On a beach at dusk is a man, and a telescope pointed out to sea.
The beach is white, the telescope black, the sea blue. But the sky is beginning to turn. The bellies of westward clouds are beginning to color. Where they are torn, the holes are shot with slanted light. Across the sea, the very edges of waves are here and there flecked with gold. But the man’s shadow has not yet drawn near the cliffs, and where the telescope points, the sky and sea are still undarkened.
The man is looking into the telescope without moving and nothing can be seen to move but the waves that here and there catch the light and shimmer in their edges like prisms.
Now a figure comes out from a fissure in the cliffs down the beach. It’s got a brisk walk, a healthy air. It becomes a man, neatly dressed, smoking a cigarette. He strides across the beach, angling towards the man with the telescope. He slows when he draws near the man, regards him with his blue eyes: he wears a good cut of clothes, but he’s kept them poorly; his jacket has lost its buttons; his hair is snarled. The neatly dressed man smoothes his careful hair. He draws on his cigarette; it has a thin gold band where the filter meets the tobacco. He exhales, taps the ash into the sand, watches the first man another long moment, then coughs politely. The man who is looking out to sea does not look up. The neatly dressed man gives a short, shallow sigh and walks the last bit of distance to the other man, his canvas shoes scuffing through the sand’s tiny waves.
“Is she coming in or going out?”
“Eh??” says the man who is watching, pulling up with a start.
“The tide. I wondered if you knew: is she coming in or going out?”
“Oh…oh. Coming in, I think.” He goes back to his instrument.
“Thank you, I didn’t know. Wife wants us to take the boat around in the morning; daresay I should know if we’ll have to worry about a scrape or not. Daresay we might, it seems. Wife won’t hear of not going out, though. She’s set on it: good for Bobby’s health, she says. And I don’t say that it wouldn’t be. But women, they don’t take no account of such things as tides now, do they?” he says, and his voice gets warm and he chuckles to the man with the telescope.
The man with the telescope doesn’t smile or return his chuckle but only looks out. The neatly dressed man’s face falls a bit and he takes another drag off his gold-banded cigarette.
“You should keep an eye on it, sir. The tide, you know. That’s a fine instrument. The salt water wouldn’t do it any good. Ruin the legs. And it can creep up on you.”
“Any minute now, she’ll be turning around,” says the first man.
“What, the tide? I shouldn’t think so, sir. I know that much. She’ll come all the way up to that water line on those cliffs before she recedes. A bane to sandcastles she is.”
“Not the tide. Boat.”
“Oh, got a craft of your own, do you?” says the neatly dressed man, and his voice gets warm again.
“Yes, she’s out.”
“Well, how kind of you to keep an eye out. Who’s aboard? Your father perhaps, or is it your own son?”
“It’s just her.”
“Ah…so it is. So it is. Can I ask, what’s her name?”
“She’s the Dìlse.”
“The…ah. That’s a fine name. And where is she now?”
“There,” says the first man, and points straight out to sea.
“I don’t believe I can spy it, sir. But that’s what you’ve got your instrument for, I suppose. But if you don’t mind my asking, is it safe for her to be so far out, where you need a telescope to spy her, and it just about getting dark like it is?”
“No, it’s not safe, but there she’s done it.”
“Right you are, sir, right you are. There, you see? Women don’t take no account of things. You can see her through the glass, though?”
“Yes, I see her.”
“Well, that’s good, sir. I’d be worried, else. Even so, the whole business gives me a bit of a quease. I don’t mean to peer into your business, but I could walk back up to the house and make a call, just to be sure to get her back in safe?”
“No, she’s just turning around now. Look, she’s waving, she’s coming in.”
“Oh, she is, that’s good, that’s good. But are you sure you wouldn’t like me to call, just the same?”
“No, she’s turned around now, she’s coming home.”
“Right you are sir, you know your own better than I, better than I myself. I’ll be getting along then, sir; a good night to you.”
“Good night.”
The neatly dressed man leaves, lighting another cigarette as he goes along down the beach. The first man, alone once more, looks into the telescope.
“She’s turned around now, yes, she’s coming back now, I can see.”
*
On the beach in the quick-gathering dusk is the man with his telescope pointed out to sea. The tide has come in; the water is at his knees. The sun is dipping itself into the sea and the sky is darkening at the edges and the beach and sea and telescope and man are all made now partly of gold, partly of shadow. The man is looking into the telescope; he does not move.
Coming down the beach now is another figure; it has risen from a dune. It, too, now becomes a man, in the ragged dress of a beachcomber. He carries a sack with some few things. He stops and eyes the first man. He snickers loudly to himself. He strides to the sea’s edge. He pauses. He removes his trousers and his socks and his shoes and puts them in the sack and tosses the sack behind him on the beach. He strides into the surf. He comes abreast of the man with the telescope, who does not notice him.
“That’s a fine pocket watch, sir.”
“Eh??” says the first man, and pulls up with a start. He stares at the ragged man and looks at where he is and cowers a little from him and swallows.
“It’s engraved,” he says.
“Oh yeh? I’d like to see that, sir. Suppose I could get a closer peek?”
The man with the telescope puts his hand into his pocket and brings out the watch and thrusts it at the beachcomber, who takes it.
“Oh, what a fine job,” says the beachcomber. “This is fine work, and I know fine work. And the saying, how true, how true. I bring it to mind whenever I get the notion I’m keeping my sweet too close. Got to give her a bit more of the reign, you know. That’s why I like to go on these walks, I do. Good for the family. What’s good for business is good for family,” he says, and puts the pocket watch into the inner breast pocket of his torn buttonless camel’s-hair suit jacket.
The first man has turned back to his telescope.
“What you got in there?” asks the beachcomber.
“What?”
“Inside your tube, sir. What’s inside the tube?”
“I’m watching her.”
“Oh? Who? Why?”
“Because she’s out.”
“But why, sir? What is your purpose?”
“To…keep her safe.”
“Ha! He’s keeping her safe with a telescope! Ha! I myself do the same, sir. I often keep the stars safe on cold nights.”
The beachcomber pounds his chest, and coughs, and spits into the waves.
“And what will you do, sir, if she comes to danger?”
“I’ll…I’ll swim out.”
The beachcomber makes four loud choking, wheezing laughs. Then he shuts his mouth quick with a sniff, and spits again into the waves.
“Strong swimmer, are you, sir?”
“I can cut it,” says the first man.
“That’s good, sir, that’s good. I knew you were. She feels safe in your hands, sir, I can see it—”
“You can see her?”
“Well of course I can, she’s right there, sir.”
“Where?” the first man asks, looking up.
“Why right here, sir,” says the beachcomber, and he pats the telescope.
The first man bends quickly to the eyepiece.
“Where?”
“You’re looking at her, sir. You’re eyeing her even now.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I told you she was there. Didn’t I? You’re good – you’ve got good eyes, not, not like the other one—”
“Oh, yes, I’ve got excellent peepers, I do, sir. Exceedingly proficient in my peeper comportment.”
“Isn’t she a fine looking one–? Regal. Can’t you see—”
“Oh, she’s a fine one, she is. Sleek. Hard. And very round, sir.”
“You have got – but you can’t – can you tell me, is she turning around now?”
“Turning around, sir? I shouldn’t think so, sir, not when you’ve got her in a grip like that.”
“What? No…no I haven’t. I let her go. I let her go, and she went out, but now she’s coming back, now she’s coming back to me.”
“Coming back to you, sir? But she’s been right here the whole time.”
“Where? Have I missed her? Has she come home and I’ve missed it?! Tell me where she is; tell me now!”
“Why, she’s right here, sir, your beautiful telescope.”
“….My what,” says the first man.
“Your beautiful telescope. Careful there, keep a hold! You don’t want her to float away! Can she swim, sir?”
“Who.”
“Your telescope, sir.”
“..Telescopes don’t swim.”
“Oh, don’t they, sir, after all? I wasn’t aware, sir. Well, I’d have a care then, if I were you, sir, else your telescope might drown!”
“Telescopes don’t drown.” The man who was watching straightens and turns slowly to look at the ragged man.
“Leave me,” he says.
The beachcomber’s face stretches into an expression of surprise.
“Oh, but sir,” he says, “I’m only out for your interest. I wouldn’t want your instrument to drown, sir. I wouldn’t want it to cease operation. I wouldn’t want it to succumb to the waves. I wouldn’t want its gears to become encrusted with salt, or its lenses to become dim with sediment. No, sir, not I. And I especially would not desire to see it caught in an undertow. Here, sir, let me help you get it out of the waves…”
“Stay back here I’ve got it,” says the first man, and he pulls on the telescope. It does not budge.
“It’s stuck.”
“Let me give it a go.”
“Stay back. Here now it’s stuck it won’t budge.”
“Sand’s got it, eh?” says the beachcomber. “Well, don’t say I didn’t offer my support. You can’t say that. I did try to help, you know, but you wouldn’t allow it, no. You would not hear of my assisting, of my aiding you in your troubles and travails,” he says, and stands off.
The man goes back to his telescope and pays him no mind.
The beachcomber takes out his new watch and checks the time. He returns it to his pocket. He glances out to sea and starts. He gives the man with the telescope a sidelong look and turns, wading back to shore. He walks to his sack and picks it up and throws it further up the beach. He turns and waits. An unusually large wave comes and bowls the first man over. He goes under and comes up again and wipes his face and pulls the hair out of his eyes and swims back out to his telescope, which has not budged. The beachcomber watches. Then he wades out again to the man and puts his arm around his faintly shivering shoulder.
“Look here, sir, this won’t do. Won’t you let me help you move it back to the sand?”
“Stay back.”
“Now, sir, no sir, this won’t do. I’m a Samaritan at heart, I am, and I can’t abide standing by while you get bowled over by waves and ruin your precious instrument. And now, sir, if you’ll allow…”
The beachcomber grasps two legs of the telescope and lifts. The man tries to push the beachcomber away, but he won’t budge and keeps on with lifting. The man keeps pushing against the beachcomber but the beachcomber steps around so that the telescope is between them and the man cannot help shoving also against the telescope, pushing it sideways while the beachcomber lifts.
“It’s coming, now, sir, it’s coming…”
The telescope begins to come loose from the sand. It lifts free and the beachcomber yanks it up and back and the man stumbles forward and the beachcomber lifts the telescope above his head to smash it down on the head of the man. As he lurches forward to strike the bottom drops out from under him or perhaps a current catches him, and he loses his footing and strikes the man only a glancing blow and loses hold of the telescope. As he tries to catch his balance a wave comes and douses him and he slips under for a moment, choking. The first man gets the telescope and violently brings it down on the head of the beachcomber as he is coming up from under the waves.
The beachcomber goes under again quickly. The man rubs his head and puts down the telescope so that its legs slip into the sand and hold it and then he wades over to where the beachcomber went under and puts his hands under the waves.
Then he goes back to his telescope. He lifts it but it doesn’t budge.
He puts his eye to the eyepiece.
“Oh come on now, come on…No, he’s not, he’s not! He’s—”
He steps back, regards the telescope. It’s pointed down. He points it up again, adjusting it.
“There you are you handsome thing you good as new. A little dented but not worse for the wear, no! And where is she, where is she…there! No, not her, that’s not her, oh-ho no. Straight out she was, straight out…” he says. His hands are moving on the knobs.
“Yes, is it? Is it? Is it?”
*
On the beach is still the man, and the telescope pointed out to sea. It is only a little later. From up the beach, a woman’s voice is heard.
“Come on, Nicholas, I’m over here! Over here, catch me!”
The man with the telescope looks up with a start. A woman in a summer dress is running toward him along the beach. The man with the telescope takes a step towards her and squints. She sees him, and slows to a stop.
“Oh, hullo!”
The neatly dressed man comes running up behind her, panting.
“Whew! Say, Eve— oh, hullo!”
“That’s just what I said!” says Eve. “This man’s got his telescope wet!”
“Yes, this is the man I was telling you about,” says the neatly dressed man, Nicholas.
He walks to the edge of the shore.
“Hallo! Come in, sir! I told you to watch the tide, sir, now your instrument is wet. The salt will ruin the joints, you’ve got to have a care.”
“It’s stuck,” says the first man.
“Oh dear. Shall I wade in and help you pull it out?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
“What’s wrong with him, Nicky?”
“His telescope is stuck, darling.”
“How’d he manage that? That’s an awfully silly idea, getting your telescope stuck in the sea!”
“Ssh! He’s got ears. The tides can catch you unawares, you know that.”
“Tides! What sort of fool doesn’t notice when the tides come in ‘round his feet?”
“Oh Eve, hush! Sir! Sir, how is your boat doing? Is it coming in?”
“Yes, I’ve just now found it again. I can still see it. It’s there on the horizon; it’s turning around just now.”
“That’s good, sir, that’s good. You should know: I took the liberty of informing the patrols. I hope you won’t take offense, but I took the liberty of informing them, sir, and they radioed around and they said there’s no sign of your boat. They say they’ve just wrapped up their last sweep of the night, sir, and there’s no sign of a…a Dìlse.”
“What?”
“To be honest, sir, I hardly know if they believed me, though they did say they’d make a search as soon as the light rose tomorrow.”
“But that’s her right there. Fools. Can’t you see her? Can’t you see her, she’s turning around now.”
“I can’t say that I do, sir, no. I haven’t got a telescope, myself.”
“Oh. Well. She’s out. She’s out all right, but I can still see her. That’s her, just a little speck…a little speck on the edge of the world. But look, it grows, it gets wider! She’s turning around now; the boat is sideways now; the long part’s to us.”
“It’s probably a gull.”
“Oh Eve, don’t be cruel!”
“It’s a gull that’s fallen asleep in mid-air and it’s spinning ‘round. No, it’s a piece ofwastage. It’s a piece of wastage, and this man thinks it’s his wife.”
“Eve! You think he can’t hear you?”
“No. He can’t. It’s an oil rig, sir! An oil rig! You see? You see it’s just a charade, that’s why. It’s a little charade. Should I go tell him? Should I call to him and tell him that it’s a charade and that I’ve guessed it?”
“E, please.”
“I can’t stand people like that, doing pitiful things. It’s pitiful. You had better get me out of here before I do something awful to him, because I just can’t help it.”
“I will, then. Let’s go up to the house; let’s go home.”
“All right, then, let’s. But first we’ve got to say goodbye to our friend, to give him a goodbye kiss—” she says, and flings off her shoes and pulls up her dress and goes running into the water.
“Oh, sir! Sir, I want to look into your telescope! It’s such a handsome thing, may I, Sir—”
“Damn it, E,” says Nicholas, running into the waves after her. He grabs her around the waist and lifts her into the air. She struggles and giggles merrily and tries to bite him. He drags her back to the edge of the sea and there she goes limp and he lets her go. She starts to run out again, but something in the water catches her eye.
“What’s this?” she says, and bends down and feels around in the surf with her hand.
“Why, look Nicholas! A pocket watch! Oh, and look, it’s engraved! Look what it says!” she cries, and she gives him the pocket watch.
“What’s this? Oh, it’s that old saying!”
“Isn’t that just perfect, darling?”
“Yes, what a handsome phrase. And how true, too.”
“Yes, Nick. And you let me go, darling, and I came back to you, didn’t I?”
She kisses him girlishly and draws him on homeward. He lets her draw him but after a moment stops and turns.
“I’ll be back in a moment, sir, to help you!”
“You won’t,” says Eve. “I won’t let you; I won’t let you even want to.”
“I’ll be back!”
They slowly disappear up the beach, arms around one another, laughing. The man has not looked up, he has been looking into his telescope, and now he is still looking into his telescope, pointed out to sea. Waves seethe past him, their tips catching the bottoms of his shirt and tugging them towards the shallows where they run themselves out and fling themselves towards the cliffs, spreading thinly over the dark form thrown by the man and his telescope, which make now one single shadow which has stretched across all the beach and is now sliding up the sheer rock, a darkness lengthening on the golden cliffwall.
“Yes, now I’ve found her again, I can see her now, I can still see her, that’s her there on the horizon, not disappeared, not gone. I can still see her, there, there she is, she’s turning around now, she’s coming in, there she is, coming in now at last, and now she waves…”
*
Along the shore all night the black frothing waves seethe against the cliffs.
