The Arrival of Missives Read Online Free PDF

that. In the months after the end of the war he came and was accepted on the grounds that a teacher was sorely needed. He was happy to take up the empty cottage of the Wayly sisters even though they had died within its walls only a month before. How neatly he fitted, so that nobody thought to question why he would choose this place above others, having no family ties here. There was also the fact that his arrival, and his injury, gave everyone a fresh topic of conversation. There is little of interest to discuss in these parts; the weather and your health can only provide so much to say that another person would willingly want to hear. So they talked about him often, and the nature of his injuries that kept him apart from those who would have been friendly, but I do not believe they did so with deliberate malice. Everyone was in agreement that a man who had been through such experiences was entitled to find his own little corner of peace.
    But I have watched Mr Tiller teach the class all day and I no longer see a man at peace.
    Everyone has gone home for the day, even Daniel Redmore after much shuffling of his feet and glaring at me. We are alone.
    Will Mr Tiller finally look at me? All these long hours he has not looked at me. His eyes have been to every corner of the room, but not to mine. His questions about Marco Polo have been aimed at every target but me. He has sweated and stammered. Others may blame it on the surprising heat for this time of year, beating through the long arched windows of the classroom, but I do not.
    'May Day, then,' says Mr Tiller, and begins to lecture me on his plans, keeping the entire length of the classroom between us. I let him speak on and on, until it finally becomes too much, even for him, and he grinds to a halt. He gets up from his desk to cross to mine and lowers himself carefully onto Mary Clissold's stool, within touching distance.
    'I am truly sorry for last night,' he says.
    'I wish you wouldn't be, sir.'
    'Well, here is the thing. It's unfortunate that you are now involved, but maybe it is for the best. I am loath to admit it, but I am in need of assistance.'
    This change of heart surprises me. 'I am certain I'll make an able teacher in the future,' I say, slowly.
    'No, no. That's not what I mean. You said to me last night that I was not a real man.'
    'No, I—'
    He holds up a hand. 'You are right. I am only half a man. Half of me lives, still made of the flesh in which I was born, and filled with the normal thoughts and emotions of any man. You think I would not like to be married, but I must reassure you that I would like nothing more. If it was within my power to be a husband. But it would not be right, and it never could be made right, because the other half of me is not a man at all. It is a visitation from a different time, and it commands me to certain courses of action. It is with these commands that I seek out your help, if you are brave enough to give it.'
    This is not at all how I imagined this conversation. I open my mouth and shut it again when no words come out.
    'You don't understand, I know, I know. I don't understand myself. I try to change things for the better because of what the rock tells me, and I – I am getting ahead of myself. Why don't you ask me a question, and I will attempt to answer it? That might suit us both better, knowing the penetrative nature of your mind as I do.'
    I try to collect my thoughts. There is only one question that comes to mind, and it must be asked: 'You said you would like to have been a husband if that was a possibility. Would you have liked to have been a husband… to me?'
    He stares at me, and then smiles. 'Yes,' he says. 'Yes, I really would, my dear Shirley. At this moment in particular you remind me of why I would, and why I never can.'
    It is enough. It will have to be enough.
    'Shirley,' says Mr Tiller. 'Concentrate.'
    'So how can I be of assistance?' I say. With his words he has owned me. I will be his forever more, even