When I Was Dead

When I Was Dead
by Vincent O'Sullivan


And yet my heart
     Will not confess he owes the malady
     That doth my life besiege."
                         All's Well that Ends Well

That was the worst of Ravenel Hall. The passages were long and gloomy, the
rooms were musty and dull, even the pictures were sombre and their subjects
dire. On an autumn evening, when the wind soughed and ailed through the trees
in the park, and the dead leaves whistled and chattered, while the rain
clamoured at the windows, small wonder that folks with gentle nerves went
a-straying in their wits! An acute nervous system is a grievous burthen on
the deck of a yacht under sunlit skies: at Ravenel the chain of nerves was
prone to clash and jangle a funeral march. Nerves must be pampered in a
tea-drinking community; and the ghost that your grandfather, with a skinful
of port, could face and never tremble, sets you, in your sobriety, sweating
and shivering; or, becoming scared (poor ghost!) of your bulged eyes and
dropping jaw, he quenches expectation by not appearing at all. So I am left
to conclude that it was tea which made my acquaintance afraid to stay at
Ravenel. Even Wilvern gave over; and as he is in the Guards, and a polo
player his nerves ought to be strong enough. On the night before he went I
was explaining to him my theory, that if you place some drops of human blood
near you, and then concentrate your thoughts, you will after a while see
before you a man or a woman who will stay with you during long hours of the
night, and even meet you at unexpected places during the day. I was
explaining this theory, I repeat, when he interrupted me with words,
senseless enough, which sent me fencing and parrying strangers,--on my guard.

  "I say, Alistair, my dear chap!" he began, "you ought to get out of this
place and go up to Town and knock about a bit--you really ought, you know."

  "Yes," I replied, "and get poisoned at the hotels by bad food and at the
clubs by bad talk, I suppose. No, thank you: and let me say that your care
for my health enervates me."

  "Well, you can do as you like," says he, rapping with his feet on the
floor. "I'm hanged if I stay here after to-morrow I'll be staring mad if I
do!"

  He was my last visitor. Some weeks after his departure I was sitting in the
library with my drops of blood by me. I had got my theory nearly perfect by
this time; but there was one difficulty. The figure which I had ever before
me was the figure of an old woman with her hair divided in the middle, and
her hair fell to her shoulders, white on one side and black on the other. She
as a very complete old woman; but, alas! she was eyeless, and when I tried to
construct the eyes she would shrivel and rot in my sight. But to-night I was
thinking, thinking, as I had never thought before, and the eyes were just
creeping into the head when I heard terrible crash outside as if some heavy
substance had fallen. Of a sudden the door was flung open and two
maid-servants entered they glanced at the rug under my chair, and at that
they turned a sick white, cried on God, and huddled out.

  "How dare you enter the library in this manner?" I demanded sternly. No
answer came back from them, so I started in pursuit. I found all the servants
in the house gathered in a knot at the end of the passage.

  "Mrs. Pebble," I said smartly, to the housekeeper, "I want those two women
discharged to-morrow. It's an outrage! You ought to be more careful." But she
was not attending to me. Her face was distorted with terror.

  "Ah dear, ah dear!" she went. "We had better all go to the library
together," says she to the others.

  "Am I master of my own house, Mrs. Pebble?" I inquired, bringing my
knuckles down with a bang on the table.

  None of them seemed to see me or hear me: I might as well have been
shrieking in a desert. I followed them down the passage, and forbade them to
enter the library.

  But they trooped past me, and stood with a clutter round the hearth-rug.
Then three or four of them began dragging and lifting, as if they were
lifting a helpless body, and stumbled with their imaginary burthen over to a
sofa. Old Soames, the butler, stood near.

  "Poor young gentleman!" he said with a sob. "I've knowed him since he was a
baby. And to think of him being dead like this and so young, too!"

  I crossed the room. "What's all this, Soames!" I cried, shaking him roughly
by the shoulders. "I'm not dead. I'm here--here!" As he did not stir I got a
little scared. "Soames, old friend!" I called, "don't you know me! Don't you
know the little boy you used to play with? Say I'm not dead, Soames, please,
Soames!"

  He stooped down and kissed the sofa. "I think one of the men ought to ride
over to the village for the doctor, Mr. Soames," says Mrs. Pebble; and he
shuffled out to give the order.

  Now, this doctor was an ignorant dog, whom I had been forced to exclude
from the house because he went about proclaiming his belief in a saving God,
at the same time that he proclaimed himself a man of science. He, I was
resolved, should never cross my threshold, and I followed Mrs. Pebble through
the house, screaming out prohibition. But I did not catch even a groan from
her, not a nod of the head, nor a cast of the eye, to show that she had
heard.

  I met the doctor at the door of the library. "Well," I sneered, throwing my
hand in his face, "have you come to teach me some new prayers?"

  He brushed by me as if he had not felt the blow, and knelt down by the
sofa.

  "Rupture of a vessel on the brain, I think," he says to Soames and Mrs.
Pebble after a short moment. "He has been dead some hours. Poor fellow! You
had better telegraph for his sister, and I will send up the undertaker to
arrange the body."

  "You liar!" I yelled. "You whining liar! How have you the insolence to tell
my servants that I am dead, when you see me here face to face?"

  He was far in the passage, with Soames and Mrs. Pebble at his heels, ere I
had ended, and not one of the three turned round.

  All that night I sat in the library. Strangely enough, I had no wish to
sleep nor during the time that followed, had I any craving to eat. In the
morning the men came, and although I ordered them out, they proceeded to
minister about something I could not see. So all day I stayed in the library
or wandered about the house, and at night the men came again bringing with
them a coffin. Then, in my humour, thinking it shame that so fine a coffin
should be empty I lay the night in it and slept a soft dreamless sleep--the
softest sleep I have ever slept. And when the men came the next day I rested
still, and the undertaker shaved me. A strange valet!

  On the evening after that, I was coming downstairs, when I noted some
luggage in the hall, and so learned that my sister had arrived. I had not
seen this woman since her marriage, and I loathed her more than I loathed any
creature in this ill-organised world. She was very beautiful, I think--tall,
and dark, and straight as a ram-rod--and she had an unruly passion for
scandal and dress. I suppose the reason I disliked her so intensely was, that
she had a habit of making one aware of her presence when she was several
yards off. At half-past nine o'clock my sister came down to the library in a
very charming wrap, and I soon found that she was as insensible to my
presence as the others. I trembled with rage to see her kneel down by the
coffin--my coffin; but when she bent over to kiss the pillow I threw away
control.

  A knife which had been used to cut string was lying upon a table: I seized
it and drove it into her neck. She fled from the room screaming.

  "Come! come!" she cried, her voice quivering with anguish. "The corpse is
bleeding from the nose."

  Then I cursed her.

  On the evening of the third day there was a heavy fall of snow. About
eleven o'clock I observed that the house was filled with blacks and mutes and
folk of the county, who came for the obsequies. I went into the library and
sat still, and waited. Soon came the men, and they closed the lid of the
coffin and bore it out on their shoulders. And yet I sat, feeling rather
sadly that something of mine had been taken away: I could not quite think
what. For half-an-hour perhaps--dreaming, dreaming: and then I glided to the
hall door. There was no trace left of the funeral; but after a while I
sighted a black thread winding slowly across the white plain.

  "I'm not dead!" I moaned, and rubbed my face in the pure snow, and tossed
it on my neck and hair. "Sweet God, I am not dead."

(End.)