Everyone Brave Is Forgiven(19)

“I can tuh . . . try.”

Alistair held him until the feeling came back into the man’s legs and he could stay up on his own.

“Sh . . . shall we go?”

“If you think you can walk?”

“It muh . . . might not exactly be what you would call muh . . . marching.”

“You must just do your best. Here, hold my arm.”

They struggled to the lip of the draw. The wind rediscovered them and sent them staggering until they found their balance and leaned in to it.

“Don’t get separated!” shouted Alistair. “I’ll never find you again!”

“Have you your cuh . . . compass? I’ve luh . . . lost everything.”

Alistair felt for it on the lanyard around his neck, and brought it before his face. “I can’t see it.”

“Then how do we nuh . . . know the way?” shouted Duggan. “It’s dark as muh . . . miners’ lungs.”

Alistair yelled into his ear. “This wind is southwest. Barracks are more or less west, I think. If we keep the wind on our left, between our nose and our shoulder, I think we can get ourselves there.”

They struggled forward, with the gale contesting every step. Their saturated clothes clung to their skin, making another resistance to be fought against. The sodden ground sucked each footfall down and hated to let it rise. They persevered for an hour, then two, with Duggan’s hand growing heavier all the time on Alistair’s shoulder. Alistair took the windward side and sheltered the man all he could, but Duggan began to fall silent.

Alistair was weakening too. From the darkness before them came strange colored flashes, which might have been real or might not. Fragments of songs and advertising slogans played in his ears, so clear that it was hard to believe he was not hearing them. Brylcreem your hair—she likes it that way. He shook his head to clear it. Lovely day for a Guinness. He forced himself back into the reality of it: wind on his left cheek, guiding Duggan over the worst of the uneven ground. For a while it worked. He raised one boot, then the other, then one boot, then the other, then They’re jolly well taking daily Bovril.

A gust caught him in the face and snapped him awake. He found himself motionless, with Duggan leaning against him. He didn’t know how long the two of them had been standing like that, asleep on their feet. He shook Duggan alert and called a rest, and the two of them ducked into the poor shelter of a hillock that they sensed rather than saw. They put their backs to the slight slope and drew up their knees. Now that they had stopped, the cold was frightening.

“Duggan?”

There was no answer.

Alistair shook him. “Duggan! We can’t sleep. We’ll fall unconscious.”

A short pause. “Well, that would nuh . . . never do. What would the suh . . . sergeant major do without us?”

“He’d probably be court-martialed for leaving us out here.”

“Then I’m temped to die just to spuh . . . spite him.”

“That’s the spirit that will win us the war.”

“How fuh . . . far now, do you think?”

Alistair thought about it. His best guess was that the company had been six or seven miles east of barracks when the truck had come. He was reasonably sure that the two of them had walked in the right direction, but it was impossible to know at what rate. At times they had hardly made progress at all. He supposed they had traveled two or three miles in as many hours, and they had between three and five more miles still to go.

“Not long at all now,” he said. “Another hour should do it.”

“Juh . . . jolly good,” said Duggan. “I have more of those buh . . . biscuits back at buh . . . barracks, you know.”

“Fine,” said Alistair. “That will be just the ticket.”

“Stuh . . . steady on, old boy. I never suh . . . said I would share them.”

Alistair grinned, feeling the stretch in his numb cheeks for the first time in hours. He stood with difficulty, shouldered his pack and rifle, then felt for Duggan’s hand to pull him up to his feet.

“Come on, you old dog, let’s get you back to your kennel.”

They set out into the gale again, struggling forward with heavy boots.

Now, at last, came the longed-for hint of dawn. It came slowly, this restitution of shape to the world. With the cloud so thick and the sun still below the horizon it did not seem that the light came from any one origin but rather that the near tussocks and the distant berms and their own outstretched hands all glowed, each with their own pale effusion. It seemed like something holy. Even the wind relented and began to drop with the dawn. The rain slowed to a drizzle and the venom went out of it.

In the feeble light they came across parallel tracks with freshly cut tire marks in the wet sedge. Now they had only to follow the truck home. Both men understood then that they were saved. They looked at each other and smiled shyly, knowing that they would make it now, and that their friendship formed in the darkness would carry on into the light.

Duggan found his strength again. He no longer needed to hang on to Alistair’s shoulder, and they walked side by side and made quicker progress into the west. The rain stopped entirely and the wind dropped. The base of the cloud began to rise. From beneath the earth the sun came up, red and ancient, contracting and brightening as it rose at their backs. Their long shadows preceded them across the plain.