Part 2 · Chapter 12Twelfth Chapter

It was a Saturday afternoon, gorgeous and sunny after a bunch of rain, and it felt like a youthful vibe was everywhere, even though it was autumn. Everything felt good.

As cars drove down Summer Street, they kicked up hardly any dust, and the smell of exhaust quickly faded, replaced by the scent of wet birch trees or pine. Mr. Beebe, with plenty of free time, leaned against his church gate.

Freddy leaned beside him, casually smoking a pipe.

"Hey, wanna go bother those new people across the street for a bit?" "M’m." "They might be entertaining."

Freddy, who was rarely amused by anyone, suggested the new people might be busy, since they’d just moved in.

"I suggested we go bother them," said Mr. Beebe. " They’re worth it." Unlatching the gate, he strolled across the little green to Cissie Villa. " Hey!" he called, shouting through the open door, where you could see a bit of a mess.

A serious voice replied, "Hey!"

"I brought someone to see you." "I’ll be down in a sec."

The hallway was blocked by a wardrobe that the movers hadn’t managed to get upstairs. Mr. Beebe squeezed around it with some effort. The living room itself was packed with books.

"Are these people big readers?" Freddy whispered. " Are they that type?"

"I think they know how to read - a rare skill these days. What do they have? Byron. Exactly. A Shropshire Lad. Never heard of it. The Way of All Flesh. Never heard of it. Gibbon. Hey! Dear George reads German.

Um - um - Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and so on."

"Well, I guess your generation knows its own thing, Honeychurch."

"Mr. Beebe, look at that," said Freddy in an awestruck tone.

On the top of the wardrobe, someone had painted this message: "Don’t trust any project that needs new clothes."

"I know! Isn’t that awesome? I love that. I bet the old man did that." "That’s so weird!" "Don’t you think?"

But Freddy was his mom’s son and felt like you shouldn’t go around messing with the furniture.

"Pictures!" the clergyman continued, rummaging around the room. " Giotto - they got that in Florence, I’ll bet." "The same as Lucy’s got."

"Oh, by the way, did Miss Honeychurch enjoy London?" "She came back yesterday." "I hope she had a good time?"

"Yeah, really," said Freddy, picking up a book. " She and Cecil are closer than ever." "That’s great news."

"I wish I wasn’t such a goofball, Mr. Beebe."

Mr. Beebe ignored the comment.

"Lucy used to be almost as clueless as I am, but she’s going to be totally different now, Mom thinks. She’s going to read all sorts of books." "So will you."

"Just medical books. Not the kind you can talk about afterwards. Cecil’s teaching Lucy Italian, and he says her playing is incredible. There are all these things in it that we’ve never noticed. Cecil says - "

"What on earth are those people doing upstairs? Emerson - we’ll come back another time."

George ran downstairs and shoved them into the room without saying a word.

"Let me introduce Mr. Honeychurch, a neighbor."

Then Freddy launched one of those bold statements of youth. Maybe he was shy, maybe he was friendly, or maybe he just thought George’s face could use a wash. At any rate, he greeted him with, "Hey, how’s it going? Wanna go swimming?"

"Sure," said George, totally unfazed. Mr. Beebe was cracking up.

"‘Hey, how’s it going? Wanna go swimming?’" he chuckled. " That’s the best conversation starter I’ve ever heard. But I’m guessing that’s just for guys.

Can you imagine a lady who’s been introduced to another lady by a third lady opening up with ‘Hey, how’s it going? Wanna go swimming?’"

"And yet you’re telling me the sexes are equal."

"I’m telling you, it’s gonna happen," said Mr. Emerson, who had been slowly coming down the stairs. " Hey, Mr. Beebe. I’m telling you, they’re gonna be friends, and George feels the same way."

"So, we’re leveling up the ladies?" the clergyman asked.

"The Garden of Eden," Mr. Emerson continued, still coming down, "which you think is in the past, is really still waiting for us. We’ll get there when we stop hating our bodies."

Mr. Beebe said he didn’t think the Garden of Eden was anywhere specific.

"Honestly, we guys are ahead on this - not on other stuff. We don’t hate our bodies as much as women do. But we won’t enter the garden until we’re all friends."

"Ugh, what about this swim?" Freddy mumbled, totally overwhelmed by all the deep thoughts.

"I used to be all about getting back to nature. But how can you go back to something you’ve never known? Now, I think we have to find nature. After we conquer a bunch of stuff, we’ll finally be simple. It’s our birthright."

"Let me introduce Mr. Honeychurch, whose sister you’ll remember from Florence."

"Hey, nice to meet you, and that you’re taking George for a swim. Really happy to hear your sister’s getting married. Marriage is a big deal. I’m sure she’ll be happy, since we know Mr. Vyse, too. He’s been so kind."

He ran into us by chance at the National Gallery, and he set up everything about this awesome house. Though, I hope I haven’t annoyed Sir Harry Otway.

I haven't met many Liberal landowners, and I was curious to compare his views on hunting laws with the Conservative views. Wow, this wind!

"You should totally swim. You live in a gorgeous country, Honeychurch!"

"Not really!" Freddy mumbled. " I - um, I have to stop by later, my mom says, I guess."

"Stop by? Who taught us that old-fashioned stuff? Go see your grandma! Listen to the wind in the pine trees! You live in a gorgeous country."

Mr. Beebe jumped in to help his young friend.

"Mr. Emerson, I’ll stop by, I’ll stop by; you or your son will return the visit before ten days are up. I hope you’ve got the ten-day thing in mind. It doesn’t count that I helped you with the stairs yesterday.

It doesn’t count that they’re going swimming this afternoon."

"Yeah, go swim, George. Why are you stalling, talking? Bring them back for tea. Bring back some milk, cakes, honey. It’s good for you. George has been working super hard at the office. I can’t believe he’s doing okay."

George nodded, covered in dust and looking gloomy, smelling like someone who’s been moving furniture.

"Do you even want this swim?" Freddy asked him. " It’s just a pond, you know. I bet you’re used to something better."

"Yeah - I already said ‘Yes.’"

Mr. Beebe felt like he had to help his young friend, and led the way out of the house and into the pine woods. It was gorgeous! For a little while, the voice of old Mr. Emerson followed them, sending good wishes and dropping philosophy.

Then, it stopped, and they only heard the wind blowing through the bracken and the trees. Mr.

Beebe, who could be quiet, but couldn’t stand silence, felt the need to chat, because the whole trip looked like it was falling apart, and neither of his companions was saying anything.

He talked about Florence. George listened seriously, agreeing or disagreeing with small but definite gestures that were as confusing as the movements of the tree branches above their heads.

"And what a coincidence that you met Mr. Vyse! Did you realize you’d find everyone from Pension Bertolini down here?"

"No, I didn’t. Miss Lavish told me."

"When I was younger, I always wanted to write a ‘History of Coincidence.’" No excitement.

"Though, honestly, coincidences are way less common than we think. For example, it’s not just a random thing that you’re here now, when you really think about it."

To his relief, George started to talk.

"It is. I’m telling you, I’m not just saying it. It's like, everything’s predetermined. We’re thrown together, then pulled apart - just like that. It’s the universe, you know? We can’t control any of it."

"You haven’t thought about it at all," the clergyman said, cutting him off. " Let me give you a quick tip, Emerson: don’t blame it on fate. Don’t say, ‘I didn’t do this,’ because you probably did. Now, let’s get to the point.

Where did you first meet Miss Honeychurch and me? "Italy."

"And where did you meet Mr. Vyse, who’s marrying Miss Honeychurch?" "The National Gallery."

"Looking at Italian art. See? You’re naturally drawn to Italian things, and so are we and our friends. That narrows things down a lot - we’re bound to bump into each other."

"It’s fate that I’m here," George insisted. " But you can call it Italy if it makes you feel better."

Mr. Beebe quickly changed the subject. He was super chill with young people and didn't want to embarrass George.

"And so, for this and a bunch of other reasons, my ‘History of Coincidence’ is still waiting to be written." Silence.

Trying to wrap things up, he added, "We’re all so glad you came." Silence. "Here we are!" called Freddy.

"Oh, awesome!" exclaimed Mr. Beebe, wiping his forehead.

"The pond’s over there. Wish it was bigger," he added, a little sheepish.

They climbed down a slippery slope covered in pine needles. There was the pond, nestled in a little green space - just a pond, but big enough to hold a person and clear enough to reflect the sky.

The recent rains had flooded the surrounding grass, creating a gorgeous emerald path leading to the middle.

"It’s a pretty successful pond, honestly," said Mr. Beebe. " No apologies needed for this pond."

George sat down on the dry spot and started taking off his boots, totally unenthusiastic.

"Aren’t those masses of willow-herb amazing? I love willow-herb when it’s got seeds. What’s the name of this aromatic plant?"

Nobody knew, or even seemed to care.

"These sudden changes in plants - this little patch of spongey water plants, and then tough or brittle stuff on either side - heather, bracken, gorse, pines. So charming, so charming."

"Mr. Beebe, aren’t you going for a swim?" called Freddy, as he started stripping off his clothes. Mr. Beebe thought he wasn’t.

"Water’s incredible!" cried Freddy, splashing in.

"Water’s water," murmured George.

He wet his hair first - a definite sign of being totally checked out - and followed Freddy into the water, as indifferent as if he were a statue and the pond was a bucket of soapy water. He had to use his muscles, you know?

Gotta stay clean.

Mr. Beebe watched them, and watched the seeds of the willow-herb dance above their heads.

"Apooshoo, apooshoo, apooshoo," went Freddy, swimming a few strokes in each direction, then getting tangled in reeds or mud.

"Is it even worth it?" asked the other, looking all dramatic on the flooded edge.

The bank crumbled, and he fell into the pool before he’d even had time to think about it.

"Hee-poof - I swallowed a pollywog, Mr. Beebe, the water’s amazing, the water’s seriously awesome."

"Water’s not bad," said George, popping his head out of the water and blinking in the sun.

"Water’s amazing. Mr. Beebe, you should totally do it." "Apooshoo, kouf."

Mr. Beebe, who was hot and always went along with things, looked around. He could only see pine trees rising steeply on all sides, gesturing to each other against the blue sky. It was gorgeous!

The world of cars and rural Deans just faded away.

Water, sky, evergreens, a breeze - those things even the seasons can’t touch, and they’re definitely beyond the interference of humans, right?

"I might as well wash up too"; and soon his clothes made a third little pile on the grass, and he too joined in the wonder of the water.

It was just regular water, and not much of it either, and, like, Freddy said it reminded him of swimming in a salad. The three guys were basically doing the breaststroke in the pool, like those nymph figures in Götterdämmerung.

But for some reason - maybe the rain made everything feel fresh, or the sun was blasting some serious heat, or because two of them were young and the third was young at heart - they totally spaced out Italy and Botany and Fate.

They started messing around. Mr. Beebe and Freddy splashed each other.

They splashed George a little more respectfully, because they thought they might have offended him. Then all that youthful energy just exploded.

He grinned, dove at them, splashed them, dunked them, kicked them, covered them in mud, and kicked them out of the pool.

"Race you around it," yelled Freddy, and they sprinted in the sunshine.

George took a shortcut and scraped his shins, so he had to take another dip. Then Mr. Beebe agreed to run - it was a sight.

They ran to dry off, they swam to cool down, they pretended to be Indians in the willow bushes and the ferns, they swam to get clean. And the whole time, three little bundles were chilling out on the grass, saying:

"No. We’re the important thing. Nothing starts without us. Everyone will turn to us in the end."

"Let’s play!" yelled Freddy, grabbing George’s bundle and putting it next to an imaginary goalpost.

"Socker rules," George retorted, kicking Freddy’s bundle. "Goal!" "Goal!" "Pass!"

"Watch my watch!" shouted Mr. Beebe.

Clothes were flying everywhere.

"Watch my hat! Nah, that’s enough, Freddy. Dress now. Nope, I’m serious!"

But the two young guys were losing it. They zipped into the trees, Freddy with a clerical vest under his arm, George with a wide-brimmed hat dripping all over his hair.

"That’s it!" shouted Mr. Beebe, remembering he was in his own parish.

Then his voice changed, like he was a Rural Dean himself. " Hey! Hold up! I see people coming, you guys!"

Yells and widening circles across the dappled ground. "Hey! hey! Ladies!"

Neither George nor Freddy was exactly polished. Still, they didn’t hear Mr. Beebe’s last warning or they would have avoided Mrs. Honeychurch, Cecil, and Lucy, who were walking down to visit old Mrs. Butterworth.

Freddy dropped the vest at their feet and dashed into some ferns.

George whooped in their faces, turned, and zoomed down the path to the pond, still rocking Mr. Beebe’s hat.

"Good heavens!" cried Mrs. Honeychurch. " Who were those crazy people? Oh, dears, look away! And poor Mr. Beebe, too! What happened?"

"Come this way right now," commanded Cecil, who always felt like he had to lead women, even if he didn't know where, and protect them, even if he didn’t know from what.

He led them towards the ferns where Freddy was hiding.

"Oh, poor Mr. Beebe! Was that his vest we left in the path? Cecil, Mr. Beebe’s vest - "

"Not our business," said Cecil, glancing at Lucy, who was all parasol and clearly "minded."

"I bet Mr. Beebe jumped back in the pond."

"This way, please, Mrs. Honeychurch, this way."

They followed him up the bank, trying to look tense but chill - the vibe for ladies in those situations.

"Well, I can’t help it," said a voice up ahead, and Freddy popped up a freckled face and a pair of snowy shoulders out of the fronds. " I can’t just be walked on, can I?"

"Good gracious me, dear; what a mess! Why didn’t you just have a nice bath at home, with hot and cold water?"

"Look, Mom, a guy’s gotta wash, and a guy’s gotta dry off, and if another guy - "

"Dear, you’re probably right as usual, but you’re not really in a position to argue. Come on, Lucy." They turned. " Oh, look - don’t look! Oh, poor Mr. Beebe! How unfortunate again - "

Mr. Beebe was just climbing out of the pond, where his clothes were floating around - seriously intimate stuff. Meanwhile, George, who was totally over everything, yelled to Freddy that he’s caught a fish.

"And I just swallowed one," said the guy hiding in the ferns. " A pollywog! It’s wiggling in my stomach. I’m gonna die - Emerson, you’re such a jerk, you’re all over my stuff."

"Guys, chill," said Mrs. Honeychurch, who couldn’t even be shocked anymore. " And seriously, dry yourselves off first. You catch colds because you don’t dry off properly."

"Mom, can we please go?" said Lucy. " Like, please?"

"Yo!" yelled George, and the ladies stopped again.

He looked at himself and thought he looked good. Barefoot, bare-chested, glowing and cute against the dark woods, he called out: "Hey, Miss Honeychurch! Hey!"

"Lucy, bow. You should bow. Who is it? I’m gonna bow." Miss Honeychurch bowed.

That evening and all through the night, the water drained away. The next day, the pool was back to normal - totally lost its vibe.

It had been a rush of feeling and a moment of letting go, a blessing that stuck with you, a kind of sacredness, a spell, a brief cup for young people.