A Word Child

  ‘All right, I won’t. Good-bye.’

  I watched him go, then dulled my eyes so that his figure should mingle with those of the indifferent people who were sauntering, now that the rain had stopped, in the frail sunshine. I crossed the bridge and began to walk slowly back along the other side of the lake. I went on up Great George Street and turned into Whitehall at the parliament end. As I did so I ran into Arthur who had just crossed the road from the station.

  ‘Hilary! Oh Hilary!’

  One look at Arthur told the story. He was completely transformed. He pulled his woollen cap off and waved it. Joy blazed out of his head, shining out through eyes, nose, mouth. He was illuminated like a Hallowe’en turnip. Even his hair managed to look beautiful.

  ‘Hilary, Crystal says she’ll marry me. I got her letter this morning. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t come to the office — I felt so happy — I just lay on the floor — I was simply bowled over by happiness — I could hardly breathe — I wanted to shout and sing but I felt too weak with joy — I just lay there as if I’d been mugged. Hilary, you do approve, don’t you? I mean, you don’t mind? Crystal said you — I say, Hilary, are you angry? Oh dear — are you — you look so — ’

  ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘I’m delighted about you and Crystal, absolutely delighted, of course. It’s just that suddenly I’m feeling very ill. I think I’ll go home.’

  ‘Let me come with you. What is it? You look like a ghost.’

  ‘No, no. It’s just the flu. I’ll go and lie down. I’m so glad about — you and — ’ I hailed a taxi.

  Arthur looked amazed. Then he waved me off. From the taxi, now stopped in traffic, I saw him catch up and pass me by, oblivious. As he came near, his lunatic beaming smile attracting the attention of the passers by, he suddenly began to dance, lifting his arms in the air. People passed and smiled. The taxi moved on.

  At home I found the elastic band boy still in the kitchen and turned him out of the flat. Christopher, sulky for once, told me what I was and went with him. I went into my bedroom and emulating Arthur lay down on the floor.

  THURSDAY

  ‘SING ME a song of social significance!’ warbled Freddie Impiatt.

  It was Thursday. I had turned up at the office on Thursday morning. It was better to be there than lying on the floor at home. I was now at the Impiatts for the same reason. I had told them in the Room that I had a stomach upset and felt rotten. They left me alone. I persuaded Arthur to leave me alone too. But I could hear him singing close by in his cupboard. Now Freddie was singing and even dancing a few steps on the carpet as he poured out the drinks. His big rubbery forehead was creased up with wrinkles of self-satisfaction and pleasure. He had already spoilt several jokes by laughing uncontrollably half way through telling them. Laura in a tentlike robe with jingling ornaments, hair streaming, was watching me intently. I had changed my plea to toothache and I could see she did not believe me. Clifford Larr came in. I looked at him. His eyes passed me stonily. I wondered if I had not better go home at once.

  ‘I hear the yen is not to be devalued after all,’ said Clifford.

  ‘Hilary, what is it?’ said Laura.

  ‘I told you, toothache.’

  ‘It’s Tommy.’

  ‘It isn’t Tommy. If I had no troubles but Tommy I’d sing all day.’

  ‘So it isn’t just toothache.’

  ‘And we still say we won the war!’

  We went down to dinner.

  ‘You like artichokes, don’t you, Hilary?’

  ‘They’re an occupation. Like meccano. I don’t call it eating.’

  ‘I’ll give you beans and a spoon next time.’

  ‘I don’t think food should be toys.’

  This rubbish with Laura was so mechanical for both of us that I could carry it on, listen to Freddie and Clifford discussing the international monetary crisis, while busy the whole time with the most lurid private reflections. I was now eating some sort of meat which had been reduced to a characterless jelly and tasted mainly of garlic. I wondered whether I should go on to Crystal’s place as usual after dinner to fetch Arthur away. Perhaps not. Fetching Arthur away had no meaning any more. Yet I had to tell Crystal what I had heard on Wednesday morning. And I had to see Crystal and pretend to bless her so precipitate decision. She would be waiting anxiously for that. I had felt incapable of visiting her last night. Better the assumed calm of the usual mind-numbing routine. It was perfectly true that I had said ‘write to him’; but I had, as I now realized, said this imagining that she would understand that I did not mean it! Had she been in such a haste because she feared I might change my mind? Or was it all some sort of stupid dreadful misconception? Should I not stop it now? Mingling with these reflections, vivid scenes from the far past floated before my eyes with a coloured clarity which made the occupations of the present moment into shadows. How strange that behind a smiling chattering mask one may rehearse in the utmost detail pictures and conversations which constitute torture, that behind that mask one may weep, one may howl.

  ‘What language are you going to learn next, Hilary?’

  ‘Sanskrit. I’ve met a wonderful Indian girl who’ll teach me.’

  ‘I’m jealous! I can’t think why you want to learn a dead language.’

  ‘He knows all the living ones,’ said Freddie.

  ‘No, I don’t. I don’t know Chinese or Japanese or any Indian or African or Polynesian language. My Turkish is shadowy. My Finnish is poor — ’

  ‘Hilary loves showing off.’

  ‘I always thought the Tower of Babel such a sinister myth,’ said Freddie. ‘Who could love a God who deliberately confused mankind in that mean way?’

  ‘One could respect him,’ said Clifford. ‘He knew his business.’

  ‘I wonder if there’ll ever be a real international language?’ said Freddie.

  ‘There is. English.’

  ‘Hilary is so chauvinistic.’

  ‘What about Esperanto?’ said Laura. ‘Hilary, do you know Esperanto?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Do you think it —?’

  ‘How can one tolerate a language where the word for “mother” is “little father”?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘The Esperanto for “mother” is patrino.’

  ‘Down with Esperanto!’ said Laura.

  ‘You are quite right that God knew his business,’ I said to Clifford. I wanted to communicate with him, but he still refused to look at me. ‘But one needn’t take it too cynically. Nothing humbles human pride more than inability to understand a language. It’s a perfect image of spiritual limitation. The cleverest man looks a fool if he can’t speak a language properly.’

  ‘That’s why you want to know all languages, Hilary?’ said Laura.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘God wanted us to see how limited we were?’ said Freddie.

  ‘He wanted us to see that goodness is a foreign language.’

  ‘It’s one of Hilary’s metaphysical evenings,’ said Freddie.

  ‘I can’t think how the words of all those languages don’t get all mixed up in your head,’ said Laura. ‘They would in mine.’

  ‘Word pie.’

  Clifford was cold and silent, unsmiling, fiddling with his sweet, a mess of pineapple covered with some sort of nasty pungent liqueur. He suddenly turned to Freddie and said, ‘What do you think of Templar-Spence’s successor?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Freddie. ‘Gunnar Jopling. A good appointment, don’t you think? I gather he’ll be with us in a week or two.’

  ‘I can’t eat this,’ I said to Laura. ‘It gets at my tooth. Do you think I could have some whisky?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Is he Swedish or something, being called Gunnar? It’s a nice name.’

  ‘No, very English. May have had a Swedish ancestor. He’s been seconded all over the place, hasn’t he. Started in the Treasury. Then there was that business with the airlines. Then the International Monetary Fund, then the United N
ations. Such an able man. I gather he’s tipped to be head of the Civil Service.’

  ‘Wasn’t there something about his wanting to get into politics?’ said Laura.

  ‘I think there was some relief in the Labour Party when he decided not to! He might have got to the top rather too fast. A man of ruthless ambition. He’ll certainly be a change from that old sheep Templar-Spence. He’ll shake things up a bit in the department.’

  ‘Will I like him?’ said Laura.

  ‘Women are always so personal,’ said Freddie. ‘Will she like him?’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Are you after him already, darling? Yes, he is. He married Lady Kitty Mallow.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember now. That deb. She must be quite a lot younger than him. Isn’t she fearfully rich?’

  ‘I hear they’ve bought a house on Cheyne Walk,’ said Freddie. ‘Duncan told me when we met at the Cabinet Offices.’

  ‘Must be rolling. She’s his second wife, isn’t she? Didn’t the first one — something happened — ’

  ‘His first wife was killed in an accident,’ said Clifford.

  ‘Oh yes. And his son committed suicide.’

  ‘That was later on.’

  ‘Poor man,’ said Laura. ‘I expect that accounts for the ruthless ambition. When shall we invite him to dinner? He sounds so interesting. You haven’t told me if I’ll like him.’

  ‘I’ve only seen him at meetings. He’s such a cool customer it’s hard to tell. Have you come across him at all, Clifford?’

  ‘I knew him very slightly as an undergraduate,’ said Clifford. ‘And I’ve seen him in action at meetings. But the person to ask is Hilary. Hilary and he are old friends.’

  There were exclamations. I drank the rest of the whisky very quickly and pulled my feet in under me ready to rise. Clifford’s malice had taken me by surprise and I was totally unprepared to produce suitable lies. I saw Laura’s face, reddened by wine, surrounded by the greying elf locks, ablaze with gleeful curiosity.

  ‘Hilary, you’re so secretive, so you’re his friend, what fun! Do you know Lady Kitty too?’

  ‘We shall now see Hilary rise to power!’ said Freddie, who seemed not totally pleased with the unexpected news.

  ‘Hilary will be asked to Cheyne Walk.’

  ‘Hilary will hear all the secrets.’

  ‘We shall have to make up to Hilary now.’

  ‘We aren’t friends,’ I said. ‘I mean — I don’t know him at all well — I haven’t seen him for years and years — we’re complete strangers — I don’t suppose he even remembers me — ’

  ‘Oh come, Hilary, once seen never forgotten!’

  ‘Hilary is so modest.’

  ‘Nonsense, Hilary. Now tell us all about him. What is he really like? Is he nice?’

  ‘Well, is he nice?’ said Clifford, with at last the ghost of a malicious smile as I was silently trying to think what to say.

  ‘Oh very nice,’ I said. ‘But really I don’t know him, really. Please don’t expect — ’

  ‘Do you know Lady Kitty?’

  ‘No — look — I haven’t seen him for twenty years — ’

  ‘Did you know his first wife?’ said Clifford, smiling more.

  ‘No — Laura, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m in anguish with this tooth. Do you mind if I go home?’

  Laura led me up to the drawing-room, where the lights were still goldenly on and the fire was burning and there was a strange silence. She held me by the sleeve, looking intently into my face.

  ‘Here, my dear, have a little more whisky. Don’t rush off. You’re looking terribly odd. Have you really got toothache?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Drink this. I’ll give you some to take home with you. You haven’t got toothache at all now, have you, confess.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What a dear old liar you are. I always know. It’s Tommy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me, Hilary, tell me — ’

  ‘It isn’t just Tommy,’ I said. ‘It’s Crystal. She’s going to marry Arthur Fisch.’

  ‘Aaah — and you feel that you and Tommy — Darling, you mustn’t marry Tommy just because Crystal is marrying Arthur.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone about Crystal.’

  ‘No, I won’t. I understand, she may change her mind. Oh I do feel for you. I won’t even tell Freddie. But I must come soon and talk to you about it. I’ll come on Saturday.’

  ‘I must go now, Laura dear.’

  ‘Now I understand everything. I could see you were suffering. I can read you like a book, you know. Darling Hilary, I do love you.’ Standing on tiptoe, Laura put her arms round me and pressed her hot cheek against mine. The jangling ornaments pressed into my shirt. She kissed me on the side of the mouth. The whisky dribbled onto the flowing gown.

  I WALKED very fast, pounding along like a machine, out of Queen’s Gate Terrace, down Gloucester Road, along Cromwell Road, down Earls Court Road, along Old Brompton Road, along Lillie Road. The night was raw and cold, not raining, freezing. I could feel the frost forming underfoot on the damp pavements, slippery, crystalline. As I passed the railings of Brompton Cemetery I could feel the frost in the dark within, moving, fingering the grass, fingering the tombs, a ghost vainly seeking ghosts. I walked like a fast machine, my head erect, my arms swinging, my blood pumping. I could not bear to think of the conversation which had just ceased. There was a stone in my heart which was hatred, fear.

  I arrived at Crystal’s flat earlier than usual. I let myself in quietly and tiptoed half way up the stairs and listened. There was total silence up above. I could see the line of yellow light under the door. Misery and rage boiled round me in the darkness, seething in and out of my head in a surge of black atoms. I bounded up the last few steps and threw open the door.

  Crystal and Arthur were sitting at the table. My entry was sudden enough to catch the essence of the previous scene. They were sitting silently at the table, their chairs turned sideways, close together, gazing into each other’s eyes. They had both removed their glasses. Arthur had taken his jacket off. Each of them had rolled up a sleeve and they were caressing each other’s arms upon the table.

  They now faced me, red with guilt and embarrassment, rolling down their sleeves hastily, resuming their glasses. They both rose to their feet.

  I sat down heavily on the third chair, scraping it loudly on the floor. I had drunk a lot of whisky and the fast walk had not improved things. Golden now, the atoms continued to boil round about me. Arthur put on his jacket, then picked up his overcoat and his woollen cap. ‘Sit down,’ I said to him. He sat down, and so did Crystal. I poured out some of the Spanish burgundy, spilling some on the table. ‘Let’s have a gossip,’ I said.

  ‘What did you have for dinner?’ said Arthur.

  ‘I forget. I didn’t eat any.’

  ‘We had fish fingers and chips and Lyons individual fruit pies,’ said Arthur. He could see that I was drunk, but he had seen that before. He was so happy he could not prevent a lunatic smile from distorting his face, making it almost unrecognizable.

  ‘How’s the ’flu, Hilary?’

  ‘What ’flu?’

  ‘I thought — ’

  ‘I reek of garlic,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t smell it,’ said Arthur.

  ‘I tell you I reek of it.’

  ‘Is it cold outside?’ said Crystal.

  ‘I didn’t notice.’

  There was a silence. They were both looking at me, Crystal very anxiously, Arthur with a vague happy benevolent gentleness. Crystal took her glasses off again and rubbed her eyes. She peered at me with her naked beautiful golden eyes, as if this would inspire some more direct communication. She was watching for a merciful sign. Almost anything would have served. I did not give one.

  I said to her, ‘Just guess who is the new head of our office?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our old friend Gunnar Jopling.’

  Crystal drew a gasping
breath. Then she slowly put her glasses on, her mouth fell open, the big lower lip moist and trembling, and a quick red flush spread over her face and neck.

  Arthur, who was not looking at her, said, ‘I say, do you know him?’