Where the Blue Begins Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In this warm summer weather Gissing slept on a little outdoor balconythat opened off the nursery. The world, rolling in her majestic seaway,heeled her gunwale slowly into the trough of space. Disked upon thisbulwark, the sun rose, and promptly Gissing woke. The poplars flitteredin a cool stir. Beyond the tadpole pond, through a notch in thelandscape, he could see the far darkness of the hills. That fringe ofwoods was a railing that kept the sky from flooding over the earth.

  The level sun, warily peering over the edge like a cautious marksman,fired golden volleys unerringly at him. At once Gissing was aware andwatchful. Brief truce was over: the hopeless war with Time began anew.

  This was his placid hour. Light, so early, lies timidly along theground. It steals gently from ridge to ridge; it is soft, unsure.That blue dimness, receding from bole to bole, is the skirt of Night'sgarment, trailing off toward some other star. As easily as it slips fromtree to tree, it glides from earth to Orion.

  Light, which later will riot and revel and strike pitilessly down, stillis tender and tentative. It sweeps in rosy scythe-strokes, parallel toearth. It gilds, where later it will burn.

  Gissing lay, without stirring. The springs of the old couch were creaky,and the slightest sound might arouse the children within. Now, untilthey woke, was his peace. Purposely he had had the sleeping porch builton the eastern side of the house. Making the sun his alarm clock, heprolonged the slug-a-bed luxury. He had procured the darkest andmost opaque of all shades for the nursery windows, to cage as long aspossible in that room Night the silencer. At this time of the year, thesong of the mosquito was his dreaded nightingale. In spite of fine-meshscreens, always one or two would get in. Mrs. Spaniel, he feared, leftthe kitchen door ajar during the day, and these Borgias of the insectworld, patiently invasive, seized their chance. It was a rare night whena sudden scream did not come from the nursery every hour or so. "Daddy,a keeto, a keeto!" was the anguish from one of the trio. The other twowere up instantly, erect and yelping in their cribs, small black paws onthe rail, pink stomachs candidly exposed to the winged stilleto. Lightson, and the room must be explored for the lurking foe. Scratchingthemselves vigorously, the fun of the chase assuaged the smart of thosered welts. Gissing, wise by now, knew that after a forager the mosquitoalways retires to the ceiling, so he kept a stepladder in the room.Mounted on this, he would pursue the enemy with a towel, while thechildren screamed with merriment. Then stomachs must be anointed withmore citronella; sheets and blankets reassembled, and quiet graduallyrestored. Life, as parents know, can be supported on very little sleep.

  But how delicious to lie there, in the morning freshness, to hear theearth stir with reviving gusto, the merriment of birds, the exuberantclink of milk-bottles set down by the back-door, the whole complexmachinery of life begin anew! Gissing was amazed now, looking back uponhis previous existence, to see himself so busy, so active. Fewpeople are really lazy, he thought: what we call laziness is merelymaladjustment. For in any department of life where one is genuinelyinterested, he will be zealous beyond belief. Certainly he had notdreamed, until he became (in a manner of speaking) a parent, that he hadin him such capacity for detail.

  This business of raising a family, though--had he any true aptitudefor it? or was he forcing himself to go through with it? Wasn't he,moreover, incurring all the labours of parenthood without any ofits proper dignity and social esteem? Mrs. Chow down the street, forinstance, why did she look so sniffingly upon him when she heard thechildren, in the harmless uproar of their play, cry him aloud as Daddy?Uncle, he had intended they should call him; but that is, for beginningspeech, a hard saying, embracing both a palatal and a liquid. WhereasDa-da--the syllables come almost unconsciously to the infant mouth.So he had encouraged it, and even felt an irrational pride in thehonourable but unearned title.

  A little word, Daddy, but one of the most potent, he was thinking.More than a word, perhaps: a great social engine: an anchor which, castcarelessly overboard, sinks deep and fast into the very bottom. Thevessel rides on her hawser, and where are your blue horizons then?

  But come now, isn't one horizon as good as another? And do they reallyremain blue when you reach them?

  Unconsciously he stirred, stretching his legs deeply into thecomfortable nest of his couch. The springs twanged. Simultaneousclamours! The puppies were awake.

  They yelled to be let out from the cribs. This was the time of themorning frolic. Gissing had learned that there is only one way to dealwith the almost inexhaustible energy of childhood. That is, not toattempt to check it, but to encourage and draw it out. To start the daywith a rush, stimulating every possible outlet of zeal; meanwhile takingthings as calmly and quietly as possible himself, sitting often to takethe weight off his legs, and allowing the youngsters to wear themselvesdown. This, after all, is Nature's own way with man; it is the wiseparent's tactic with children. Thus, by dusk, the puppies will have runthemselves almost into a stupor; and you, if you have shrewdly husbandedyour strength, may have still a little power in reserve for reading andsmoking.

  The before-breakfast game was conducted on regular routine. Childrenshow their membership in the species by their love of strict habit.

  Gissing let them yell for a few moments--as long as he thought theneighbours would endure it--while he gradually gathered strength andresolution, shook off the cowardice of bed. Then he strode into thenursery. As soon as they heard him raising the shades there was completesilence. They hastened to pull the blankets over themselves, and laytense, faces on paws, with bright expectant upward eyes. They trembled alittle with impatience. It was all he could do to restrain himself frompatting the sleek heads, which always seemed to shine with extrapolish after a night's rolling to and fro on the flattened pillows. Butsternness was a part of the game at this moment. He solemnly unlatchedand lowered the tall sides of the cribs.

  He stood in the middle of the room, with a gesture of command. "Quietnow," he said. "Quiet, until I tell you!"

  Yelpers could not help a small whine of intense emotion, which slippedout unintended. The eyes of Groups and Bunks swivelled angrily towardtheir unlucky brother. It was his failing: in crises he always emittedhaphazard sounds. But this time Gissing, with lenient forgiveness,pretended not to have heard.

  He returned to the balcony, and reentered his couch, where he layfeigning sleep. In the nursery was a terrific stillness.

  It was the rule of the game that they should lie thus, in absolutequiet, until he uttered a huge imitation snore. Once, after aparticularly exhausting night, he had postponed the snore too long:he fell asleep. He did not wake for an hour, and then found the tragicthree also sprawled in amazing slumber. But their pillows were wet withtears. He never succumbed again, no matter how deeply tempted.

  He snored. There were three sprawling thumps, a rush of feet, and atumbling squeeze through the screen door. Then they were on the couchand upon him, with panting yelps of glee. Their hot tongues raspedbusily over his face. This was the great tickling game. Remembering histheory of conserving energy, he lay passive while they rollickedand scrambled, burrowing in the bedclothes, quivering imps of absurdpleasure. All that was necessary was to give an occasional squirm, totweak their ribs now and then, so that they believed his heart was inthe sport. Really he got quite a little rest while they were scuffling.No one knew exactly what was the imagined purpose of the lark--whetherhe was supposed to be trying to escape from them, or they from him. Likeall the best games, it had not been carefully thought out.

  "Now, children," said Gissing presently. "Time to get dressed."

  It was amazing how fast they were growing. Already they were beginningto take a pride in trying to dress themselves. While Gissing was inthe bathroom, enjoying his cold tub (and under the stimulus of thaticy sluice forming excellent resolutions for the day) the children weresitting on the nursery floor eagerly studying the intricacies of theirgear. By the time he returned they would have half their garments onwrong; waist and trousers front side to rear;
right shoes on left feet;buttons hopelessly mismated to buttonholes; shoelacings oddly zigzagged.It was far more trouble to permit their ambitious bungling, which mustbe undone and painstakingly reassembled, than to have clad them allhimself, swiftly revolving and garmenting them like dolls. But in theseearly hours of the day, patience still is robust. It was his pedagogy toencourage their innocent initiatives, so long as endurance might permit.

  Best of all, he enjoyed watching them clean their teeth. It wasdelicious to see them, tiptoe on their hind legs at the basin, to whichtheir noses just reached; mouths gaping wide as they scrubbed with verysmall toothbrushes. They were so elated by squeezing out the toothpastefrom the tube that he had not the heart to refuse them this privilege,though it was wasteful. For they always squeezed out more thannecessary, and after a moment's brushing their mouths became choked andclotted with the pungent foam. Much of this they swallowed, for hehad not been able to teach them to rinse and gargle. Their only idearegarding any fluid in the mouth was to swallow it; so they coughed andstrangled and barked. Gissing had a theory that this toothpaste foammost be an appetizer, for he found that the more of it they swallowed,the better they ate their breakfast.

  After breakfast he hurried them out into the garden, before the daybecame too hot. As he put a new lot of prunes to soak in cold water, hecould not help reflecting how different the kitchen and pantry lookedfrom the time of Fuji. The ice-box pan seemed to be continually brimmingover. Somehow--due, he feared, to a laxity on Mrs. Spaniel's part--antshad got in. He was always finding them inside the ice-box, and wonderedwhere they came from. He was amazed to find how negligent he was growingabout pots and pans: he began cooking a new mess of oatmeal in thedouble boiler without bothering to scrape out the too adhesive remnantof the previous porridge. He had come to the conclusion that childrenare tougher and more enduring than Dr. Holt will admit; and that alittle carelessness in matters of hygiene and sterilization does notnecessarily mean instant death.

  Truly his once dainty menage was deteriorating. He had put away his finechina, put away the linen napery, and laid the table with oil cloth. Hehad even improved upon Fuji's invention of scuppers by a littletrough which ran all round the rim of the table, to catch any possiblespillage. He was horrified to observe how inevitably callers came atthe worst possible moment. Mr. and Mrs. Chow, for instance, drew up oneafternoon in their spick-and-span coupe with their intolerably spotlessonly child sitting self-consciously beside them. Groups, Bunks, andYelpers were just then filling the garden with horrid clamour. They hadbeen quarrelling, and one had pushed the other two down the back steps.Gissing, who had attempted to find a quiet moment to scald the ants outof the ice-box, had just rushed forth and boxed them all. As he stoodthere, angry and waving a steaming dishclout, two Chows appeared. Thepuppies at once set upon little Sandy Chow, and had thoroughly mauledhis starched sailor suit in the driveway before two minutes were past.Gissing could not help laughing, for he suspected that there had been atouch of malice in the Chows coming just at that time.

  He had given up his flower garden, too. It was all he could do to shovethe lawn-mower around, in the dusk, after the puppies were in bed.Formerly he had found the purr of the twirling blades a soothingstimulus to thought; but nowadays he could not even think consecutively.Perhaps, he thought, the residence of the mind is in the legs, not inthe head; for when your legs are thoroughly weary you can't seem tothink.

  So he had decided that he simply must have more help in the cooking andhousework. He had instructed Mrs. Spaniel to send the washing to thesteam-laundry, and spend her three days in the kitchen instead. Ahuge bundle had come back from the laundry, and he had paid the driver$15.98. With dismay he sorted the clean, neatly folded garments. Herewas the worthy Mrs. Spaniel's list, painstakingly written out in herstraggling script:--

  MR. GISHING FAMILY WOSH

  8 towls 6 pymjarm Mr Gishing 12 rompers 3 blowses 6 cribb sheets 1 Mr. Gishing sheat 4 wastes 3 wosh clothes 2 onion sutes Mr Gishing 6 smal onion sutes 4 pillo slipes 3 sherts 18 hankerchifs smal 6 hankerchifs large 8 colers 3 overhauls 10 bibbs 2 table clothes (coca stane) 1 table clothe (prun juce and eg)

  After contemplating this list, Gissing went to his desk and began tostudy his accounts. A resolve was forming in his mind.