This passage is excerpted from Katherine Mansfield,. Originally published in 1921.
The Picton boat was due to leave at half-past eleven. It was
a beautiful night, mild, starry, only when they got out of the
cab and started to walk down the Old Wharf that jutted out into
the harbour, a faint wind blowing off the water ruffled under
Fenella’s hat, and she put up her hand to keep it on. It was dark
on the Old Wharf, very dark; the wool sheds, the cattle trucks,
the cranes standing up so high, the little squat railway engine,
all seemed carved out of solid darkness. Here and there on a
rounded wood-pile, that was like the stalk of a huge black
mushroom, there hung a lantern, but it seemed afraid to unfurl
its timid, quivering light in all that blackness; it burned softly,
as if for itself.
Fenella’s father pushed on with quick, nervous strides.
Beside him her grandma bustled along in her crackling black
ulster; they went so fast that she had now and again to give an
undignified little skip to keep up with them. As well as her
luggage strapped into a neat sausage, Fenella carried clasped to
her grandma’s umbrella, and the handle, which was a swan’s
head, kept giving her shoulder a sharp little peck as if it too
wanted her to hurry. Men, their caps pulled down, their collars
turned up, swung by; a few women all muffled scurried along;
and one tiny boy, only his little black arms and legs showing
out of a white woolly shawl, was jerked along angrily between
his father and mother; he looked like a baby fly that had fallen
into the cream.
Then suddenly, so suddenly that Fenella and her grandma
both leapt, there sounded from behind the largest wool shed,
that had a trail of smoke hanging over it, “MiaooooOO!” “First
whistle,” said her father briefly, and at that moment they came
in sight of the Picton boat. Lying beside the dark wharf, all
strung, all beaded with round golden lights, the Picton boat
looked as if she was more ready to sail among stars than out
into the cold sea. People pressed along the gangway. First went
her grandma, then her father, then Fenella. They stepped out of
the way of the hurrying people, and standing under a little iron
stairway that led to the upper deck they began to say goodbye.
“There, mother, there’s your luggage!” said Fenella’s father,
giving grandma another strapped-up sausage.
“Thank you, Frank.”
“And you’ve got your cabin tickets safe?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And your other tickets?”
Grandma felt for them inside her glove and showed him the
tips.
“That’s right.”
He sounded stern, but Fenella, eagerly watching him, saw
that he looked tired and sad.
“MiaooooOO!” The second whistle blared just above their
heads, and a voice like a cry shouted, “Any more for the
gangway?”
“You’ll give my love to father,” Fenella saw her father’s lips
say. And her grandma, very agitated, answered, “Of course I
will, dear. Go now. You’ll be left. Go now, Frank. Go now.”
“It’s all right, mother. I’ve got another three minutes.” To her
surprise Fenella saw her father take off his hat. He clasped
grandma in his arms and pressed her to him. “God bless you,
mother!” she heard him say.
And grandma put her hand, with the black thread glove that
was worn through on her ring finger, against his cheek, and she
sobbed, “God bless you, my own brave son!”
This was so awful that Fenella quickly turned her back on
them, swallowed once, twice, and frowned terribly at a little
green star on a mast head. But she had to turn round again; her
father was going.
“Goodbye, Fenella. Be a good girl.” His cold, wet
moustache brushed her cheek. But Fenella caught hold of the
lapels of his coat.
“How long am I going to stay?” she whispered anxiously.
He wouldn’t look at her. He shook her off gently, and gently
said, “We’ll see about that. Here! Where’s your hand?” He
pressed something into her palm. “Here’s a shilling in case you
should need it.”
A shilling! She must be going away for ever! “Father!” cried
Fenella. But he was gone. He was the last off the ship. The
sailors put their shoulders to the gangway. A huge coil of dark
rope went flying through the air and fell “thump” on the wharf.
A bell rang; a whistle shrilled. Silently the dark wharf began to
slip, to slide, to edge away from them. Now there was a rush of
water between. Fenella strained to see with all her might. Was
that father turning round? Or waving? Or standing alone? Or
walking off by himself? The strip of water grew broader,
darker. Now the Picton boat began to swing round steady,
pointing out to sea. It was no good looking any longer.
The Picton boat was due to leave at half-past eleven. It was
a beautiful night, mild, starry, only when they got out of the
cab and started to walk down the Old Wharf that jutted out into
the harbour, a faint wind blowing off the water ruffled under
Fenella’s hat, and she put up her hand to keep it on. It was dark
on the Old Wharf, very dark; the wool sheds, the cattle trucks,
the cranes standing up so high, the little squat railway engine,
all seemed carved out of solid darkness. Here and there on a
rounded wood-pile, that was like the stalk of a huge black
mushroom, there hung a lantern, but it seemed afraid to unfurl
its timid, quivering light in all that blackness; it burned softly,
as if for itself.
Fenella’s father pushed on with quick, nervous strides.
Beside him her grandma bustled along in her crackling black
ulster; they went so fast that she had now and again to give an
undignified little skip to keep up with them. As well as her
luggage strapped into a neat sausage, Fenella carried clasped to
her grandma’s umbrella, and the handle, which was a swan’s
head, kept giving her shoulder a sharp little peck as if it too
wanted her to hurry. Men, their caps pulled down, their collars
turned up, swung by; a few women all muffled scurried along;
and one tiny boy, only his little black arms and legs showing
out of a white woolly shawl, was jerked along angrily between
his father and mother; he looked like a baby fly that had fallen
into the cream.
Then suddenly, so suddenly that Fenella and her grandma
both leapt, there sounded from behind the largest wool shed,
that had a trail of smoke hanging over it, “MiaooooOO!” “First
whistle,” said her father briefly, and at that moment they came
in sight of the Picton boat. Lying beside the dark wharf, all
strung, all beaded with round golden lights, the Picton boat
looked as if she was more ready to sail among stars than out
into the cold sea. People pressed along the gangway. First went
her grandma, then her father, then Fenella. They stepped out of
the way of the hurrying people, and standing under a little iron
stairway that led to the upper deck they began to say goodbye.
“There, mother, there’s your luggage!” said Fenella’s father,
giving grandma another strapped-up sausage.
“Thank you, Frank.”
“And you’ve got your cabin tickets safe?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And your other tickets?”
Grandma felt for them inside her glove and showed him the
tips.
“That’s right.”
He sounded stern, but Fenella, eagerly watching him, saw
that he looked tired and sad.
“MiaooooOO!” The second whistle blared just above their
heads, and a voice like a cry shouted, “Any more for the
gangway?”
“You’ll give my love to father,” Fenella saw her father’s lips
say. And her grandma, very agitated, answered, “Of course I
will, dear. Go now. You’ll be left. Go now, Frank. Go now.”
“It’s all right, mother. I’ve got another three minutes.” To her
surprise Fenella saw her father take off his hat. He clasped
grandma in his arms and pressed her to him. “God bless you,
mother!” she heard him say.
And grandma put her hand, with the black thread glove that
was worn through on her ring finger, against his cheek, and she
sobbed, “God bless you, my own brave son!”
This was so awful that Fenella quickly turned her back on
them, swallowed once, twice, and frowned terribly at a little
green star on a mast head. But she had to turn round again; her
father was going.
“Goodbye, Fenella. Be a good girl.” His cold, wet
moustache brushed her cheek. But Fenella caught hold of the
lapels of his coat.
“How long am I going to stay?” she whispered anxiously.
He wouldn’t look at her. He shook her off gently, and gently
said, “We’ll see about that. Here! Where’s your hand?” He
pressed something into her palm. “Here’s a shilling in case you
should need it.”
A shilling! She must be going away for ever! “Father!” cried
Fenella. But he was gone. He was the last off the ship. The
sailors put their shoulders to the gangway. A huge coil of dark
rope went flying through the air and fell “thump” on the wharf.
A bell rang; a whistle shrilled. Silently the dark wharf began to
slip, to slide, to edge away from them. Now there was a rush of
water between. Fenella strained to see with all her might. Was
that father turning round? Or waving? Or standing alone? Or
walking off by himself? The strip of water grew broader,
darker. Now the Picton boat began to swing round steady,
pointing out to sea. It was no good looking any longer.