‘Oh. Congratulations.’
‘I have asked her to marry me. It’s all quite respectable.’
‘Oh no, I wouldn’t . . .’
Smithey had solid muscles which had probably known the release of swift movement only on courts of asphalt or grass, perhaps even with weeds. She was not certain how to deal with men who slept with flat-mates. She stared at Persia, impressed by her new sophistication, and interested to study a woman who had known sex and was grown.
‘Have a drink Smithey,’ Adrian said. He was smirking down at her, making her feel foolish in her pleated white which showed her thick thighs. She twisted her knee.
‘Well I have to go out soon,’ she said. ‘But I could help you carry Persia’s things.’
Adrian accepted this offer. He wished all necessities to be settled and dispensed with. Together they carried the few armfuls of possessions across the corridor, Persia offering to leave the fruit bowl for Smithey, and Smithey refusing to accept the sacrifice, although it was only plastic.
‘Gosh,’ Smithey said after Persia had finished hanging up her clothes, and she had stood watching, her strands of fine hair standing about her face in electric elevation, and shining like nylon threads at the ends, where they were split to catch the light.
‘Do you think it is a sensible thing?’ Smithey said, in awe, from whispering and admiration.
‘I hadn’t considered it,’ Persia replied, stretching herself to great extensions, enlarging her movements more than necessary so she could hide beneath them.
‘Do you think perhaps you should?’ Smithey asked, and pulled at the bedspread which was faded chenille, and frayed.
‘Why? I have.’
‘Oh,’ Smithey said.
But in deference to the correct form, and to fit her evasive flatmate into it, so that she might have more comfort in hiding behind the safety of established patterns, Smithey suggested she might give an engagement party, if that was what Persia would like.
Smithey was one of those people with soft bulbous eyes like rabbits emerging from greenery. You could tell her anything and she would worship you for it, indiscriminately, and without criticism. You wondered how she could ever survive through gruelling sets and matches in burning sun when her eyes were so gullible, and might have believed the ball to be out, when it was in fact in. It was surprising that her opponents did not collaborate secretly beforehand and present her with fictitious scores, which she would trust without question. But Persia had seen her behind sun-shades, in white, with brown hard thighs, and wrists twisted with sinews. And Persia had seen how the ball became a pellet when Smithey put her muscles against it, and attacked with over-hanging shoulders and bulging neck. Everybody was transformed to some degree by circumstances, to resume their own particular character again after the emergency had passed.
‘I would like a party,’ Persia said, and sat down on the bed. ‘If it would not cost you too much money.’
‘No, it won’t,’ Smithey answered. ‘Not if we only had about twenty people. Would that be enough?’
‘Oh yes,’ Persia answered, and was disappointed there would not be more.
But Adrian, in support of any established ideals which might bolster his unorthodox position, suggested that he would be only too happy to provide the food and drink for Smithey, whereupon the list of guests could be increased to forty witnesses, all prepared to swear, as before uniforms and documents, that he and Persia had entered the engaged state in a traditional manner, with toasts, speeches, and a ring.
When it had all been settled, and Smithey had left, bouncing and backing out the door, scraping her ankles against the comers of walls, Adrian began putting some books into a new order, which although it appeared to take great concentration, made no difference to the interior of the unit. Then he read a newspaper and wrote out some cheques in answer to some bills. He did not even bother to watch Persia, as though already she was no more than a useful part of his life which only required maintenance to remain real.
‘Now you are a resident,’ he said after he had finished the last envelope. ‘You can cook us something to eat.’ The statement which had promised to be of romance and lovers, but was in fact related only to nutriment, could only be disappointing.
‘I don’t know where things are,’ Persia said, and pouted, and was dark, and was not sure why she had arrived where she was. She did not understand her own working, nor was she able to anticipate her next reaction. She was as dangerous to herself as she might have been to any other person, like needles which change direction because of seismic influences nobody could predict.
‘I’ll show you,’ Adrian said, and put his hand on her shoulder as he opened cupboards and indicated tins and packets. The hand was possessive, like holding a broom as you speak with a neighbour on the other side of the fence.
After lunch which had to be beetroot and tomato on stale bread because the only other food was pork which smelt strange, they sat looking at each other across the table.
‘Did you get all your bills done?’
‘What?’
‘The bills.’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose you will have more now.’
‘I suppose I will.’
‘Do you mind?’
‘No.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Mmm,’ he said. Persia carried out the plates. She could not look at him without wanting him so that her skin was burrs. But this was not useful or to be encouraged. Adrian himself ignored their proximity.
He came into the kitchen and put his hands on her shoulders while she filled up the sink with froth and water. He looked at her neck for a while like cattlemen examining stock.
‘Come here,’ he said after a time, and put a kiss on her mouth. The kiss was hard, and went right through to the other side and did not stop going. He was quite generous about the kiss the way he gave it fully, like old men adding more to their cheques for charity.
Persia, aware of the condescension, was also grateful that she had in fact received something, and could not be selective about the manner in which it was given, and responded. But just as the kiss began muliplying, there was a knock on the door, and Adrian immediately dropped the kiss as though it had been nothing at all. He went through into the lounge room and could be heard saying, Cecil come in.
‘If you don’t mind. Could you come downstairs?’
‘What for?’
‘Business.’
Persia came out of the kitchen, and saw Cecil’s round wet lips be put into a smile. His eyes were vague like tired babies.
‘Is everything alright?’ she asked.
But he did not answer, being busy gauging and using instruments and checking atmosphere. Having put them away, and having measured and computed, he said, ‘Congratulations, Adrian,’ and shook his hand, and kissed Persia on the cheek. She reddened.
‘What are you two on about?’ Adrian said. He was erect like men who carry whips behind their backs in circuses.
Cecil put his arm round Persia’s waist, but it was an act of hostility and like crawling under vines. But being mostly concerned with his own problem, he soon dropped her again, perhaps because he sensed rejection.
‘I need some advice,’ he said.
‘Sit down.’
‘No downstairs.’
Persia, who still had not settled, and was like mouse wheels with caged creatures running inside, turned her back for a moment. Cecil and Adrian pretended not to notice.
‘Alright then,’ Adrian said, glancing at Persia who had folded her arms and was staring out through the glass at the hard sharp roofs beneath.
Cecil looked sideways and slapped his eyes back into place again. He was impermanent and hovering, with bits and pieces of muscles popping in and out.
Adrian went from the room then, and forgot everything that was not in the presence ahead of him, and Persia knew she was gone for him as long as he moved along in the ball of his outside surroundings.
&nbs
p; Cecil had won easily, and for no strong reason it appeared. Persia sat down to wait. She could imagine them in the bright flat mirrored backwards into eternity. She had been deliberately eliminated. The victory had been clean and swift.
When Adrian had been gone for a long time she decided that she also had some claims, which she would collect, and even fight for if necessary. She picked up the key which was on the table, and putting it in her jean pocket went down to Cecil’s flat.
The door was ajar and she pushed it open. She could hear the sound of voices coming from his study. She walked towards that room, and all her images copied and mocked, the same curious familiar faces and figures which had changed unnoticed in front of various mirrrors through the years, and had at last arrived at now.
‘Well I’m afraid I must insist,’ a woman’s voice was saying.
‘But it was explained in the contract,’ Cecil replied.
‘Where is the contract?’ Adrian demanded.
‘Right here.’ There was a sound of a drawer opening and shutting, and a silence as paper rustled.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Persia said, and walked in.
Adrian pushed the contract back into the drawer and slammed it. Cecil however, smiled, and came forwards.
‘Allow me to introduce Mrs Rammel,’ he said.
The woman was blonde and slim with narrow lips as thin as her cheeks. She glowered from her corner where she was flattened against the wall in a fighting position.
‘Persia,’ Adrian said.
‘That is my name,’ she answered.
‘I have some private business with Cecil.’
‘I don’t mind if she stays,’ Mrs Rammel said.
‘I just wanted to come down and see,’ Persia said.
‘You go back up for now.’
‘No.’
‘For God’s sake let her stay,’ Cecil said. ‘Take a seat my dear. We’ll have it all settled in a moment. I’ll just pour drinks for all.’ He winked, and made himself as blue and round and innocent as possible so that the fighting woman was almost won over for a moment.
Adrian opened the drawer again, and began to read the contract, ignoring Persia.
‘I would prefer to deal with the matter in private, Mrs Rammel,’ he said.
‘I need a woman’s ear,’ Mrs Rammel answered. She pursed her lips so that they vanished like dried worms on hot cement.
‘What will you have to drink Mrs Rammel?’ Cecil called from the kitchen. ‘Anything you like. The choice is unlimited for our favorite students.’
‘Whatever you please,’ she replied tightly and primly.
‘I will stay if you really want,’ Persia said. ‘I might be able to help.’
‘You can’t,’ Adrian said.
Mrs Rammel tossed her head once. Her long hair did not disguise her age, which had perhaps reached further than its owner admitted.
‘Stay,’ she said.
Adrian coughed, folded the contract, and put it on the desk. He glowered at Persia and went out to help Cecil with the drinks.
‘Now I don’t want to make anyone unhappy,’ Cecil said as he handed round martinis from a silver tray, copiously, with smiles. ‘I started this business because I wanted to cause happiness. It is a fun idea, you must admit Mrs Rammel. We chose you as one of our students, because of your charm, and promise.’
She pinched her lips until they were blue bordered and did not touch her drink, although it was complete with olive and toothpick.
‘I don’t know which one of you, you are,’ she said at last.
‘Mirrors are confusing,’ Cecil replied.
The phone rang and he went to answer it. Adrian, after standing for a moment with his back turned to the women, went out of the room also, not even grunting by way of apology.
‘Whatever it is that’s gone wrong,’ Persia said to the woman, ‘I’m sure Cecil will do his best to put it right.’
‘He won’t give me one address,’ the woman said. Her shoulders were pointed.
‘He is always charming and kind,’ Persia said.
‘For his own ends.’
‘But he does care about people.’
‘About getting them together for his own benefit.’
‘I liked him as soon as I met him.’
‘And you don’t mind what he does?’
‘Advertising? I suppose it is a dirty business. But then everybody does it.’
‘Do they? I don’t know any others.’
‘There are agencies everywhere.’
Mrs Rammel squinted through hooded eyes at Persia. She was half disgusted and half confused.
‘I was born in the wrong year,’ she said.
‘What has he done?’
‘He’s gone and got me pregnant.’
There was a long pause during which the two women stared at each other horrified, Persia because she did not know whether to believe this or not, and Mrs Rammel because she did not know if she would be believed or not.
‘But he’s not even interested in women,’ Persia said.
‘What do you think his drawers are full of?’ Mrs Rammel moaned. She pulled them open with jerky nervous movements. ‘Files. Wads and wads of files. Read them.’ She grasped a handful and flung them towards Persia.
On neat stiff pale green cardboard it had the name and address and age typed at the top. Underneath in ruled columns were a number of dates, and along side those, the names of men. In a third column a purple stamp said, ‘paid’ or ‘not paid’.
‘I don’t understand,’ Persia said.
Just then Cecil came back into the room. He saw Persia holding the cards, paused, squeezed her lightly round the waist, said, ‘I’ll take them shall I?’ and gently removed them from her hand.
‘Sorry for that interruption ladies,’ he said. ‘Now everybody sit down and we’ll discuss this matter in a civilized fashion.’
Adrian came in the door again, and stood leaning against it, his arms folded. He was so solid and contained he did not look at anybody because his glance came to rest at a point above them. Mrs Rammel trembled from pale translucent skin.
‘I would like to know exactly,’ Persia said to Cecil. His eyes were not so round and blue, and his smile was melted and misshapen.
‘Mrs Rammel rang me up two months ago,’ he said, glancing at her card which lay on his desk. Here in his business environment he neither jiggled his hips nor arched himself. ‘She had seen our advertisement in the tuition column of the local paper.’
‘What did it say?’ Adrian demanded, not bothering to remove his eyes from the ceiling.
‘Private tuition in your own home. Learn how to please and thrill the wandering interests of your husband. Handsome young teachers available.’
Persia held on to her face so that it would be calm.
‘She came by appointment, and I described the sort of tuition available, and she chose a teacher from the photographs. He called on her one Friday morning as arranged. She found the trial lesson satisfactory and proceeded with a course of ten lessons, at the end of which time we guaranteed to present her with a diploma if the teacher qualified her, and she passed the exam.’
‘But she is pregnant.’
‘Yes. We warn every pupil to take adequate precautions. It states clearly in the contract that no responsibility can be taken regarding any injuries or misfortunes. She has signed that contract.’ He waved it at Adrian whose eyes remained aloft.
‘So I am sorry, Mrs Rammel,’ Cecil concluded. ‘But I simply cannot admit liability. Imagine the mess I could get into if every pupil decided to produce a child.’
Mrs Rammel bit her lips some more and in response her eyes filled with tears. ‘Perhaps I could have another course of free lessons with him,’ she whispered.
‘He’s left us now. We had complaints about him. He was too vigorous in his approach.’
‘But I . . .’
‘I know, it happens. Look, I hate to see this sort of thing. I’m just an agency to maintain happy mar
riages. If there’s anyone else I could offer . . . as a special concession.’
Mrs Rammel shook her head. She was too full to answer.
‘I can give you the names and addresses of some people who can help you in your predicament,’ Cecil said.
But this only brought Mrs Rammel into a fresh state of tremors and threatening eruptions. Cecil the gay friendly bachelor had suddenly developed areas of slime and festering.
‘He said I was his best pupil,’ Mrs Rammel said, and the tears ran down her hollow cheeks.
‘I know, I know,’ Cecil replied, and arranged his hips for his own satisfaction, and patted his hair in a mirror.
‘Where has he gone?’ Mrs Rammel asked.
‘It says in the contract no addresses can be given.’
‘But supposing he wanted to get in touch with me?’
‘He could easily. He knows where you live.’
Mrs Rammel sat a bit longer, trembling on her chair, her knees pressed together, her hands pressed together, her lips pressed together, even her eyebrows fused. Adrian remained leaning against the door, totally immovable. Cecil shrugged and twitched and pranced, and his movements were unclean. Persia held onto her seat and looked at the floor. Then Mrs Rammel pushed herself to her feet, and blundered out of the room, and Cecil ran behind her, past all his mirrors, until he reached the door in front of her so that he could open it with a dramatic flourish which she ignored as she stumbled through, dabbing her eyes. Cecil came back into the room, winked at Persia, wrote something on a card, and replaced it in its alphabetical position.
‘All business brings troubles,’ he said, and clicked his tongue, and quaffed down the remainder of his martini.
‘You want to be careful,’ Adrian said. ‘I’m surprised the law hasn’t caught up with you yet.’
‘They haven’t even questioned the advertisement,’ he said, ‘Not after seven months of business. I think they tacitly admit it’s doing some good for a lot of bored women.’
‘You might at least refund her the price of the course,’ Adrian said. ‘Women can become vindictive.’
‘Yes, I’ll write a carefully worded letter.’
‘But it will not help her,’ Persia said, and stood up, and went out of the room, and past herself, but at the same pace as herself, and out into the corridor where she slammed the door and stood on the thick carpet, and did not do anything but stand.
The Beginning of Everything and the End of Everything Else Page 5
