Mr Ramsay had almost done reading. One hand hovered over the pageas if to be in readiness to turn it the very instant he had finished it. —
He satthere bareheaded with the wind blowing his hair about, extraordinarilyexposed to everything. —
He looked very old. He looked, James thought,getting his head now against the Lighthouse, now against the waste ofwaters running away into the open, like some old stone lying on thesand; —
he looked as if he had become physically what was always at theback of both of their minds—that loneliness which was for both of themthe truth about things.
He was reading very quickly, as if he were eager to get to the end.
Indeed they were very close to the Lighthouse now. —
There it loomed up,stark and straight, glaring white and black, and one could see the wavesbreaking in white splinters like smashed glass upon the rocks. —
One couldsee lines and creases in the rocks. One could see the windows clearly; —
adab of white on one of them, and a little tuft of green on the rock. —
A manhad come out and looked at them through a glass and gone in again. —
Soit was like that, James thought, the Lighthouse one had seen across thebay all these years; —
it was a stark tower on a bare rock. It satisfied him. —
Itconfirmed some obscure feeling of his about his own character. —
The oldladies, he thought, thinking of the garden at home, went dragging theirchairs about on the lawn. —
Old Mrs Beckwith, for example, was alwayssaying how nice it was and how sweet it was and how they ought to beso proud and they ought to be so happy, but as a matter of fact, Jamesthought, looking at the Lighthouse stood there on its rock, it’s like that.
He looked at his father reading fiercely with his legs curled tight. —
Theyshared that knowledge. “We are driving before a gale—we must sink,” hebegan saying to himself, half aloud, exactly as his father said it.
Nobody seemed to have spoken for an age. Cam was tired of lookingat the sea. —
Little bits of black cork had floated past; the fish were dead inthe bottom of the boat. —
Still her father read, and James looked at him andshe looked at him, and they vowed that they would fight tyranny to the
death, and he went on reading quite unconscious of what they thought.
It was thus that he escaped, she thought. —
Yes, with his great foreheadand his great nose, holding his little mottled book firmly in front of him,he escaped. —
You might try to lay hands on him, but then like a bird, hespread his wings, he floated off to settle out of your reach somewhere faraway on some desolate stump. —
She gazed at the immense expanse of thesea. —
The island had grown so small that it scarcely looked like a leaf anylonger. —
It looked like the top of a rock which some wave bigger than therest would cover. —
Yet in its frailty were all those paths, those terraces,those bedrooms— all those innumberable things. —
But as, just beforesleep, things simplify themselves so that only one of all the myriad detailshas power to assert itself, so, she felt, looking drowsily at the island,all those paths and terraces and bedrooms were fading and disappearing,and nothing was left but a pale blue censer swinging rhythmicallythis way and that across her mind. —
It was a hanging garden; it was a valley,full of birds, and flowers, and antelopes… She was falling asleep.
“Come now,” said Mr Ramsay, suddenly shutting his book.
Come where? To what extraordinary adventure? She woke with astart. —
To land somewhere, to climb somewhere? Where was he leadingthem? —
For after his immense silence the words startled them. But it wasabsurd. He was hungry, he said. —
It was time for lunch. Besides, look, hesaid. “There’s the Lighthouse. We’re almost there.” —
“He’s doing very well,” said Macalister, praising James. “He’s keepingher very steady.” —
But his father never praised him, James thought grimly.
Mr Ramsay opened the parcel and shared out the sandwiches amongthem. —
Now he was happy, eating bread and cheese with these fishermen.
He would have liked to live in a cottage and lounge about in the harbourspitting with the other old men, James thought, watching him slice hischeese into thin yellow sheets with his penknife.
This is right, this is it, Cam kept feeling, as she peeled her hard-boiledegg. —
Now she felt as she did in the study when the old men were readingTHE TIMES. Now I can go on thinking whatever I like, and I shan’t fallover a precipice or be drowned, for there he is, keeping his eye on me,she thought.
At the same time they were sailing so fast along by the rocks that itwas very exciting—it seemed as if they were doing two things at once; —
they were eating their lunch here in the sun and they were also makingfor safety in a great storm after a shipwreck. —
Would the water last?
Would the provisions last? she asked herself, telling herself a story butknowing at the same time what was the truth.
They would soon be out of it, Mr Ramsay was saying to old Macalister; —
but their children would see some strange things. Macalister saidhe was seventy-five last March; —
Mr Ramsay was seventy-one. Macalistersaid he had never seen a doctor; he had never lost a tooth. —
And that’s theway I’d like my children to live—Cam was sure that her father wasthinking that, for he stopped her throwing a sandwich into the sea andtold her, as if he were thinking of the fishermen and how they lived, thatif she did not want it she should put it back in the parcel. —
She should notwaste it. He said it so wisely, as if he knew so well all the things thathappened in the world that she put it back at once, and then he gave her,from his own parcel, a gingerbread nut, as if he were a great Spanishgentleman, she thought, handing a flower to a lady at a window (socourteous his manner was). —
He was shabby, and simple, eating breadand cheese; —
and yet he was leading them on a great expedition where,for all she knew, they would be drowned.
“That was where she sunk,” said Macalister’s boy suddenly.
Three men were drowned where we are now, the old man said. —
Hehad seen them clinging to the mast himself. —
And Mr Ramsay taking alook at the spot was about, James and Cam were afraid, to burst out:
But I beneath a rougher sea,and if he did, they could not bear it; they would shriek aloud; —
theycould not endure another explosion of the passion that boiled in him; —
butto their surprise all he said was “Ah” as if he thought to himself. —
But whymake a fuss about that? Naturally men are drowned in a storm, but it is aperfectly straightforward affair, and the depths of the sea (he sprinkledthe crumbs from his sandwich paper over them) are only water after all.
Then having lighted his pipe he took out his watch. He looked at it attentively; —
he made, perhaps, some mathematical calculation. —
At last hesaid, triumphantly:
“Well done!” James had steered them like a born sailor.
There! Cam thought, addressing herself silently to James. You’ve got itat last. —
For she knew that this was what James had been wanting, andshe knew that now he had got it he was so pleased that he would notlook at her or at his father or at any one. —
There he sat with his hand onthe tiller sitting bolt upright, looking rather sulky and frowning slightly.
He was so pleased that he was not going to let anybody share a grain of
his pleasure. His father had praised him. —
They must think that he wasperfectly indifferent. —
But you’ve got it now, Cam thought.
They had tacked, and they were sailing swiftly, buoyantly on longrocking waves which handed them on from one to another with an extraordinarylilt and exhilaration beside the reef. —
On the left a row ofrocks showed brown through the water which thinned and becamegreener and on one, a higher rock, a wave incessantly broke and spurteda little column of drops which fell down in a shower. —
One could hear theslap of the water and the patter of falling drops and a kind of hushingand hissing sound from the waves rolling and gambolling and slappingthe rocks as if they were wild creatures who were perfectly free andtossed and tumbled and sported like this for ever.
Now they could see two men on the Lighthouse, watching them andmaking ready to meet them.
Mr Ramsay buttoned his coat, and turned up his trousers. —
He took thelarge, badly packed, brown paper parcel which Nancy had got ready andsat with it on his knee. —
Thus in complete readiness to land he sat lookingback at the island. —
With his long-sighted eyes perhaps he could see thedwindled leaf-like shape standing on end on a plate of gold quite clearly.
What could he see? Cam wondered. It was all a blur to her. What was hethinking now? —
she wondered. What was it he sought, so fixedly, so intently,so silently? —
They watched him, both of them, sitting bareheadedwith his parcel on his knee staring and staring at the frail blue shapewhich seemed like the vapour of something that had burnt itself away.
What do you want? they both wanted to ask. —
They both wanted to say,Ask us anything and we will give it you. —
But he did not ask them anything.
He sat and looked at the island and he might be thinking, We perished,each alone, or he might be thinking, I have reached it. —
I havefound it; but he said nothing.
Then he put on his hat.
“Bring those parcels,” he said, nodding his head at the things Nancyhad done up for them to take to the Lighthouse. —
“The parcels for theLighthouse men,” he said. —
He rose and stood in the bow of the boat, verystraight and tall, for all the world, James thought, as if he were saying,“There is no God,” and Cam thought, as if he were leaping into space,and they both rose to follow him as he sprang, lightly like a young man,holding his parcel, on to the rock.