A Man Called Darius Page 18

  Her one indulgence, which she would allow herself with great joy, was to sit with me in the garden in the evenings, under the oak tree, doing her knitting. I never ever saw her read a book or a newspaper and she loved to hear the birds sing and the tress whispering to each other, (to quote her own words) and she preferred the country atmosphere to the ‘smoke’... (The name she used for London.)

  She had only been in a motorcar twice in her life, but she didn’t tell me the details of these incidents. The subject was only touched upon lightly, whenever I spoke about the Beetle.

  I remember how on one occasion when she was feeling particularly happy and content, and with her knitting bag on her lap under the tree, that she did almost give something of herself away. She told me that Aunt Martha had allowed an old tramp to sleep in the green house at the Manse one evening, when it was very wet and inclement weather and even threatening to snow. Aunt Martha had felt sorry for the poor man but when he left the next morning, he had taken half the tomatoes with him. Aunt Martha’s only remark was that he wouldn’t be able to live on tomatoes alone and had she known how fond he was of them, she would have left out some bacon and mushrooms for him too.

  She ‘slipped up’ once, when I mentioned something that Jeremy had done as a little boy... some prank or other that I can’t even remember now, but Frampton smiled her appreciation of the situation.

  “Boys will be boys, Frannie... I learned that at a very early age....” she said and continued knitting contentedly, with a smile that never left her face for a long time. She later remarked that girls were more difficult to rear than boys... adding... “Well, usually, that is...” for my benefit and I gathered there must have been some memories in her past that reminded her of a young boy. She seemed to have an intimate knowledge on the rearing of children and I concluded that perhaps she might have had a son... but she never elaborated. Yes - Frampton was a confidante, a good friend and a wonderful companion, but we each lived in a world of our own. I never regarded her as a subordinate and I’m sure she never ever felt she was. Our relationship worked perfectly and we never trod on each other’s corns and besides... she could cook the most delicious omelette that I had ever tasted... never giving the secret of her craft away to anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My train for London, arriving at Paddington around 8.0am, had been cancelled and I had to catch the 7.30am from Banbury getting into Marylebone Station at 8.54. That would give me just enough time to get a taxi and arrive at the hospital for the 10.15am start of my lectures, after a short time to freshen up. It was always a rush on the mornings when I went up to London but I hated changing at Reading, which would have been more relaxing, I suppose in one way and I found it easier to travel by rail rather than by my old ‘beetle’. I was always tired on my way home in the evening after so much ‘nattering’ through the day and it was convenient to have a little nap, if I felt like it, on the journey home, which of course, I couldn’t do if I used the car. Of course, I had to be careful that I didn’t oversleep and forget my stop... I did once and paid more in taxi fares to get home again, than I had paid for the entire train journey for the whole day.

  ***

  I got into Marylebone at the correct time. The train was unusually punctual and there was no delay that morning which was quite exceptional. I remember I was in a rush to get to the main station entrance and get a taxi at the rank there, when I was suddenly sent sprawling across the platform with my brief case being thrown into the air. I had been so absorbed in my travel schedule and arriving in time at the hospital, that I hadn’t seen the man appear from the gates of platform one and we bumped into each other. I was annoyed that I would be delayed and didn’t consider for a moment that the fault could be mine as I started dusting myself down, moaning about the ladder in my stockings and complaining that the big oaf should watch where he was going. I also hoped that my new lemon two-piece summer suit wouldn’t be too badly marked by my fall on the dusty platform. The man moved to pick up my brief case, but I grabbed it before he could get near it. I didn’t want to argue with him, but get on my way as soon as I could... and it was then that I saw his white stick... I went crimson...

  “Oh, I am so... so sorry. Please... let me help you,” I stammered in embarrassment and I could feel the pulse beating fast in my head and my cheeks getting redder by the second. I wished the ground could have opened up somewhere nearby, so that I could crawl into a hole and die... and the importance of getting to the hospital in time, didn’t seem so important any more. The man stood up and I gave him his stick. He turned his face towards me and frowned, as he seemed to be trying to steady himself.

  “Are you alright? “ I enquired again, “Can I help you in any way?”

  He shook his head without speaking but as I went, reluctantly to leave him standing there, I could feel his sightless eyes following me. I turned around again to face him and saw that he was smiling. I could see my reflection in his dark glasses.

  “Would you be?... Yes, you are,” He said, “You are Sister Barrington-Smythe.”

  I stood for a moment feeling that my blood had turned to liquid lead as he came towards me.

  “You won’t remember me, Sister. I worked in an operating theatre in Iraq when you were serving there with the Q.As... Am I right?”

  My world crashed in on me in that moment and I could not believe my ears. I knew I was looking at the man I had so often dreamed about. The man, whose memory I had carried in my heart all these years. The man who sadly now could not see me as I would have wanted him to se me... clearly and without hindrance... It was Darius Crane... I thought I was going to faint.

  “Crane? Crane? “ I asked stupidly, feigning for a moment that I could not remember when I should have forgotten my pride by this time... and then I realized in a second, what real life was all about.

  “Darius Crane... of course, I remember you. How are you?” I did not mention or ask about his eyes, nor the dark glasses that he wore, but I had broken the ice and thrown away all the ridiculous entanglements of superiority that had plagued me so foolishly all my life and I wanted to throw my arms around him; to kiss him and to say, ‘Thank God’ ...Thank God I have found you at last. ...He smiled again but gave me no explanation of his infirmity and by this time, I had forgotten about my taxi and the hospital and the lectures could go to hell. I didn’t care whether I was in London or in Timbuktu. I was with the man I loved... and my life was real...

  “Can I take your arm?” I asked nervously... shyly... but he declined.

  “No... No thank you...I’ll be alright. It was my fault and I’m sorry to delay you. You are obviously in a hurry.”

  “Oh No... I was just a little agitated, you know... falling like that so unexpectedly... Please let me help you?”

  I knew I was blushing and trembling like a sixteen-year-old and I was glad that he couldn’t see me as I lied again ...and stupidly tried to hide my laddered stocking

  “I’m not in any rush... I have nowhere in particular to go,” he stammered as he stepped away from me, taking a few faulty paces, before straightening himself up. “I have lots of time,” he said, “Please, I do assure you I can manage. I don’t want to delay you, but it is so nice to hear your voice again.”

  My heart flipped when I heard that and I wanted to stay with him, more than anything else in the world. Oh, God... I did …I had waited years for this moment; dreamed about it; yearned and longed for it. Begged in my prayers for it and I wasn’t going to lose it for anything or anyone. It may have sounded brazen of me, but there was nothing else for it and I trembled as I spoke his name.

  “Darius... I have nowhere to go either. Nowhere at all and I’d be happy if you would have coffee with me... please... you did say you had the time.”

  I think he was more embarrassed than I was at my persistence because he immediately made an excuse that he should not have called my name an
d that it was something he had done in the spur of the moment, without thinking, but I took his arm and my heart began to pound again.

  “Please have coffee with me Darius. There is so much we have to talk about, I’m sure.”

  “There is no need,” he said, but I would not accept his refusal.

  “PLEASE?” I begged and gripped his arm tighter and he walked with me slowly, making me the proudest woman on this earth and convinced that there WAS a God and that He had smiled on me in Marylebone Station. I wanted to shout... I wanted to laugh and to cry... I wanted to tell the whole world that I was in love....

  ***

  He sat so still and upright, staring ahead as we waited for the waitress to serve us. He was like someone anticipating the results of an exam.

  “It is really lovely to see you again,” I said, “but I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

  He smiled again.

  “Please don’t feel any pity for me. I know lots of people do and I would rather they didn’t… I am content.”

  I wanted him to remove the dark glasses so that I could gaze again into his lovely eyes, but somehow I didn’t think he would do that. There was no reason why he should do, after all... was there? I tried to study his face and hands hoping that he could not sense my actions, because as I looked at him, I could see only the Darius that I knew in Basra and I found it difficult to believe that he was blind. I wanted to do something to please him, but my mind would not function. I was happy just to be near him. What does one do for a person who is content and yet, cannot see as any normal person would see? If he could only have seen my heart...I remember thinking that perhaps now with one of his faculties impaired, he may have double strength in one or other of his other senses. I had heard that people often reacted in this way after a tragedy such as he had obviously undergone and I looked at his beautiful, sensitive hands with the strong, yet delicate long fingers. The fingernails were long too and rounded smoothly at the tips. What sort of a man was he now... I thought... but I didn’t really care. He was Darius Crane and I had found him again and I was not going to let him go.

  “I think perhaps I should not have called your name, Sister... there is no need for you to be so kind, but I have very sensitive ears and I recognised your voice straight away. I hope you are well... and happy,” he said and I was puzzled as to why he kept trying to apologise for recognising me.

  “To the first part of your question, I’m glad you did, but please... don’t call me Sister. It makes me sound like an old dragon.” He laughed and time stood still for me as I saw the beautiful white even teeth again I just wanted to look at him forever. “And to the rest... well, I’m content also. Let’s put it that way... but I’d love to hear all you can tell me about Basra, after I left. I have often wondered about it... and the people I left behind. My name is Francesca., but please call me Frannie. Everyone does.”

  I wanted him to say my name and to watch his sensual lips as he pronounced it, but he listened without answering and the waitress brought the coffee.

  “What is it you would like me to tell you?” He asked solemnly as he felt near the saucer and lifted the spoon.

  “JUST SAY YOU LOVE ME... “ my heart screamed....”

  “Well... start where you like. There was Colonel Steel... whatever happened to him… and Major Tarapor?”

  Suddenly, he removed his glasses and as I caught a glimpse of his eyes, my pulse quickened. They were the same magnificent amber-green eyes that I had known before and I would never have guessed that he was unable to see. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead; that smooth silken forehead and I watched the fine cut hairline that made me realize again, how special he was to me. Even his slightly long nose excited me in its perfection. Darius Crane was an Adonis in my eyes and I wanted to keep it that way. He scratched his chin as he continued to tell me what I wanted to know.

  “I think you had only been gone a couple of months when it was decided to move the British troops out of Iraq. It was in April 1947. The Colonel was sent home with another Regiment from Baghdad and Major Tarapor was posted to the 53rd General Hospital in Berlin. I had to stay to ensure that the hospital inventory was intact... in other words, that the theft was kept as low as possible and you know what the natives were like...couldn’t blame them really... “ He smiled broadly as he said that and I felt as though he could see in some strange inexplicable way by the way his eyes moved ...as he continued to narrate the information that I asked for, with such innocence in his telling, but I was only interested when it concerned him... “I remember seeing a hand,” he went on, “a hand coming down from the roof and in through a window as I was standing in the duty office one morning and cut the telephone wires to take the phone with it, up to the roof again. I ran out to see what was happening, but all I could see was two large innocent dark eyes, smiling at me and showing a magnificent row of white, even teeth. Well, what could you do against that, eh? Besides, I hated having to burn the Nissan huts that we were leaving behind, when most of the natives lived in straw huts or worse. I disobeyed that order, I’m afraid... “ He sipped his coffee, holding the cup in his two hands as if to warm his fingers as he continued. “It was difficult to keep stock of things, but the drugs and ammunition were sent on ahead, together with all the guns and other weapons and I really didn’t think it was such a terrible thing to leave the old hospital buildings and living quarters intact, for the natives to make their homes in them. It just didn’t seem right, when we were told to destroy everything... that nothing was to be left behind and that the buildings were to be blown up, Leave NOTHING, they said... oh, I’m sorry …I am going on a bit, aren’t I. I’m sorry... really,” he apologised, but Darius Crane could have recited the telephone directory to me and I would have been happy. I just loved to hear him talk.

  “No you’re not...I asked you to tell me everything and the way you tell it, ...well, I find it most interesting. Really I do.” I said, hoping he would continue his narration of the exodus from Iraq. “Please tell me more. I miss it so much... it sounds as though I have never come away when you talk about it.”

  He shifted uneasily where he sat.

  “I think I will have to go now... “ he said, as if suddenly he remembered something he had to do … “I have some shopping to do and it’s the half-day closing on Thursdays here, you know. It takes me such a long time to get about.”

  I ignored his excuses and fired another question at him.

  “You did very well in the Theatre...what happened when you left there?”

  “Well, I was only a very raw recruit, if you remember and I was commanded to return to Aldershot for retraining and for future posting. It…. It was the train... “

  I waited for him to explain, but he simply stared ahead with those sightless eyes that saw everything in his mind.

  “I really must go now... I must get to the shops. I live alone and I haven’t got anything in …for cooking, in the next few days.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry Darius... may I call you Darius?” I asked as it thrilled me to speak his name aloud.

  “Yes, yes, of course... now if you will excuse me please and …”

  “Yes Darius?”

  “Thank you for the coffee.”

  I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but I had done all the right things before and it had got me nowhere, so I said it.”

  “Darius... I want you to have dinner with me and I’ll help you with any shopping you have to get.” (I had resolved by this time that I would telephone the hospital and give them an excuse why I wouldn’t be in that day for my lectures.)

  “Please... please, I tell you there is no need. I can do everything that a sighted person can do. I do not let this …(He pointed a shaking finger at his eyes) dominate my life. I am fine.”

  We left the restaurant together and he walked nearest the wall to tap his stick
.

  “Are you able to work?” I asked and my heart was beginning to feel sorry that I was about to lose him.

  “Yes... I teach,” he answered and I was eager to find out more, but before I could ask, he offered the information enthusiastically before I could say another word.. “I teach piano... and tune them occasionally too... when I get the chance.”

  This information did really surprise me as I knew nothing of his musical abilities, but I remembered the hands and the long, slender fingers... and perhaps I should have guessed.

  We did his shopping for the food he required against his protest that he could very well manage on his own and I hailed a taxi. He stood still as he heard me talking to the driver and was about to speak when I interrupted.