Axl went on staring at the rain. He heard his wife say behind him: “This must once have been a splendid house, sir.”
“Oh, it was, good lady. When I was a boy, I didn’t know just how splendid, for it was all I knew. There were fine pictures and treasures, kind and wise servants. Just through there was the banqueting hall.”
“It must sadden you to see it like this, sir.”
“I’m simply grateful, good lady, it still stands as it does. For this house has witnessed days of war, when many others like it were burnt to the ground and are no more now than a mound or two beneath grass and heather.”
Then Axl heard Beatrice’s footsteps coming towards him and felt her hand on his shoulder. “What is it, Axl?” she asked, her voice lowered. “You’re troubled, I can see it.”
“It’s nothing, princess. It’s just this ruin here. For a moment it was as if I were the one remembering things here.”
“What manner of things, Axl?”
“I don’t know, princess. When the man speaks of wars and burning houses, it’s almost as if something comes back to me. From the days before I knew you, it must be.”
“Was there ever a time before we knew one another, Axl? Sometimes I feel we must have been together since we were babes.”
“It seems that way to me too, princess. It’s just some foolishness coming over me in this strange place.”
She was looking at him thoughtfully. Then she squeezed his hand and said quietly: “This is a queer place indeed and may bring us more harm than the rain ever could. I’m anxious to leave it, Axl. Before that woman returns or something worse.”
Axl nodded. Then turning, he called across the room: “Well, boatman, the sky looks to be clearing so we’ll be on our way. Many thanks for allowing us shelter.”
The boatman said nothing to this, but as they were putting on their bundles, he came to assist them, handing them their walking sticks. “A safe journey, friends,” he said. “May you find your son in good health.”
They thanked him again, and were proceeding through the arch when Beatrice suddenly stopped and looked back.
“Since we’re leaving you, sir,” she said, “and may not meet with you again, I wonder if you’ll allow me a small question.”
The boatman, standing at his spot by the wall, was watching her carefully.
“You spoke earlier, sir,” Beatrice went on, “of your duty to question a couple waiting to cross the water. You spoke of the need to discover if their bond of love is such as to allow them to dwell together on the island. Well, sir, I was wondering this. How do you question them to discover what you must?”
For a moment the boatman seemed uncertain. Then he said: “Frankly, good lady, it’s not for me to talk of such matters. Indeed, we shouldn’t by rights have met today, but some curious chance brought us together and I’m not sorry for it. You were both kind and took my part and for that I’m grateful. So I will answer you as best I can. It is, as you say, my duty to question all who wish to cross to the island. If it’s a couple such as you speak of, who claim their bond is so strong, then I must ask them to put their most cherished memories before me. I’ll ask one, then the other to do this. Each must speak separately. In this way the real nature of their bond is soon revealed.”
“But isn’t it hard, sir,” Beatrice asked, “to see what truly lies in people’s hearts? Appearances deceive so easily.”
“That’s true, good lady, but then we boatmen have seen so many over the years it doesn’t take us long to see beyond deceptions. Besides, when travellers speak of their most cherished memories, it’s impossible for them to disguise the truth. A couple may claim to be bonded by love, but we boatmen may see instead resentment, anger, even hatred. Or a great barrenness. Sometimes a fear of loneliness and nothing more. Abiding love that has endured the years—that we see only rarely. When we do, we’re only too glad to ferry the couple together. Good lady, I’ve already said more than I should.”
“I thank you for it, boatman. It’s just to satisfy an old woman’s curiosity. Now we’ll leave you in peace.”
“May you have a safe journey.”
They retraced their steps along the path they had beaten earlier through the ferns and nettles. The storm had made the ground underneath treacherous, so for all their anxiety to put the villa behind them, they proceeded at a careful pace. When they finally reached the sunken lane, the rain still had not ceased, and they took shelter under the first large tree they could find.
“Are you soaked through, princess?”
“Don’t worry, Axl. This coat did its work. How is it with you?”
“Nothing the sun won’t soon dry when it returns.”
They put down their bundles and leant against the trunk, recovering their breaths. After a while, Beatrice said quietly:
“Axl, I feel afraid.”
“Why, what is it, princess? No harm can come to you now.”
“Do you remember the strange woman in dark rags you watched me talking to up by the old thorn that day? She may have looked a mad wanderer, but the story she told had much in common with the old woman’s just now. Her husband too had been taken by a boatman and she left behind on the shore. And when she was coming back from the cove, weeping for loneliness, she found herself crossing the edge of a high valley, and she could see the path a long way before and a long way behind, and all along it people weeping just like her. When I heard this I was only partly afraid, saying to myself it was nothing to do with us, Axl. But she went on speaking, about how this land had become cursed with a mist of forgetfulness, a thing we’ve remarked on often enough ourselves. And then she asked me: ‘How will you and your husband prove your love for each other when you can’t remember the past you’ve shared?’ And I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Sometimes I think of it and it makes me so afraid.”
“But what’s to fear, princess? We’ve no plans to go to any such island or any desire to do so.”
“Even so, Axl. What if our love withers before we’ve a chance even to think of going to such a place?”
“What are you saying, princess? How can our love wither? Isn’t it stronger now than when we were foolish young lovers?”
“But Axl, we can’t even remember those days. Or any of the years between. We don’t remember our fierce quarrels or the small moments we enjoyed and treasured. We don’t remember our son or why he’s away from us.”
“We can make all those memories come back, princess. Besides, the feeling in my heart for you will be there just the same, no matter what I remember or forget. Don’t you feel the same, princess?”
“I do, Axl. But then again I wonder if what we feel in our hearts today isn’t like these raindrops still falling on us from the soaked leaves above, even though the sky itself long stopped raining. I’m wondering if without our memories, there’s nothing for it but for our love to fade and die.”
“God wouldn’t allow such a thing, princess.” Axl said this quietly, almost under his breath, for he had himself felt an unnamed fear welling up within him.
“The day I spoke with her by the old thorn,” Beatrice continued, “the strange woman warned me to waste no more time. She said we had to do all we could to remember what we’ve shared, the good and the bad. And now that boatman, when we were leaving, gives the very answer I expected and feared. What chance do we have, Axl, the way we are now? If someone like that asked of us our most treasured memories? Axl, I’m so afraid.”
“There, princess, there’s nothing to fear. Our memories aren’t gone for ever, just mislaid somewhere on account of this wretched mist. We’ll find them again, one by one if we have to. Isn’t that why we’re on this journey? Once our son’s standing before us, many things are sure to start coming back.”
“I hope so. That boatman’s words have made me all the more afraid.”
“Forget him, princess. What do we want with his boat, or his island come to that? And you’re right, the rain’s stopped out there and we’ll be drier stepping out from under this tree. Let’s be on our way, and no more of these worries.”