The Cat

* Based on D.H Lawrence's "Three Novellas" *

“Oh blast–!”
The decrepit pitch fork fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “Oh bollocks! That’s done it”. Nicholas Rhodes wiped the sweat off his fair brow. “I will never understand how on earth you can pull this off”. The young man – or youth, for he would not be more than twenty-two, sat down on a bundle of hay and stared at his companion.
Nicholas was a delicate thing compared to Simon...“farm-work”, as he liked to call it, was not his forte; the sudden death of his old man essentially shattered any future arrangements. Ah! And if the strain wasn’t enough– the farmhouse was rundown. Furthermore, Nicholas resented his father’s terms to the inheritance: “marriage”.
“It’s easier than working with those new machines you’ve got” Simon said, running a dirty hand through his dark hair and picking up the abandoned pitch fork again. “You simply need to muscle up–that’s all. You’re not eating much again” There was pain in his voice. Both men were unchanged by the war having not volunteered to take part– with Nicholas being of ill-health and Simon’s pacifist beliefs. Simon Taylor was the ‘man about the house’ and the martyr, with Nicholas increasingly depending upon the new machinery on the farm. At times, Simon wondered if he was even needed on the farm, now that Nicholas had new equipment to tamper with.
“Why bother with such traditional methods–? This is a new age, Simon! These changes are going to make me rich. ” Simon often thought that Nicholas felt too superior to handle grubby farm work. The boy leapt off the hay and clasped his fine hands together, “I didn’t realise that money could be such a burden on my future plans. Ha-ha-ha!” Nicholas had an odd way of answering, as tone of his voice often echoed his anxiety and frustration with meeting the requirements of the inheritance. Simon’s eyes scanned the shadows under Nicholas’ eyes and immediately pitied him. Nicholas’ bright blue cat-like eyes fell to the floor momentarily–then met Simon’s, quickly, with an inquisitive manner, added more quietly: “And you?– What about you and your future?”
Simon steadied his chin on the handle of the pitch fork.
“It’s easy for me: I don’t think much about it.” He said simply, “Every morning I start a job. I live from day to day, you know, finding pleasure in the little things in life. When my job is done and I forget about it: simple.” Nicholas furrowed his brow as though he were confused. He pondered for a moment before arching his back gracefully as he stretched.
“Don’t you agree?” Simon asked with a lopsided smile.
Nicholas glanced sideways and sheepishly remarked: “I’ll trust you to finish off the hay piles...”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

That afternoon, Simon found himself stooping over the brilliant discarded leaves of the hazel tree. They lay around him like a fallen nimbus of glowing yellow under his feet. Their brilliance raked away into a neat pile. He turned to address the young voice that called him softly:
“Simon–!”
Simon lifted his head, mesmerized by the melodic, soft voice and stared at the figure approaching him. Charlotte Beetes, a young friend of the pair, trotted up to him, her short skirt wrapped around her slender legs; Simon’s heart began to thump uncontrollably.
1916 and 1917 were the years when the old spirit died forever in England–the war left its mark on her working class family. Charlotte’s father died from ghastly wounds and her mother resorted to working for a living: nursing wounded soldiers. Although they still had a roof over their heads, her mother now carried the burden of being the sole provider for her family. And yet, this rarely fazed Mrs Beetes. Charlotte’s mother was well suited to her role as a humanitarian. The war may have brought its tragedies, but it also gave Charlotte and her mother an opportunity for change. Charlotte had choices: no longer predetermined by societal expectations. Charlotte did her best to contribute to the family’s needs: determined to shine in a new society where women were known as independent decision-makers.

She paused a moment to catch her breath. “I haven’t seen you in a while– Not like you to do such menial work. Why the sudden change?” she asked, bundling her hair in a knot behind her and leaning on the fence that separated them.
“It’s the inheritance, you see–" Simon said vaguely.
“Ah! –Yes, I heard he was having complications–Do tell! What has become of him?” Charlotte’s emerald eyes lit up like a child’s: inquisitive with a touch of mischief. Simon sighed heavily – his shoulders slumped. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but he’s overworking himself. Time has passed and it’s running out. He’ll wear himself out if he doesn’t take it easy!”
“You don’t say!–So what else has he been doing?”“He has been too ‘busy’ making money” Simon mocked, raising his eyebrows. Disappointed, Charlotte pursed her lips together.
“I guess Nicholas is a bit obsessed with his ‘work’! Mind you, he’s always wanted to be rich. He is too impatient for traditional farm work.” She pictured Nicholas’ effeminate feline movements toying with machinery and shuddered.
“Well,” Simon began, lowering his voice just above a whisper, “He’s an ambitious lad– he’ll do anything. He’ll need to make a move soon to fulfil the terms of the legacy. He may even ask you to marry him.”
“Me–?” Charlotte asked, suddenly overwhelmed by the suggestion. Her heart began to beat frantically: had she even felt attracted towards Nicholas Rhodes? Oh–! She had never even considered marrying such a lad in the future: nothing had prompted her. She knew his money would provide stability, but was it enough? Should she marry Nicholas Rhodes? Could she be content with security and not with love? She felt her chest tighten. Did she have a choice? Oh! But how society would jeer if she should refuse him. Martyrdom was not in fashion. Charlotte closed her eyes.
It made her wonder– could she refuse him?

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

That night Charlotte dreamed of a slender black cat. His crisp blue eyes beckoned her to him. He appeared threatening. He did not move, but instead watched her, making her feel intimidated. His coat shimmered under a lamplight–He felt nearer than it looked. When she turned away from his pearly white grin, he stalked her, ready to pounce. No matter how fast Charlotte ran the cat always caught up with her. She felt trapped. Charlotte woke from the nightmare. It lingered in the back of her mind throughout the day.

When the first snowflake fell a month later, Charlotte had forgotten about the cat and Nicholas’ complications. She continued her visits to the two young men, occasionally being invited in for tea. She soon found herself feeling differently towards Simon. Her heart seemed to melt when in his presence. She became aware that her feelings had changed.
“That’s it–!” Nicholas cried one afternoon. Simon was cleaning the mud off his boots. He looked up half attentive.
“What?” he replied curiously.
“I’ve decided to marry Charlotte.” Nicholas paced around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “She’s a friend– She’ll be glad of it. It’ll settle my problem, as well as hers. I’ve got the money. Yes–! Ha-ha! I’ve got it all planned out. Surely she has realised my tea invitations had a purpose my invitations”. Simon jumped slightly, startled by his assertiveness.
“You can’t be serious! Did you ask her–?” he uttered in disbelief, “Do you even love her?”
“Love? What is love when I can provide security?” Nicholas claimed.
“Can you live with someone you don’t love?” Simon pressed.
“Well–she’s pleasing to the eye. She’s a friend. Love may grow in time. She doesn’t have to love me: she will do her duty by me and that’s all that matters.” Nicholas exclaimed to himself arrogantly, biting his lip. His eyes glazed over as he pondered.
“Charlotte won’t settle for this: women tend to want more these days. What if she rejects you?” Simon curled his top lip.
Nicholas sat down in front of Simon, looking into his face. “Well, if she’s silly enough to turn me down, there’s always Alice Green from town.” He suddenly rose and began to pace uneasily around the room. A shadow cast on his fair brow as his hands slipped into his pockets. No, Nicholas did not love Charlotte, but he wanted the woman. He was fixated upon having her. He felt it was his destiny to have her, in order to keep the inheritance he rightfully earned. Deep within himself he felt a growl stirring. They were not going to take his inheritance away on this silly whim. She would do her duty and marry him. He was sure she would do it. He had his mind set on her. She would come to him. Of course she would.
But was it his decision alone?

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

That evening Simon saw Charlotte on her way back from town, her arms full of parcels. Trampling the withered leaves underneath his boots, he made his way over to her and took a parcel from underneath her arm.
“Have you heard? Nicholas has chosen his bride.” Simon said unemotionally.
“Really–? Who is it?” Charlotte asked, fidgeting with the remaining parcels. He bit his lip before answering.
“He wants to marry you” he said softly.
At that point, everything around Charlotte seemed to press on her. She was stunned into silence. Something was missing. Her thoughts were torn between the expectations of duty and a loveless marriage. After all, the youth was a man of means: he would provide benefits– security. Perhaps it was easier to accept him. On the other hand, a large part of her mind rejected the thought. She was not in love with Nicholas Rhodes.
“So he plans on proposing, does he?” was all Charlotte could bring herself to say. She felt herself lose her grip on the parcels.
“He plans to see you tomorrow.” Simon confirmed regretfully.
There was a long pause before Charlotte answered.
“We shall see.” She said, looking at Simon directly. He was surprised by her words.
At that moment, Simon looked into her face and stared hard, as if searching beyond her eyes. Charlotte’s heart began to beat frantically, yet she remained still–paralysed. She could not understand why she was unable to move. She tried to open her mouth to speak: no sound came out. It was then when she heard the deep, throbbing stroke of Simon’s heart thundering in her ears–signalling to her. She could hear it pounding upon her very soul. She could feel that they were together.
Their hearts spoke to each other: words were not necessary.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The snow seemed light the next morning, like traces of scattered clouds. Nicholas was the first to greet Charlotte when she arrived. He adjusted his shiny black gloves and gave her a wave. “Charlotte–! Good morning!” he called. Charlotte slowly made her way over to the pair, preferring to stand particularly close to Simon for comfort. Nicholas put his gloved hand up to her cheek, exploring her face.
“Your gloves...” Charlotte commented, stepping back: unnerved by the softness against her skin.
“Oh–! Do you like them? Oh!–Never mind the gloves. How are you? Let me look at you. Ah–! Yes! You look more wonderful than ever. Far more wonderful!” he exclaimed, capturing her face in both his hands, “We have so much to discuss. Can’t you guess?” Nicholas grinned like a Cheshire cat. Charlotte pursed her lips together and said nothing. “I think we should marry. I have no doubt you’ll accept.”
The sound of his words, and the calculated utterance in his voice made her heart shudder. She stiffened herself and drew away. She would have nothing to do with him or his inheritance. It was a moment before she spoke.
“You assume I’ll accept? How dare you?”. Those were the words Nicholas did not want to hear.
“What do you mean?”. Charlotte looked at Nicholas hard: his face was white.
“I do not love you Nicholas: your cold hearted proposition does not appeal to me. I have choices that are of greater value. Your money will not buy you happiness. Love cannot be bought. Women these days want more out of partnerships, rather than mere security.”
Simon entwined Charlotte’s hand in his own. She continued: “Besides, there is someone else. Simon and I are to be married. He values a relationship, not a contract.”
The pair began to leave hand-in-hand.
“There’s always someone else who would accept me: Alice Green!” Nicholas spat.
From behind, Charlotte could feel Nicholas’ anger penetrate the back of her shoulders. She gave him a look of self-satisfaction: she had retained her identity and broken the barriers of gender inequality. Suddenly, the apprehension seized Charlotte when he looked straight at her with his blue eyes and that bright, unseeing look. Her unpredictable dream-cat stared back at her. Charlotte quickly composed herself.
“He’ll be alright,” she said quietly, “Cats always land on their feet.”

* Image Source: www.tundafunda.com/393/?level=picture&id=3299 *