PATCHWORK PIECES

Otago Witness, Issue 3995, 7 October 1930, Page 10

PATCHWORK PIECES

By

Eileen Service.

(Special for the Otago Witness.)

THE RAINY AFTERNOON.

“ The numbers of people you find in sympathy with you! ” she exclaimed. She turned to look at you, as if to make her observation more emphatic. “ You think you’re alone, and then find that everybody you meet is going the same way as you’re going. The only conclusion you can come to is that, all through the world, there’s a general tread in that direction-”

“ Yes,” you agreed. She had voiced the very thought that had come to you a moment earlier. You had imagined that she, of all people, would misunderstand you, and instead, she had not only seen your point, but had gained it victoriously, and passed it. All you hoped now was that she would go on talking, so that the spring of delight her words had released might flow on. To save time, you were walking across a field. It was damp from a recent shower of rain, and caused her to hold her skirt in both hands. The upward climb had put colour in her cheeks, and made her eyes sparkle. When she turned to you, you were struck by the bright beauty of her expression. “ It’s certain that thoughts are in that direction,” she continued. “As 1 said, the numbers who agree with you when you casually mention it! The most unheard of people! Ones you’d think never had an idea in their heads! And they’re only a few of many—l’m sure of it. The spiritual age is coming closer—and the age of woman.”

“Woman?” you asked. You walked more quickly so that you could be at her side instead of behind her. For the moment her mind, too, had gone ahead of you. You repeated your question. But she seemed in no wise perplexed by it. . Rather the analogy between woman and spirit appeared quite plain to her.

“ Yes,” she said. “ The age of woman. It’s drawing nearer. There’s no doubt about it.

“Oh” (impatiently) “not the age of Amazons. I don’t suggest a period in which men are useless and inferior. But the time for woman to assert herself. In some respects it’s here now.”

You had come to a fence and raised the wire while she bent beneath it and gained the road. Beyond were the harbour and red-roofed houses. In the distance were the hills. All the colours of the palette seemed to have been used on the scene. You took the lane to the sea.

“ Women,” she said,” are knowing themselves as individuals only now. Thirty years ago, their whole outlook was different. Then, they existed. Now, they live, though at present their freedom is a double-edged tool on which they injure themselves and others as often as they help. But wait till they’ve learnt to handle their freedom, when they’ve realised themselves! ” Her voice was suddenly rich with meaning. She seemed to sing her sentences. “What will they do?” you asked. You watched her while she flung back her answer:

“Leaven the lump; put affairs right; begin reconstructing things instead of tearing them down. There was silence while she looked for a thrush which somewhere was praising the cool air. She took off her hat and shook her head. The sun set a sheen on it.

“ Women will keep things stable instead of allowing strife and destruction. There’s been too much of that recently. Now we need change. “ The point is,” she added, as, the bird discovered, you proceeded onwards, “ woman has a settling influence. She’s been man’s inferior; now she’s trying to be his superior. But when she’s wiser she’ll be content to be herself —a force, quiet yet insistent, co-operating with him in making the world more habitable. Man’s restless by nature. He likes change and variety; he builds things, but he also likes to destroy. Woman, being statiCj hates destruction. As man’s partner slie’ll control his actions and urge him to create wisely. “This waste! This waste of time and energy—time spent on futile aims, energy expended in wanton foolishness! At th-? moment, because sheis aping man, woman wastes as much as he does. You know Coventry Patmore’s lines —and she has indeed cheapened Paradise! But when she’s true to her own nature she’ll be different from now. She’ll neither be wasteful nor let man be wasteful. That will be the age of woman.”

. You had reached a corner and could see the sea, a peaceful, grey expanse of waters faintly white at the edge. The sky had paled and was beginning to cloud over. There was a new hint of rain in the air. But, disregarding the sign, you turned to the track leading to the top of the cliff. Your companion went first, her head bent. You could see the line of her grave, absorbed face. Her speech impressed you. She had spoken with the conviction of much thought, as if the subject were dear to her and had occupied her mind on more than one occasion. You knew that where women were concerned, her heart was a wide well brimming with interest. For her, there were no fears that present indiscretions would end in disaster. Her faith that all would he right was firm and unshakable. “Wait till they’ve learnt to handle theiV freedom!” The words recurred to you.

“And spirit?” you ventured. She turned to you.

“Of course,” she said. “We were speaking of that, weren’t we?” Caught in her dreams, she seemed, for a moment to forget you. Then : “ There’s too much emphasis on matter, these days. Matter should be allied with spirit. But we seem to be forgetting it. We think we’re flesh and brain with no duty but to pander to such. flesh, and, as a result, we’re all lop-sided—deformed creatures because ot over-developing one side at the expense of the other. But we’re growing tired of ‘ sowing to corruption.’ There’s a need for something else, something not material, something spiritual. And the people you find who seem to be realising it! It’s astonishing. It makes you marvel! ”

She paused and glanced at the sky. The clouds were drawing closer. “If only we’d realise that there has to be harmony, that there can’t be concentration on matter all the time any more than there can be concentration on spirit! A give and take—that’s what there should be—poise and balance so that the result is beauty. Life lived thus would be a pure joy. . . . And it will be—it’s coming.” She ceased and caught you by the hand. You had reached the top of the cliff. To the west the clouds were thick and leaden; but to the east, there was nothing but green and blue. The sea, deep jade, was hung with a purple shadow, and the sky seemed to have been cleft apart so that it was like a cavern of emerald. Such stormy colour thrilled you. You stood enchanted.

And then came the rain, pelting from the sky in a mighty shower. Down it poured, straight anil heavy so that the drops rebounded from the earth and the floor of the sea became a pattern of movement. It fell sheer and long and silver. It shut out all the colour to the east. Suddenly the world was made wholly, of rain. Hand in hand, you turned to descend.