by John Fowles
I replied yes.
“You could let me out on parole. I’d promise not to shout or try to escape.”
I said, have your breakfast and I’ll think about it.
“No! It’s not much to ask. If this house really is lonely, it’s no risk.”
It’s lonely all right, I said. But I couldn’t decide.
“I’m going on hunger strike again.” She turned round, she was really putting on the pressure, as they say.
Of course you can have drawing materials, I said. You only had to ask anyhow. And a gramophone. Any records you want. Books. The same with food. I told you you need only ask. Anything like that.
“Fresh air?” She still had her back turned.
It’s too dangerous.
Well, there was a silence, she spoke as plain as words, though, and in the end I gave in.
Perhaps at night. I’ll see.
“When?” She turned then.
I’ll have to think. I’d have to tie you up.
“But I’d be on parole.”
Take it or leave it, I said.
“The bath?”
I could fix up something, I said.
“I want a proper bath in a proper bath. There must be one upstairs.”
Something I thought a lot about was how I would like her to see my house and all the furnishings! It was partly I wanted to see her there in it, naturally when I had dreams she was upstairs with me, not down in the cellar. I’m like that, I act on impulse sometimes, taking risks others wouldn’t.
I’ll see, I said. I’d have to make arrangements.
“If I gave you my word, I wouldn’t break it.”
I’m sure, I said.
So that was that.
It seemed to clear the air, so to speak. I respected her and she respected me more afterwards. The first thing she did was write out a list of things she wanted. I had to find an art-shop in Lewes and buy special paper and all sorts of pencils and things: sepia and Chinese ink and brushes, special hair and sizes and makes. Then there were things from the chemist: smell-removers and so on. It was a danger getting ladies’ things I couldn’t want for myself, but I took the risk. Then she wrote down food to buy, she had to have fresh coffee, and a lot of fruit and vegetables and greens—she was very particular about that. Anyway after she used to write down almost every day what we had to buy, she used to tell me how to cook it too, it was just like having a wife, an invalid one you had to do shopping for. I was careful in Lewes, I never went to the same shop twice running so that they wouldn’t think I was buying a lot for one person. Somehow I always thought people could tell I lived on my own.
That first day I bought a gramophone too. Only a small one, but I must say she looked very pleased, I didn’t want her to know I didn’t know anything about music but I saw a record with some orchestra music by Mozart so I bought that. It was a good buy, she liked it and so me for buying it. One day much later when we were hearing it, she was crying. I mean, her eyes were wet. After, she said he was dying when he wrote it and he knew he was dying. It just sounded like all the rest to me but of course she was musical.
Well, the next day she brought up the business about having a bath and fresh air again. I didn’t know what to do; I went up to the bathroom to think about it without promising anything. The bathroom window was over the porch round the cellar door. Out the back, which was safer. In the end I got up some wood and boarded across the frame, three-inch screws, so she couldn’t signal with the light or climb out. Not that there was anyone likely to be out the back late at night.
That took care of the bathroom.
What I did next was I pretended she was with me and walked up from below to see where the danger spots would be. The downstairs rooms had wooden inside shutters, it was easy to draw them across and lock them (later I got padlocks) so she couldn’t attract attention through a window and no snoopers could be looking in and seeing things. In the kitchen I made sure all knives etcetera were well out of harm’s way. I thought of everything she could do to try and escape and in the end I felt it was safe.
Well, after supper she was on to me again about the bath and I let her begin to go sulky again and then I said, all right, I will take the risk, but if you break your promise, you stay here.
“I never break promises.”
Will you give me your parole of honour?
“I give you my word of honour that I shall not try to escape.”
Or signal.
“Or signal.”
I’m going to tie you up.
“But that’s insulting.”
I wouldn’t blame you if you broke your word, I said.
“But I …” she didn’t finish, she just shrugged and turned and held her hands behind her. I had a scarf ready to take the pressure of the cord, I did it real tight but not so as to hurt, then I was going to gag her, but first she had me collect up the wash-things she needed and (I was very glad to see) she had chosen some of the clothes I had bought.
I carried her things and went first, up the steps in the outer cellar and she waited till I unlocked the door and came up when I ordered, having first listened to make sure no one was about.
It was very dark of course, but clear, you could see some stars. I took her arm tight and let her stand there for five minutes. I could hear her breathing deep. It was very romantic, her head came just up to my shoulder.
You can hear it’s a long way from anywhere, I said.
When the time was up (I had to pull her) we went in through the kitchen and dining-room and into the hall and up the stairs to the bathroom.
There’s no lock on the door, I said, you can’t shut it even, I’ve nailed a block in, but I shall respect your every privacy providing you keep your word. I shall be here.
I had a chair on the landing outside.
I am now going to take your hand-cords off if you give me your word you will keep the gag on. Nod your head.
Well, she did, so I untied her hands. She rubbed them a bit, just to get at me, I suppose, then went in the bathroom.
All went off without trouble, I heard her have her bath, splashing etcetera, quite natural, but I got a shock when she came out. She hadn’t got the gag on. That was one shock. The other was the way she was changed with the new clothes and her hair washed, it hung all wet and loose on her shoulders. It seemed to make her softer, even younger; not that she was ever hard or ugly. I must have looked stupid, looking angry because of the gag, and then not being able to be it because she looked so lovely.
She spoke very quick.
“Look, it began to hurt horribly. I’ve given you my word. I give it to you again. You can put this back on if you like—here. But I would have screamed by now if I’d wanted to.”
She handed me the gag and there was something in her look, I couldn’t put it on again. I said, the hands will do. She had on her green tunic, but with one of the shirts I bought and I guessed she had on the new underclothes underneath.
I did up her hands behind her back.
I’m sorry I’m so suspicious, I said. It’s just that you’re all I’ve got that makes life worth living. It was the wrong moment to say a thing like that, I know, but having her standing there like that, it was too much.
I said, if you went, I think I’d do myself in.
“You need a doctor.”
I just made a noise.
“I’d like to help you.”
You think I’m mad because of what I’ve done. I’m not mad. It’s just, well, I’ve got no one else. There’s never been anyone but you I’ve ever wanted to know.
“That’s the worst kind of illness,” she said. She turned round then, all this was while I was tying. She looked down. “I feel sorry for you.”
Then she changed, she said, “What about washing? I’ve washed some things. Can I hang them out? Or is there a laundry?”
I said, I’ll dry them in the kitchen. You can’t send anything to the laundry.
“What now?”
And she looked round. There was something mischievous about her sometimes, you could see she was looking for trouble, in a nice way. Teasing like.
“Aren’t you going to show me your house?”
She had a real smile on, the first I ever saw; I couldn’t do anything but smile back.
It’s late, I said.
“How old is it?” She spoke as if she didn’t hear me.
There’s a stone says 1621 over the door.
“This is the wrong-coloured carpet. You ought to have rush matting or something. And those pictures—horrible!”
She moved along the landing to see them. Cunning.
They cost enough, I said.
“It’s not money you go by.”
I can’t say how strange it was, us standing there. Her making criticisms like a typical woman.
“Can I look in the rooms?”
I wasn’t myself, I couldn’t resist the pleasure, so I stood with her in the doorways and showed them, the one ready for Aunt Annie, and Mabel’s, if they ever came, and mine. Miranda looked very close round each one. Of course the curtains were drawn, and I watched right next to her to see she didn’t try any funny business.
I got a firm to do it all, I said, when we were at the door of mine.
“You’re very neat.”
She saw some old pictures of butterflies I bought in an antique shop. I chose them, I said.
“They’re the only decent things here.”
Well, there we were, she was making compliments and I admit I was pleased.
Then she said, “How quiet it is. I’ve been listening for cars. I think it must be North Essex.” I knew it was a test, she was watching me.
You’ve guessed right, I said. Acting surprised.
Suddenly she said, “It’s funny, I should be shivering with fear. But I feel safe with you.”
I’ll never hurt you. Unless you force me to.
It was suddenly as I always hoped, we were getting to know each other, she was beginning to see me for what I really was.
She said, “That air was wonderful. You can’t imagine. Even this air. It’s free. It’s everything I’m not.”
And she walked away, so I had to follow her downstairs. At the bottom in the hall she said, “Can I look in here?” Hung for a sheep as well as a lamb, I thought, anyway the shutters were across and the curtains. She went in the lounge and looked round it, touring round and looking at everything with her hands behind her back, it was comic, really.
“It’s a lovely room. It’s wicked to fill it with all this shoddy stuff. Such muck!” She actually kicked one of the chairs. I suppose I looked like I felt (offended) because she said, “But you must see it’s wrong! Those terrible chichi wall-lamps and”—she suddenly caught sight of them—“not china wild duck!” She looked at me with real anger, then back at the ducks.
“My arms ache. Would you mind tying my hands in front of me for a change?”
I didn’t want to spoil the mood, as they say, I couldn’t see any harm, as soon as I had the cords off her hands (I was all ready for trouble) she turned and held her hands out in front for me to tie, which I did. Then she shocked me. She went up to the fireplace where the wild duck were, there were three hung up, thirty-bob each and before you could say Jack Knife she had them off the hook and bang crash on the hearth. In smithereens.
Thank you very much, I said, very sarcastic.
“A house as old as this has a soul. And you can’t do things like that to beautiful things like this old, old room so many people have lived in. Can’t you feel that?”
I haven’t any experience in furnishing, I said.
She just gave me a funny look and went past me into the room opposite, what I called the dining-room, though the furniture people called it the dual-purpose room, it was half fitted out for me to work in. There were my three cabinets, which she saw at once.
“Aren’t you going to show me my fellow-victims?”
Of course I wanted nothing better. I pulled out one or two of the most attractive drawers—members of the same genus drawers, nothing serious, just for show, really.
“Did you buy them?”
Of course not, I said. All caught or bred by me and set and arranged by me. The lot.
“They’re beautifully done.”
I showed her a drawer of Chalkhill and Adonis Blues, I have a beautiful var. ceroneus Adonis and some var. tithonus Chalkhills, and I pointed them out. The var. ceroneus is better than any they got in the N.H. Museum. I was proud to be able to tell her something. She had never heard of aberrations.
“They’re beautiful. But sad.”
Everything’s sad if you make it so, I said.
“But it’s you who make it so!” She was staring at me across the drawer. “How many butterflies have you killed?”
You can see.
“No, I can’t. I’m thinking of all the butterflies that would have come from these if you’d let them live. I’m thinking of all the living beauty you’ve ended.”
You can’t tell.
“You don’t even share it. Who sees these? You’re like a miser, you hoard up all the beauty in these drawers.”
I was really very disappointed, I thought all her talk was very silly. What difference would a dozen specimens make to a species?
“I hate scientists,” she said. “I hate people who collect things, and classify things and give them names and then forget all about them. That’s what people are always doing in art. They call a painter an impressionist or a cubist or something and then they put him in a drawer and don’t see him as a living individual painter any more. But I can see they’re beautifully arranged.”
She was trying to be nice again.
The next thing I said was, I do photography too.
I had some pictures of the woods behind the house, and some of the sea coming over the wall at Seaford, really nice ones, I enlarged them myself. I put them out on the table where she could see them.
She looked at them, she didn’t say anything.
They’re not much, I said. I haven’t been doing it long.
“They’re dead,” She gave me a funny look sideways. “Not these particularly. All photos. When you draw something it lives and when you photograph it it dies.”
It’s like a record, I said.
“Yes. All dry and dead.” Well I was going to argue, but she went on, she said, “These are clever. They’re good photographs as photographs go.”
After a bit I said, I’d like to take some pictures of you.
“Why?”
You’re what they call photogenic.
She looked down, then she looked up at me and said, “All right. If you want to. Tomorrow.”
That gave me a real thrill. Things were really changed.
I decided about then it was time she went down. She didn’t hardly object, just shrugged, let me tie the gag, and all went well as before.
Well, when we were down, she wanted a cup of tea (some special China she made me buy). I took the gag off and she came out in the outer cellar (her hands still bound) and looked at where I cooked her meals and all that. We didn’t say anything, it was nice. The kettle boiling and her there. Of course I kept a sharp eye on her. When it was made, I said, shall I be mother?
“That’s a horrid expression.”
What’s wrong with it?
“It’s like those wild duck. It’s suburban, it’s stale, it’s dead, it’s … oh, everything square that ever was. You know?”
I think you’d better be mother, I said.
Then it was strange, she smiled just like she was going to laugh, and then she stopped and turned and went into her room, where I followed with the tray. She poured out the tea, but something had made her angry, you could see. She wouldn’t look at me.
I didn’t mean to offend you, I said.
“I suddenly thought of my family. They won’t
be laughing over jolly cups of tea this evening.”
Four weeks, I said.
“Don’t remind me of it!”
She was just like a woman. Unpredictable. Smiling one minute and spiteful the next.
She said, “You’re loathsome. And you make me loathsome.”
It won’t be long.
Then she said something I’ve never heard a woman say before. It really shocked me.
I said, I don’t like words like that. It’s disgusting.
Then she said it again, really screamed it at me.
I couldn’t follow all her moods sometimes.
She was all right the next morning, though she did not apologize. Also, the two vases in her room were broken on the steps when I went in. As always, she was up and waiting for me when I came in with her breakfast.
Well, the first thing she wanted to know was whether I was going to allow her to see daylight. I told her it was raining.
“Why couldn’t I go out into the other cellar and walk up and down? I want exercise.”
We had a good old argument about that. In the end the arrangement was if she wanted to walk there in daytime she would have to have the gag on. I couldn’t risk someone chancing to be round the back—not that it was likely, of course, the front gate and garage gate were locked always. But at night just the hands would do. I said I wouldn’t promise more than one bath a week. And nothing about daylight. I thought for a moment she would go into one of her sulks again, but she began to understand about that time sulks didn’t get her anywhere, so she accepted my rules.
Perhaps I was overstrict, I erred on the strict side. But you had to be careful. For instance, at week-ends there was a lot more traffic about. Fine Sundays there were cars passing every five minutes. Often they would slow as they passed Fosters, some would reverse back to have another look, some even had the cheek to push their cameras through the front gate and take photos. So on week-ends I never let her leave her room.
One day I was just driving out to go down to Lewes and a man in a car stopped me. Was I the owner? He was one of those ever-so-cultured types with a plum in their throat. The I’m-a-friend-of-the-boss type. He talked a lot of stuff about the house and how he was writing some article for a magazine and would I let him look round and take photographs, he especially wanted to have a look at the priest’s chapel.
