The Pure Land Read Online Free PDF

down, walked on to Old Aberdeen, past the university to Bridge of Don. The bells of St Machar’s struck the hour, six o’clock, and for no good reason he was overcome by melancholy. He looked back towards the city. He had just walked the length of what was, for him, the known world. The rain fellharder. In the cold kirkyard an open grave awaited him; a granite tombstone was carved with his name.
    *
    He decided, once and for all; no more uncertainty, the matter was settled. He would go; he would sail to the East, make his way in the world. And the act of deciding, the fact of it, freed him. He was stepping into his life.
    His father nodded, said simply, ‘Aye.’ Then he filled his pipe, added, ‘What’s for you will not go by you.’
    His mother took in a quick sharp breath. Her eyes widened in momentary panic, then settled to the bleakness of acceptance. What would be would be.
    Martha looked at him with a calm, resigned sadness, her eyes deep dark pools he wouldn’t forget.
    Robertson’s look flickered between a kind of envy and a sly, relieved gladness, his thin mouth twitching in a nervy smile. He told him he was a mad bugger and wished him good luck, said he would need it.
    George peered at him over his spectacles, shook his hand firmly in his own bony claw, said he was sure he’d go far, be a credit to the firm. Then he looked out the window, said the nights would soon be drawing in.
    Annie was waiting for him at their trysting-place, Brig o’ Balgownie, where they’d met that evening, when they’d seen the heron and walked by the river, arm in arm to a quiet place he knew. Was it really only a few weeks ago? A couple of months? That was no time, no time at all. And yet. He couldn’t believe he felt so discomfited, so raw.
    She already knew, she said, her father had told her, and she’d wondered when he would be man enough to tell her himself.
    He’d only just decided, he said, that very day, and hadn’t wanted to trouble her until he was sure.
    That was most considerate of him, she said. It was good to know he was so sensitive of other people’s feelings.
    At that she turned away, stood with her back to him, and he saw her shoulders shake with the sobs she’d held in.
    ‘Aw Christ,’ he said. ‘Annie.’
    And he went to her, held her to him, kissed her neck, her hair, her mouth, and she kissed him back with a fierce need that made him want to die into her soft warmth. They walked to the quiet place, the long grass above the dunes, and lay down there, breathing hard, and he lifted her skirts and she undid his buttons, he pushed, clumsy, and with a shock, a sudden give, was in her, she gasped and he thrust till he felt it coursing through him and he pulled out and spurted, spent.
    He had done this before, in this same place, with a lassie from the docks, with another from Fittie; it had been quick and brisk and driven by drink; houghmagandie, a ride, a bit of a laugh. But this was Annie, somebody he knew and cared for. This was different.
    They lay a long time, clinging to each other, shaken by what had happened. It had been her first time; he knew that. He stroked her hair, tried to speak but had no words. Above them the sky was starting to darken. A peewit cried clear and shrill in the emptiness.
    ‘Ach, lass,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘I let you,’ she said. ‘I wanted to. You’re going. We might never.’
    It was as if she were saying the words to herself, matter-of-fact, making sense, ticking off her reasons on a list. But when she sat up, straightened her clothes, she started to cry again, and he felt useless. He fumbled in his pocket for a hanky, handed it to her as he’d handed it to Martha; the same gesture but charged with so much more intensity. Annie took it from him, dabbed at her eyes. Then she reached down under her dress, wiped herself between the legs. He felt he shouldn’t be watching this, but couldn’t turn away.
    She looked him in the eye, held out the hanky to him,