Read Online The Dust That Falls from Dreams by Louis De Bernières - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis De Bernières
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Or like the summer humming of a bee…’
‘It’s Harold Monro! What is it? “Child of Dawn”?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Now do you think you could breathe on my eyelids? Just so I can see what’s so darn good about it?’
He closed his eyes and leaned down, and Rosie breathed on his eyelids. Suddenly he opened his eyes and said, ‘It’s not quite what Monro cracked it up to be. Might you allow a kiss instead?’
Eventually Ash went to say goodbye to her mother and sisters, and then they gathered to see him off at the door. Theatrically,Ash affected French manners, and kissed each of the sisters’ hands, and then their mother’s. She did not know quite where to put herself. She said, ‘I will write to the King personally to ask him to make sure that you are somewhere safe,’ and the sisters smiled little secret smiles to each other. Mrs McCosh was always writing to the King, and was the fiercely proud owner of a little pile of polite and non-committal acknowledgements from his secretary.
Finally Ash took both of Rosie’s hands and said, ‘We’ll get spliced on my first leave, then.’
She nodded, and said, ‘I’ll pray for you every day, especially before I go to bed.’
‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘And long live the Pals.’
Rosie said, ‘Pals forever,’ and then he was gone, striding out into the snow with his baggage on his back and his cap on his head. He waved from the gate, and Rosie felt a little hurt that he so obviously could not wait to get away, and out into battle. That was how all the young men were, suddenly caught up by a very specific, important and tangible reason for living. Rosie could not blame him, and would later wish that she had had told him how proud of him she had been. The last she knew of Ash was the sound of him whistling ‘Gilbert the Filbert’, trilling the notes like a blackbird as he strode away.
After he had gone Rosie went to the conservatory to look down at the snow angel, and Sophie, Christabel and Ottilie followed.
‘Ash said he was my angel. It was a funny thing to say.’
‘Do you mean funny ha ha or funny peculiar?’ asked Sophie.
‘Funny peculiar, of course,’ said Christabel on Rosie’s behalf.
‘Oh good,’ said Sophie. ‘I hate it when I don’t understand jokes.’
After tea Rosie opened Ash’s present, and it was an etching called
Adieu
by L. Rust. It depicted an old-fashioned infantryman wearing a shako, with a musket over his shoulder, on the point of stepping forward. A maid in a pinafore stood at his left side, on tiptoe, her arms draped about his neck and her eyes closed. Her attitude suggested depair and resignation and absolute devotion. Either he was kissing her nose, or was whispering something. Rosie thought it would have been something like ‘I have to go now, I really do’. The contour of the girl’s body exactly foldedinto that of the soldier. The effect of the picture was poignant, and it made her begin to cry. She took it upstairs and propped it against the wall on top of her bookcase, and then she retrieved her figure of the Virgin Mary from under the bed and put her in front of the mirror. She talked to her about keeping Ash safe, and then wrapped it up again, and replaced it.
She put on her coat and hat and muffler, and walked to the church. It was a freezing day, with the kind of raw cold that burns into the bones, but even so the church was full of women on their knees. She slipped into the pew beside Mrs Ottway, who had two sons at the front, and tried to pray, but could not help sniffling. Mrs Ottway put out a hand and took hers, and they prayed together. They said the Lord’s Prayer. Afterwards ‘Thy will be done’ echoed and re-echoed inside Rosie’s head, and she remembered the words that Jesus spoke in the Garden of Gethsemane, words that she would repeat to herself all through her life when she needed tiding through.
When she returned home, Bouncer was waiting on the other side of the
Or like the summer humming of a bee…’
‘It’s Harold Monro! What is it? “Child of Dawn”?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Now do you think you could breathe on my eyelids? Just so I can see what’s so darn good about it?’
He closed his eyes and leaned down, and Rosie breathed on his eyelids. Suddenly he opened his eyes and said, ‘It’s not quite what Monro cracked it up to be. Might you allow a kiss instead?’
Eventually Ash went to say goodbye to her mother and sisters, and then they gathered to see him off at the door. Theatrically,Ash affected French manners, and kissed each of the sisters’ hands, and then their mother’s. She did not know quite where to put herself. She said, ‘I will write to the King personally to ask him to make sure that you are somewhere safe,’ and the sisters smiled little secret smiles to each other. Mrs McCosh was always writing to the King, and was the fiercely proud owner of a little pile of polite and non-committal acknowledgements from his secretary.
Finally Ash took both of Rosie’s hands and said, ‘We’ll get spliced on my first leave, then.’
She nodded, and said, ‘I’ll pray for you every day, especially before I go to bed.’
‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘And long live the Pals.’
Rosie said, ‘Pals forever,’ and then he was gone, striding out into the snow with his baggage on his back and his cap on his head. He waved from the gate, and Rosie felt a little hurt that he so obviously could not wait to get away, and out into battle. That was how all the young men were, suddenly caught up by a very specific, important and tangible reason for living. Rosie could not blame him, and would later wish that she had had told him how proud of him she had been. The last she knew of Ash was the sound of him whistling ‘Gilbert the Filbert’, trilling the notes like a blackbird as he strode away.
After he had gone Rosie went to the conservatory to look down at the snow angel, and Sophie, Christabel and Ottilie followed.
‘Ash said he was my angel. It was a funny thing to say.’
‘Do you mean funny ha ha or funny peculiar?’ asked Sophie.
‘Funny peculiar, of course,’ said Christabel on Rosie’s behalf.
‘Oh good,’ said Sophie. ‘I hate it when I don’t understand jokes.’
After tea Rosie opened Ash’s present, and it was an etching called
Adieu
by L. Rust. It depicted an old-fashioned infantryman wearing a shako, with a musket over his shoulder, on the point of stepping forward. A maid in a pinafore stood at his left side, on tiptoe, her arms draped about his neck and her eyes closed. Her attitude suggested depair and resignation and absolute devotion. Either he was kissing her nose, or was whispering something. Rosie thought it would have been something like ‘I have to go now, I really do’. The contour of the girl’s body exactly foldedinto that of the soldier. The effect of the picture was poignant, and it made her begin to cry. She took it upstairs and propped it against the wall on top of her bookcase, and then she retrieved her figure of the Virgin Mary from under the bed and put her in front of the mirror. She talked to her about keeping Ash safe, and then wrapped it up again, and replaced it.
She put on her coat and hat and muffler, and walked to the church. It was a freezing day, with the kind of raw cold that burns into the bones, but even so the church was full of women on their knees. She slipped into the pew beside Mrs Ottway, who had two sons at the front, and tried to pray, but could not help sniffling. Mrs Ottway put out a hand and took hers, and they prayed together. They said the Lord’s Prayer. Afterwards ‘Thy will be done’ echoed and re-echoed inside Rosie’s head, and she remembered the words that Jesus spoke in the Garden of Gethsemane, words that she would repeat to herself all through her life when she needed tiding through.
When she returned home, Bouncer was waiting on the other side of the
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