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Authors: Shirley Hazzard
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should not be drawn in. I accepted at once. I was younger then. Presumption was immense. I suppose I had been in an arrested state with the war. One aged rapidly enough at the end of it. We shook hands and had a drink on it.'
'What did you drink?'
'Champagne nature. A fine lunch was wheeled in.' He had asked to look at paintings, and walked a bit about the room. On the desk, there was an old red folder tooled in gold and a silver box for cigarettes. There was a photograph of a beautiful youth in naval uniform, who was not a son.
'Did you see him again?'
'We met repeatedly in the following days. I went to his house, which was grand with books.' Leith said, 'He told me he was ill, which I'd perhaps begun to realise.'
Leith would not speak to Benedict of yet another death. At their parting, the Frenchman had said, 'However, I hope to live to read your book.'
'I'm sure you have better reasons than that for living.'
'None.'
When he got up to leave them, he said, 'I'm having this teacher come, you know, an elderly Japanese, three times a week. He could come to you, before or after seeing me, as you'd like.'
Ben said, 'Do you mean it?'
'Of course.'
They asked him, Had he crossed the lines of the civil war? Since the Nationalists had removed the capital to Nanking, how had he entered Peking, the city about which they were most curious? Leith explained that the road to Peking was cut, and the railway. The city was besieged by the Communists, but one could fly in almost daily. Mao would move, but not quite yet. Mao need only wait. Leith had crossed the lines, at times by accident, but also by finding someone to speak for him in advance. He had regularly deposited his possessions — his notes and books and letters of credit — with friends, at a British or French enclave or consulate.
'Did you have books, to read on the way?'
'That was hard. Books are heavy, as is water. I carried one indispensable book, and a couple of Chinese lexicons in tiny print. One becomes starved to see one's own language — even on a discarded label whirled by a dust storm, or among the detritus of stolen UNRRA supplies.'
'Did you talk to yourself out loud?'
'Like Billy-Oh. Recited, too, when alone, and even sang arias.'
'Did you ever get lost?'
'Often. Of course, since I had no precise route, everything was grist. But sometimes I'd find that I'd gone in a circle.'
'Did you ever think that you might —'
'What?'
'Stay forever in some place?' Helen meant, Love someone, and remain, and make a Chinese family. She was glad that he had not.
'Yes. Once, in particular.'
He was in Yunnan, on foot and leading a mule rented in a village near Chaotung. 'I was going from Kunming towards Chungking, where I'd left my tackle with a friend.' It was May, he had slept in the open. After sunrise, came through steep bushy hills into a valley floored with green cultivation — less alluvial than the land preceding it, for now he was moving away from the great river. By a stream, there was a line of low, close houses, each bowed under its scalloped roof. The hill above the tiny town was gravid in the way of that landscape, its grassy garment stretched like soft cloth over an imagined anatomy of ancient, unremembered walls, graves, and ditches: a tumid rise, over which you might mentally pass your hand. On a nearer slope, feebly scattered with ash and poplar, a pair of pale, horned cattle were grazing. A woodpile was deftly stacked; a basket hung from a branch, and there was a small shrine, arched and tended.
On a third, sharp peak, the stripped remains of a Halifax bomber: the Ark on Mount Ararat, or the ribbed cradle of a stranded quadrireme.
Leith tethered the mule under a tree. Two men in the valley had already left their work and were climbing up to him as he came down. A third man followed slowly. A woman in black tunic and trousers came from a doorway and shouted, voice ringing harshly out in that still place, which was differently awhirr with the
'What did you drink?'
'Champagne nature. A fine lunch was wheeled in.' He had asked to look at paintings, and walked a bit about the room. On the desk, there was an old red folder tooled in gold and a silver box for cigarettes. There was a photograph of a beautiful youth in naval uniform, who was not a son.
'Did you see him again?'
'We met repeatedly in the following days. I went to his house, which was grand with books.' Leith said, 'He told me he was ill, which I'd perhaps begun to realise.'
Leith would not speak to Benedict of yet another death. At their parting, the Frenchman had said, 'However, I hope to live to read your book.'
'I'm sure you have better reasons than that for living.'
'None.'
When he got up to leave them, he said, 'I'm having this teacher come, you know, an elderly Japanese, three times a week. He could come to you, before or after seeing me, as you'd like.'
Ben said, 'Do you mean it?'
'Of course.'
They asked him, Had he crossed the lines of the civil war? Since the Nationalists had removed the capital to Nanking, how had he entered Peking, the city about which they were most curious? Leith explained that the road to Peking was cut, and the railway. The city was besieged by the Communists, but one could fly in almost daily. Mao would move, but not quite yet. Mao need only wait. Leith had crossed the lines, at times by accident, but also by finding someone to speak for him in advance. He had regularly deposited his possessions — his notes and books and letters of credit — with friends, at a British or French enclave or consulate.
'Did you have books, to read on the way?'
'That was hard. Books are heavy, as is water. I carried one indispensable book, and a couple of Chinese lexicons in tiny print. One becomes starved to see one's own language — even on a discarded label whirled by a dust storm, or among the detritus of stolen UNRRA supplies.'
'Did you talk to yourself out loud?'
'Like Billy-Oh. Recited, too, when alone, and even sang arias.'
'Did you ever get lost?'
'Often. Of course, since I had no precise route, everything was grist. But sometimes I'd find that I'd gone in a circle.'
'Did you ever think that you might —'
'What?'
'Stay forever in some place?' Helen meant, Love someone, and remain, and make a Chinese family. She was glad that he had not.
'Yes. Once, in particular.'
He was in Yunnan, on foot and leading a mule rented in a village near Chaotung. 'I was going from Kunming towards Chungking, where I'd left my tackle with a friend.' It was May, he had slept in the open. After sunrise, came through steep bushy hills into a valley floored with green cultivation — less alluvial than the land preceding it, for now he was moving away from the great river. By a stream, there was a line of low, close houses, each bowed under its scalloped roof. The hill above the tiny town was gravid in the way of that landscape, its grassy garment stretched like soft cloth over an imagined anatomy of ancient, unremembered walls, graves, and ditches: a tumid rise, over which you might mentally pass your hand. On a nearer slope, feebly scattered with ash and poplar, a pair of pale, horned cattle were grazing. A woodpile was deftly stacked; a basket hung from a branch, and there was a small shrine, arched and tended.
On a third, sharp peak, the stripped remains of a Halifax bomber: the Ark on Mount Ararat, or the ribbed cradle of a stranded quadrireme.
Leith tethered the mule under a tree. Two men in the valley had already left their work and were climbing up to him as he came down. A third man followed slowly. A woman in black tunic and trousers came from a doorway and shouted, voice ringing harshly out in that still place, which was differently awhirr with the
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