by John Braine
"He has connections," Reggie said.
Reggie gave the clenched-fist salute. "Joe for King! Vote Labour!"
"You idiot," I said. "You know what Hoylake's like about politics."
"That's not politics," Teddy said. "Just a saying. Reggie used to chalk it on his tank before he went into battle."
"I never saw the inside of a tank," Reggie said. "I once saw a Jerry open the turret of a Sherman and throw in a hand grenade. The feeling of security they gave you at first sight was entirely ill-ill-illusory. Frankly, I've always believed in the old-fashioned war of attrition, when you stayed in a cosy concrete dugout and let the artillery do the fighting. I never could get HQ to agree with me, though. I always seemed to be advancing regardless. All over Africa, all over Italy."
"I thought I recognised you in Desert Victory," Teddy said. "A gallant figure with a bloodstained scarf round your head waving your men onward."
"I wish it had been me you saw," Reggie said. "I was one of the poor devils who got waved onward."
I heard the Librarian laughing. He had a high-pitched, rather effeminate laugh.
"That's his dirty-joke laugh," Reggie said. "He has a special one for every occasion. A respectful laugh, a refined laugh, a derisive laugh when I say something he doesn't agree with . . . If he'd been my sergeant I could always have found a chance to shoot the bastard. I should have stayed in the Army."
"You intellectual types," Teddy said. "Never content."
The Librarian joined us. He was a small man with eyes so deep-set that they gave the effect of being mounted horizontally. He was about thirty-five, and didn't look as if he'd ever been any younger.
"Enjoying yourselves?" he asked.
"We're just fighting the war over again, sir," Reggie said. He winked at us. "We decided that we should have let the Russians polish off the Germans and then gone in and polished off the Russians with the atom bomb." He winked again at us.
"Just what I've always said." The Librarian fizzed with enthusiasm. "The Allies have paid dearly for their mistake. When I was in Germany I saw what the Russians were really like. I don't mind admitting that I was a bit of a Communist before the war, but I soon changed my tune . . . What are you lads drinking?"
"We've ordered, thanks," I said. "Won't you have one with me?"
"Do you know, I think I will. They're all plutocrats at the Treasurer's, Reggie. That's always how it is: we torch bearers of culture are paid starvation wages, and the hard materialists, the men of facts and figures, are the lords of creation. I'll have a half of bitter, Joe."
"Pints here," I said. "Nothing but pints."
"We are making a night of it, aren't we?" He laughed, but I couldn't classify the laugh this time. "Mr. Hoylake has just imparted a rather clever story. Two old colonels were sitting in their club one day -- "
I didn't listen; I was remembering the way I'd checked Teddy and Reggie, I was remembering the way Hoylake had, in effect, refused a drink from me and then from the Librarian. He'd bought the drinks, not out of kindness but because of a protocol that wasn't, when one weighed it up, very much less rigid than diplomatic protocol. But the prizes were so small; Hoylake was the richest man in the room, with a salary of a thousand. George Aisgill, I was certain, would spend that amount on food and drink and petrol alone. Even Bob Storr wouldn't get much less than a thousand. In business, I ruminated, I'd have to soft-soap people whom I despised, I'd have to steer the conversation towards their favourite subjects, I'd have to stand them meals and drinks. But the game was worth the candle; if I sold my independence, at least I'd get a decent price for it.
" -- And the second old colonel said: ' Female camel, of course. There's nothing queer about old Carruthers.'" The Librarian threw back his head and laughed shrilly.
The beer was beginning to take hold of me; I realised that I'd had seven pints without noticing it. I worked out a little sum in my head: five one-and-fours plus one one-and-four minus one one-and-four from Hoylake -- "
"I meant to tell you. Joe," the Librarian said, "how much I enjoyed your performance in The Farm ."
"Hell," Teddy said, "so did he. I bet he rehearsed those love scenes! Admit it, you young ram."
"Tut tut," I said. "My relations with Mrs. Aisgill are pure as the driven snow."
"Funny old driven snow," Reggie said.
The Librarian giggled. "You really shouldn't cast aspersions. Though to tell you the truth I shouldn't personally object to a pure friendship with the lady to whom you refer." He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a long pull from his pint pot. Like most inexperienced drinkers, he felt obliged to keep up with the rest of the party; with a heroic effort, he drained off the rest of the pint, then hiccuped painfully. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I must go to change the goldfish's water, as the French say." He went out hastily, looking pale.
When he'd left, we burst out laughing. "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging," Reggie said. "The poor devil's not used to it, is he?"
"It's the thought of Alice," Teddy said, "unchaste thoughts are running riot."
"Tell the truth, Joe," Reggie said. "Aren't you doing a bit for her?"
"You mustn't ask me such questions. If I say yes, I'm a cad, and if I say no, I'm a liar." I grinned maliciously. "Would you like her yourself, Reggie?"
"My God, would I not! She's terrific. A trifle long in the tooth, mark you, but she has style, real style."
"What about June?" Teddy said. "Say a kind word for June. She has the merit of being a virgin too."
"She's only a child," Reggie said. "I'd feel the hot breath of the Sunday press of my neck if I made a pass at her. There's no comparison."
I felt a deep exultation. Whatever desires they had been tormented by, I'd fulfilled, and in six days would fulfill again. I was given for the asking what they'd never get in a thousand years; and I'd be given Susan too; and, if I wanted her, there was no reason why I shouldn't be given June.
Then I thought of Sparrow Hill and Warley Moor again. I knew that there was a cold wind outside and a light covering of snow. It would be quiet there and untouched and clean. The beer went dead inside me; I felt choked with my own selfishness as nasty as catarrh; there was nothing in my heart to match the lovely sweep of the moor and the sense of infinite space behind it and a million extra stars above. Then I shook the depression off me.
"Let's have a song," I said. "Clean but not too clean. Music, Teddy, please. 'The Foggy Foggy Dew.'"
Teddy struck the first keys on the cottage piano in the corner and I started to sing. Soon everyone was singing.
I loved her in the winter and in the summer too and the only thing I ever did wrong was to shield her from the foggy foggy dew . . .
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hoylake humming the tune to himself, an expression of benign approval on his face.
13
"You're quiet, darling," Alice said.
"I was admiring your figure," I said. "My God, you are beautiful. I'd like a picture of you like this. I'd keep it locked away, and look at it whenever I felt depressed . . ."
Looking back, I can see exactly how it happened. It need never have happened; those were the key words, spoken idly in Elspeth's flat one Friday evening. If, out of any of the countless million at my disposal, I'd used any other words, then my whole life, and hers, would have taken different courses. But her next words, spoken as idly as mine, started the avalanche.
She laughed. "There is a picture of me in the nude," she said. She named a Homes Counties town. "It's still at the municipal gallery, as far as I know. I was an artist's model once."
It was as if the soft hand gently caressing me had turned hard and big and hit me. I felt sick and betrayed and dirtied. I moved away from her in the bed. "You never told me. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I'd almost forgotten about it. It wasn't very important, anyway. I badly needed money, and I met this artist at a party and he wanted a model. I modelled for a photographer too. That was all. I didn't do it again."
"Didn't you?" I asked hoarsely. "Are you sure?"
"I don't tell lies," she said quietly. "You know that." Her eyes were cold. Then she smiled and stretched out her hand. "Darling, what a pother about nothing at all! I'd never have told you if I'd known you'd carry on like that. I didn't sleep with either of them, if that's what you're thinking, so you can set your mind at rest."
"Oh God," I said miserably, "what did you do it for? You didn't have to, there's millions of women have been as poor as you were and they'd rather have died than expose themselves like that for a few lousy shillings. Damn you to hell, I'd like to beat you black and blue."
"Damn you," she shouted, "what's it to do with you? It was years before I met you. Was I supposed to starve because someday I might meet a narrow-minded prude from Dufton who wouldn't like the idea of me showing the body God gave me?"
She got out of bed and began to dress hastily. "Since your beastly little provincial mind doesn't like nudity, I'd better cover myself up, hadn't I?"
I started to dress too. If only either of us had laughed, it would have been different; the sight of us both reversing our usual procedure and hurrying to put our clothes on, modestly averting each other's eyes, was actually very funny, But I was too angry and too sick; the idea of being naked for one moment longer turned my stomach.
She came over to my side of the bed to fasten up her stockings. "That's what you like, isn't it?" she said viciously. "Leg show and lingerie -- " She spat out the last word.
I took hold of her by her shoulders. "You stupid bitch, it isn't that at all. Can't you see that it's the idea of other peaple looking at your nakedness that I hate? It's not decent, don't you see?"
"Let me go," she said icily. I dropped my hands.
"My God," I said, "I understand now what makes men kill women like you."
"You're very brave," she said. "Highly moral too. It isn't decent of me to pose for an artist who sees me simply as an arrangement of colour and light, but it's perfectly okay for you to kiss me all over and to lie for an hour just looking at me. I suppose it gave you a thrill, a dirty little thrill, I suppose I'm your own private dirty postcard. You can't conceive that a man could look at a naked woman without wanting to make love to her, can you?"
"It's not that at all," I said wearily. I went across to the cupboard and poured myself a gin. I took it in one gulp and poured out another.
"Elspeth isn't rich, you know," Alice said waspishly. Her face was white and ugly and old. "You needn't take all her gin.
I took a pound note from my wallet and tossed it to her. "Give that to her. Tell her I broke the bottle."
She let it fall to the floor. I was tempted to pick it up; I knew very well that she'd buy Elspeth some more gin. But there are times when a man's dignity is worth more than a pound. I filled my glass again and lit a cigarette. I couldn't trust myself to speak.
"To think that I let you even touch me," she said quietly. "Look at you now. The typical attitude -- glass in hand, big red face glowering with outraged respectability. I thought you were different, but you're not. You're typical -- the decent chap who likes a little bit of fun but who knows where to draw the line. I'm your little bit of fun, I'm the slice off the cut cake that'll never be missed . . . You smug hypocritical swine!"
I found myself crumpling up my freshly lit cigarette. I threw it away and lit another with a shaking hand. She kept on talking, her voice low and controlled. "Get this clear. I own my body. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not ashamed of anything I've ever done. If you'd ever mix with intelligent people, you'd not be looking at me now as if I'd committed a crime." She laughed. It was an ugly harsh laugh which made my hair prickle. "I can just see you in Dufton now, looking at the nudes in a magazine, drooling over them. Saying you wouldn't mind having a quick bash. But blackguarding the girls, calling them shameless -- " The word came from her lips like a gobbet of phlegm. "Yes, look shocked. You've used the word often enough with your boozy friends, though, haven't you? I was damn near starvation when I transgressed your peculiar morality. You wouldn't understand that, would you? You make a great to-do about your humble beginnings, but you've never gone hungry." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder. I wonder. Probably someone else went short for our darling Joe, the fair-haired charmer."
I took another drink. It had a musty taste. "What do you think a POW gets to eat?" I asked bitterly.
She laughed again. "You didn't starve even then. You got extra because you looked so clean and Nordic, you told me so. Oh yes, you always fall on your feet. Why didn't you escape like Jack Wales?"
That was more than I could stand. "Don't mention that swine's name to me," I said furiously. "It was all right for him to escape. He had a rich daddy to look after him and to buy him an education. He could afford to waste his time. I couldn't. Those three years were the only chance I'd get to be qualified. Let those rich bastards who have all the fun be heroes. Let them pay for their privileges. If you want it straight from the shoulder, I'll tell you: I was bloody well pleased when I was captured. I wasn't going to be killed trying to escape and I wasn't going to be killed flying again. I didn't like being a prisoner but it was a damned sight better than being dead. Come to that, what did you do in the Great War?"
"All right," she said in a tired voice. "You can stop defending yourself. I needn't have brought that up. It's useless trying to explain that what I did isn't important and that there's nothing wrong in it. We're different kinds of people, and there's nothing more to be said."
"Isn't there? It doesn't seem any use trying to explain to you either. I'm not a hypocrite and I'm not a moralist; I don't care if you did sleep with the artist. It's just the thing itself that hurts me -- God, I never thought of it till now, why should I? I feel just as if I'd been kicked between the legs."
"I can't help that. You're making your own misery." The tears began to roll down her cheeks. "Oh, damn you, damn you, damn you!"
"You'd better have a drink." I gave her a glassful; she drank it, coughing a little. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her that it didn't matter and that I was wrong and I was sorry; I couldn't bear to see her tears. She looked thin and bedraggled; not unlike the thin women one sees in pictures of mine disasters, disconsolate and old and ugly against the pithead wheel. But, remembering the way she'd repulsed me when I'd touched her, I didn't attempt it.
"I'd better make some tea," she said. She turned at the doorway. "It's all over," she said. I could scarcely hear the words. "It's all over, Joe."
I went into the lounge and sat in the armchair by the fire, feeling sick and cold. I'd never been in a quarrel like that before. When Father and Mother had differences, they were no more than tiffs; he was too easygoing and she recovered from her anger too quickly. I couldn't even remember being shouted at. It was all over; Alice was quite right. I felt as if I had lost all my strength; there was no way of being comfortable, my body was a shameful encumbrance, there was no sleep ahead of me. I thought of Susan, but it didn't help; she was on the same side of the fence as Alice. Perhaps, I thought, one was earmarked from birth, and only the scoundrels and the geniuses ever rose out of the class into which they were born.
Alice came in with the tea. "You don't want anything to eat?"
"I couldn't. For once I'm not Iron Guts." I achieved a weak smile.
She poured out the tea. "We might as well be sensible. We did agree, didn't we, that there'd be nothing permanent about it?"
I heard my own voice uttering words which I wasn't aware of having chosen. "We'll call it a day."
"Yes, we'll call it a day." She put her hand on mine; it was dry and hot. "I won't be possessed, Joe. I won't be dominated. I won't be owned by anyone. Don't think badly of me."
"I won't. I'm very grateful to you." I was retreating, I wasn't fighting; but from where was I retreating, and who was I fighting? "It's been wonderful, Alice. I'm sorry about all this."
"Forget it," she said. She lifted the teacup to her mouth but her hand was shaking so much that she spil
t half of it. I looked at the pound note on the floor and suddenly discovered that I didn't give a damn about it.
14
I left the flat before Alice, as I generally did. The flat was on the top floor and the lift was out of order,; I remember that the stairs seemed never to end and I remember the deep silence of the place. The building had been decorated in the usual postwar manner and had the air of a big ship. There was a queer dry smell like hot toast and chlorine. The stairs were broad and the thick grey carpeting seemed to blot up all sound. It was all very clean and shining; very nice too, except that it gave me the impression that no human beings had ever lived there. I imagined nothing but emptiness behind those white doors with their chromium numbers and neat little name-cards.
