THE BRIDGE

2864 Words

THE BRIDGE

I was the only one on the bus to Foxby, a village on the outskirts of a large city in England. I wasn’t sure why I was coming back at all after forty-odd years. There was nothing left for me here.

The bus sped along Main Street and lurched to a stop in front of the Bull's Head Inn. "Last stop," the driver said. I stepped off the bus onto the wet pavement. Brakes hissed, and the doors rumbled shut behind me.

I stood for a moment to watch the bus turn around by the old school, a low brick, U-shaped building, with iron railings around the playground. Colin and I had run sticks along the railings. I remembered the sound, ducka, ducka, ducka. I was ten years old. Now, above the entrance, a sign read, Bingo Every Saturday Night.

When the bus left, a trace of diesel hung in the damp air. I was reminded of my daily bus trips to and from my work in Manhattan, before I left New York for California, where I had lived for the last forty years.

Shops still lined Foxby High Street. The names had changed, but not the street, which still curved through the centre of the village, and the inn’s interior hadn’t changed. “Ah! I remember this,” I said, looking around the old rooms, low beams, and fireplace. Lovely.

The young man smiled as he checked me in. “Been here before, eh?”

"It's been a while."

"Did you live 'ere?"

"Once I did. I left for America when I was twenty-two." I smiled, "A long time ago."

The young man showed me to a room, then brought me tea as I'd asked,

"Everything all right, Miss?"

"Fine, thank you."

I stood by the window, sipped the tea, and watched a young girl pushing a stroller across the road toward the post office. Her hair was a mixture of henna, bleached blond, and purple. Her faded jeans were halfway down her backside, revealing an inch or two of white skin. When I lived in Foxby, I remembered girls wore dresses or skirts and pretty blouses or sweaters.

Outside in the cool of the late afternoon, I stood at the corner of Gregory Lane. St. Giles Church, with its Saxon tower, still loomed over crumbling gravestones, but the cottages along the lane were gone, replaced with two-story homes on a wide paved road. No hens clucked around pretty gardens; no cows plodded up the muddy lane to Hadley's Farm. I wondered if the fields still lay beyond the gate. Perhaps, I thought, with a shudder, there's just a long road of new look-alike brick houses with cars parked outside.

Relieved, when I turned the corner, I saw the gate at the very top of the lane. I remembered the old wooden one had a rubber tire nailed to it, so it didn't disturb the residents, one of whom was my grandmother. The gate would close with a thud. Now it clanged shut behind me.

Over the fields, the wind sighed, and scudding clouds cast shadows, light and dark, over the tall, waving grass, just as it used to be.

The canal was narrow, overgrown with weeds, and I remembered that Colin and I used to watch barges laden with coal from the bridge; now, only the occasional Narrowboats used the waterway. In our late teens, on the bridge, Colin had talked nonstop about our future in America. He had picked me up and twirled me around, "America, here we come." He’d followed all the news from the States and the Vietnam problems; troops were soon to be sent out, which for me was just a minor obstacle. Nothing to worry about,

If only it had been that simple. We had planned to emigrate together, but the job offer from Bell Telephone came for him before I’d applied anywhere. He said he’d wait, but I persuaded him to go. I thought about my words when he’d asked me if I really wanted him to go to America without me. I had insisted that he go because I didn’t want him to miss the work opportunity, and I thought there would be very little chance of him, an alien with a Green Card, being called up to fight in a war that wasn’t his. I should have listened.

My attention was drawn to the drone of a tractor in the field next to the farm. I wondered who owned it now, and who would be on the tractor preparing the wet ground for a summer crop of wheat.

I could see the field next to the farm where the scented Cowslips grew. There it was, the whole field, yellow and shining in the sun. I felt the sudden urge to pick a bunch, glad I had worn my sensible lace-up shoes as I trudged through the wet grass to breathe in the scented air.

The tractor was close by now. I shielded my eyes to see a man as he sat perched high on the seat. I couldn't see him very clearly, but I heard his voice. He shouted, "Finding what you want?"

I shouted back, "Is it all right if I pick some Cowslips?"

I heard him switch off the engine.

I waited while he closed the gate and plodded toward me. I said, “I love cowslips. Can't remember seeing any in the States."

"The States, eh?”

I had picked a long stem and held it up to my nose, "Lovely," I said as I studied the bloom of pale yellow cups.

The man stared at me as he took off his hat. His hair was white. His skin was weathered and brown.

I said, "Cowslips always remind me of a Shakespeare poem. Something like, 'Where the bee sucks, there suck I, In a cowslip bell I lie.' I think that's how it goes." I laughed, "Something like that."

He nodded. A smile crept across his lips. He said, "How about, 'the Cowslips tall, her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots, I see."

"Ah, I guess you like Shakespeare."

The man stood awkwardly, fiddling with his hat. He finally said, "You don't recognize me, do you?"

I looked more closely, "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't."

"I know who you are, though."

He smiled, and I realized there was something very familiar about the smile.

Suddenly, he laughed, "Amelia?"

"Colin?" For a moment, I felt nothing, then I inhaled sharply, feeling the ground sway beneath my feet. I was looking at the man I still dreamed about, had loved deeply. I tried to speak but couldn't. I thought I was going to pass out. His face was suddenly in a mist, and blackness came, overwhelming and stifling.

He stepped forward to hold me. "Okay, I’ve got you. Let's get you a cup of tea."

He led me away from the field and steered me unsteadily into the cluttered living room of the farmhouse to an armchair by the fireplace. When I was finally able to concentrate and focus on the room, nothing had changed. Newspapers were spread untidily on the chair. Everything as I remembered it.

I watched Colin light the fire already set in the fireplace with coal and kindling. Then, with a nod to me, he went into the kitchen. I could hear him filling the kettle. I sat staring into the crackling flames of fire, wondering what was happening. I was numb. He returned with biscuits and tea on a tray and set it carefully on the stool by my side, then he seated himself on the worn sofa and watched me. We didn't talk. I couldn't get my brain to cooperate. He leaned forward in his chair. "You are okay?" he asked. “Still married?"

"Married? It took me a moment to say the words, "Mark died."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry."

Anger suddenly coursed through me. Colin had left for America before me, but I made it. Lived alone. All the worries, the fear when he’d gone missing, and then the telegram saying he was presumed dead. "Colin," I said, trying to keep my voice even, "when did you get out of Vietnam?"

"Well," he hesitated. I got out in seventy-five. A bit later than most guys because of where I was. I lived in France for what…er…six years, I suppose. Why?"

"Seventy-five?" I tried to remember where I was in seventy-five. He’d left England in 1964, earlier than the majority of troops, because he was in communications. I sat and thought about it for a minute or two, and then I remembered. I was with Mark, and we had taken a trip back here on the narrowboat. I was pretty sure of the year. Could Colin have been back from Vietnam then? The thought bothered me. "So, why didn't you try to find me?"

"Didn't come back here until eighty-four, when I bought this place," he said as he poured tea. "I went to see your folks. Your brother, Douglas, told me you were married. That's all. That's all."

"No one told me you were alive. Douglas didn't tell me he’d seen you. No one did."

His voice was soft, "I told them not to tell you, Amelia. Why would I interfere with your life? Really, can't you see that from my point of view? Your family understood. And what would have been the point? For goodness sake, can't you see that?"

I watched the clock on the wall, the pendulum swinging back and forth. The minutes ticked by. I finally spoke; my eyes never left the clock. "The thing is," I said, "Didn't you ever think I might want to know you were alive? You could have found out from my parents where I was, even when you were in France, when you first got back."

Colin sighed deeply, "My past was muddled, Amelia. You must realize that, and anyway, you wouldn't have wanted to see me then." He handed me a cup of tea. "A buddy I'd met in the prison camp said he was going to live in France for a little while, and I joined him because I couldn't think of what else to do. I was messed up."

"What do you mean, messed up?"

"It's complicated…"

I waited.

"How prisoners were treated, and all that goes on in their minds afterward….” For a minute, he drifted away, closed his eyes. Then he sighed again and smiled, "Anyway, I don't understand why you’re so angry."

"Because…because it would have relieved my guilt, that's why."

"Guilt?"

"Don't you know how much I hated myself for making you go to the States. You were called up and in the military, and then Vietnam. Then I heard you were missing, and then the telegram. You were dead, Colin! In my mind, all these years, I've blamed myself for you going to America. I had killed you in a way, you know." Suddenly, tears spilled uncontrollably. I had no way of stopping them.

"Hey, hey," he reached for my hands and held them still. "Amelia, I was young and so excited about leaving England. You were not to blame for my going to America, but I was held as a prisoner for a long time. You have no idea how it was. I'll tell you sometime, not now. Not now. You know it was only by chance I came back to Foxby. The farm had been for sale for a long time, so I bought it."

"If only I'd known," I whispered. "It would have made my life happier."

"But you've had a decent marriage, a good life, haven't you?"

I nodded, "Yes, and I have a lovely daughter. She gave me the ticket to come here this time."

"I'd love to meet her, you know."

Outside, the birds were gathering for the night in the elm tree. For a while, their chatter filled the dusk with noise. Then it was quiet. I said, "I'd better get back to the Inn. It's getting dark. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow."

Colin stood quickly, "Oh, no. You are not getting away that fast, lass. Not this time. Tell you what. I'll freshen up a bit and walk with you down to the pub. They do a nice cottage pie, and we can have a good old chat. How's that?"

I nodded. Without talking, we walked arm in arm down the narrow path to the gate. I stopped to look at my Grandmother's old house at the top of the lane. It been left uncared for. Needed painting. The side yard, which was always so beautiful with flowers, was now just concrete slabs for cars. The lane was not as I remembered, but the air was fresh, and my mind cleared.

Colin wanted to know who I had been married to, all about Jennie. So, I told him about my travels, the countries I'd visited. I did all the talking.

He ordered more drinks and then grasped my hand. His eyes softened as he studied my face.

I said, "Colin, don't look at me like that. When you last saw me, I was nineteen. It took three years before I could get to America when I was twenty two. I'm sixty-five now."

"Hey, lass. I only see the girl I loved very much. She hasn't changed."

His words made me cry again, and he handed me his handkerchief. It was clean and white.

I sniffed, "You still use real handkerchiefs?"

"Of course," he said, "and I iron them."

We both laughed.

I looked around the pub. We were alone, and the bar was being tidied up. "It looks like we are being thrown out," I said.

He walked with me to the front door of the inn and kissed me gently on the cheek. "Night, lass," he said. "Let's meet at the bridge tomorrow, okay?" I watched him walk down the street. He turned and waved before he disappeared around the corner.

The next morning, I walked through the fields to the bridge, and I saw him coming from the farm wearing his tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches. Nothing had changed.

“This is our bridge,” he said as we both looked down at the water beneath. Then he was quoting, "All along the backwater, through the rushes tall, ducks are a dabbling, up tails all."

I said, "You always loved that book.”

He hugged me close, and his lips found mine. I kissed him back. When he released me and stood back to look at me, he said, "Would your daughter mind if you moved back to England? We are getting on, you know. Might as well make the best of what years we have left together. What do you think?"

The question hung in the air. I had all I wanted in America. But then, all at once, I wasn't sure what I wanted. He sighed, "I would like you to come and live with me, you know."

"Really?" I stared down at the water, slow-moving, with reeds almost halfway across. "It would be a big move for me,” I said. "I mean, my whole adult life has been in America. And my daughter! I …don't know about leaving her. I can't imagine being without her."

"I understand," he said. "Okay," he grabbed my hand. "Shall we get an ice cream in the village?"

I smiled. His lightness enveloped me. "Yes, you bought me ice cream when I first met you. I was eight years old, can you imagine?”

"Hey, lass, why don't you stay the night with me?" His question came out of the blue. I hesitated. I wanted to say yes. Making love with Colin had been a dream for years, and just to have him by my side would have been enough for me, but I knew it wouldn't be that way. My body was not what it used to be. No, I couldn't let myself relax with a man now. I said, "I'm sorry, not tonight."

"Does that mean you don't want to be with me anymore?"

"No, that's not it. I just don't know. Give me time."

"Okay," he sighed.

We talked all afternoon in the warmth of the farmhouse, Colin cooked a meal, and when dusk crept into the room, I knew I had to leave him. I said, “I have to get back now.”

"I'll walk you back to the Inn."

As we walked quietly along the path to the village, Colin said, "I love this time of night.

"Yes," I said, "Everything is so still."

Colin was speaking softly, "The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, the lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea. The Plowman homeward plods his weary way and leaves the world to darkness and to me."

"Grays Elegy," I said.

Colin took my hand, "Life in the country. Right, lass?"

I looked at him and noticed the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that I used to love so many years ago. When I turned to look back at the farmhouse outlined against the darkening sky, in the half-light, the field of Cowslips shone as though it was filled with sunshine.