Charlie flushed with guilt. ‘Look, I was frustrated. The place is too small for two and I was feeling like an old housewife, cleaning up around you and doing all the shopping. Why don’t we look for a bigger place?’
‘No, I’ve made up my mind, I think I’m better off alone.’
‘Have you found somewhere else?’
‘I’ve got a bedsit.’
Charlie felt rebuked for the conditional nature of his hospitality. ‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t go to a lousy bedsit. Please stay. I’m sorry, I’ve changed my mind. Stay here and I promise we’ll do nice things together . . .’ Charlie pleaded desperately. But his protestations were in vain, for that night the forlorn figure of Leo shuffled out of the door and on to a bus. As he took his seat on the top deck he could see Charlie standing in the big living-room window staring dolefully at him like a fish in a tank.
As the bus pulled away a creeping coldness percolated Leo’s flesh, brought on by a growing feeling of scorn and resentment towards his friends. Not one of them understood him. They lived in the foothills of emotion and knew nothing of the extremes. They had no idea what love was, no idea how grief gnawed on the soul, no idea what it was like when the very air you breathed tortured you by keeping you alive. Had life ever mocked them as it did him? Each one had betrayed him in their own way. Let them rot. He had not given any of them his new address; an omission that would spare them from having to pretend to like him. Sure, he was envious of their easy lives but he knew that he would never be able to return to those carefree days. He was a young man robbed of youth, and time does not flow backwards. He was ready to start afresh, where no one knew him, where no one felt sorry for him, where he owed no explanations. Convinced that he would never love again he resolved to live without it. Perhaps he would be happier. Perhaps he would have been happier still had he never met Eleni in the first place.
Guests and shoes were banned from setting foot inside the house. No music after 10 p.m., no use of the bathroom between 8 and 9 a.m., no takeaways, no smoking, no drunkenness, no posters. Rent to be paid monthly in advance, any late payment would result in a warning; a second late payment would lead to eviction. The landlady had the right to evict any tenant for any reason whatsoever; the tenant had to give a month’s notice. The tenant had his own cupboard in the kitchen and shelf in the fridge and was not to use the family’s food. The kitchen should be avoided during family dinner times except in an emergency. Apart from these minor regulations Leo was free to do as he wished – as free as a bird in a cage.
He had never lived with a young family. Somewhere between five and six the baby woke up screaming. At seven the cat would jump on his head. If he was not up by eight a five-year-old would wander into his room with some toy or other which either spoke or had a siren and push it into his face. The house smelt of baby poo, which was collected throughout the day in a small nappy bin in the bathroom next to his room. And he often found bits of rotten food in the sofa or squashed between the floorboards. He received the occasional call from his parents, but apart from this he was never disturbed. He had no inclination to go out much, so he endeared himself to his uptight landlady by babysitting twice a week. At least on those evenings he had the living room to himself, which was infinitely preferable to the polite chatter he was subjected to in the family’s presence.
His bedroom was large enough for a desk and a small sofa, but the single bed was disappointing. It had probably been chosen specially to discourage visits from the opposite sex – or any sex for that matter. It sagged in the middle from over-use by the exuberant onanists who inevitably found themselves in such establishments. A red Moroccan kilim covered the beechwood floor, and there were two landscape paintings, one above the bed, the other above the sofa, to transport the daydreaming bedsitter to rural paradise. He had the luxury of an old kettle, which left limescale in every cup of tea. It was a ruse to keep the tenant out of the kitchen. The window looked down two storeys on to a small back garden edged with a well-tended flower bed. Over the fence was a row of converted terraced houses, and directly opposite his window he could see into the kitchen and living room of one of the flats.
An old couple lived in the flat and Leo guessed that they were retired because they were always there in the daytime. Leo observed them as if they were ants in the laboratory. They would follow each other around from kitchen to living room, engaged in what seemed from afar to be a ritual mating dance. They often kissed or sat hand in hand watching the television; if one left the room the other would seem momentarily bereft. This would manifest itself through restless behaviour like switching channels on the television or fidgeting. He noticed that on average if left alone it would be five minutes before one would get up to find the other, whereas together they could sit for half an hour. Three times a week they unintentionally wore the same-coloured jumpers and trousers. They practised highly sophisticated and efficient task-sharing routines. At mealtimes he would chop and she would cook, then he washed-up while she made tea. On the whole Leo would have said that their lives were so intertwined as to be inseparable. Two people fulfilling the same objectives could be said to be functioning as one. This was the outward manifestation of love. Leo wondered if an empirical study of a hundred couples would reveal uniform behaviour.
He needed to broaden his study, so he began to take notes on his landlord and landlady. Excluding the husband’s work, which Leo considered to be a social necessity, he charted the amount of time they spent together in the house sharing the same activity. He noticed that each would take responsibility for whole areas, which the other had nothing to do with. He bathed the children; she got them out of bed. She went to bed early; he stayed up late. They watched different television programmes at different times. They tended to play with the children separately. In general, they spent little time together. Leo concluded that although they were interdependent they were not unified. There was no love, only habit.
In the laboratory the next step would be to see whether one could create love by replicating the outward manifestation of love. If he could force his subjects to spend time together and work together to serve the same end would they be more likely to fall in love? How long would you have to sit on a sofa holding hands with someone before you fell in love with them? Ants only mated if the conditions were suitable; the same must surely be true of humans. In theory, if enough research were done it ought to be possible to structure our lives around the pursuit of love rather than the pursuit of money.
The new year passed quietly; Leo rarely left his room. On his desk was a stopwatch, a set of binoculars and two pads filled with data on the old couple and his landlady. He knew what papers they read, which friends came to tea, the extent of their wardrobes; he had even worked out which television programmes they were watching by cross-referencing viewing times with the television schedule. In his more lucid moments he was aware that a chronicle of the past year would reveal a man drifting dangerously from obsession to obsession.
The landlady began to take advantage of his constant presence in the house by asking him to help out from time to time with little chores. It began with popping out for the occasional pint of milk, but soon he was taking out the rubbish and moving furniture; before long he was tending to the garden and clearing out the garage. The chores were becoming more regular and time-consuming but he didn’t mind because it kept him busy and took his mind off his problems. She seemed to enjoy finding things for him to do. One day she invited him down for a cup of tea, and soon he became a regular visitor to the kitchen. Little by little she went from Mrs Hardman to Katherine to Kath.
Kath was bored. She had sacrificed her career as a high-flying lawyer to look after the children even though she’d earned considerably more than her husband. It had soon become impossible for them to maintain the lifestyle to which they had been accustomed and over the past couple of years they had reluctantly taken in lodgers to boost their income.
A strange friendship founded on mutual loneliness gr
ew between Leo and Kath; they had nothing else in common. Leo noticed that she had started wearing make-up in the daytime. The tracksuits disappeared to be replaced by bright flowery tops and leather skirts.
‘Do you find me attractive?’ she asked. The question came from nowhere. They were slurping soup in the kitchen. Leo wiped his chin with his napkin and looked at her, surprised. She was at least fifteen years older than him and the signs of age were showing. She was on the cusp of middle age: her body was not fat but had lost definition, her streaked shoulder-length hair had become wispy and her eyes lacked spark. She had once been very pretty; he had seen the wedding photos in which she stood straight-backed and imperious in a daring low-cut green dress, which proudly revealed her broad shoulders, angular collar-bone and fulsome breasts. She looked tanned, athletic and content. Now she looked weary, like a cut flower that had begun to wilt without having lost all its beauty.
‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ he said evasively.
‘I used to get a lot of attention,’ she said nostalgically. ‘I’ve let myself go recently, I’ve decided to make more of an effort. I wondered what you thought.’ The desperation dripped off her and Leo sensed she was in need of a compliment.
‘I like what you’re wearing, Kath, it suits you.’
‘Thank you, you’re very sweet, you know. You’ve been ever so helpful since you came. We get on all right, don’t we, Leo?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘But neither of us are happy, are we?’
‘No,’ Leo admitted.
‘And what would make you happy?’
‘I don’t know, Kath, I’ve given up on it. What about you?’
‘Can I be honest with you?’ she asked.
Leo nodded.
‘I think what would make me happy right now is if you made love to me.’ She looked at him pleadingly.
Leo blushed and pulled away, ‘No I don’t think that’s the answer for either of us . . . but . . . anyway, what about your husband?’
‘It’s not working between us. But I’m not going to leave him, if that’s what you mean. Look, Leo, I like you, but let’s not be unrealistic about this, it would just be a bit of fun, Christ we both need it . . . even if it was just sex and no strings. We could enjoy it for what it was. What do you think?’ She had never been so blunt in her life. Before her marriage she had had many lovers; perhaps she had given herself too freely but it had been so easy for her in those days, there were always men to choose from. Nowadays she would lie awake at night next to her husband revisiting the affairs of her youth, feeling old and unwanted. When Leo arrived he had reminded her of those lovely young men she had known and her fantasies had turned to him. Like a vampire needs blood, she wanted him inside her so she could feel young again.
Leo was as appalled as he was tempted. ‘I don’t think I can do that . . . I mean it’s not me.’
It was not as categorical a rejection as it might have been and they both knew it.
‘That’s all right, Leo,’ she said, refusing to be downhearted, ‘think about it, it’s an open offer, you can change your mind whenever you like.’
Kath could smell a victory; it was just a question of time. She knew men and how to seduce them. First plant the seed and then water it well.
A thing offered freely plays on the mind; it is almost irresistible. Who can refuse a ‘free gift’? Who is not tempted by the two-for-one deals in the supermarket? Leo would always end up with bargains in his trolley that he had never intended to buy. Her offer stuck to him like an oil slick on a seabird. He couldn’t shake it off. That night he was unable to sleep until he had masturbated.
The following day there was a knock at his door. Leo quickly hid his papers and parked himself guiltily on the sofa.
‘Yes, come in,’ he called out.
‘It’s only me.’
The door slowly swung open, Mrs Hardman stood nonchalantly in the doorway. She was totally naked. Leo gasped with embarrassment and turned his gaze downwards. ‘Ellen’s asleep, we could do it now.’
‘No, please, Kath,’ he stammered, ‘I’m not interested.’
‘Leo, look at me.’ He did not move. ‘Please look at me.’
Leo lifted his head and stared reluctantly at her. She put her hands on her hips and then turned full circle.
‘It’s just a body, Leo, you can look at it without feeling ashamed. Tell me what you think of it. I’m not in such bad shape, am I?’ As a prosecution lawyer Kath had been skilled at making the innocent feel guilty. Her biggest thrill had been winning a difficult case. She sauntered into the room and brazenly sat on the bed.
‘Say yes, Leo. You’ll be surprised how quickly you get over your embarrassment.’
‘No, please don’t do this . . . you disgust me.’ Leo shrank into the sofa.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said confidently, ‘I tempt you and that’s what makes you feel uncomfortable. You are not a boy any more, come on; give yourself some pleasure, that’s what most men would do. There’s nothing wrong with it.’ Leo could have left the room but didn’t.
She walked over to the sofa. ‘Please, Leo, don’t be mean to me. Let me help you.’ She took his hand and placed it on her breast. He felt her nipple harden between his fingers and a rush of blood to his loins. His resistance vanished, she was right; take solace in sex, there were no reasons not to.
At first Mrs Hardman was delighted with her muse: he was discreet, available, and did not want a relationship, which suited her for she had no higher goal than self-gratification. She wanted nothing more than her orgasm and the whiff of power gained from dominating a younger man. But the initial pleasure soon subsided, to be replaced by a sense of futility and guilt. She began to resent Leo and her reliance upon him. Their trysts merely highlighted the breakdown of her marriage and her own neediness.
It had begun as a business relationship, dispassionate but cordial. Kath had laid out clear rules of engagement. She worked to a strict timetable, favouring times when her eldest was at school and the youngest was asleep. But as the weeks passed Leo no longer visited the kitchen to chat and Kath no longer asked him to help out with the chores. Their relationship diminished to the efficient and mechanical achievement of sexual climax. To this end they became more aggressive with each other. Theirs was the chemistry of violence, and the violence infected Leo’s sleep until his nightmares were filled with images of scratched skin, distorted limbs and goaded genitalia, spurred until they vomited up their hideous loads. He dreamt that she was the devil, scraping the last remnants of respect from his plummeting soul, gutting his insides, draining his blood, wrenching, ripping, splitting himself from himself and sending him spiralling hopelessly down into a cesspit of self-loathing. ‘Make hate to me,’ she cackled.
If love begets love then sex begets sex, but love is hard and sex is easy. Sex and hatred are bedfellows, and hatred has its joys. Think of war. In war there are those who rape for victory; the enemy is destroyed through sex, forced and violent. The oppressors return home triumphant, with their seed littered in the wombs of those they have crushed, so that their hatred may be reborn and live for ever. And this was a subtle form of war, waged in the bedroom by two bodies locked in mutual disdain as they shunted and slithered on top of each other, until love was dead and Leo had sundered his body from his soul. His self-esteem was in free fall and yet a dark calling shovelled him like filth into her venal arms, driving him again and again to seek sex with his nemesis.
How quickly the fallen spirit can be stripped of its veneer by a vulture. How quickly the mind loses its ability to regulate the desires of the body. They had fucked in every room, mauled and bruised each other. And if Leo felt like a zombie ground into the earth by a siren he could not complain, because he had consented to everything, even encouraged it.
The days blurred into one until 2 April reared up in front of him. A year had passed since Eleni’s death. That morning he did not emerge from bed, he could hear Kath putting Ellen to sleep
in her cot. He knew that any moment the door would open. He pulled the sheets over his head and groaned. He felt something stir in his gut, he did not recognize it at first, but it bubbled quietly until she walked in and pulled his covers off. It was the tiniest of rebellions, barely a croak when it came out. ‘Stop,’ he whispered, ‘we have to stop this . . . I hate it . . . I’ve had enough.’
Deep down she knew he was right. It had to stop. Her addiction to Leo was like a cancer eating away at her family life, but she had been unable to kick the habit. Now the drug had rejected the addict. Yet still she craved him; their liaison had marked her sexual renaissance, she felt rejuvenated, attractive and powerful. She could neither explain nor contain the rage that was welling up inside her or understand why, when there was no love between them, she should feel so spurned.
‘Then you’d better leave now,’ she exploded. ‘I don’t want you in the house. Go on, get out.’ She pulled him out of bed and frogmarched him down to the front door in his pyjamas. ‘Piss off and don’t come back,’ she yelled. It was raining hard. Leo stood bewildered on the doorstep whilst Kath returned upstairs to throw his things from the window in a whirl of fury. Leo gathered his goods from the wet pavement and staggered down the road, chased all the way by Mrs Hardman’s splenetic insults and the sorry screams of her abandoned baby.
23
IMAGINE IF YOU OPENED ALL THE PRISONS AND LET ALL THE murderers and thieves out – now imagine if all those lunatics were put in uniforms and given power . . . Actually it’s not so difficult to imagine, is it, Fischel? Because that’s pretty much what Hitler is doing here. And that’s exactly what had just happened in Irkutsk when we got there. Except that Kerensky’s plan to boost the Russian Army with criminals backfired somewhat because, while half the prisoners joined him, the other half mocked him by joining the Bolsheviks. The town was full of no-go areas, particularly at night on the roads towards the barracks, where it wasn’t unusual to find an empty pocketed corpse in the gutter at dawn. Of course we had no idea about that, so we blundered straight into the most dangerous part of town without even realizing it. We found an empty guest house and couldn’t understand why the landlord immediately offered us a discount and agreed to let us pay at the end of the week. We didn’t have enough money to pay up front. He didn’t even ask any questions when he heard Király speaking German. I don’t think he had seen a guest for months.
Random Acts of Heroic Love Page 20
