princess in a tower and he shouted to her, âDonât come down, Iâll come up. The ladder is all slippery. Thereâs seaweed on it.â
He ran splashing through the water and arrived at where she was standing on the stone quay, small and pink in her dress, her pigtails about her head, her red lips parted.
âI didnât want you to go,â she was saying and she was almost crying, as she looked at his drenched sandals.
âItâs all right,â he replied grandly. âI wanted to go. Itâs not too difficult.â
She came up to him and put her hand in his and he ran away embarrassed, while she ran after him. He thought he could do anything: he could climb down that old ladder any time now. He raced down the road at full speed, Pauline less quickly running after him, and then after a while he slowed down and waited for her. After all if it hadnât been for her he wouldnât have gone down the ladder at all and it would have remained forever in his mind as something that had defeated him. Her pigtails flying, she was shouting something to him that he couldnât understand.
He was older than her so he had to wait: at least he felt older than her now, older and calmer and wiser. It was as if she were his younger sister, though she was just as old as him, and much more ignorant since she had never seen the sea before and didnât know anything about crabs and whelks and things like that. Her eyes turned down shyly to the ground when she reached him as if she had sensed the change in their relationship and were acknowledging his superiority and that was, he thought, as it should be.
All the way home she only answered when he spoke and he didnât speak much for he didnât feel the need for speaking. It was as if by climbing down the ladder he had entered deeper and calmer waters than he had known. It was only much later that he felt a great sadness as if by climbing the ladder he had taken away from himself a challenge that would never now be a challenge again. But by that time Pauline was in London, miles and miles away, among her subways and her Madame Tussauds, and she soon faded from his mind altogether, though in later years he would remember her with gratitude and sorrow. In fact, he never saw her again in his whole life.
14
I T WAS C HRISTMAS Day and there was a light fall of snow on the ground that had drifted there during the night. Having received his present, a toy car which ran along the green linoleum when it was wound up, Iain went outside into the day which was illuminated by a red sun low on the horizon which seemed to cast a reddish shade across the snow. He saw a crow rocking slightly on a fence, and a buzzard wheeling about the reddish sky.
He wasnât going anywhere in particular and it was near a small pool of frozen water that he saw the shoe. It was lying beside the pool and a little snow had drifted over it. For some reason, Iain stopped and flicked the snow away from the shoe, which he held lightly in his hand. It was an old black shoe, wrinkled and laceless, and the heel was almost worn away. Iain held it up against the sun thinking of nothing and now and again examining the leather and wondering whose shoe it had been. It was definitely not a womanâs shoe or a girlâs shoe and from its size it seemed to be more a manâs shoe than a boyâs. It had received much use in its time, he thought, for not only was the heel worn away but there were many nails missing from the sole.
He looked all round him but could see nothing else lying on the ground apart from the shoe, which seemed very ancient in comparison with his own. When the pool was unfrozen he would sail his paper boat with its paper sail on it, but now it was iced over and instead of the boat there was this shoe. He turned it over and over in his hand as if he were trying to question it. It reminded him of the soppy compositions that Miss Stilton would make them write
He ran splashing through the water and arrived at where she was standing on the stone quay, small and pink in her dress, her pigtails about her head, her red lips parted.
âI didnât want you to go,â she was saying and she was almost crying, as she looked at his drenched sandals.
âItâs all right,â he replied grandly. âI wanted to go. Itâs not too difficult.â
She came up to him and put her hand in his and he ran away embarrassed, while she ran after him. He thought he could do anything: he could climb down that old ladder any time now. He raced down the road at full speed, Pauline less quickly running after him, and then after a while he slowed down and waited for her. After all if it hadnât been for her he wouldnât have gone down the ladder at all and it would have remained forever in his mind as something that had defeated him. Her pigtails flying, she was shouting something to him that he couldnât understand.
He was older than her so he had to wait: at least he felt older than her now, older and calmer and wiser. It was as if she were his younger sister, though she was just as old as him, and much more ignorant since she had never seen the sea before and didnât know anything about crabs and whelks and things like that. Her eyes turned down shyly to the ground when she reached him as if she had sensed the change in their relationship and were acknowledging his superiority and that was, he thought, as it should be.
All the way home she only answered when he spoke and he didnât speak much for he didnât feel the need for speaking. It was as if by climbing down the ladder he had entered deeper and calmer waters than he had known. It was only much later that he felt a great sadness as if by climbing the ladder he had taken away from himself a challenge that would never now be a challenge again. But by that time Pauline was in London, miles and miles away, among her subways and her Madame Tussauds, and she soon faded from his mind altogether, though in later years he would remember her with gratitude and sorrow. In fact, he never saw her again in his whole life.
14
I T WAS C HRISTMAS Day and there was a light fall of snow on the ground that had drifted there during the night. Having received his present, a toy car which ran along the green linoleum when it was wound up, Iain went outside into the day which was illuminated by a red sun low on the horizon which seemed to cast a reddish shade across the snow. He saw a crow rocking slightly on a fence, and a buzzard wheeling about the reddish sky.
He wasnât going anywhere in particular and it was near a small pool of frozen water that he saw the shoe. It was lying beside the pool and a little snow had drifted over it. For some reason, Iain stopped and flicked the snow away from the shoe, which he held lightly in his hand. It was an old black shoe, wrinkled and laceless, and the heel was almost worn away. Iain held it up against the sun thinking of nothing and now and again examining the leather and wondering whose shoe it had been. It was definitely not a womanâs shoe or a girlâs shoe and from its size it seemed to be more a manâs shoe than a boyâs. It had received much use in its time, he thought, for not only was the heel worn away but there were many nails missing from the sole.
He looked all round him but could see nothing else lying on the ground apart from the shoe, which seemed very ancient in comparison with his own. When the pool was unfrozen he would sail his paper boat with its paper sail on it, but now it was iced over and instead of the boat there was this shoe. He turned it over and over in his hand as if he were trying to question it. It reminded him of the soppy compositions that Miss Stilton would make them write
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