The Pure Land Read Online Free PDF Page B

smeared with his seed, her blood.
    ‘Will you be wanting this back,’ she said, ‘or should I keep it to mind me of you?’
    She dropped the hanky between them on the sand, turned and made her way through the coarse grass. He caught up with her and they walked in silence to the end of her street where the gas lamps had just been lit. She said she’d walk the rest of the way by herself.
    *
    The preparations were made. He would sail to Southampton, then out via Cape Town to Calcutta and Hong Kong, spend time in Shanghai, cross from there to Nagasaki. The very names were a charm, an incantation, filled him with excitement and awe. Southampton, Cape Town, Calcutta. Jardine’s would pay for his passage, by steamship and schooner and clipper. The journey would take months, was further than most folk would travel in a lifetime. Hong Kong, Shanghai, Nagasaki.
    In the kirk, on the Sunday before his departure, the minister offered up a special prayer for his safety, asked the Almighty to keep him from harm on his long and hazardous journey, bade the congregation stand and sing, Will your anchor hold in the storms of life? His father cleared his throat, launched into the hymn. His mother blew her nose, dabbed at her eyes. Martha sang out, her voice clear with only the slightest tremor on the high notes.
    He glanced round, confirmed what he’d thought: Annie wasn’t there. The pew beside her father was empty. Old George fixed his gaze ahead, grumbled out chorus and verse.
    Outside, they fell into step, along the path through the churchyard. Glover took a deep breath, affected calm, and asked after Annie. George said she was fine, she’d just caught a chill somewhere, would be right as rain in a few days.
    He stopped and looked Glover in the eye. ‘I know you two have been walking out together. And to be honest, I would rather you’d seen fit to tell me and ask my permission.’
    Glover said nothing, couldn’t keep out the memory; Annie lying back in the dunes, himself moving on top of her, inside her. ‘Be that as it may,’ George was continuing, ‘there’s no harm done, and maybe this posting of yours is the best thing that could happen. I don’t think you’re of a mind to get married and settle down.’
    ‘Not just yet, sir, no.’
    ‘And she’s ower young. So this will be an end of it before it even begins.’
    Annie bucking under him, gasping.
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘Of course,’ said George, ‘when you come back from the East in a year or two, the story may be different.’
    Annie crying out. His seed spilled in the sand.
    ‘Aye, sir. I’ll mind that.’
    A peewit’s call. The grey North. That empty grave waiting for him.
    *
    He went one last time to Brig o’ Balgownie, stood watching the river flow by. He turned to go and there was Annie, just looking at him.
    ‘I thought you’d be here,’ she said. ‘No, I knew you’d be here. I kenned it. Don’t ask me how, I just did.’
    ‘And here was me,’ he said, ‘just coming by on the off chance.’
    ‘Chance?’ she said, as if holding up the word to the light, examining it. ‘Is that all there is? Is that all it was?’
    ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said. ‘Before I go.’
    ‘Well, here I am.’
    ‘I wanted to say goodbye.’
    ‘It sounds awful final.’
    ‘I have to do this, Annie. I can’t not go.’
    He put his hand to her face, stroked her cheek. He kissed her forehead, her sweet mouth, the kiss not fierce like before, but gentle and sad.
    ‘I have to.’
    ‘Then go,’ she said.
    They kissed once more, then she pushed him away and he walked on across the bridge. He looked back and she was still standing there, watching him. He waved but she didn’t wave back. Further on he looked again and she was gone.
    *
    Annie didn’t come to see him off at the quay, and neither did her father, or Robertson, or anyone else from the office. It was during the week, a working day, and nobody could take the time. His mother couldn’t bear the parting, had said