
"Well, nothing really. I stayed there nearly a year. It was hard work and I worked hard but Mrs Bowers let me hunt Caesar all winter. She'd got herself a new grey mare. She didn't trust Caesar any more though he was as good as gold. I reckoned that it was her fault that she had come off but I never mentioned that. He could jump like a stag. Better than a lot of those at the racing yard. I made myself useful to the hunt servants and the Master too, just little things but eventually they offered me a job.
Mrs Bowers didn't want me to go but the hunt promised more excitement and so in spite of the money being no more, I went. I saw Mrs Bowers often after that but I wasn't going to admit I'd made a mistake, I was more involved with the hounds than the horses and that didn't suit me one little bit.
"That's dogs Flora. Doll explained. " Didn't you think any more about Julia? She asked, plaintively, clearly showing her lack of interest in his narrative, and Gabriel answered somewhat irritably, "All the time, but it always ended up sickening me, twisting me up inside so much that I tried never to let her enter my head. Any way, I said we weren't going to mention her any more didn't I?
"Oh, sorry. Yes, Carry on "
"Thank you, Okay, there was a lot of talk then about the Quorn. People called it the greatest Hunt in the country, probably the world. One day feeling bored, on the off chance I wrote to them, calling myself a Whip and offering my services. I was astonished to receive a reply asking me to attend for an interview and bring my references with me. This was a bit difficult because I wasn't a Whip, but I persuaded Mrs Bowers to produce a testimonial of sorts.
When I went up to Lincolnshire I pretended I had dropped the other references somewhere and if I got the job I would get another set sent. They thought I looked very young for a man of my supposed experience but, as you can see, I'm a big chap and I was big then, so I added a couple of years to my age. That was the first time I did it, but it became a habit, so that by the time I was in India I was actually still only seventeen.
So I got the job of a 'whipper in', I had a lot of fun and I loved wearing the pink but the pay, even for those days, was shocking but the little money I got I mostly saved, Suddenly one day I had an overwhelming urge to go home and see my mother. I folded my kit as neatly as I could,- never been good at that sort of thing, - and left it on my bunk with a note of apology. I bought a rusty old bike from one of the kennel maids and set off to cycle back home.
I slept rough every night but got quite good at finding cosy places to rest. It was fun. I've always liked the open air. It took me four days. The bike was one of those old, 'sit up and beg,' types and squeaked like fury all the way. When I was less than twenty miles from home, going too fast down a hill, I hit a bump in the road so hard that the frame broke clean in half. I got a few bruises and grazes but nothing serious. I expect I was too heavy for the old machine. I just dumped it in a ditch and walked the rest of the way.
Mother was pleased to see me but father evinced no particular joy at my return. He just hoped that I would be sensible now and settle down. He was a really miserable old bug... devil. Yes Doll. Even more miserable than me! Well that's my opinion. Strangely Gabriel didn't mind that his young companion seemed to be laughing at him and simply carried on. "It took only a few days to convince me that there was no way that I was going to be able to satisfy his wishes but I wasn't sure what I should do.
One day he was good enough to lend me the pony and trap so that I could, ostensibly, go into town to seek work. In fact I had no such intention, I wanted to ride round the countryside enjoying myself. Now I didn't really drink at all, not alcohol I mean, rarely a half pint of small beer, so when I went into a pub for a bite to eat and the landlord's wife offered me a glass of her home made parsnip wine I didn't realise how lethal it could be. It was lovely and sweet. Very good indeed. I drank several glasses.
That doesn't excuse what happened. I knew better, but, foolishly on the way home I urged Kitty, that was the pony's name, into a canter and when we came to a short stretch of metalled road, I didn't pull her back. She slipped and went down. Her knees were badly cut. One really nastily. It was bleeding and full of gravel and stuff. I did what I could and took her out of the shafts to lead her home. I would have to go back for the cart. I knew I was in for trouble.
Father was furious. Rightly so, but I apologised and apologised saying I knew how stupid I had been. He just stormed on, saying the vet would have to stitch her. I said I would pay, but he would have none of it. He wanted to shout, that's what he wanted to do, and, he wanted me out of his house. He was not going to give shelter to such an irresponsible louse a moment longer, He wanted me gone and I was only too willing to go. I threw all the money that I had saved on the floor at his feet and marched off like a prima donna. I hardly paused to kiss mother.
Unfortunately, I say unfortunately because apart from poor little Kitty, from here on in nothing seemed to work too well for me. In that pub at mid day, I had spoken to a soldier who told me the army were looking to recruit people who could handle horses. Experienced horse men. I made my way to the depot in Winchester and joined up. The second world war hadn't started yet but we British had managed to find ourselves some trouble in India and after my initial training that was where I was sent.
If I had imagined myself looking after beautiful cavalry chargers I was wrong and I found myself in a mule company. People talk a lot of rubbish about mules. They're real nice animals, better than people and much better than the men I was billeted with. They all wanted to take a rise out of me, you know, to make fun of me. I don't know why. Maybe it was the breeches, perhaps I looked a bit funny, sort of gawky, any way I was always in fights. I would never back down. Several of my teeth got knocked out but I gave as good as I got. That is until my nose got broken. That really hurt. I expect you've noticed it. Folk always ask about it. I guess they can't help it, but I don't mind telling you. When it got broken the fight didn't stop and they kept pounding away at it. It was a mess and never got set properly. It doesn't look very nice but I have never found it a great inconvenience. Except maybe I suppose where women are concerned. I don't think they find it an overly attractive feature. Gabriel smiled and looked round at Doll who appeared to be nodding off but he was enjoying himself and just carried on.
"In fact, in general, for whatever reason, none of you ladies have ever taken much of a shine to me. I can't say I've really missed their company. I guess I just don't understand them. Maybe trust them would be more accurate. Nowadays they just make me nervous. Always wanting to help. Being concerned. Caring! I can't abide it. He felt her stir and said, Sorry Doll I went off the subject, where was I?
"In India. So she had been listening. She stretched her arms above her head. " I expect you make them nervous. You must have been a great hulk of a man when you were young and fit. Perhaps the nose made you look frightening, but I think I would have liked you. Flora too. Flora and me both like you now, but she's worrying about the sea. There doesn't seem to be much of that in your story.
"I'm coming to it. Have you girls got anything to eat? I'm feeling a bit peckish but I've only brought a cheese sandwich. I don't expect it will be enough for all of us. You could go home?
"No. You go ahead and eat it, we don't want any.
Gabriel took a grubby paper bag out of his pocket and pulled out the thick sandwich. "You sure? He asked. You're real welcome to a bite or two. You can go first.
"No thanks. said Doll. " Flora and me will go for a little stroll while you munch. She stood up. "We won't be long, she said as she took Flora's hand and headed along the river path.
"I'm losing my mind thought Gabriel as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his gnarled hand, "for a moment there I imagined I could actually see that non-existent child.
Chapter Three.
The rain had stopped now and the sun was reflecting fitfully upon the river. As he bit into his rather stale and too solid lunch, Gabriel picked up the paper with which Doll had been trying to keep his seat dry and started to read it. It was a bit damp and bedraggled but that was not the only thing that was strange about it. It was old. Even the type setting looked odd. There were no news item that he could recognise as a current affair. He looked at the date and put it down wondering where Doll could have found it. Probably a drawer liner, he concluded. His mother always did that. It was nice but sad too to think about her and he pushed the memory away. He would ask Doll.
When he saw them returning, Doll's crooked arm held out sideways as though it was around and resting upon a smaller child's shoulders, he was so amused and indeed charmed by the scene that he quite forgot about the newspaper. She was a brilliant little actress. Probably end up in some God awful TV soap, poor young thing.
"Did Flora enjoy her walk? he asked mischievously and a small thin child's voice replied, " Yes thank you Mister Gabriel. She was a brilliant ventriloquist too. Gabriel had hardly seen Doll's lips move at all. Well actually not at all., but he hadn't been watching properly. He smiled and saidGood it's lovely now isn't it?
"Super! Have you finished your lunch? Doll asked, eyeing the bottle of beer that he had set on the seat next to him.
"Yep. I'll drink that later. All this talking gives me a dry throat. Come and sit down.
"Oh you're willing to put up with us now are you? Flora was just saying maybe we ought not pester you so much.
"Please yourself. said Gabriel though he wasn't able to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He had never in the whole of his long life had such an opportunity to talk about himself. "Isn't my tale good enough? He asked rather sadly.
"Perhaps it will get better. Doll ushered her friend into her seat and then sat down next to him. "It's fairly interesting but not very exciting is it?
"It seemed exciting to me at the time. Especially when I got shot.
"Was there a battle then?
"Well yes and no. We were just moving up into the hills. There hadn't been any rifle firing and I was leading a string of mules along a path just like it was a Sunday afternoon stroll. Suddenly a sledge hammer blow hit me in the chest and knocked me down. Then I heard the shot, or maybe it was another but I just heard the one echoing about the valley. The mules were all bolting as fast as they could go. They are not stupid.
It was a sniper. An officer told me they had got him but that didn't matter to me. I was sure I was going to die. I don't know why I didn't. Just cussedness I guess. They kept me in hospital for months and months then they gave me a medal. It was supposed to be for me trying to catch up the mules while under fire. But I can't remember any of that. I don't believe it. My memory of it was that I thought I was already dead. And as for 'under fire' I heard only the one shot.
That was the end of the army for me. I was going home but the MO , that's the doctor, told me it would do me good if I could recuperate for a little longer in a dry climate. In those days they thought that dry air was good for damaged lungs. England certainly couldn't be accused of being dry, so I decide to stay on for a while. There are lots of English businesses in India and I thought of getting myself a nice cushy job but I would have to go down the coast a bit where it was supposed there were no terrorists. Anyway the army had been a bad mistake on my part and I would be glad to be in an area where they had little influence. Now when I said down the coast a bit that, in India ,is a very long way and I decided that as a lot of the journey would have to be made on foot, I ought, as a precaution, try to blend in a bit and not look so downright English. I dyed my skin brown and got myself up to look like a native. I even knocked off a turban but I couldn't tie it properly. It was not my brightest idea because I could not in any case speak a word of any language other than English and maybe that not too well. However there seemed to be a lot of locals who were in the same position. There are lots of different languages over there and people struggling to understand one another and so I was able to get away with it for nearly a month.
The children were almost the end of me. I had started to think maybe I ought, after all, to try to find a boat to take me home and wandered into Bombay and was looking for the docks when they set on me. They were throwing stones and shouting Lord only knows what. Soon some adults started to join in the fun and I ran.
I was quite fleet of foot then but still I couldn't outrun them. I was bruised and bleeding and on the very point of collapse when an arm came out and dragged me into a doorway. As my saviour lead me stumbling and gasping, he supported me with one of my arms across his shoulders and one of his beneath my other arm, we could still hear them baying, hammering at the door and shouting what could only have been abuse.. He took me as fast as he could manage right through that building and across a narrow alley into what turned out to be a warehouse. No one knows what fear is until they have been chased by an angry mob. I can vouch for that. It makes your skin quiver and you feel sick right through to your bones.
Sacks of rice, stencil marked for export to London, were piled to the rafters and the young man told me to make myself scarce and hide somewhere among them while he tried to draw off my would be assassins. I needed no second bidding. I was in among those Hessian bags like a Jack Russell after a rat. A few minutes later I heard the mob come in. They sounded really furious. I couldn't understand what I had done to make them so angry. I was prepared for the worst but my benefactor must have been successful for they soon left though I could still hear them mumbling and grumbling menacingly till they reached the end of the lane. I was in a cold sweat as I waited in my hiding place without making any sort of movement for fear that one of them was lingering hoping that I would do just that.
After about an hour he came back. He looked as Indian as the rest of them but he was very handsome with high cheek bones and the aquiline features one most often sees carved in stone. His English was better than mine. I mean that. Sort of like our aristocrats used to speak. His name was Peter Jahndralal Doone. His father was English but nearly all his relatives including his mother were Indian. You do know what I mean by Indians don't you? Not Red Indians? Doll smiled and nodded and Gabriel, looking relieved, continued.
He, Peter, had been educated at Eton, - when a person has been to school at Eton you have to say educated, - and he was soon to go to Oxford. Pretty classy stuff for the likes of me and I have often wondered why he bothered with me at all. Or why his family should have been so kind, but they certainly were. Anyway, my good fortune at his presence in dockland that morning had been due to him being engaged in arranging the export of a dozen polo ponies to Argentina. His father bred them as a side line to his business and very fine animals they turned out to be. His actual trade, or perhaps I should say profession, was in shipping. He was by any yardstick a pretty big noise,
Peter told me he could not understand why the children had decided to murder me, except to point out that while the rest of me was still brown, my feet ankles and the lower part of my legs were as white as snow. The monsoons had started and I guess I had trodden in a few too many puddles that day. He seemed to be taking the whole affair rather lightly, of course I was grateful, but I resented his amusement. I think he regarded the whole of his life as some sort of game.
"Now Flora, we are coming to the sea. Doll spoke emphatically to the empty space beside her before turning back to Gabriel and adding pointedly, aren't we Gabriel?
"Not quite yet, but very soon. This one was quite a short passage anyway, but if you are patient just a little longer I'll tell you all about it. Or do you want me to skip forward a bit? Miss out the rest of India all together.? He sounded very disheartened and added, "Am I boring the pair of you?
"No, said Doll unconvincingly in a voice that sounded as if it would rather be saying 'Yes' but tempered it a little by asking, "Did you by any chance meet any ladies in India?.
Gabriel glad of the reprieve thought for a moment or two and told her, "Just one that mattered.
"Tell us about her.
"Nothing much to tell .
"What was her name?
"Dilys.
"Was she pretty?
"She had huge brown, no black, eyes, Almost black. The old man paused, frowning and staring intensely at a spreading ripple as if its sudden appearance had disturbed his concentration, but at last he continued. "Extraordinary shining bright eyes that were black but appeared to have tiny little points of light sprinkled in them. Like starlight. Even in the daylight they reflected the night sky. When I looked into them I felt as though my soul was being dragged out of me and way down into them. Gabriel paused again looking perplexed and rubbing his bristly chin so that it made a rasping noise. "I never could hold her gaze for more than a second or two but when I looked away I always wanted to look back. I tried not to though, it was too disturbing.
"Why?
"I didn't want to get involved. Already I had noticed her small soft slim hands. They reminded me of Julia's. I had to be careful.. I could have almost loved her for that alone.
"A-hem, said Doll looking archly up at him and then asking, "Was she an Indian?
"She was Peter's sister.
"Wow! Oh dear. Did he mind?
" No. There was nothing to mind. The poor little thing was dying anyway. Everybody knew. She knew. She hoped to live a year or two but it was not to be. She and I just walked together and talked. She was good at that. Talking I mean. Now she could have told you stories. Enchanting stories. We just strolled side by side and she told me all sorts of things. Once she did hold my hand just as.... " Gabriel drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly before he continued.
"She was consumptive. We call it tuberculosis nowadays and it's easily cured but they were still experimenting then and so there was no hope for her. If only she had been born just a few years later,,. One day we walked up to a temple. It was only a gentle slope but I had to support her all the way. I was worried and suggested we turn back but she was determined to show me her special place.
It was very ancient. Full of crumbling statues of the most extraordinary, weird Gods, all twined about with creeping vines and flowers too. Huge waxy white flowers and broken , decaying Gods. Idols I suppose we would call them. Up to her tiny waist in long grass with rattling dessicated seeds and spiky weeds, her arms straight down by her sides her head thrust back she stood looking at the sky.
I watched her. Huge tears began dropping from the edges of her eyes, drowning the tiny creases that childhood laughter had left, then running gently across her hollow cheeks and, gathering speed, along the soft curve of her jaw, down to her soft smooth neck. In the sunlight they flashed, sparkling like diamonds. A string of priceless molten diamonds. It all made feel so useless, angry that there was nothing I could do for her.
I prayed there in that forgotten heathen temple like I'd never prayed before... nor since for that matter. I prayed for her but it was for me too. I was so selfish. Somehow all my dreams had become entangled in that tiny elfin creature and I desperately wanted, needed, her to live. Of course the praying didn't do any good. Probably quite the reverse.
Dilys was so light and so fragile, she looked as if a puff of wind could blow her away and in the end I guess it did. Her amah found her sitting in the garden just as she did most mornings , but she was dead. I saw her. She had crushed a little white blossom in her hand. It smelled of the roses my grandmother had once grown but I don't think it was a rose. The amah called me to her and it was I who carried her body into the house.
She was just as she had always been, no difference at all, but the spirit had gone. It was easy to see that it had gone but I couldn't tell you how or why. The balmy breeze hardly moved her hair at all. Not enough to carry anything away. But she was gone. So? I almost wept but men don't cry do they?
I asked Peter to let me take the next shipment of polo ponies to Argentina and he agreed and that was that.
"I don't think that was a very nice story. Not a bit amusing. Doll protested. We don't like to hear unhappy things. You have made Flora sad again.
"You asked about Dilys. You wanted to know her name. I wouldn't have spoken of her if you had not asked. There is a book called 'Gone with the Wind,' and I thought of that. I've never read it but the title has stuck with me ever since. 'Gone with the Wind.' Sometimes even now, when a soft warm summer wind blows and I feel it on my cheek, I smell the smells of India: I look again on those cruelly indifferent Gods and I think of Dilys standing hopelessly, helplessly so beautiful among those long stalks of dried out grass. I watch again the sparkling tears falling so slowly so softly as if every one was being squeezed from her very soul. Poor dainty Dilys touches me still as the wind touches me but now the anger has almost gone.
"Gabriel! Stop it! We don't want to hear any more about it. Don't tell us sad stories. Maybe you ought not to mention any more about your girlfriends after all. Flora is beginning to look as mopey as you used to. Doll had stood up and was shaking a finger at him. " You just tell us about your adventures and the sea. Flora wants to hear about the sea.
She sat down again with a small show of petulance that angered Gabriel. "Listen. he said, "It's you that asked. I don't want to bother with either you or your precious Flora. Just go away will you.
"All right grumpy. We will go. See how you like it on your own. She pulled Flora up and ushered her a few paces away from him and then stopped and bent over with one hand cupping her mouth as if she were whispering into an invisible small child's ear. Then she stood up shaking her head but after a second or two she nodded and came back and stood in front of Gabriel. "I'm sorry, Flora wants me to tell you that we are sorry. She wants me to kiss you goodbye and ask if we can come again tomorrow. She put a hand on her shoulder and bent over him pursing his lips. He offered his cheek, she pecked at it and asked, "Shall we come again tomorrow?
Glad of the opportunity to relent, Gabriel said. " If you want but it is Saturday tomorrow. I go shopping on Saturdays so it will have to be later on.
"We'll wait. We would like you to go on with your story, but she leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, "remember Flora is just a child. Tell us the best bits. The nice happy bits,
There weren't many of those thought Gabriel but he said, Okay Doll. Just you run along now. Bye Bye, he waved as she walked away. "Bye Flora, he called after them, " see you both tomorrow!
"Bye Gabriel, a little voice called back cheerfully and there seemed nothing incongruous about it.
Chapter Four.
The next day Gabriel told the girls about the journey to Argentina. About exercising the ponies, each in turn, around the deck of the freighter. About watching the Dolphins playing in the bow waves and about the flying fish leaping like they really could fly. He told of the heady smell of spices as they edged into port at Madagascar but he didn't mention how, just as they were passing the Cape of Good Hope, one of the ponies slipped on the metal deck, broke its pelvis and had to be shot. Nor did he say that when they threw it overboard the sea had boiled with sharks fighting over the bloodied carcase, tearing it to shreds in what seemed to be seconds.
Off the coast of Argentina whales had come up and blown huge spouts of water high into the air and at night the sea was luminous, lit with masses of tiny microscopic creatures swimming just beneath the surface of the sea. Flora, so Doll said, was enchanted by that and wanted to hear more about it and Gabriel elaborated as best he could, It hadn't been necessary to lie and he felt rewarded when Doll smiled broadly and showed her pleasure by, clapping her hands together beneath her chin, repeating lovely, lovely.
Day after day his story progressed and none of the bad things that he remembered so well were mentioned. He told them, (not explaining that it was because of the death of the pony that he had felt too ashamed to go back and so had found a job herding cattle,) of his days as a Gaucho riding the Pampas in continual sweltering sunshine that was never so hot as to almost melt the glue in ones boots, nor nights, on the hard baked ground wrapped only in a thin blanket, so bitterly, teeth shatteringly cold as they really had been.
He didn't mention that when his companions, the cowboy crew, shot a steer to feed themselves, they invariably took only the liver and ' for the vultures seldom seemed to gather, - left the rest to rot on the plains. Gabriel couldn't stand liver and, fending for himself, would cut an enormous fillet from the inside of the carcase and throw it, still warm, directly into the grey ashes of the fire and seconds later scrapping most of the cinders away would bite hungrily into it so that the blood ran down his chin, but he was careful to venture nary a word about any thing like that!
It didn't matter if the other men were poking fun at his odd behaviour, having never been able to master even the smallest part of their strange patois, he couldn't understand a word they said, though he could manage a few words of Spanish.
He told the girls about this and boasted that the Argentinian herdsmen tolerated him because he could out ride most of them, had more endurance than any of them and no matter how diabolically he was treated, he never complained. Though, as he diffidently explained, if he was ever pushed that little too far he was always ready, and sudden, with his fists. They got to know that he never gave a warning of his intention to react. He looked round at Doll in case she found that inexcusable, but she didn't seem to mind at all, Certainly not shocked though she did take one of his huge paws in her tiny hands and turning it over examine it critically before smiling her agreement that he continue.
In Buenos Aires most people understood English. He didn't tell the girls about Carmen, the young fiery haired woman, who taught him, among other things, his few useful words of Spanish, nor of how she finally relieved him of almost two years pay before she disappeared into the far blue yonder. He never mentioned how he had already come sometimes to hate this woman because her carefree inconstancy came gradually to remind him too often of Julia and that simple comparison sometimes froze his gizzard into a hard knot of resentment that could have made him capable of almost any folly. Even he, Gabriel, didn't wish to recall how this passionate, love, hate liaison had driven him almost to the brink of bloody murder and taught him evermore to avoid anything other than the most casual of relationships. He stoically kept his council, preserving the girls from such knowledge and himself from having to admit that it was only years later that he had come to realise that Carmen had probably been a whore. Still that fact, that it was only her profession, had in some way offered him redemption and even now seemed to make things better.
He couldn't tell the children of the huge herds of cattle driven into one end of a massive slaughter house to come out, practically, it seemed, minutes later, in cans of corned beef and prettily labelled little pots of meat extract. For some reason even then such things had disgusted him.
He always longed to be away from the city back on the plains listening to the Gaucho's strangely sad songs as, mingling with the blue camp fire smoke, they drifted slowly away into the softly thyme scented darkness and he told Flora and Doll about that, inventing the hooting of owls and even the eerie calls of a vixen. He had not heard anything of those since he left England but he hoped they would add a familiar cosiness to his description of life besides the aromatic glowing wood fires and soften the details of his battles with the unforgiving Pampas. Finally he had tired of it all. He decided that he would go home and try to make a fresh start. Instead he had gone on a ridiculous, week long, binge and spent all the money that was to be his fare home. Penniless again he spent all day trying to get a job on a boat going to England. There was only a little tramp steamer bound for London and the only post the skipper had to offer was as a cook. Gabriel had never cooked anything but he signed on anyway. Served him right really for telling such a fib because their orders were changed and they eventually ended up in Sydney Australia.
For the first month at sea he fed the crew almost exclusively on tinned pears and powdered milk rice pudding. Even that he sometimes had to dump over the side because it was either burnt, too stodgy or too runny and in the end there was a near riot. He was forced to study a heap of cookery books which in the nick of time he discovered under a table in the galley. They didn't help very much but he always started work very early so that if, as sometimes still happened, he found it necessary to jettison his efforts, he had time to begin again or try his hand at something else.
Flora liked the idea of a daily diet of rice pudding but was sympathetic when Gabriel told them how, a week before the ship was due to dock in Sydney they had run seriously short of food and for the last two days they were all back on rice. Plain boiled rice this time, so sticky that occasionally it couldn't be knocked off the spoon. Plain boiled rice didn't appeal even to Flora and Doll shuddered at the thought. They could both understand why the skipper had not been amused. Gabriel being forcibly informed that he was no longer required to continue the voyage, reluctantly went ashore. He soon found Australia much more to his liking than Argentina had been and, deciding to bide a while, set about trying to find work.
Flora told Doll that she was very happy with Gabriel's description of how, having taken a job helping to scrape barnacles off the bottom of yachts in a small boatyard, he was allowed to have a go at rebuilding a derelict old hulk that nobody seemed to own and nobody wanted anyway. He spent all his spare time on it and, learning as he went, had lavished so much loving care and attention on it that finally it looked almost as good as new.
He named it 'Atlantic Tern 2' because he imagined that one day he may find himself back in British waters. It seemed somehow appropriate to return , even if not in triumph, at least on a vessel of the same name as that on which he had first resolved to depart. For days on end he sailed the 'Tern' round and around the bay, in and out of every little inlet and there were no problems. He had done it. It was safe, watertight, ship shape and Bristol fashion. He needed to give his 'yacht' as he was determined to call his small boat ' and perhaps even more so, himself,- the ultimate test. He wanted to see the great barrier reef about which he had heard so much.
He worked all the hours he could and saved every penny. It took months, but finally he had equipped his small boat and himself for every contingency that could be imagined and he was ready to set sail on the long journey around the coast. Everyone laughed and told him there was no way he was ever going to make it. Flora was glad to hear that he had taken loads of rice and tins of Carnation milk and imagined that he was really going to enjoy himself. He didn't want to tell her that those who laughed and taken the rise out of him had done so with good reason.
Of course he went alone. Doll, at least, was pleased to hear that. Facially with a charming little moue, she had expressed her doubts about a certain young lady who in spite of receiving no encouragement whatsoever had planned to accompany him. He should not have told her about it. He didn't care to describe the stealth and subterfuge that had allowed him to steal away without the hindrance or worry of female company. Nor did he wish to say how he soon come to experience regrets, The girl had really meant nothing to him, nothing at all, but at sea one's personal relationships quickly take on added colour. For a while he missed her but standing alone on the prow woithe wind in his face and the spray wetting him was as good as a cold shower and he soon became reconciled to his position. Unfortunately the salt water caused his bottom to erupt in a mass of pimples and in the end he was glad there was no one to see such an ugly sight. He didn't tell Doll about those either.
Haphazard navigation with the winds and the tides continually running against him meant that it was a long, long way and sometimes he lost sight of the coast for days on end. Though now he would have challenged anyone in the world to better his culinary efforts in this particular field he finally became thoroughly sick of rice pudding. Six weeks and two days out he was wrecked in a storm of unimaginable ferocity. Day after day he was blown hither and thither he had no idea where he was. He had rigged a sea anchor but it was carried away almost immediately and the boat had spun round like a top before it had capsized and ejected him into a vicious mountainous surf. For the second time in his life totally dead he was astounded that though he was unquestionably drowned and feeling extremely sick he was in fact alive and ashore.
When he had recovered somewhat it was only to find that the beach was completely devoid any any sign of human habitation, He was marooned in a dessert. He presumed he was still in Australia but it could just as easily have been New Guinea or any where else at all. Anywhere that is that was absolutely malevolent and uninviting.
The boat had broken up and sunk and soon there was no sign of it. It was like it had never been. The beach was nothing but sharp rock and stone, Gabriel headed inshore. It wasn't long before he began to wish he had drowned. The blazing landscape was unrelentingly hostile and there was no water. None at all. You can't drink salt sea water and live. He had come inland to find fresh water and there was none. Wandering about, almost hoping that death might come soon, Convinced that this time he had done something so stupid that it was bound to cost him his life he sat down. Like a strange hallucination dragged from some dreamlike past An aboriginal man stole silently up to him and saved him. It was as easy, astounding and impossible as that.
Joe. Big, ugly, kindly Joe. For him everything was so simple. Existence and often existing against seemingly impossible odds was second nature to him. The desert posed no problem, He appeared to enjoy himself in that horrid place. Thinking back Gabriel decided the man did actually like it. His name was Joe, a nice civilised name but he had no clothes worth speaking of and didn't want any. How could a man like that wandering about all alone in such an hostile place come to be called Joe? Gabriel mused. Joe, something or the other unpronounceable. I forget now but he was a great man.
"Was he a black man? asked Doll.
" Yes, but not very.
"Well then. Most black men are called Joe aren't they?
"Not in my experience.
"Were you frightened of him?
"Certainly not. Joe was the kindest man I ever met and a real Gentleman. He and I stayed together off and on for years. One day I would wake up and he would be gone, but weeks later he would come back and find me. Didn't matter where I was, he would find me. It was quite spooky how he could do that. He never said where he went. I guess he had a woman somewhere. You know like a wife I mean. For the girls sake, Gabriel always tried to respect the proprieties nowadays.
As the summer stretched into autumn Gabriel told them How he had driven cattle from the north of Flora, Dot and Gabriel.
Queensland way down south. It had taken months, Joe was mostly with them. Sometimes, at night, when only two of them were on patrol around the huge herd, the cattle would all suddenly stand up as one, in unison as if there had been a signal and fear made the hairs on the back of Gabriel's neck stand up. It was eerie. Primeval. Nothing had ever happened to warrant that awful sense of apprehension but there it was every time. Sudden cold inexplicable fear.
Gabriel told of the spectacularly wonderful sunsets and of the amazing hospitality of the small homesteaders. Sometimes hundreds of miles from civilisation and starved of human contact they were delighted to welcome anybody and everybody into their homes to share whatever they had. Doll asked if they were rich people and Gabriel said he thought that they were rich only in their families and way of life.
In between these seasonal drives Joe and he got a contract to supply horses for the Indian army, Gabriel knew this was no longer true and most of them would go for slaughter and end up as animal food, or, so it was said, the best bits on dining tables in Belgium. He thought this truth might upset the girls as it did quite a lot of Australians so he stuck with fiction about the Indian army who had in fact originally taken most of them. It didn't pay that well but there was little else so he and Joe set up camp and built holding pens to contain the wild Brumbies that they rounded up. Things in this makeshift camp were very primitive indeed. Their washing and drinking water came from the same massive tank that had once contained engine oil and still tasted of it. Joe managed to make a passable cup of tea from it but in certain lights the rainbow colours shone out clearly.
Though most of them would be eaten, so that they could be called riding horses and therefore command a premium, they still had each to be ridden three times. True to his certificated word, Gabriel rode them three times, but they could hardly be called broken. Joe sometimes, as time after time his crazy red skinned, sunburnt companion was unceremoniously dumped and occasionally viciously kicked, stood and laughed till the tears ran down his brown crinkled face. He was thoroughly appreciative of this daily rodeo and when as sometimes happened, Gabriel brought one of his mounts to a sedate, defeated walk, he would applaud loudly, by vigorously slapping his naked thighs.
After three years of this exhausting unrewarding work Gabriel, on one particular day, when for the umpteenth time, he was thrown, winded, badly bruised and scrabbling about in the dust looking for his brand new false teeth, decided that enough was enough, He and Joe turned all the ponies loose and called it a day.
After an unemotional farewell to his old chum Gabriel made his way back to the coast and from there worked his way slowly back to Europe working as a deck hand and once as a stoker, He described all the little ports at which his tramp ship called and the girls were delighted. They continually asked for little details and he in turn was delighted, true or not, to supply them. They were enthralled by his description of his journey through the South China seas because he had invented a brush with pirates. Though the pirates existed and were a constant threat he had never actually seen one of them. He remembered he had been disappointed even then. So into his tale he wove a cast of desperate yellow skinned characters who were the personification of maritime threat as he imagined they might have been. Armed to the teeth and impossibly vicious yet his dreamed up encounters with them, in deference to Flora's sensitivity, always ended with his miraculous escapes without anything unpleasant actually happening. He was surprised how easily he could lie and began, instead of simply exaggerating actual occurrences, to add whole incidents that he thought would please his juvenile audience. As such things often do, gradually his stories became more and more extraordinary but still apparently totally believable and believed.
The girls seemed happy and Gabriel found that every day he enjoyed himself in their company much more than he would willingly admit even to himself. He no longer sat gloomily looking at the dismal mental pictures that rose spontaneously to the surface of the river nor did he any longer brood over what was to become of him and, sometimes, he slept as he had in his halcyon days' If he dreamed at all, his dreams were filled with the happy memories that he had recalled for Flora and Doll. Even though, when he awoke he knew that these and the joy that he had felt had been exaggerated beyond recognition, it seemed to be almost real. They were idealised, even surrealistically, but definitely the way things should, might, ought to have been and now, occasionally, they were the way things had been.
Chapter Four.
One day, whilst he was in full flow, it occurred to Gabriel that he was not inventing stories just to please his young audience. Certainly he liked to have them around but he was pleasing himself. It was pure self indulgence. They were merely his barometer. Deciding that he must try to be much more considerate, he stopped talking and turned towards Doll. He was surprised to see how poorly she looked. "Are you feeling all right? he asked anxiously and when she nodded an affirmative, enquired, "Are you not enjoying today's story?.
He had become a little involved in horsey matter and gone on too long about breeding and such like. Actually he was working his way round to telling how a beautiful young chestnut foal was born to a very common cart horse mother and it grew into a race horse almost good enough to win the Epsom Derby, - it might actually have won, these things got away from him sometimes ' but anyway it was to have saved a very deserving young lady from the abject poverty, which naturally through no fault of her own beset her. He had dreamed it up during the night. They would surely have liked that but no he had spoilt it.
"Not very much, I'm afraid. " Said Doll, yawning
"Too many horses? Not enough sea to please Flora? He asked but Doll didn't seem to have the will to complain any further. "It's all right, she said but added "Flora's taking a nap,
That was sufficient reproof, Up till then neither of them had ever fallen asleep. On his mettle now Gabriel romanced about the sea , more shipwrecks, discovering hidden treasure and how heaps of money came anonymously into the hands of that worthiest of all charities, Doctor Barnardo's. Now as he lied so freely he continued to watch Doll's elfin face. She was much less than her usually animated self but by they parted company in the late afternoon Gabriel thought she had recovered somewhat.
Over the next few days Doll became even paler and her face began to look drawn but if Gabriel, sounding worried , questioned her she always laughed away his fears, saying she was, "Perfectly well thank you very much, Just the same if the weather was at all inclement he would make some excuse and send the girls off home. This meant that he should himself go back to his basement, but he seldom did. Instead he caught the bus to the library and scanned many books looking for anything that may make his stories even more colourful.
It was on one of these days that he realised that surely the girls should be at school? Children dressed in school uniforms and carrying satchels came thronging in to the children's section among the books that he shamefacedly sometimes withdrew. He hoped that Doll wasn't playing truant, Maybe this was why, daily, she sat with him on the seat concealed by rhododendrons and trees. He tried to find excuses for her, Perhaps she should be attending a special school for retarded children and she simply could not stand it. Gabriel could accept that. Strange she was indeed but retarded certainly not. He could believe that she would want to avoid such a place. He hoped that he wouldn't be blamed for leading her astray. His heart sank further and further, but if she needed his help, he would help her. The good, happy carefree days that he had so enjoyed were going to fade. He could feel it in his bones. His beautiful Indian summer was to be over in more ways than one. The girl's company would be denied him and the chilled wintry existence of yesteryear threatened its unhappy return.
His life had taught him to always expect disappointment and he hadn't been disappointed, but this time he would try to do something about it. To forestall fate. He had always believed that he was fate's plaything and there was nothing that he could do about it. Just as from the moment a man is born he starts to die, everything that happens to him is preordained, unchangeable, fate. But not this time, he was not going to let it happen, it was no longer just him. The children were involved, well a child he corrected himself.
For Doll's sake he must do something constructive. No more just drifting along. Should he seek out her parents? Probably but he couldn't bear to lose her, They were certain to think him unsuitable company. One Saturday morning he had bought the girls a bag of sweets but they had both refused them. At the time he had thought ruefully about small children being warned not to take sweets from old men and had eaten them himself.
Gradually his continual contact with the girls was making him feel much less in horror of all children. So much so that in a shop one day he had very much wanted to stroke the silky golden haired head of a small boy. Just to touch him. The child had looked so angelic but, thank goodness, at the last moment he had restrained himself.
In these confusing modern times such simple actions could so easily be misconstrued and, no matter how much his social skills had improved, he was not ready to withstand an onslaught, verbal or otherwise, from any young feminist mother. By all accounts they could be extremely vicious. Still his attitude had changed and now he often allowed himself to smile at the offspring of these potential she devils and felt surprisingly warmed when the little darlings sometimes responded. Even the tiniest babies were beautiful . Astoundingly he discovered that they had characters of their own. In the past he had found trouble recognising any humanity whatsoever in these little bundles of trouble. How was it that they seemed to cry so much less than in former times?
Strangely too , the mothers appeared less hostile and occasionally when they saw him looking they would tickle their little charges under the chin just so they should give the world the benefit of a sparsely toothed grin. Then the parent would smile too and Gabriel would hurry off in case things went too far. Actually talking to women was something he was still not prepared to risk.
The next morning the girls did not appear. Feeling devastated Gabriel waited and waited. After some time he walked slowly up and down the river bank looking for them but there was no sign of them anywhere. He dragged himself back through the orchard but they were not there either. He questioned a young boy who was sitting alone, pushing himself gently back and forth on the swing, but he had not seen Doll and taking fright ran off before Gabriel could describe her more fully.
It was a considerable risk but he was going to enquire at the house where he thought she perhaps lived. In spite of any consequences he must make sure that nothing had happened to Doll. She was so very dear to him. He had grown to love her.
Walking slowly and painfully, by the time he reached the cottages that had once been stables it was nearly lunch time. As he was passing the first of them, an old man working in the garden politely wished Gabriel 'Good morning,' and propping himself stiffly with both sticks stretched out before him, asked if perchance the man had seen Dolores that morning.. He was told that no one by that name lived anywhere in that area. In fact there were as far as he was aware, he said clipping spitefully at a twig that he had earlier missed, no little girls living in any of the cottages. Perhaps Gabriel should ask at the big house he suggested, ending the discussion by returning to his task with renewed vigour.
Gabriel ignored the man's advice and headed for number ten the house in which he knew for sure a young girl had once loved and which he had always imagined to be Doll's home The path to the front door was long and though it must obviously once have run in a straight line from the gate it now snaked its way awkwardly between banks of Michaelmas daisies and other hazards. There was no knocked so gabriel pressed the bell. When after some moments there was no reply he tried again and then supporting himself against the porch banged firmly with the handle of one of his sticks. Eventually, just as. thinking there must be nobody at home he was turning away, a middle aged freckled faced woman came to open the door,
"Good morning madam, said Gabriel, very much on his best behaviour and determined to give no offence, "might I enquire about the health of your daughter Dolores?
"I have no daughter, she said swallowing hard and speaking in an unnaturally husky voice began to close the door. "I'm sorry to trouble you, began Gabriel hastily, " but could you tell me where i may find a young lady who wears patent leather red shoes and''.... but he could not finish the description because the door was suddenly slammed shut and on the other side he thought he could hear the sound of sobs. Gabriel was not unduly surprised . It was ever thus. Even the most casual of his contacts with women were always exceedingly fraught and, if anything, given only the shortest of times, worsened as they progressed.
He hurried as best he could back down the unmercifully winding path. Why had she taken such umbrage, Was it the mention of the girl's shoes? Surely not. It had, until now, never struck him as at all that she always wore the same footwear. He began to question his memory that she in fact had. He didn't see that it mattered. A pair of shoes were nothing to get upset about. The lady must have been having a bad day. He had caught her at an off moment. He was glad to regain the lane and close the gate behind him.
Now he needed to rest his legs. His hips really hurt and the leg that had been broken was absolute agony.. He would continue his enquiries later. Doll must live in the big house but he couldn't think where. Even so he made his way in the other direction, taking the short cut back to his seat among the rhododendrons. This must have been the way the girls had come every morning, Perhaps he may yet find them.
There was someone sitting in his seat. It was not them. Gabriel hesitated almost deciding to retrace his steps but he was in pain. He went to the seat and sat down next to the rather plump gentleman who had taken his familiar place, The place that Doll had said was to be his forever. He hung his sticks over the back of the bench just as she had always done and began to massage the back of the leg that had been so smashed up in Melbourne,
His companion looking rather glum, said nothing staring silently at the river as Gabriel had always done, apparently seeing nothing. "Haven't seen you before, said Gabriel reluctantly adopting his new more sociable personae.
"No, I'm sorry if I'm intruding, " said Podge ponderously as if he found it necessary to defend himself. " I know you come here very often and I don't like to approach uninvited, but it is a very special place for me too. You weren't here so I sat down.
"I've been looking for the girl, young woman I suppose she is, that sits here with me, but I can't find her. I don't suppose you know where she is do you?
"I've seen nobody. What does she look like?
"Well, if you have seen me sitting here, you have certainly seen her. She sits very close to me so that... As if she was leaving room for someone else.
"No. You have always been alone. I have never seen anyone other than you.
"Oh. Gabriel considered the implications of the stout man's statement but decided the fellow didn't know what he was talking about and added only, "I see, before once more giving his full attention to massaging his leg. After some time. changing the subject he asked ,  Do you live around here?
"Number ten. Podge replied laconically.
Gabriel's eyebrows shot up and he sensed that trouble may be brewing but now that so many days of continual talk had loosened his tongue he spoke without giving the matter proper consideration. "Number Ten? I was just up there and now committed to the stupidity compounded it with the question "Was that your wife that opened the door?
No storm came just,Probably. Was she all right?
"Not really. I think she started crying. She slammed the door in my face.
"You didn't mention that you were looking for a child did you? A lost girl.
"No. I just asked if she had a daughter named Dolores. That was all. She told me she had no daughter. I'm sorry if that upset her.
"You are not to blame. It was ten years ago today that our little girl drowned. Right here as a matter of fact. Judy asked me to throw some flowers on the river. That's why I'm here. They have floated away now' I expect you think it silly, but she does miss the child so. It would have been better if we could have had another but we can't. Maybe it would have made no difference. She does miss the child so much. She gets her self in such a state. She is so unhappy.
" Do you bring flowers every year? It is strange I haven't seen you before. I mean we haven't met before, I've been coming for years. Gabriel told him.
"I know, but this is the first time Judy wanted me to bring the roses. Ten years you see. Something special. She would have been fourteen. Not quite, fourteen tomorrow to be exact. She was a sweet little thing.
"How awful , Gabriel saw the man's eyes had filled with tears, but pretending not to notice asked, " How did it happen?
"Nobody knows She was only missing for an hour. Someone found her body floating up against that tree trunk there. That one . He pointed. " It's just exactly as it was then, No one has moved it.
Gabriel looking at one of the water rat's favourite hiding places tried not to imagine Dolores floating face down in the stream and her red shoes making spreading eddies to spoil the mirror like surface. 'Your daughter wasn't called Dolores was she? Asked Gabriel though he could not have placed his finger on the origin of the thought.
"Oh no. That wasn't her name, Well if Judy is crying I ought to get back to her. I should have gone sooner but there is nothing I can do, I hope you find your friend. He got up and started to walk away but after a few paces came back and asked " You don't mean Doll do you? No of course not how stupid I am getting, He was turning away again when Gabriel in spite of his lameness jumped up and grabbed his coat, "Yes that's it Doll. Doll is short for Dolores . She wasn't called Doll was she?
"No, her name was Flora, but she had an imaginary friend that she used to call Doll. Quite a lot of kids have pretend friends especially if they are an only child. We tried to break her of it, it was such silliness. Judy was shamed by it. No matter how many dolls we gave her she always wanted the imaginary one. Judy still thinks she might be somehow guilty for Flora's death because that very morning she had scolded her about Doll. Just a coincidence. The names I mean but I hadn't thought about Doll for years.
Gabriel sat down heavily, "Yes, just a coincidence I expect. he said, but his rheumy old eyes began to shed tears and before the short stout gentleman was ought of sight the story tellers shoulders had begun to shake uncontrollably. "Forgive them Flora dear. He wiped his nose and staring at the river as he had always done he mumbled, "Forgive us all . Forgive that we are so prejudiced, so ignorant. He was drying his eyes on his sleeve when he saw the water rat climb up to a vantage point on the log. He straightened himself and drawing a deep breath began, Now here's a story about the mighty oceans and two young ladies who loved beyond their earthly bounds.
His voice already sounded more cheerful and Doll would have recognised a distinctly hopeful note hiding in the growing strength of his recitation. He slid along the seat to the place that would be forever his and waited for the touch of her hip against his own. " Once upon a time two young friends set out to see the world, Three, make that three, very good friends.