Dawn of All | Page 2

of a taste of
something. But it was no more than a shadow: it was as if he were watching some one
else drink and perceiving some one else to swallow. . . . Then with a rush the ceiling
came back into view: he was aware that he was lying in bed under a red coverlet; that the
room was large and airy about him; and that two persons, a doctor in white and a nurse,
were watching him. He rested in that knowledge for a long time, watching memory
reassert itself. Detail after detail sprang into view: farther and farther back into his
experience, far down into the childhood he had forgotten. He remembered now who he
was, his story, his friends, his life up to a certain blank day or set of days, between him
and which there was nothing. Then he saw the faces again, and it occurred to him, with a
flash as of illumination, to ask. So he began to ask; and he considered carefully each
answer, turning it over and reflecting upon it with what seemed to him an amazing degree

of concentration.
". . . So I am in Westminster Hospital," he considered. "That is extraordinarily interesting
and affecting. I have often seen the outside of it. It is of discoloured brick. And I have
been here . . . how long? how long, did they say? . . . Oh! that is a long time. Five days!
And what in the world can have happened to my work? They will be looking out for me
in the Museum. How can Dr. Waterman's history get on without me? I must see about
that at once. He'll understand that it's not my fault. . . .
"What's that? I mustn't trouble myself about that? But--Oh! Dr. Waterman has been here,
has he? That's very kind--very kind and thoughtful indeed. And I'm to take my time, am I?
Very well. Please thank Dr. Waterman for his kindness and his thoughtfulness in
enquiring. . . . And tell him I'll be with him again in a day or two at any rate. . . . Oh! tell
him that he'll find the references to the thirteenth-century Popes in the black
notebook--the thick one--on the right of the fire-place. They're all verified. Thank you,
thank you very much. . . . and . . . by the way . . . just tell him I'm not sure yet about the
Piccolomini matter. . . . What's that? I'm not to trouble myself? . . . But . . . Oh! very well.
Thank you. . . . Thank you very much."
There followed a long pause. He was thinking still very hard about the thirteenth-century
Popes. It was really very tiresome that he could not explain to Dr. Waterman himself. He
was certain that some of the pages in the thick black notebook were loose; and how
terrible it would be if the book were taken out carelessly, and some of the pages fell into
the fire. They easily might! And then there'd be all the work to do again. . . . And that
would mean weeks and weeks. . . .
Then there came a grave, quiet voice of a woman speaking in his ear; but for a long time
he could not understand. He wished it would let him alone. He wanted to think about the
Popes. He tried nodding and murmuring a general sort of assent, as if he wished to go to
sleep; but it was useless: the voice went on and on. And then suddenly he understood, and
a kind of fury seized him.
How did they know he had once been a priest? Spying and badgering, as usual! . . . No:
he did not want a priest sent for. He was not a priest any more; not even a Catholic. It was
all lies--lies from the beginning to the end--all that they had taught him in the seminary. It
was all lies! There! Was that plain enough? . . .
Ah! why would not the voice be quiet? . . . He was in great danger, was he? He would be
unconscious again soon, would he? Well, he didn't know what they meant by that; but
what had it to do with him? No: he did not want a priest. Was that clear enough? . . . He
was perfectly clear-headed; he knew what he was saying. . . . Yes; even if he were in
great danger . . . even if he were practically certain to die. (That, by the way, was
impossible; because he had to finish the notes for Dr. Waterman's new History of the
Popes; and it would take months.) Anyhow, he didn't want