How Beautiful Are Thy Feet

by Alan Marshall

  ‘Snap out of it,’ he said. ‘Forget it. What matter what he says if your conscience is clear. By losing that pawn one wins the game.’ (She won’t appreciate that. I wonder who thought of it.)

  ‘But Mr Fulsham believes all Correll says. I told him he was a liar.’

  She sniffed and blew her nose on the damp square of her handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes.

  ‘Mr Fulsham probably knows it.’

  ‘Well, he can go to hell for all I care. I’m leaving now. I will never work under him again, the dirty rat.’

  The accountant fingered his chin, looking at her.

  The body … Its value today is no guide to its value tomorrow A temporary set-back, a depreciation in value, and she decides to clear out. If she had any brains she’d have him eating out of her hand before the knock-off bell. She will be back in a couple of days in any case. What the deuce does he see in her. If I had money I’d pick my mistress with an eye for charm. He thought of a girl called June Mackay.

  Miss Claws continued crying. A profound depression suddenly settled on the accountant’s spirit.

  He reached over and took her hand in his. ‘Come on. Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

  She smiled at him. Tears glittered in her eyes. ‘I’m leaving,’ she said. She rose and put on her coat and hat.

  He watched her in silence. ‘Good-bye,’ she said.

  She walked through the door and out to the street. He wondered where she would go; whether she would go straight home; what she would say when she got there; if her mother would be angry.

  He sighed and walked back to his office. A few yards from the door he commenced to hum ‘Oh, Speak to Me of Love.’

  6

  Racks … girls’ heads visible above them … behind them … the cleaning room buzzes with a new note … it’s nearly jive and you’re going out … a day less in ‘white week’ … and buck skin shoes and drifting cleaning-powder that clogs the hair … dusty hair that shakes on dull, dark heads … bright gold heads that snare the light … tissue-paper-wrapped heads … blow that … it’s too much trouble … I’m washing mine tomorrow … but it’s nearly Jive … and heads bob and earrings shake and streaking brushes, hand-ridden, hover over shoes …

  If you come at that again you ‘11 find yourself in the gutter … he said, don’t let me find you at any parties he’s at; that’s all, he said … his hands were working all over the joint … he was hostile all right …

  Now then, Kitty, stop talking, it will soon be five … and it will soon be five … and you want to laugh and talk when it will soon be jive … and you smile at each other … the tall traveller is talking to Clynes … and he leans over to pick up shoes … he presses on you … his slipping hand is on your shoulder … excuse me … and he presses on Jean and Kitty … but they don’t care … it will soon be Jive and the machinery sounds different … when he leans across you it is not as bad as if it were the morning and you had to work all day … his hands are in his pockets … looking at you with still eyes … talking to Clynes as he looks at you with still eyes … Excuse me … now this shoe has a first class finish … I know one thrill going to the dance tonight … perhaps he … Old Charley’s doorway … we could stand there … but it’s nearly … the bell! … it is five … the noise of the machinery dies away …

  Wash your hands … and the water in the solitary bucket resting in its low iron stand, has a scum on it … It is full of hands that dip and rub and plunge … and you laugh and push … for there is only one bucket … and you splash and flick your hands … it is jive … and you flick your hands … but you are suddenly tired and not so happy …

  ‘It will stand up to it, will it?’ asked Clynes.

  ‘Well, they’re on the last now,’ replied the traveller. ‘You’d better slip them and see. You should have no trouble to bring them back to it.’

  ‘Some lines don’t suit the job, though. That dressing is more suitable for hide.’

  ‘That’s the one you wanted.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s what I’d call a semi-bright.’

  ‘You have a good glosser. She brings them up like eggshells.’ The traveller held the shoe in his hand but his eyes travelled over the backs of the girls massed at the doorway. ‘These other shoes are in all stages.’

  ‘This one’s a bit dull,’ said Clynes.

  ‘Well, the better the leather the better it takes. That’s a poor piece.’ He fingered the leather, glancing first at the shoe and then at the girls.

  ‘I don’t like that high, bright finish.’

  ‘No,’ said the traveller. ‘You have some nice lines working here.’ he said, nodding his head towards the girls trooping down the stairs and moving with short, impatient steps past them.

  ‘There’s your car waiting, Sadie,’ said Biddy, as they stepped on to the street.

  ‘Oo! so it is,’ said Mabel.

  ‘Are you going?’ asked Leila. Ron Hughes brushed past her. ‘Tonight,’ he whispered.

  ‘Just watch me,’ said Sadie.

  She stepped off the curb. ‘Here! Wait on,’ said Mabel. ‘Walk with us till we pass him. We want to see what he looks like.’

  They walked in a line, laughing and talking.

  A man standing beside a blue sedan car, his head slightly lowered, watched the groups of girls passing. He smoked and blew smoke slowly through his nostrils. He was fat with pouches beneath his eyes. When the four girls approached, his expression became crafty and suave.

  ‘How are we tonight,’ he said mockingly, looking at Sadie and flicking his cigarette.

  Sadie stopped.

  ‘Not so bad.’

  ‘Good-bye, Sadie,’ said Biddy, smiling. The three friends passed on.

  The man opened the car door and said, ‘Come on. Step in.’

  Sadie hesitated, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

  ‘You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ she said sarcastically.

  The man placed his hand on her elbow, guiding her. ‘Not always.’ He smiled suggestively.

  Sadie stepped in. He closed the door and, walking round the car, got in beside her.

  The car moved off. Workers crossing the road, stopped to let it pass.

  ‘There she goes,’ said Mabel. The three girls waved their hands.

  Sadie leant back in her chair and blew an inverted cone of smoke upwards.

  Well, I got a good feed out of him, anyway. Now, what. I’ll have to be careful.

  She said, ‘I must be going home.’

  ‘So early!’ he exclaimed, testily.

  She stood up.

  ‘I’m tired, tonight.’

  He signalled a waiter.

  ‘We’ll get out of here, at any rate.’

  In the car he engaged himself for a moment with straightening his strained vest, feeling in his pockets, blowing his nose, wiping the film of food from his lips … He put a Lifesaver in his mouth.

  Sadie, composed and confident, looked at her face in a handbag mirror.

  ‘Can you make that light on your dash shine upwards?’

  He switched on a light in the roof of the car.

  ‘That’s better.’

  He sniffed and said jocosely, ‘I’d like to taste that lipstick.’

  ‘Here,’ she said, holding it towards him, still intent on her reflection.

  ‘It’d taste nicer off your lips, thanks.’ His foot pressed the starter.

  They drove in silence. The man kept glancing at the side streets.

  ‘Gee! it’s hot, isn’t it?’ said Sadie.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, preoccupied. He peered through the window.

  He suddenly became playful and patted her leg above the knee. ‘Some leg.’

  ‘Don’t paw like that.’

  ‘Dicken you don’t like being handled.’

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders.

  The man suddenly turned the car into a deserted street. He pulled up beneath the shadows of two huge gasometers.
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br />   ‘Here!’ exclaimed Sadie. ‘I haven’t got time to park. Drive me home.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time, sister.’ His tone changed to one more placating. ‘I won’t keep you long. Let’s get in the back seat.’

  ‘No. This will do me. Look, I’ve got to get home.’

  ‘Come on. Sit in the back for a while.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What the hell’s the matter with you. Come on.’

  ‘Your wife will be waiting for you. Drive me home.’

  ‘I’m not married. What makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, nothing! You’re married all right.’

  ‘Not me. No, come on …’

  He placed his arm around her. His hand slid beneath her further armpit.

  ‘Here! What are you comin’ at?’ She resisted him.

  He twisted and clasped her to his sponge-rubber body. She brought her hands up to his soft chest and pushed desperately. His mouth skid across her cheek, searching eagerly.

  She broke away from him.

  ‘Here,’ he said roughly, ‘I want you before I go home.’

  ‘What do you mean, you big stiff?’

  ‘Don’t crack innocent to me. Come on. I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘You drive me home.’ The words were savage.

  ‘Well, how much do you want?’

  ‘Just as much as the baker gives your wife,’ she snapped at him. ‘Now take me home … Take your hands off.’

  She locked her knees and clutched her dress.

  ‘So I’ve wasted three weeks for nothing. Is that it?’

  ‘You’ll waste a lot more before you get anything from me.’

  ‘What did you think I wanted you for? Because you’re pretty and I wanted to kiss you?’

  ‘Kiss you! I’d kiss a dog first.’

  She wrenched free and threw open the door. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Here.’ He grasped her arm angrily. ‘Come back. I’ll drive you home.’

  She closed the door and settled back in the corner.

  He started the car, grumbling. In the main street he asked, ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Napoleon Street.’

  ‘I always dump my leavings at their gate.’

  ‘Nice man.’

  ‘Do you treat every man you go out with, like this?’

  ‘No. I treat gentlemen differently.’

  ‘So that’s it, is it? You only knock back chaps like me.’

  ‘Aw, shut up!’

  With a swift wrench he turned the car into a dark, blind street leading to the river.

  ‘Hey! Where are you going?’

  ‘I want to have a talk to you.’ The words snarled behind his teeth.

  ‘You drive me home. Let me out at once. What do you think you are?’

  He pulled the car up with a sudden thrust of his feet. He jerked the hand-brake back to its limit. He turned and grasped her wrists. He thrust his face near hers and spoke with soft menace.

  ‘I’ll take you, sister.’ His teeth were set. The implication of the words brought a sudden widening of his eyes.

  She pulled back, but he bound his arms around her. She struggled, panting. She expelled words with short bursts of breath.

  ‘Let — me — go. Let — me — go. I’ll scream out.’

  He laughed softly, muffling the sound in her hair.

  Hot words pattered on her bare neck. ‘I’m going to, if it’s the last thing on earth I do. You’ve been stringing me on too long.’

  ‘You’re hurting me. Oh! you’re hurting me.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘You are, I tell you. Let me go. Oh! you’re hurting.’

  Strength left her. She felt suffocated. With a final effort of will she gasped with intense conviction: ‘If you touch me you will be a sorry man for the rest of your life.’

  He froze into stillness. He released her and drew away.

  ‘Oh! So that’s it, is it? I didn’t know.’

  Panting and dishevelled, Sadie seized her bag and commenced powdering her face.

  The man backed the car on to the main road. He drove along in silence.

  ‘Up here?’ he asked, at a street.

  ‘Yes.’

  As he turned the car he said, ‘I know a doctor who will fix you up. If you like, I will drive you round one night. He specialises in it.’

  Sadie looked at him, lips apart, uncomprehending. He drew into the curb.

  ‘What! I haven’t got that, you fool.’ She flung open the door, and then, over her shoulder, ‘What do you think I am.’ She laughed mockingly and sprang on to the street. She ran towards a gate.

  The man leant forward through the open door. ‘You little bitch,’ he called after her.

  ‘Would you like to go to a show?’ asked the accountant.

  Biddy moved his crutches so that they did not slant between them on the seat.

  ‘Just as you like. I’m not particular.’

  ‘Neither am I. Let’s park.’

  ‘Yes, let’s,’ she smiled at him.

  He drove towards Royal Park. Up narrow streets where children scattered and women gossiped, leaning on front fences. Bumping across gutters and shooting swiftly before stationary trams.

  The night was warm. On the city’s outskirts the darkness slunk from the last lights. The darkness on each side of the road was perforated with the red tail-lights of parked cars.

  He drew in beside the fence and said, ‘Let’s get out into the fresh air. It’s too hot in the car.’

  They got through the fence and walked across the grass. Royal Park seemed large and remote. There was no horizon of buildings behind them, only scattered trees against the sky. The city’s noise moved sadly through the darkness as if it had strayed. The sky above the horizon bore no stars. It was washed pale with the lights from a thousand lamps. The stunted gums around them huddled in groups.

  ‘Here,’ said the accountant, stopping. ‘These trees look broad-minded.’

  Biddy giggled. She sat down on the dry grass and looked up at him. She patted the ground beside her. ‘Come on.’

  A shadowy couple passed some distance away. Soft laughter came from the darkness behind them.

  ‘The poor man’s drawing-room,’ said the accountant, looking around.

  ‘Are you poor?’ she asked.

  ‘Sounds like the enquiry of a gold-digger to me,’ he said, sitting in front of her, squat-legged like a blackfellow. ‘This is how heathens sit before the idols they worship,’ he went on. ‘It’s rather good, this attitude — doesn’t need any words to explain it.’

  He looked at her fixedly for a moment, seeking to find her eyes in the pale shadow of her face. She leant forward a little and poised, suddenly quiet and still, her eyes fixed on his. He stretched his arms and drew her to him so that her head rested in the crook of his elbow, her face looking upwards. He bent to her mouth and kissed her with slow passion. She slipped an arm around his neck and clung to him.

  ‘You are beautiful, beautiful,’ he whispered, crushing her.

  She murmured words against his mouth.

  ‘Not there,’ said a voice. A couple moved further on.

  ‘That was Ron Hughes. I’m sure of it,’ said Biddy, turning her head and looking after them.

  ‘The Modern Shoe Company’s stamping ground,’ said the accountant. ‘Good Lord!’

  Ron Hughes drew Leila down beside him in the shadow of a tree.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she whispered, afraid.

  ‘You’re all right. Here. Come here. I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘I’m frightened.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said, hotly. ‘I’m mad about you.’ He pulled her to him, pressing his open mouth on her neck. ‘A-a-ah!’ He pressed against her. She was trembling. He clutched her savagely yet loosely so that he could feel the slip of silk over her warm skin as she twisted within his arms striving to turn on her face.

  ‘Please. No. Please.’

  He closed her mouth with his lips.
She shook her head. She gasped. She cried out. He raised his head and peered into the darkness, wondering whether anyone had heard.

  ‘Oh! Please don’t. Please.’

  ‘Hear that girl call out,’ said the accountant.

  Biddy looked towards the sound. ‘She should have stopped in the car.’

  The accountant had released her and lit a cigarette. He held it loosely between his fingers and looked at her with a faint quizzical smile on his lips.

  ‘Would you cry out if I acted like that?’

  Her eyes were mischievously mocking. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘How loud?’ He drew at his cigarette. The slim stems of his fingers glowed from the darkness.

  ‘Much louder than her.’

  ‘Give a demonstration. You see I want to be sure you don’t cry out too loudly.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Biddy, opening her mouth and throwing her head back.

  ‘You sing out beautifully. Everything you do is beautiful.’ He flicked the cigarette into the bushes. It described a red arc in the darkness.

  ‘Let’s lie back. Here rest your head on my arm and we will both look at the stars.’

  ‘I don’t know whether I should,’ said Biddy, looking down at him. Her arms were clasped round her knees upon which she rested her cheek. She rocked to and fro.

  ‘Well, stop there,’ he said. ‘It is delightful just watching you.’

  She lay down beside him with her head on his arm.

  He raised himself and, bending over her, pressed kisses on her neck, her eyes, her mouth. She lay strained and still, her spirit withdrawn in some remote transport.

  With sudden swiftness he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her so that she gasped and cried, ‘You’re hurting.’

  He released her and laughed a little shakily.

  ‘Sadism,’ he said as if to himself.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Cruelty. Love with cruelty.’

  ‘Why? Do you think you love with cruelty?’

  ‘No; but you said I hurt you.’

  ‘But I like being hurt by you.’

  ‘To a degree, I suppose.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t like me to bite a piece out of your neck for instance.’