The Day of the Triffids(52)



For the present I must assume that she had come this way. It was my only lead. And that meant assuming also that she had gone back to the university and had found the chalked address—whereas it was quite on the cards that she had not gone there at all, but, sickened by the whole thing, had taken the quickest route out of the reeking place that London had now become.

The thing I had to fight hardest against admitting was that she might have caught the disease, whatever it was, that had dissolved both our groups. I would not consider the possibility of that until I had to.

In the sleepless clarity of the small hours I made one discovery—it was that my desire to join the Beadley party was very secondary indeed to my wish to find Josella. If, when I did find them, she was not with them…Well, the next move would have to wait upon the moment, but it would not be resignation….

Finding Coker’s bed already empty when I awoke, I decided to devote my morning chiefly to inquiries. One of the troubles was that it did not seem to have occurred to anyone to find out the names of those who had considered Tynsham uninviting and had passed on. Josella’s name meant nothing to anyone save those few who recollected it with disapproval. My description of her raised no memories that would stand detailed examination. Certainly there had been no girl in a navy-blue ski suit—that I established—but then I could by no means be certain that she would still be dressed that way. My inquiries ended by making everyone very tired of me and increasing my frustration. There was a faint possibility that a girl who had come and gone a day before our arrival might have been she, but I could not feel it likely that Josella could have left so slight an impression on anyone’s mind—even allowing for prejudice….

Coker reappeared again at the midday meal. He had found most of the men to be plunged in gloom by a well-meant assurance from the vicar that there would be plenty of useful things for them to do, such as—er—basketmaking, and—er—weaving, and he had done his best to dispel it with more hopeful prospects. Encountering Miss Durrant, he had told her that unless it could somehow be contrived that the blind women should take some of the work off the shoulders of the sighted the whole thing would break down within ten days, and, also, that if the vicar’s prayer for more blind people to join them should happen to be granted, the whole place would become entirely unworkable. He was embarking upon further observations, including the necessity for starting immediately to build up food reserves and to start the construction of devices which would enable blind men to do useful work, when she cut him short. He could see that she was a great deal more worried than she would admit, but the determination which had led her to sever relations with the other party caused her to blaze back at him unthankfully. She ended by letting him know that on her information neither he nor his views were likely to harmonize with the community.

“The trouble about that woman is that she means to be boss,” he said. “It’s constitutional—quite apart from the lofty principles.”

“Slanderous,” I said. “What you mean is that her principles are so impeccable that everything is her responsibility—and so it becomes her duty to guide others.”

“Much the same thing,” he said.

“But it sounds a lot better,” I pointed out.

He was thoughtful for a moment.

“She’s going to run this place into one hell of a mess unless she gets right down to the job of organizing it pretty quickly. Have you looked the outfit over?”

I shook my head. I told him how my morning had been spent.

“You don’t seem to have got much change for it. So what?” he said.

“I’m going on after the Michael Beadley crowd,” I told him.

“And if she’s not with them?”

“At present I’m just hoping she is. She must be. Where else would she be?”

He started to say something and stopped. Then he went on:

“I reckon I’ll come along with you. It’s likely that crowd won’t be any more glad to see me than this one, considering everything—but I can live that down. I’ve watched one lot fall to bits, and I can see this one’s going to do the same—more slowly and, maybe, more nastily. It’s queer, isn’t it? Decent intentions seem to be the most dangerous things around just now. It’s a damned shame, because this place could be managed, in spite of the proportion of blind. Everything it needs is lying about for the taking, and will be for a while yet. It’s only organizing that’s wanted.”

“And willingness to be organized,” I suggested.

“That too,” he agreed. “You know, the trouble is that in spite of all that’s happened this thing hasn’t got home to these people yet. They don’t want to turn to—that’d be making it too final. At the back of their minds they’re all hanging on, waiting for something or other.”

“True—but scarcely surprising,” I admitted. “It took plenty to convince us, and they’ve not seen what we have. And, some way, it does seem less final and less—less immediate out here in the country.”

“Well, they’ve got to start realizing it soon if they’re going to get through,” Coker said, looking round the hall again. “There’s no miracle coming to save them.”

“Give ’em time. They’ll come to it, as we did. You’re always in such a hurry. Time’s no longer money, you know.”

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