PATCHWORK PIECES

Otago Witness, Issue 3882, 7 August 1928, Page 77

PATCHWORK PIECES

By

Eileen Service.

(Special for the Otago Witness.)

LXII.—THE INTRUDERS.

The mist lay like a veil over the face of the hill. Behind it were trees and houses and drifts of stagnant smoke. There was no wind.

We looked out across the harbour. For some reason we were reluctant to stir and shatter the chill peace about us. Everything was so serene. We felt it impossible to be different. Then we saw that the sky above was alive with birds flying eastward —flocks of sparrows, jerking and twittering, and stately sweeps of gulls. The swiftness in their shapes, black against the clouds, suddenly appealed to us. We decided that we would go to, the beach. We were glad of our decision as soon as we left the house. The ring of our footsteps seemed proof against the lethargy of the day, and when we found that children were playing and fires burning in gardens, we smiled to think we had deemed the world asleep. We went to the top of the hill, from where we could look out to sea—a stretch of grey unbroken by colour, and passive as a lake. Only the horizon was distinct, for there the haze had lifted enough to show a band of silver. The sand seemed as grey as the water. It was a nun-like scene, unbrightened by fires or children. Moreover, we ourselves were standing still. Thus we felt again the sense of aloofness that we had experienced erstwhile. Here, activity was annihilated as it had been before. Here everything was hushed. Would we be doing something unseemly if we ventured further into that calm?

But when we remeipbered the seagulls and the cries they had uttered as they flew, we refused to tolerate our scruples. Surely we were strong enough to do as we pleased? It was ridiculous to suppose we must follow too closely the mood of the day. We turned down the hill.

The rbad was dark, its stones gleaming dully. The green of the grass and hedgds through which it wandered was deadened with damp, and the gold of the gorse seemed more subdued than usual. Through the dun atmosphere the two colours showed but faintly. Their vivid tones were quenched amid the dimness.

The path grew narrower. A little girl leaning over a gate gazed at us with round eyes as we passed, so that we felt that perhaps we were the only people she had seen that day. Certainly, we ourselves encountered nobody else on the road. Even the cottages, usually inhabited by week-end visitors, were empty. The lagoon was as smooth and still as steel, with the hills behind overshadowed with mist. Grey was everywhere, above and below, except for the grass and the gorse. It seemed to us that we were walking in cloisters. We tried to talk and laugh as usual, and even started to sing; but, somehow, our voices sounded out of place, and we let them fall into silence. Nature seemed to frown on frivolity. There was a sense of indrawnness everywhere that made us want to hold our breath.

But why should it be so? Why should we let ourselves be repressed only because the day was dumb? Was there a cause for it? We began to ask if the solemnity that we experienced had its birth in our own imaginations, and looked back on the past few days to see if anything could have affected us. But there was nothing we could find. The week had been unusually placid. Then ?

But this was being foolish! It was unthinkable that we should give way to things so. Just because we were alone on the road and the day was tense, was there any reason for us to be morose? We took hands and ran.

In our speed we mocked at the stillness about us. Youth, liberty, vigour—all were ours, and we flung them like a gauntlet at the feet of the day. We danced over the dank road, our laughter resounding, and our coats making warm, live colour against the sombre hedges. We had come out to defy the enervation of the afternoon, and we meant to succeed.

At the foot of the road was the beach. We turned towards it. There was a brown creek to cross, narrow but deep, and mossy ground from which, at our pressure, bubbles of water oozed. Tussocks were growing near the shore and making a fortress above us. As we pushed our way through them, they were cold and slippery, while the sand in which they grew was wet. We shuddered a little as we hastened towards the shore.

At last the cloggy ground was behind, the clumps of rock were passed; we were on the stretch by the water’s edge, eagerly ready for the welcome of the waves.

But the joy we had expected failed to fill us. Instead, there came a greyness from the sea that joined with the grey of sky and sand to wrap itself around us. Where we had meant to leap and shout, we stood frozen, pur limbs chained from movement. It was as if we were in a shroud, which each moment was folded more closely. We forgot our wishes. We forgot each other. All we knew was a mighty quiet that drew us to its heart. Crushed into that vastness we were no longer separate beings, for we became a part of it all —the grey, stern peace itself. We, who had come as rebels, were made one with

that which wc had flouted—the still skv, the still sea, the sand.

I do not know how long it lasted. Time ceased to exist while we were there. But gradually, as if the lesson were over, the bands about us were loosened until we were free. For a moment we stood still, staring. We seemed to have come back from a long way off. Then, as the colour crept into our cheeks, we turned, and in silence went back the way we had come.

If there was any reason for the experience, it no doubt lay in the fact that on that day we were extraordinarily sensitive. Our desire to be other than calm had originated from a knowledge of the insistent tranquillity about us. Such quietude seemed to take our liberty away. We resented it. Hence, when we reached the heart of things down on the beach, we were so highly strung that it was inevitable that we should respond when the great call came. At other times we might have noticed nothin". We _ might have been too callous to receive any impressions. But on that day fools that we were to think we could disturb the world at its orisons!