The Children's Book - A. S. Byatt [144]
They were not, and Philip was almost angry at the waste of so much good work. But Philip was canny about what he could afford to feel, and he could not afford to feel angry with, or contemptuous of, his master.
He did say to Elsie, it’s getting worse and worse. They both knew what “it” was. Elsie said she had tried to talk to Mrs. Fludd, but had got nowhere. Mrs. Fludd had said that her husband had things on his mind, and had a difficult temperament, and that Elsie already knew that.
One day, at Dungeness, in mixed, squally weather, where achingly bright patches of light off the water were succeeded by whipping winds and draggled clouds streaming over the sun, Philip, on one of his solitary walks, collecting driftwood, shells, and odd stones, saw Fludd at the water’s edge, flailing his arms and roaring inaudibly at the sea. Philip thought he would give him a wide berth and hope not to be noticed. Then he saw that Fludd, in boots and cord trousers, was over his ankles in the rising tide. It is not easy to walk fast on sloping shingle. Philip changed direction and set off towards Fludd. The pebbles ground and whinged under his feet. Fludd shook his fist at the horizon, and took several steps forward, moving his arms like a windmill. He was now over his haunches in seawater, and splashing his hands in the blown crests of spray. Philip had never ventured into the water off this bank. He believed, without knowing why, that the steep slope continued, and plunged rapidly beyond a man’s depth, into treacherous currents. He began a blundering run down towards the potter, who took another two or three grinding steps forward, and was waist-deep. Philip could not swim. He began to calculate what would happen if he lunged at Fludd and fell over himself, into the sucking water. He scrambled down to where Fludd was, and howled into the wind “Come back, sir. Come back home now.”
For a moment they stood there, the old man swaying in the tide, and slapping at the surface with his great hands, the young man calculating furiously about balance and grip, moving forward always with both feet stable.
“Benedict Fludd—” he howled.
Fludd did turn round, his mouth snarling amongst his draggled hair, his torso lurching.
“Go home,” said Fludd, and fell sideways with a sluicing sound, onto the sea. He rose again, obviously on his knees on the shingle, and slipping down the slope of the beach, shouting at Philip that he was a pest and a fool. Philip walked forward, mincing safe step by step, and took hold of the sodden flannel shirt.
“You’d best come out now. You’d best come home.”
“Leave me be.”
“How can I?” said Philip, betraying crossness. “I’ve got to get you home. Help me.”
Benedict Fludd gave a kick—whether to help Philip, or free himself of him was unclear—and pebbles rolled thickly down under the water. Philip put his arms round the bulk of Fludd and pulled.
“You’ve got to help me,” he said with furious reason. “You’ve got to help yourself. Come on, now.”
And somehow they were scrambling together, and both on the dry land, which was not dry, but wet with the water that ran off them, and with the whipped water blown in the wind.
“You should have let me go on,” said Fludd, mildly enough. “I had the idea of just walking on and down and in. You did wrong to stop me.”
“Why?” said Philip. “Why are you like this? You are a great artist. You can do things most men can’t dream of.”
“It leaves me. I can do nothing. I think, I shall be unable—unable—unable for the rest of my life. And then I think, why drag it out?”
“That is just a mood. You’ve had it other times, the black mood. I’ve watched you. And then you’ve made amazing things. The sun and clouds pot, remember? And the one like flaming damask. Remember? Those pots wouldn’t be, if you’d drowned yourself.”
“You care more about the pots than about me.”
“And if I do, it’s because I’m like you. And this time, you nearly drowned both of us, which was unjust.”
It did not strike Philip as odd that he had made no appeal to Fludd to save himself for the sake of his wife and