Chapter110

christmasthatyearfallingonthursday,theshopwastocloseforfourdays:philipwrotetohisuncleaskingwhetheritwouldbeconvenientforhimtospendtheholidaysatthevicarage.hereceivedananswerfrommrs.foster,sayingthatmr.careywasnotwellenoughtowritehimself,butwishedtoseehisnephewandwouldbegladifhecamedown.shemetphilipatthedoor,andwhensheshookhandswithhim,said:

“you’llfindhimchangedsinceyouwasherelast,sir;butyou’llpretendyoudon’tnoticeanything,

won’tyou,sir?he’sthatnervousabouthimself.”  philipnodded,andsheledhimintothedining-room.

“here’smr.philip,sir.”

thevicarofblackstablewasadyingman.therewasnomistakingthatwhenyoulookedatthehollowcheeksandtheshrunkenbody.hesathuddledinthearm-chair,withhisheadstrangelythrownback,andashawloverhisshoulders.hecouldnotwalknowwithoutthehelpofsticks,andhishandstrembledsothathecouldonlyfeedhimselfwithdifficulty.

“hecan’tlastlongnow,”thoughtphilip,ashelookedathim.

“howd’youthinki’mlooking?”askedthevicar.“d’youthinki’vechangedsinceyouwereherelast?”

“ithinkyoulookstrongerthanyoudidlastsummer.”

“itwastheheat.thatalwaysupsetsme.”

mr.carey’shistoryofthelastfewmonthsconsistedinthenumberofweekshehadspentinhisbed-roomandthenumberofweekshehadspentdownstairs.hehadahand-bellbyhissideandwhilehetalkedherangitformrs.foster,whosatinthenextroomreadytoattendtohiswants,toaskonwhatdayofthemonthhehadfirstlefthisroom.

“ontheseventhofnovember,sir.”

mr.careylookedatphiliptoseehowhetooktheinformation.

“butieatwellstill,don’ti,mrs.foster?”

“yes,sir,you’vegotawonderfulappetite.”

“idon’tseemtoputonfleshthough.”

nothinginterestedhimnowbuthishealth.hewassetupononethingindomitablyandthatwasliving,justliving,notwithstandingthemonotonyofhislifeandtheconstantpainwhichallowedhimtosleeponlywhenhewasundertheinfluenceofmorphia.

“it’sterrible,theamountofmoneyihavetospendondoctor’sbills.”hetinkledhisbellagain.“mrs.foster,showmasterphilipthechemist’sbill.”

patientlyshetookitoffthechimney-pieceandhandedittophilip.

“that’sonlyonemonth.iwaswonderingifasyou’redoctoringyourselfyoucouldn’tgetmethedrugscheaper.ithoughtofgettingthemdownfromthestores,butthenthere’sthepostage.”

thoughapparentlytakingsolittleinterestinhimthathedidnottroubletoinquirewhatphilwasdoing,heseemedgladtohavehimthere.heaskedhowlonghecouldstay,andwhenphiliptoldhimhemustleaveontuesdaymorning,expressedawishthatthevisitmighthavebeenlonger.hetoldhimminutelyallhissymptomsandrepeatedwhatthedoctorhadsaidofhim.hebrokeofftoringhisbell,andwhenmrs.fostercamein,said:

“oh,iwasn’tsureifyouwerethere.ionlyrangtoseeifyouwere.”

whenshehadgoneheexplainedtophilipthatitmadehimuneasyifhewasnotcertainthatmrs.fosterwaswithinearshot;sheknewexactlywhattodowithhimifanythinghappened.philip,seeingthatshewastiredandthathereyeswereheavyfromwantofsleep,estedthathewasworkinghertoohard.

“oh,nonsense,”saidthevicar,“she’sasstrongasahorse.”andwhennextshecameintogivehimhismedicinehesaidtoher:

“masterphilipsaysyou’vegottoomuchtodo,mrs.foster.youlikelookingafterme,don’tyou?”

“oh,idon’tmind,sir.iwanttodoeverythingican.”

presentlythemedicinetookeffectandmr.careyfellasleep.philipwentintothekitchenandaskedmrs.fosterwhethershecouldstandthework.hesawthatforsomemonthsshehadhadlittlepeace.

“well,sir,whatcanido?”sheanswered.“thepooroldgentleman’ssodependentonme,and,althoughheistroublesomesometimes,youcan’thelplikinghim,canyou?i’vebeenheresomanyyearsnow,idon’t

knowwhatishalldowhenhecomestogo.”

philipsawthatshewasreallyfondoftheoldman.shewashedanddressedhim,gavehimhisfood,andwasuphalfadozentimesinthenight;forshesleptinthenextroomtohisandwheneverheawokehetinkledhislittlebelltillshecamein.hemightdieatanymoment,buthemightliveformonths.itwaswonderfulthatsheshouldlookafterastrangerwithsuchpatienttenderness,anditwastragicandpitifulthatsheshouldbealoneintheworldtocareforhim.

itseemedtophilipthatthereligionwhichhisunclehadpreachedallhislifewasnowofnomorethanformalimportancetohim:everysundaythecuratecameandadministeredtohimholycommunion,andheoftenreadhisbible;butitwasclearthathelookedupondeathwithhorror.hebelievedthatitwasthegatewaytolifeeverlasting,buthedidnotwanttoenteruponthatlife.inconstantpain,chainedtohischairandhavinggivenupthehopeofevergettingoutintotheopenagain,likeachildinthehandsofawomantowhomhepaidwages,heclungtotheworldheknew.

inphilip’sheadwasaquestionhecouldnotask,becausehewasawarethathisunclewouldnevergiveanybutaconventionalanswer:hewonderedwhetherattheveryend,nowthatthemachinewaspainfullywearingitselfout,theclergymanstillbelievedinimmortality;perhapsatthebottomofhissoul,notallowedtoshapeitselfintowordsincaseitbecameurgent,wastheconvictionthattherewasnogodandafterthislifenothing.

ontheeveningofboxingdayphilipsatinthedining-roomwithhisuncle.hehadtostartveryearlynextmorninginordertogettotheshopbynine,andhewastosaygood-nighttomr.careythen.thevicarofblackstablewasdozingandphilip,lyingonthesofabythewindow,lethisbookfallonhiskneesandlookedidlyroundtheroom.heaskedhimselfhowmuchthefurniturewouldfetch.hehadwalkedroundthehouseandlookedatthethingshehadknownfromhischildhood;therewereafewpiecesofchinawhichmightgoforadecentpriceandphilipwonderedifitwouldbeworthwhiletotakethemuptolondon;butthefurniturewasofthevictorianorder,ofmahogany,solidandugly;itwouldgofornothingatanauction.therewerethreeorfourthousandbooks,buteveryoneknewhowbadlytheysold,anditwasnotprobablethattheywouldfetchmorethanahundredpounds.philipdidnotknowhowmuchhisunclewouldleave,andhereckonedoutforthehundredthtimewhatwastheleastsumuponwhichhecouldfinishthecurriculumatthehospital,takehisdegree,andliveduringthetimehewishedtospendonhospitalappointments.helookedattheoldman,sleepingrestlessly:therewasnohumanityleftinthatshrivelledface;itwasthefaceofsomequeeranimal.philipthoughthoweasyitwouldbetofinishthatuselesslife.hehadthoughtiteacheveningwhenmrs.fosterpreparedforhisunclethemedicinewhichwastogivehimaneasynight.thereweretwobottles:onecontainedadrugwhichhetookregularly,andtheotheranopiateifthepaingrewunendurable.thiswaspouredoutforhimandleftbyhisbed-side.hegenerallytookitatthreeorfourinthemorning.itwouldbeasimplethingtodoublethedose;hewoulddieinthenight,andnoonewouldsuspectanything;forthatwashowdoctorwigramexpectedhimtodie.theendwouldbepainless.philipclenchedhishandsashethoughtofthemoneyhewantedsobadly.afewmoremonthsofthatwretchedlifecouldmatternothingtotheoldman,butthefewmoremonthsmeanteverythingtohim:hewasgettingtotheendofhisendurance,andwhenhethoughtofgoingbacktoworkinthemorningheshudderedwithhorror.hisheartbeatquicklyatthethoughtwhichobsessedhim,andthoughhemadeanefforttoputitoutofhismindhecouldnot.itwouldbesoeasy,so

desperatelyeasy.hehadnofeelingfortheoldman,hehadneverlikedhim;hehadbeenselfishallhislife,selfishtohiswifewhoadoredhim,indifferenttotheboywhohadbeenputinhischarge;hewasnotacruelman,butastupid,hardman,eatenupwithasmallsensuality.itwouldbeeasy,desperatelyeasy.philipdidnotdare.hewasafraidofremorse;itwouldbenogoodhavingthemoneyifheregrettedallhislifewhathehaddone.thoughhehadtoldhimselfsooftenthatregretwasfutile,therewerecertainthingsthatcamebacktohimoccasionallyandworriedhim.hewishedtheywerenotonhisconscience.

hisuncleopenedhiseyes;philipwasglad,forhelookedalittlemorehumanthen.hewasfranklyhorrifiedattheideathathadcometohim,itwasmurderthathewasmeditating;andhewonderedifotherpeoplehadsuchthoughtsorwhetherhewasabnormalanddepraved.hesupposedhecouldnothavedoneitwhenitcametothepoint,buttherethethoughtwas,constantlyrecurring:ifheheldhishanditwasfromfear.hisunclespoke.

“you’renotlookingforwardtomydeath,philip?”philipfelthisheartbeatagainsthischest.

“goodheavens,no.”

“that’sagoodboy.ishouldn’tlikeyoutodothat.you’llgetalittlebitofmoneywhenipassaway,butyoumustn’tlookforwardtoit.itwouldn’tprofityouifyoudid.”

hespokeinalowvoice,andtherewasacuriousanxietyinhistone.itsentapangintophilip’sheart.hewonderedwhatstrangeinsightmighthaveledtheoldmantosurmisewhatstrangedesireswereinphilip’smind.

“ihopeyou’llliveforanothertwentyyears,”hesaid.

“oh,well,ican’texpecttodothat,butifitakecareofmyselfidon’tseewhyishouldn’tlastanotherthreeorfour.”

hewassilentforawhile,andphilipfoundnothingtosay.then,asifhehadbeenthinkingitallover,theoldmanspokeagain.

“everyonehastherighttoliveaslongashecan.”

philipwantedtodistracthismind.

“bytheway,isupposeyouneverhearfrommisswilkinsonnow?”

“yes,ihadalettersometimethisyear.she’smarried,youknow.”

“really?”

“yes,shemarriedawidower.ibelievethey’requitecomfortable.”