Territorial Rights

by Muriel Spark

  ‘My friend, waiting for me.’

  ‘Well, ask him in,’ Violet said. ‘Let him come in and wait. Is that Robert who’s Curran’s friend?’

  ‘Robert Leaver,’ said Lina. ‘No, he won’t come in. He likes to wait about. He’s that sort of man. He likes to wait for me.’

  ‘He’s a very young man,’ Violet said.

  ‘He loves me,’ said Lina.

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Only loves me. He’s a student but not very much. He’s ten years younger. I’m not in rivalry never with no one.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve no need to be in rivalry, I’m sure. Well, let’s look at your studio and not keep him waiting in the cold. You can have him to visit you as often as you like.’ They were in the little lift now, going up. At the top Violet unlocked a large black door which opened into a vast bare attic.

  ‘We can get furniture. Anything you want. I’ve heaps of stuff,’ Violet said.

  Lina looked round the room. Two windows lit one half of it. The other half was in a very attractive gloom as if waiting for an occupant to light it. ‘What are my duties?’ Lina said suspiciously.

  ‘Oh, well,’ Violet said, getting ready to leave the attic and lock up, ‘let’s go down and discuss your little duties.’ But Lina lingered to look out of the windows which gave on to the back of the house.

  ‘You won’t see him from there.’

  ‘I was admiring the panorama,’ said Lina.

  On the way down in the lift Violet said, ‘As to your father’s grave, you must give me all the details and I’ll see what I can do to help. I can’t promise results, of course.’

  Lina said no word of thanks but followed Violet back into the study.

  ‘I’m so happy,’ Violet said, ‘that you are an artist. There’s something about a woman who is an artist. …Well, it’s a matter of one’s sixth sense, isn’t it?’

  ‘Which sense?’ Lina said.

  ‘I mean, as we say, sixth sense. We have five senses, all right. But some people have what you would call a sixth.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I need some pay if I work.’

  Violet looked sharply wounded, but only for a passing second. ‘I could get a lot of rent for that studio up there,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, but I could never afford it,’ Lina said, taking up her big shopping-bag, ready to go.

  Stingily but with determination Violet bargained for thirty-five minutes more. Curran would undoubtedly pay Violet well for this favour, but that was no reason to throw money away on Lina. She would have been willing to go on for the rest of the morning, weighing the probability that Lina was anxious to get away to her waiting lover against her own haste to employ Lina as cheaply as possible as a spy for GESS; for Violet had lived all her life from one opportunity to another and now it seemed to her only right and providential that Lina should be induced to investigate the elder Leaver through her friendship with the younger. And since Violet usually had several subsidiary reasons supporting the main one for any particular course of action, she bore in mind the possible usefulness of Lina in further, unforeseen, unspecified undertakings. And while her reasons were only a web in formation, her instinct was clear: the girl was in a weak position and far from home. It should be easy to get rid of her if she proved useless. Violet sighed. ‘I can give you a little money, of course, if you attach importance to money,’ she said. ‘I’m not a rich woman. My old butler has been bribed away to Florida. I only want to find some means to help you to find your father’s grave. There are people about in Venice, right at this moment, believe me, who probably know the whole story of your poor father. They, too, may be looking for his grave, would you believe it? There are forces at work, Lina. I could give you a list of names that would surprise you.’

  On both sides of the garden of the Pensione Sofia were dotted little circular flower-beds and shrubberies. Rose-bushes, geraniums, Michaelmas daisies, and various types of chrysanthemums were in bright bloom among dark leaves at grassy intervals from each other. And on either side, too, one of the larger flowery circles was surrounded by a gentle wire-hooped protection about twelve inches high, as if the flowers within those two particular circles were to be guarded more than the others. This seemed possibly to be a relic of some former floral arrangement. Lina and Robert walked up and down the gravel path, not daring to tread on the grass, although there was plenty of lawn-space between the flower-beds; it was only that, being well-trimmed and cared-for it had a forbidden look. Lina said, ‘If this was my garden I would plant it all wild and let everyone share it. It’s nice to walk in a wild garden.’

  He had been listening to her account of the interview with Violet. ‘I told her I would think it over a few days. That made her angry. Why shouldn’t I think it over? Anyway, besides, it is always good policy to say you want to consider.’

  ‘Quite right.’

  Only she might take on someone else. I think I would like that job. She can help me to find my father’s grave, and I am determined. She would give me a beautiful room in her palace but the pay is poor. I will keep her waiting some days.’

  ‘Well, you don’t need to work very hard for it, once you’re in. Get your foot in the house, then set your own working-pace. Don’t work for more than she pays you.’

  ‘You know,’ said Lina, ‘the job doesn’t sound very hard. She wants to know about people who come and go in Venice, so that she can compile data for her book on the sociology of Venetian tourism. It’s real sociology she wants me to do, which is better than housework, as I thought. I was really expecting to be lady’s-maid like part-time Cinderella; but you see I have to go out and study people, get to know them and all their business. Do you know, she suggested where I could start, and guess where?’

  ‘Florian’s café.’

  ‘Well, that would be one of the places. But Violet said I should be advised to try the Lord Byron; and you know, Curran has been talking to her; your friend, Curran, they have discussed her book, and he has told Violet about your father, you know, and his woman.’

  ‘She wants you to investigate my father?’

  ‘That’s right. There’s nothing personal about it. It’s only—’

  ‘What a good idea,’ Robert said. ‘What a very good idea. Get the low-down on them, Lina. Get all the facts about them and put them in Mrs de Winter’s book.’

  ‘Countess de Winter; she said I could call her Violet. The book will only have case-histories but no names, you see. I don’t know why you want to upset your father so much; after all, he is your father. I understand what you feel about the shamed woman, Robert, but your father is your flesh and your blood; if he was in his grave you would look for his grave like me.’

  ‘I would dance on it,’ Robert said.

  ‘What’s wrong with your father? Many men have mistresses, it isn’t their fault. When you’re older you will understand.’

  ‘He can have twenty mistresses. I just don’t like him.’

  ‘But you like Curran instead.’

  ‘No, I don’t like Curran, either.’

  ‘You love your mother?’

  ‘Oh, God! I just never think of her. She doesn’t count.’

  ‘You must be an idealist,’ said Lina. ‘You are a man of vision. What do you do all day when you don’t see me?’

  ‘I’m working on a book. Maybe a novel.’

  ‘Here is friends of yours, waving. Who are they?’

  ‘Grace Gregory,’ Robert said, ‘with her Leo. Let’s get out of here.’ He took Lina’s arm and turned her towards the garden exit.

  Grace, however, caught up with them, her breath cheerfully visible in the cold air as she said, ‘Well there you are, Robert, with your lady-friend. Come along now, introduce us, here’s Leo. We had a wonderful morning, didn’t we, Leo? Let’s all sit down on this bench. Sit down, sit down, what do you mean, it’s cold? I’m Grace Gregory and this is Leo. What name did you say Lina Pancake, ah, Panchoff. I always say foreign girls are good for a boy to start with, don’t I,
Leo? Oh, look there, over the hedge. It looks like a funeral.’ Sure enough, coming up the side-canal was a funeral barge, gold and black, brilliant with flowers.

  A Venetian funeral is intended not to be missed. Even the motor of the barge chugs with a mournful dignity. On the tip of the prow is a gilded ball with flame-like wings, signifying who knows what pagan or civic concept, but certainly symbolising eternity. Next on either side of the wide black boat come two golden lions couchant. Then the windscreen, surmounted by vivid masses of flowers under which is posted the sombre, steady-eyed driver. Close behind the driver the men of the family stand, hatted, in dark suits. Then the coffin in the middle of the hearse, the lid covered with bright yellow and red flowers, and the wooden sides glittering with elaborate carvings. More enormous-headed flowers cover the cabin at the stern where the women mourn with black veils and white handkerchiefs. Another ball of eternal flames at the stern gives moral support to the general idea. And all this is reflected in the water beneath it: the stately merchandise and arrogance of Venetian death, as of old, when money was weighty and haste was vile.

  Even Grace Gregory was impressed, exclaiming with approval how, with a funeral like that, nobody could pity the dead one. ‘I always hope that when my time comes nobody will come to the funeral and say “poor Grace”. That’s what I would object to.’

  Lina remarked that she wished she could find her father’s grave. ‘Maybe he had a funeral like that.’ Whereupon she and Grace, there in the garden, went into a series of avid questions, answers and explanations that lasted until Grace was apprised of the young woman’s situation and plight, and long after the funeral barge had disappeared. Robert walked away. Young Leo hung round the two women, staring with much appreciation at Lina as she gave her animated account of her life to the present date.

  Chapter Eight

  AN OPALESCENT DAY, PINK and grey. Lina was moving her light baggage and bundles, her square packages of canvases and painting-books, into the Ca’ Winter.’ It’s incredible,’ she said. ‘Robert promised to come and help me. I waited in all morning. I went down to the bar and I phoned his hotel Sofia. The lady answered; she said he wasn’t in, his bed has not been slept in and so therefore he must have been out all night. I phoned Curran and he was out. Then I bought a coffee and a bun and went to the Hotel Lord Byron. Curran just came in. He didn’t see Robert for two days. He said Robert wasn’t with him. But I said I had this appointment this morning at ten. So we phoned the Sofia again. No sign of Robert. Now I did my moving myself as I can easy do. But I wonder where is Robert?’

  ‘Maybe he’s gone back to Paris?’ Violet said, her eyes seeming to count the bundles and packages that had now been moved from the boat to the landing-stage and from there to the black and white squared floor of her elegant entrance-hall. ‘Is this all your stuff?’ Violet said.

  ‘Yes, it’s all mine.’

  ‘I mean, is there any more to come?’

  ‘Another boat-load, easy,’ said Lina. ‘Can you pay the fares? I don’t have no spare cash.’

  ‘Don’t think me interfering,’ Violet said, ‘but that carton of kitchen stuff could have been left behind.’ She was pointing to a large carton, bursting at its edges, which contained jars, tins and bottles of salt, vinegar, old pieces of soap that had been filched from public wash-rooms, toilet paper, a feather duster, three scorched pots, a black-looking frying-pan, a large bottle containing two inches of oil, a bottle with a half-used pink candle stuck into it, and other items of Lina’s household goods. She said, ‘The duster I need for my paintings; they should be cleaned only with the feathery duster which I need. I met Robert’s father at the Lord Byron and his woman who is not so bad. She won a football lottery but that doesn’t make her rich like Robert said. I can leave these things down here if you like as I have to go back for more, at least two journeys, and Robert is waiting for me I am sure. He is—’

  ‘What was that you said,’ said Violet, ‘about Robert’s father and his friend?’

  ‘Curran introduced me. They had not seen Robert, neither. The father said he didn’t know, didn’t care. The courtesan was not so bad and, you know, Violet, she was helpful to me, I must say. She said any friend of Robert’s is a friend of hers. A real woman.’

  ‘And the football pool? What did you say! She won a prize?’

  ‘She is not so rich like Robert said she was. Only she won a football pool and that is rich for a cook, and it would be rich for me. But she isn’t rich like a millionaire that stinks so much. Curran came back to my flat to help me with my belongings. Curran was kind to me. I know it’s for the sake of Robert but it’s nice just the same. He’s got another boat coming with more of my goods right now.’

  Violet stared at Lina as she rattled on. Lina was counting, checking, and shifting her bundles as she spoke, but Violet’s ears had picked out one item only: Mary Tiller was not in the blackmail-rich category. This simple piece of information had come to her from the source she had employed to get it, and Violet, with her eyes on Lina’s bundles, now wavered somewhat. ‘Are you sure,’ said Violet, ‘that the lady-friend of Mr Leaver is not a very wealthy person? I understood she was. This is an example of the type of research I wanted you to do, Lina. You must be sure of your facts.’

  ‘But I am always sure of all my facts. I will get facts from all the visitors in Venice. I was told it from Grace Gregory, who I met at the Sofia, an old woman who looked after the schoolboys when Robert was at school. She had a frizzy-hair boy with her, so dumb. Curran was laughing a lot when he told me of the mistress of Robert’s father who is Mary Tiller, Curran likes her and he said she acts like she wants to spend all her money fast. I think like Curran that it’s very humorous. I hope he brought my lard. I have a five-kilo jar of it that I got the butcher to prepare for me after the shop hours, cheap. Lard is important both for stomach and intestines. It also lubricates the lungs within the chest.’

  ‘Lina,’ said Violet, ‘you know you should come on trial before bringing all your possessions along here. I’ll give you a week’s—’

  ‘Here’s Curran,’ said Lina, peering through the glass doors. She opened them. A loaded water-taxi was approaching the landing-stage of the Ca’ Winter, with Curran standing in the midst of a pile of fruit-boxes laden with objects and two armchairs which oozed stuffing at many points,

  Violet went out, shivering in her jumper and tweed skirt. Curran smiled at her affectionately as if taking it for granted that she would share an indulgent benevolence towards Lina and her trappings.

  ‘What d’you think of this lot?’ he said as the boat bumped against the moorings.

  ‘Look, Curran’ said Violet with a crack in her calm voice that made him look at her attentively. ‘Lina is only on trial. I’m sure she doesn’t want to come on a permanent basis until she finds out whether she likes it. And for my part, I—’

  ‘Oh, I shall like it. I intend,’ Lina said. She jumped into the boat to grab one of her boxes, setting it rocking and causing the driver to shout.

  ‘But it’s all settled, Violet,’ said Curran. ‘I can’t let Robert down at this point I promised him I’d get a job for Lina, and you’ve offered her the job.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be useful,’ Lina said, puffing. She was carrying a large open crate, from which the top layer of contents, a hammer, an electric grinder, a mammoth-sized pot of paint and an Italian-English dictionary, gave a hint of the great weight of everything below. ‘Where’s my spirit-stove?’ said Lina when she had dumped her box heavily on the lovely black and white square tiles of the hall. ‘Oh, God, my tiles!’ said Violet. ‘My spirit-stove,’ said Lina, ‘must be somewhere. I need it for my travels if necessary. Most of my furniture I gathered here and there for my flat, but my spirit-stove is necessary for survival. I had it since I made my act of exile. Now, where is it?’ Curran, on the landing paying the drivers of the two boats, stopped doing so; he helped Lina back into a water-taxi and followed her, to make sure the spirit-stove had not been le
ft on the floor of either of the boats. One of the drivers shouted something, whereupon Curran told him to keep the change, helping Lina, with her long skirts lifted, to the landing-stage once more, still calling for her spirit-stove to the skies and to the waters. All of which was witnessed by various Venetians from the footpath and by some of Violet’s elegant tenants from behind the discreet windows of their apartments in the Ca’ Winter.

  Violet now stepped forward and ordered the second driver to wait. She looked at Curran and said, firmly, ‘All this stuff must go back. I can’t have it here. I’ll pay Lina a month’s wages and let it go at that.’

  ‘I’ve nowhere to go,’ Lina said. ‘I’ve rented my flat to an Ethiopian student. I’ve brought my belongings to your house. You gave me the attic studio and I have my civil rights. I fled my country and I got asylum. You have no rights on your side. The student has paid me three months’ rent in advance, which is money that I needed, and it is my right to make my profit in a capitalist system.’ She hauled the first of her bundles over to the lift and pressed the button for it to descend. She pushed in the bundle and heaved another package over to the lift. ‘And I can help you with your researches, like you said you will help me with mine. Don’t worry.’

  ‘You promised,’ said Curran, suddenly infuriated, ‘to help her find her father’s grave.’ Violet stood still and dignified, as if the pink and pearl daylight were her natural backdrop. ‘Her father’s grave must be somewhere in Venice,’ Curran said somewhat emphatically. Violet looked at Curran and they smiled at each other. ‘My spirit-stove,’ Lina said, pouncing upon it where it lay behind a box. ‘Now I go up to the top and I come down again for the rest. If you hand over the key, I know my way,’ said Lina.

  Later that day Violet sent off a telex to GESS which, decoded, read: ‘Friends at Hotel Ld Byron. She won two hundred thousand in a lottery two years ago otherwise penniless. Please instruct but must warn operational costs this end increased twenty-five percent.’