Carrie Jones, seated beside Tommy, regarded her ten red fingernails which were spread out on her knee. She wore a yellow linen dress as smooth as butter and her face had the smooth prepared surface of a very pretty girl who feels men’s eyes play over her like sunlight. Martha thought: She’s what I used to be: she looks at herself in the lookingglass, and she sees how her face and body form a sort of painted shell, and she adores herself, but she is waiting for a pair of eyes to melt the paint and shoot through into the dark inside – well, she’ll have to wait! … Martha examined this idea, in a change of mood, and rejected it. She was again full of violent dissatisfaction. Half the things I think, she thought, are untrue and full of self-pity – I’ve only got to get tired or be sick, and I’m full of nostalgia again, but the Lord only knows for what! – full of self-pity, and my mind seems to breed dramatic and silly ideas on its own.
She yawned, still watching Carrie. Well, what is she doing here? She’s such a pretty girl, she doesn’t read, she isn’t really political at all. There isn’t a man in this room she could be interested in. And at this moment she’s bored because she’s sitting by Tommy – bored and ashamed of being bored.
Carrie, feeling Martha’s eyes on her, offered her a companionable but rather tired smile. The tiredness in Carrie’s smile restored Martha’s mood of five minutes before. She thought: She’s fed up with everything. She hates that painted shell of hers and she despises men for the look they get on their faces when they see her. She’s become a communist because she wants to be something different. She’ll leave us soon – yes, of course. Because there isn’t one man here who doesn’t think: Carris is such a pretty girl. They all have that defensive and rather shame-faced look, and their voices when they speak of her are different, simply because she’s so pretty.
Here Jasmine’s voice stopped and Bill Bluett leaned forward to speak. He had obviously been listening to every word of the minutes-reading, for now he challenged three points in their wording. They were unimportant points. Jasmine submitted his order of words to the meeting who accepted them without discussion. The minutes were changed. They all of them knew that Bill had done this, not because he cared about these details, but in order to challenge Anton; Anton knew it too. He initialled the altered minutes and said:
‘Anything else of importance, Comrade Bill?’
Bill shook his head, but remained leaning forward, on the alert. Martha looked at his hands, which lay loose on his knees. They were long, fine, white hands, but grimy with oil. He was a fitter. He even smelled of oil. Martha looked at the hands of the other RAF men, and thought: Well, they don’t have to have signatures of oil all over them. Bill does because he’s middle-class. She had no time to pursue this thought, because Jimmy was speaking.
‘Comrade Chairman, I want to put a resolution to this meeting.’
‘On what subject?’ asked Anton. ‘This is item two on the agenda. Political instruction. Comrade Jasmine is to speak.’
‘I don’t care about item two,’ said Jimmy. His face was flaming, his big mouth shovelled out the words. ‘I want something done. I want to do something instead of talk, talk, talk.’
‘Take it easy, mate,’ said Bill, in a low tone aside to Jimmy. Obviously something had been decided between the RAF men, and Jimmy had upset the plan by speaking now.
On the other side of Martha, Andrew shifted his body uncomfortably. He doesn’t like all this, she thought, and looked inquiringly at him. He made a quick wry face, as if to say: I don’t understand it either.
‘I want to ask the meeting if I can put my resolution,’ said Jimmy, glaring around at them all, including his RAF comrades.
‘Let’s keep to the agenda,’ said Marie du Preez good-naturedly. ‘Otherwise we’ll be yapping all night again.’
Jimmy glowered at her. She smiled at him, maternal and quizzical. He blushed deeper and said, still angry but in a lower voice: ‘O? then. Only because the political education is the same thing. Then I demand my right to put a resolution. I demand it, see?’
Anton, ignoring Jimmy, said to Jasmine: ‘Comrade, will you now speak.’
Jasmine spoke for fifteen minutes, her wrist-watch propped in front of her, on racial and national hatreds. These, she said, together with any forms of hostility between one group or sub-section of humanity and another, were due to capitalism, and would vanish on the advent of socialism. When she had finished, Anton said: ‘We have ten minutes allowed for discussion. Who speaks first?’
‘I want to put my resolution,’ said Jimmy.
‘But this is the time for discussion.’
‘You can’t just go upsetting the agenda like that,’ said Marjorie excitedly.
‘I’m not upsetting anything,’ said Jimmy. ‘I want to put a resolution. It’s a resolution about the things Jasmine has just said.’
‘I propose we set aside the agenda and let Comrade Jimmy put his resolution,’ said Andrew, in the humorous voice he used for difficult moments.
Martha glanced at Bill who was grinning sardonically: apparently he was not unhappy about the way things were going.
‘Agreed?’ said Anton briefly.
‘Agreed, yes, we agree,’ said various voices, some resigned, some amused, some impatient.
Jimmy took a piece of paper from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and held it before him. ‘I propose to put the following resolution to the meeting. One: all forms of racial prejudice are artificial, contrary to nature, and created by capitalists in order to divide and rule…’
Here Elias Phiri said: ‘Wait a minute, I want to ask a question.’
‘Comrade Elias,’ said Anton, turning to him.
‘You are saying,’ said the African, looking to Jasmine, ‘that racial prejudice is created by capitalism. Is that what you are saying?’
There was a pause. Jasmine said precisely, but rather puzzled: ‘Yes, comrade, that was the subject of my talk.’
‘I see,’ said Elias. ‘I see.’ He looked back at the floor. His foot still tapped, tapped, stroked the floor, to the time of McGrath’s hardly audible drums.
‘What is Comrade Elias saying?’ asked Marjorie. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I just wanted to be sure: the communists say racial prejudice is created by capitalism – I wanted to know about that,’ Elias explained to Marjorie.
There was an even longer pause. He had said, ‘The communists,’ as if he wasn’t one of them. And it had slipped out, which made it worse. They all felt uncomfortable.
‘Can I go on?’ asked Jimmy angrily.
‘Go on,’ said Anton.
‘Secondly, that anti-Semitism is just capitalist propaganda.’
‘Well, of course,’ said Marjorie at once.
‘Thirdly, there’s no such thing as national difference. It’s all nonsense, talking about the British character, the German character, the Japanese character – we’re all the same.’
He lowered his paper slightly and gazed about him aggressively: ‘We’re all the same as each other,’ he said.
‘Well, go on,’ said Anton calmly. Everyone looked puzzled.
‘Well,’ said Jimmy, frowning at his piece of paper, momentarily at a loss, as if he had expected them to disagree. ‘That’s not all. That’s not all by a long chalk.’
‘But I don’t see the point,’ said Marjorie. ‘I mean, we all know that, so what’s the point of passing resolutions?’
‘I’m just fed up with talking,’ said Jimmy. ‘I want something settled for once and for all.’
Marjorie shrugged and sat still.
‘Fourthly,’ said Jimmy, ‘that all people are equal, and that everything is a question of education. And that’s the most important thing of all – education.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Marie. ‘Of course everyone should have an equal education.’
‘It’s more than saying of course. It seems that you’re just paying lip-service. Lenin said, every cook must govern the State. But when it comes down to it, you don’t hold
with it at all!’
‘But why are you saying all this?’ asked Marjorie. She was very excited and angry. Colin, phlegmatic and proprietary beside her, very much the new young husband, laid a large pale hand on her agitated arm. She almost shook it off, then remained still, sitting back, smiling crossly.
‘There’s no such thing as talent,’ said Jimmy. ‘It’s all just a trick to scare the workers out of trying. Talent is education. Up to now, the educated people have had talent. They write books and that sort of thing. But it’s because they have been educated.’
Jasmine was observed to be looking at Anton, as if expecting him to call a halt. But he remained silent, drawing something on his agenda.
Marie said in her direct honest way: ‘I don’t understand what all this is in aid of, comrade. Are you saying everyone’s exactly the same as everyone else?’
Here Piet let out a good-natured guffaw, and said: ‘If we are going to pass a resolution abolishing the little difference between men and women, then I’m going back to being a reactionary.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed his wife, with friendly exasperation. ‘Trust him!’ They exchanged the rapid, understanding, cheerfully antagonistic glances of a well-matched couple. ‘Don’t you take any notice of my old man. But Jimmy, how can you say that? People are just born different.’
Jimmy sat loosely on the bench inside the thick grey shell of uniform, like a heap of big bones roughly packaged up. His big face was scarlet, his eyes sombrely unhappy. ‘There you are,’ he said, ‘I knew it would be like that!’
‘But Jimmy, you’re saying there’s no such thing as talent?’
Here Andrew came in again, with his ‘humorous’ voice saying: ‘I think Comrade Jimmy is framing his resolution carelessly. Why don’t we put it like this, comrades: Fourthly, that unequal education has so far prevented the workers from making use of their talents.’
‘Very well,’ said Jimmy aggressively. ‘O?. I’ll accept that.’
‘But I don’t see why we have to pass a resolution at all,’ said Marjorie. But again she made herself go quiet under the pressure of her husband’s hand.
‘I want it all clear,’ insisted Jimmy. ‘I want this meeting to pass this resolution.’
‘But we can’t pass a resolution about this: it’s simply what we all believe anyway,’ said Jasmine.
‘But I don’t believe it,’ said Tommy, writhing as usual because of the effort of speaking up in front of everyone. ‘I mean, it’s not true. Take this book Jasmine made me read, War and Peace. Well, I can’t see myself writing that in a thousand years, even if I was educated.’
‘Yes, you would,’ said Jimmy, glaring at him. He raised his voice and shouted: There you are! They were all aristocrats! They were bourjoys. So why do you have to sit there and fall for it?’
‘Well, I don’t see what this is about,’ said Marjorie, ‘but if Jimmy wants the resolution passed, then I think we should pass it. And then we can get on with the agenda.’
Jimmy said: ‘That’s just contemptuous. You don’t really think so at all, but you are saying, “Let’s pass the resolution,” just to shut me up.’
‘I vote we pass the resolution,’ said Bill. As if Anton had been waiting for the sound of Bill’s voice, he stopped doodling, and said: ‘Any further discussion? Who will second?’
Bill said: ‘I will.’
The resolution was put and carried unanimously. They were all smiling awkwardly, feeling foolish.
But Jimmy was clearly almost in tears. He said; ‘But it hasn’t been done right. I don’t feel right about it all.’
‘Come off it,’ said Piet, brusque and rude. ‘Come off it now. You’ve got your resolution, now shut up and let us get on with the job.’
Jimmy was looking so sad, so puzzled, that they all felt as if they had let him down.
Bill said to him in a low voice, leaning across Martha:‘Come off it now, Jimmy boy. We’re not going to end everything that’s bad in the world by passing resolutions, are we now?’
Jimmy smiled back at him, but his eyes rejected him and everyone. They were turned inward, on some sore miserable place which – they all felt – had been cruelly touched. They knew he was badly hurt. It was the first time it had occurred to any of them that perhaps he was not in his right mind, or that he was so ill he had become unbalanced.
Now they worked fast through the agenda. Clearly Anton was hurrying everything as much as he could. He was still afraid of some sort of show-down, that was obvious.
At five minutes to ten he said: ‘Any other business? We’ve got five minutes. I propose I formally close the meeting.’
Martha felt Bill straighten and harden. Now, she thought, this is it.
Bill said, almost casually: ‘Comrade Chairman, this is the third time that we’ve scamped an item on the agenda after formally making a decision about it.’
‘We have taken a formal decision never to end a meeting later than ten,’ said Anton. ‘Your proposal, if you remember.’
‘We have also taken a formal decision to have self-criticism and criticism.’
‘We can’t criticize fifteen people in five minutes.’
‘The camp bus is not leaving until eleven tonight.’
‘It seems on certain occasions not only that the RAF comrades can all come to the meetings, but can also arrange for the bus to leave an hour later,’ said Anton.
Bill said unpleasantly: ‘Is that a formal criticism of the RAF comrades? If so, will you bring it up in its correct place and in a form in which it can be answered seriously?’
‘You are suggesting that we should extend the meeting for an hour for the purpose of criticism? Anyone disagree?’
Marie du Preez grimaced at her husband; Colin attempted to exchange a rueful look with Marjorie; but she said reproachfully: ‘Of course we should have criticism. All serious communist groups have criticism.’
‘Good,’ said Anton, ‘I suggest that the order in which the criticism should be conducted be as follows: First, self-criticism. Then, criticism of each other. Then criticism by individual comrades of the group work as a whole. Any objections?’
‘Agreed,’ said Bill at once.
‘I think it would be better to have criticism of each other first, then our self-criticism would be deeper,’ said Jasmine seriously.
‘Agreed,’ said Anton, as impatiently as he ever allowed himself to sound. ‘Now, where do we start?’
There were two obvious people, sitting at the extreme ends of a rough semi-circle: one was Jasmine and the other Jimmy. Various people said apprehensively, ‘Jasmine. Besides, she is the secretary.’
Jasmine stood up. She was self-possessed, but her hands were trembling. Martha, looking at the small slight girl in her tight flowered dress, her black hair in curls on her head, pale and rather stern in her effort to appear calm, felt protective. She looked around and saw that everyone felt the same. Piet appeared almost comically bewildered. Marie recovered herself first. She hissed at her husband: ‘Go on, you old ram, she’s a human being as well, isn’t she?’
No one said anything for a time.
‘Well, comrades?’ said Anton. ‘Criticism of Comrade Jasmine.’ He paused. ‘It is a well-known fact that in every person’s character is a basic trend or type of weakness which, if he or she is not aware of it, so that it can be corrected, may destroy them as communists and as persons.’
Bill Bluett laughed out aloud. They all laughed.
Andrew said to Anton: ‘I wish to pass a belated amendment to the previously passed resolution: namely, that national characteristics are of the utmost importance.’ It sounded affectionate. Anton glanced up, studied Andrew’s face to see if he were being serious, and said: ‘You mean, I am a German? Well, comrades, in reply I would say that if I am pedantic, it is a useful and necessary counter-balance to your British frivolity.’
‘Oh, I say,’ said Colin, his spectacles flashing.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Anton. ‘If the fundamental fault of the Ge
rman character is pedantry, then your fault is empiricism and a refusal to base your ideas upon serious analysis.’
‘And what happens to Jimmy’s resolution?’ asked Piet good-humouredly.
‘I don’t know what empiricism is,’ said Jimmy, in such a tone that they all sobered. The thin skin of his cheeks shone scarlet, and his eyes glittered.
Meanwhile, Jasmine stood upright behind the table, waiting. ‘It seems no one has any criticism of Comrade Jasmine,’ said Anton.
‘I have,’ said Andrew. Jasmine turned to face him. He said gently: ‘Comrade Jasmine, you have a tendency to take on far too much work. I think you take jobs on and do them hurriedly instead of letting other people do them. It is the fault of the very efficient,’ he added, smiling at her.
‘Yes, I know that is true,’ said Jasmine. She looked distressed, and they all felt embarrassed and wished she could sit down.
‘Anything else?’ said Anton. No one spoke, and he said: ‘All right, Comrade Jasmine. Sit down.’
Murdoch said: ‘But that’s not a fundamental fault, is it? And we’ve often told Jasmine that before, haven’t we?’ Jasmine involuntarily stood up again, facing Murdoch who, as she did so, began the familiar half-humorous writhing that he used when he was the focus of attention.
‘If there is any criticism of Comrade Jasmine you want to make, then make it,’ said Anton.
‘But I didn’t say there was,’ Murdoch cried out, and jasmine sat down again.
Jimmy said fiercely: ‘I want to say something. But it’s not just about Jasmine, it’s about all the women comrades.’ He looked at Martha, then at Carrie Jones. She lifted her indolent dark eyes at him, and he shouted out: ‘All of you – lipstick and red nails and fashion magazines. That’s not communist. Women should be respected and not behave like … well, I can’t bring myself to say like what.’
Carrie, who had begun to frown, saw smiles on every face save Jimmy’s, and smiled back, rather self-consciously. This self-conscious smile apparently drove Jimmy almost out of his senses, because he stood up and yelled: ‘There, you see? You think it’s enough just to smile and put lipstick on. Well, I’ll tell you something, I’ve got no time for any girl who messes herself up with paint and plaster.’