Mythical Simplicity (Chapter 4)
Chapter Four
John must have fallen asleep at some point in the night, because the sharp beams of sunlight cutting through his curtains in the early morning woke him abruptly. The confusion that had been puzzling him during the night was gone, taking the strange ideas with it, leaving him with the reality of mundane, wonderful everyday life.
He made his way down to the dining hall a short time later, fetching a pot of tea and sitting in the light of a large bay window, reading the local newspaper. Eating slices of toast almost absent-mindedly, he skimmed through articles on London politics and wars in distant parts of the Empire. The stories in the middle of the paper were less dramatic, but often equally interesting. One in particular caught his eye.
This weekend, scientists from across the country will be gathering in northern Oxfordshire to witness Saturday’s lunar eclipse. A total eclipse has not been seen in Great Britain for more than twenty years, and the opportunity to observe the phenomenon has generated great excitement in the scientific community. Whilst the eclipse should be visible all over England, it is expected to be clearest in the south east, with Oxfordshire expected to receive the best views. Because artificial light can bleach the sky, aspiring astronomers are advised to find somewhere dark from which to observe. Optimum viewing time is expected to be between 22:45 and 23:30.
John read the article with interest. He’d always taken a mild interest in the night sky; perhaps he was one of the “aspiring astronomers” the article referred to. He knew the perfect place from which to watch: a hill, only a small eminence, really, less than a mile from the school.
During the day he mentioned the eclipse to Richard Stanley, but his friend merely chuckled and said he was interested in events closer to home, before beginning to discuss the rugby. The Latin teacher and the music master were equally disinterested, though polite.
In the end he raised the subject with Alfred Trimley, the science teacher. He was the obvious person, really, and John wondered if perhaps the students ought to be given the opportunity to witness the phenomenon. But he was hesitant; of all the staff, Trimley had been the least friendly and welcoming. Perhaps it was because John had pointed out a flaw in an experiment he’d been describing. John couldn’t imagine where the idea had come from - science had never been his strong point - and it wasn’t like him to contradict another teacher, but he was still sure he’d been right.
“Mr. Trimley, do you have a moment?” It was a few minutes before the end of the lunch hour when John finally decided to go and speak to him.
“What is it, Smith?” The science teacher was abrupt and gruff; an older man whose dark hair had only recently started to turn grey, and he wore thin, pointed glasses that didn’t suit him.
“Well, I was wondering if you’d read about Saturday’s lunar eclipse …”
Trimley cut him off with a withering look. “Of course I’ve read about it, Smith. What has it to do with you?”
“You see, I was thinking about going to Major’s Hill to watch on Saturday, and I wondered if perhaps you might like to think about taking a few of the boys … only, they’ll never have seen one before.”
The older man looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You expect me to spend my weekend traipsing a group of ungrateful children through the countryside in the dark? Not a chance, Smith. Besides, it’s only a lunar eclipse. And more likely than not, it’ll be cloudy and we’ll miss the whole thing.” His tone made it clear the discussion was closed. “Was that all you wanted?”
John suppressed a disappointed sigh. “Yes, Mr. Trimley. Sorry to bother you.”
** ** **
In the end, John decided to go alone to Major’s Hill. He didn’t want anyone else’s lack of enthusiasm to dampen his own. Contrary to Trimley’s dark predictions, Saturday night was clear and fine, with a large full moon and plenty of stars visible in the black sky.
He made his way along the woodland path just after ten o’clock. It was strange to be out among the trees so late at night, and the silence was almost unnerving. The climb to the top of the hill was gently taxing, an enjoyable little bit of exercise. To his great surprise, however, when he reached the top he found he was not the only one there. Another figure sat comfortably on the ground, eyes resting on the full moon above. John recognised him instantly; it was Mr. Saxon, from the governors’ meeting.
He felt immediately awkward at having interrupted, and coughed slightly to alert the other to his presence. Saxon jumped to his feet and whirled around to face John, who held out his hands apologetically.
“I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, sir. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
Saxon seemed to relax as he recognised him. “No, neither did I. You’ve come to watch the eclipse, I presume?”
John nodded. “It’s Mr. Saxon, isn’t it?”
The other man smiled. “Yes, but please call me Harry.”
“John.” He smiled back, more at ease. Harry settled himself back on the ground, and John, a little awkwardly, sat down a few feet away. He fiddled with his bootlaces for a moment; he had no idea what to say. He’d been expecting to be alone.
“So … John. How long have you been in Oxfordshire?”
John cleared his throat. “Not long … about five weeks. Just starting to get settled, really.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Up North. Another school; just like this one, really.” He shifted uncomfortably, an awkwardness that was not caused solely by the hard, uneven ground. He had avoided talking about his past at work, and in the busy, bustling school, it had been easy. Here, it would be harder to avoid. Best to turn the conversation around. “What about you? Where did you arrive from?”
“London.” Harry replied. “I’m a writer.”
“Oh?” John’s curiosity was piqued; he was an imaginative sort, although he rarely got around to writing any of his imaginings down.
“Nothing you’ll have heard of,” Harry assures him quickly. “Just little pieces, here and there. Mostly, I just try and … draw attention to things.”
“What things?”
“Things that need changing.”
He didn’t elaborate, and John didn’t want to pry, but he couldn’t resist turning a curious eye on his companion.
Harry caught the look, and appeared to be a little embarrassed. “Oh, it’s not nearly as important as I’d like it to be. It’s just … there’s so much going on that people don’t know about. Or, they pretend they don’t know. London’s wonderful, it really is. So full of history and culture and wealth. But the other side of it couldn’t be further away from all that. And … my little bits of scribble probably won’t really change anything, but …”
He trailed off, and his eyes looked towards the sky. But John thought he knew the end of the sentence, anyway.
“But, if someone doesn’t try, nothing will ever change?”
Harry looked at him quickly, mild surprise showing on his face. Eventually, he nodded, and his eyes returned to the heavens.
They sat in silence for long minutes, but it was no longer an awkward silence. Eventually, John spotted something.
“Look! I think it’s starting …”
Indeed, a shadow had started to creep over the moon. John stared at it until his eyes watered, not wanting to miss a moment. If you keep looking, he thought, you barely even notice it changing its shape. It happens too slowly. It’s only obvious if you look away.
The moon was half obscured before either of them spoke.
“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry asked quietly, not really expecting a response. “I mean, it’s amazing. All that light … and it has absolutely none of its own. A mere mirror, reflecting brilliant white light from millions of miles away. Such a perfect circle … it’s hard to believe it’s a globe. Hard to believe it’s so massive, when it appears so small. Held there, forever close, but forever at a distance. Never able to touch, yet never able to escape.”
John turned his eyes away from the moon and looked at his companion in mild amazement. He was sure he’d never heard anyone speak this way before.
“And then there’s us.” Harry continued, his voice almost dreamy, as though he’d forgotten John was there. “Sitting right in the middle. For tiny, minute intervals in the whole of creation, the constant movement of the heavenly bodies coincides so perfectly as to cast a shadow on that perfect surface. That shadow,” he nods upwards at the darkening moon, “that’s our shadow. All that light is gone because we are sitting in its path. But we harm only ourselves, because only we see the light go out. And what proof do we have that it’ll ever come back?”
John didn’t know if Harry expected him to answer that; the only answer he can think of sounds ridiculous, even to him. It always has …
The night grew darker, and only the small oil lamps provided any worthwhile light. Their heat created a smoky mirage in the warm night air.
Eventually, John felt he had to speak. “You must be very good at your job. You truly sound like a writer.” He smiled appreciatively at his new friend, although the darkness was almost too complete to see.
“Thank you,” Harry said, and his tone made it sound like he was unused to receiving compliments; at least, sincere ones. He turned his head and looked John in the eye. “It’s been nice, having someone to share this with.”
John suddenly felt as if the humid night had become many times hotter. His eyes filled with water; the fumes from the lamps, perhaps. He felt … confused, and flustered, and that same familiar feeling he’d had when he and Harry met had returned, but it was a hundred times stronger because they were closer, and they were alone, and the beauty and poetry of the eclipse had made him dizzy already …
Seeing his distress, Harry had reached out instinctively and taken John’s hand, although the contact between their eyes had never broken. John’s mind was gone, his reflexes had taken over. He wasn’t sure who leans forward first, him or Harry, but neither resisted. His eyes closed, and every nerve ending was tingling, primed for touch …
!
The screech of an owl made his heart skip several beats. His eyes flew open and he saw Harry, looking at him in the same shock and consternation he felt. John leapt to his feet, grabbing his light coat and scrambling for his oil lamp. He was aware that he was talking; babbling half-formed words and sounds; nothing that approached a sentence. He was less aware that Harry was doing the same.
“Well …”
“Yes …”
“I’m s…”
“Goodbye.”
John fled, rushing away down the hill at far too great a speed. He didn’t stop, or indeed slow down, until he was home, safely within the walls of the school. He lay on his bed, fully dressed, still wearing even his shoes, eyes wide, staring into the darkness and listening to his pounding, frantic heartbeat.
** ** **
He didn’t sleep a wink all night. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his head. The screech of the owl sounded even louder and more vivid than it did at the time. His heartbeat had slowed, eventually, but in place of the thundering rhythm was a churning in his stomach, and a heat throughout his body that felt like fever. In the middle of the night he punched his solid wooden headboard, hard, just for the feeling of pain radiating through his hand and up towards his shoulder.
He couldn’t deny he had been lonely. Ever since his arrival here, really, he’d shut out the world to prevent it from hurting him, but the sadness it had taken him so long to notice had grown and spread. His mind had been chaotic with thoughts and ideas, and he had no-one to talk to about it. Of course he’d been lonely, desperate for company, for anyone to reach out and understand and touch …
But Harry … Harry was a man! His stomach churned more violently as he considered that fact. Of all the people in the world that he could’ve been drawn to, why did it have to be another man? Because he had been drawn to him, irresistibly. No point denying that. He’d never felt an attraction like it. An emotional response, feeling understood and admired, and at the same time, understanding and admiring … together, in that close, companionable silence. A vague sense, he realised, that he’d finally found someone who saw the world the way he did. But it wasn’t solely emotional. He summoned his courage to explore this thoughts further.
It had been a physical attraction, too, stronger than any appeal he’d ever felt. The heat coming from a body close to his own, hearing his breathing, and the touch of his skin as their hands had met …
John couldn’t stand it any more. He left the bed and walked straight to the bathroom, filling the basin with cold water and splashing it relentlessly over his face and neck.
When morning came, it appeared the weather had finally broken, and the humid heat had given way to a mild, rainy day. Still feeling restless and plagued by his thoughts, John went running, round and round the muddy playing fields, soaked to the skin, ignoring the strange looks from teachers and pupils alike.
** ** **
By the time Harry had reached his own house, he had almost calmed down. He poured himself a tall glass of water, which he drank slowly, and then slowly and deliberately dressed himself for bed. He was asleep within seconds.
The scene that greeted him when he drew back his curtains the next morning was unwelcome; he was not fond of dark, gloomy days. He abandoned his plans for the day and settled into his study with a book, but no novel could have been stimulating enough to keep his mind from wandering to the evening before.
He couldn’t quite understand it. He knew, in his life, that he had encountered many interesting and wonderful people, and yet he’d scarcely known the attraction they seemed to see in each other. He’d never allowed himself to think about it, of course, but occasionally it had struck him as strange.
But this new person, this … John Smith. Such an ordinary name, but Harry was certain he’d never met a less ordinary man. Funny, that, when John had spoken so little, and volunteered almost no details about himself and his life. But his eyes had seemed so deep, so full of knowledge and understanding and appreciation. Not to mention, they were the most beautiful eyes Harry had ever seen. Together with the moonlight shining on his hair, and his shy, charming smile … Harry shivered, but it was not, he thought, an unpleasant shiver. Not unpleasant at all.
** ** **
The shock of a return to classes full of noisy pupils on Monday morning jolted John back to reality. His mind was finally able to stop replaying Saturday evening in his head, finally able to stop burdening him with guilt and blame. By lunchtime, he was feeling almost back to normal again, as if the weekend had just been a strange dream, and he felt well enough to venture into the village, to the post office, to buy some stamps.
The post office was crowded at lunch time, full mostly of chattering women. The elderly man behind the counter made small talk about the sudden awfulness of the weather, for the rain that had arrived on Sunday had never really stopped. He collected his stamps and turned to walk out of the door, and walked straight into Harry. He froze, suddenly keenly aware of every inch of his body. Aware of the way the blood had rushed to his face, the way his heart rate had quickened and his breathing had grown shallow and erratic. The shock he felt was mirrored on the face he was staring at. He felt, irrationally, as if all the eyes in the room were on him.
“G-good morning, Mr. Saxon.” His voice was higher than usual, his speech a little quicker.
“Good morning, Mr. Smith.” Harry, he noted, sounded much more composed, and possibly … quite pleased to see him?
Not sure what to do or say next, he smiled ever so slightly, and fled.
It occurred to him, sitting back in his dull, safe room at the school, that there had been no reason to worry about what the other people knew. They knew nothing, would never guess. Come on, you could’ve grabbed him there and then, and they still wouldn’t have known anything. Might’ve done them good, though.
He sat up, sharply, his eyes wide. Where had that thought come from? The very idea … It made his face burn once again.
** ** **
Feeling uncomfortable again, he went out that afternoon for a walk along the river. The rain had finally stopped, although the sky still looked black. He’d needed to get out; he was aware that he was becoming fixated on his problem, and sitting around thinking hadn’t helped. A walk, he guessed, was bound to do him good.
The ground was still wet, and there was no-one else about. He walked about a mile before coming to a narrow place that was difficult to pass. In the dry weather, when the river had been lower, it had been possible to squeeze between the trees and the water, but the rain had made it impossible. There was nothing to do but turn around and go back. It was at that point he realised that he couldn’t remember any of his walk so far. He had still been far too busy thinking about his impossible situation … and about Harry. And, try as he might, that was all he could really think about all the way back.
He reached the end of the path and, reluctant to return to the school, he stood and looked out across the river, to the far bank. There was no path on that side, only overgrown bushes and weeds, and gnarled tree roots. He had no idea how long he stood, before a voice from behind him broke into his thoughts.
“Please, don’t leave.”
His stomach lurched as he turned around, so fast he almost made himself dizzy. It was Harry, of course, wearing a long, tan raincoat but no hat, smiling at him, cautiously.
“What are you doing here?” His voice came out as a whisper.
Harry shrugged, and his smile grew wider. “I like it here.” His eyes cast around the scene, taking in the swirling river and the heavy sky, before coming to rest on John.
Feeling almost as if he had nothing left to lose, John forced himself to ask. “That night … did we - almost, I mean - did we …?”
Looking away, Harry took a deep breath before replying. “Yes. We very nearly did.” He lifted his head to look at John once more. “Are you sorry?”
Uncomfortably flustered, but still compulsively honest, John couldn’t bring himself to lie. “No. I’m not sorry. Not if you’re not.”
Harry sighed and moved half a step closer. “I’m not. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. But it is strange. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before …”
“Nor me,” John broke in, without stopping to think. He smiled, shyly. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about, too.”
“The thing is,” Harry began tentatively. “Nothing can really happen, can it? However much we want it to?”
John couldn’t mask his disappointment. It was hardly a surprise - the same thought had been echoing around his mind ever since Saturday - but he was hoping, desperately, that Harry would have some miraculous solution. He shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground.
“Unless …” Harry continued, and John looked up, hopefully, biting his lip. “There’s no reason we can’t be … friends. Spend time together. You’d always be welcome in my home.” His smile turned quite mischievous. “And it’s not like anyone here would guess there was anything else to it …”
John’s eyes widened, catching up. The idea was beautiful, and wonderfully tempting. A voice in the back of his mind - his conscience, he supposed - wanted to ask if this was really happening. Was this man, this man he’d met only a week ago, proposing a secret love affair?
And was he considering accepting?
“I’d like that,” he answered softly, so quietly his voice was almost lost in the noise of the river.
Harry took another step closer. “There’s something I’d like …” he began, and he looked at John curiously. “I’d like to see you smile. A real smile, a genuine smile. Forgive me for saying, but you seem so very … sad.”
John looked up in surprise. He knew he’d been feeling glum - well, it had been a bit worse than glum, actually - but he thought he’d been covering it well. Nobody else had seemed to notice. But then again, nobody else had really been paying attention.
“I have been feeling a little low of late …” he started, but the sudden feeling of Harry’s hands in his own cut him off abruptly.
“Not any more. I swear. From now on, you’re only going to be happy.” There was something in Harry’s face, or in his voice, that made John certain that was true. His hands, in Harry’s were shaking, and he seemed to have gone a little light-headed. Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed Harry.
It was only meant to be a quick kiss, a thank you and a promise, but both seemed reluctant to end it. Harry returned the kiss just as eagerly, and the fingers of their joined hands intertwined and grasped hard. Eventually, John moved his hands away and used them to pull Harry closer to himself, and Harry’s hands moved upwards until they rested on the back of John’s neck. They lost themselves, completely, in the moment.
And neither had any idea they were being watched.
** ** **