Always and forever after that

The most beautiful girl I ever saw was called Anabella. She spent a
thousand days devastating me and in the end only smiled and winked when
I told her that I loved her. No description I can give - and I have
tried too many times - will evoke her motion through the parting air. I
cannot force her fragility into words. Her serenity was too big for
cathedrals and it pains me to recall her voice; singing crystal glass,
nothing can make it go away. Her eyes were phosphorescent pools; her
smile, caught in the act, rested upon angels, always concerned and
never afraid. She was 13 and I was a year older when we met, at the top
of a tree, swathed in blossom and I know that all of this seems unreal,
but the blossom hung about her then and always seemed to hang about her
afterwards. It was my brother, Jasper who spoke to her first.

The two of us had spent a long hot Saturday exploring the grounds of
our father's latest investment - he never called it a home, after our
mother died he never found a home - it had been a gorgeous day, the two
of us had been up and eating breakfast before it even got light. He was
a year older than me and had jumped on me in bed with his usual
exclamation, "Oh let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!" he could
always make me laugh and I would lie there waiting for his entrance,
sometimes for an hour or more. A fine day we spent traversing streams
on stepping stones, hunting for adders in the paddock, building a
bivouac in a clearing, then lying on the lawn after lunch and a game of
croquet with Dad: Climbing, falling, shouting with the sun on our backs
and water in our wellingtons.

It was getting late when we began looking for somewhere to build a
treehouse and the surprise of clambering up through the blossom,
finding her hidden there at the top, all pale with shorts and long
legs, made us silent for a moment.

"Go away - this is no place for you," my brother had finally said,
rather nervously. She was unabashed however and examined us both
carefully before replying: "Go where? You'd have to climb down first
and besides," she pointed at the ground, "this is my garden, and my
tree" She sat precariously on the topmost bough, leaning against a
branch and folded her arms. I exchanged a look with Jasper and he
muttered an apology as we began to climb down. We lost sight of her and
suddenly heard her voice again.
"Don't go. Lets pretend I'm stuck and you've got to rescue me. I'll let
you climb up here whenever you want!"

And that was how the next three years began. She was very convincing at
being stuck and when we got her to the bottom of the tree the two of us
took a good look at her, the small figure sitting on the wall in front
of us. "I'm Anabella, I've lived here always. You two must be Tom and
Jasper. My father said that the curate was moving here, I've heard all
about you." She smiled, toothily, "meet me here tomorrow at nine -
Thanks for rescuing me." Before we could say anything she jumped off
the wall, kissed us both on the cheek and disappeared through the
trees.

We walked back home solemnly, both thinking our own thoughts and when I
said, "Well...?" as we reached the porch he looked at me for a long
moment, then turned away and said, "'Tis but the voyage of a darksome
hour, the transient gulf dream of a startling sleep..." He jumped up a
step into shadow and vanished into the house, as I stood there
mystified a while, gazing into the trees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years later the war came - and the evacuees - to our village.
Boys and girls from London, louder and cruder, brandishing branch
machine guns torn from trees. They were playing Nazis and Englishmen
except no one wanted to be Nazis. The English fought a civil war and we
were too old to play because we noticed the irony. Instead the three of
us would sit on hills, drinking cider, discussing ethics. Annabelle and
Jasper would hold hands and she, more striking than ever, would nudge
me gleefully while he told another funny story.

One evening, Jasper had gone to get some cider; Anabella and I sat side
by side gazing down a sunset of purples. I said, "It's amazing, you
wouldn't know there was a war on."
"It's beautiful." she whispered in reply, "I wish we could stay here
always," smoothing a curl of red hair behind her ear, "always and
forever after that," with her arms wrapped around her legs.
I glanced up, "...and forever after that, "she said repeated even more
quietly, looking out over the village, past the steeple, into space.
She suddenly seemed very sad, "I'm afraid of waking up from this
dream..."
"We can - I love you, " I said, knowing that wasn't what she
meant.

She looked up, her lips pursed in a smile and then she winked at me or
maybe at Jasper who had crept up behind and suddenly put his hands on
my shoulders. "More cider," he grinned a floppy haired, tipsy grin, and
as we began to get up he motioned us to sit down. "No - I have an
announcement to make, it's very important." He staggered back a little,
and then stood straight, framed by the dusky horizon.

Anabella and I smiled at each other - we had seen this before -
Jasper's latest, greatest thought, magnificently orated. Sometimes we
would applaud him, but he looked very serious.

"I have spoken to father already and he says that if I feel like this I
must go."
"Go where?" Anabella said.
"Feel like what?" I said.
"To fight," he said, sadly, "in the war which is a horrible dirty
business, but the sooner it is over the better for us all..." And he
went on, going over all the things we had discussed in the last months
- a whole philosophy to justify himself and his frightening decision.
He collapsed on the grass between us, "Don't try to change my mind,
it's hard enough already."

All of us were quiet for a long time, it got dark, the stars came out
and when finally I spoke, voice faltering, "Please don't go Jasper.
Tell him not to go Anabella." they didn't hear. They were kissing. I
turned and saw them and the ground was falling away from my feet. I
left them then, ran, trembling home, stumbling down the dark hillside
to my bed where I cried myself to sleep.

The next day I couldn't bear to talk to them and wandered off alone
along my secret tracks, to the weir where I sat, hidden by a fallen
tree, observing tiny fish in the pool: Would he go? I wanted him to now
- to leave me alone with her - she knew how I felt and still she... I
couldn't bear to think about it but I knew why: Jasper was the funny
one, he beat me at everything, he knew poetry by heart, he was the king
of my world and she was the queen and somehow it fitted together but I
wanted her for myself...

"Tom," It was her voice behind me, shocking me from my daze; her hand
on my shoulder, squeezing, "Don't be hurt - I can't make him stay - it
will just be us soon." For a lingering moment I felt her lips on my
cheek, pressed, and then there was a rush of undergrowth and she was
gone.

In those last weeks before he left the three of us went on every walk
we had ever been on together; we ate picnics by secret lakes and
climbed the old treehouses, trying not to think of the war, or where he
might be going. Once, a group of village boys burst out of thicket
making a clattering machine gun noise, shouting "Ambush!" and Jasper
shooed them away, with an angry look.

At the smoky station Jasper with his oversized bag held out his hand to
Dad and I, his grin concealing an anguish I felt in his shaking. I
looked away as he kissed Anabella but saw her whisper something in his
ear. And then, as if it wasn't real, the guard whistled, Jasper was
waving at us from a window and the train was disappearing into the
distance. Anabella stood waving with bright eyes, Dad pulled out a
handkerchief and blew his nose. I blinked in the bright sunlight.

Jasper died at 19, hit by a horseshoe of shrapnel, he died
instantly.

I cried with Dad when the Telegram arrived and registered as a
conscientious objector afterwards but I don't know if Anabella ever
found out: A week after Jasper left she was gone too. Her father had
been recalled to London and she was sent to live with an aunt in
Scotland my father told me afterwards. She must have known but in that
longing week, holding hands with her, she never once mentioned it - not
until the last night when, with her breath on my lips, she said very
quietly, "Lets pretend I'm going away and might never see you again...
"