He got into bed and turned out the light. He lay for a while open-eyed, suspended, as if held in a dark void. As his eyes closed he saw himself walking in a strange twilight through endless huge empty halls, lofty halls with dim ornate roofs, empty yet full of being, the great unbounded spaces of his soul. Then, falling asleep, he began to remember how, at the Battersea Dog’s Home, he had picked up Anax as a young dog, little more than a puppy, and how he had chosen him from the great yearning mob of other dogs, seeing his strange loving eyes and his brave intent face among the innumerable faces of poor doomed dogs, and carried him away in his arms. And he thought, it’s like Christ in Hell. Why didn’t He save them all and take them away with Him? Perhaps He couldn’t – but why not? And as he fell into deeper sleep he thought, but I haven’t even taken one away from death, I can’t find Anax, I’ve lost him, he’s still there, and he will be destroyed and his body will be burnt – and he began to run back, retracing his steps through the lofty empty halls which endlessly hopelessly continued to open one into the next.
‘Now I see why you’ve been hiding it!’
‘I haven’t been hiding it!’
‘Yes, you have, you’re ashamed of it, you’ve been putting it under the bed.’
‘Well, I’ve got to put it somewhere!’
The thing in question was Harvey’s plaster cast. He was visiting his mother who was ensconced in his own tiny flat. Of course strictly speaking Joan should have been enjoying the grander scene chez Clive and Emil, but with Harvey crippled it was agreed that he must live in the large flat with the lift. Anyway, as Harvey pointed out, Clive and Emil were obliging him, not his mother.
Joan was lying back, supported by pillows, in Harvey’s narrow bed which folded back into the cupboard when not in use. Harvey moved the cast, lifting its alien weight with his hands.
‘Let me see. Who put all those scribbles on it?’
‘Louise and the others.’
‘Who did which?’
Harvey named the authors.
‘How touchingly characteristic. Moy does a dear little creepy-crawly, Aleph does a dragon-cat, Louise does the obvious, Sefton can’t think of anything, and Clement is a comic dog. It’s all self-portraiture.’
‘They’ve been so kind to me.’
‘You are becoming as dull as Louise. Could you pour me some more champagne?’
It was the next morning about ten, and Harvey had found his mother in bed dressed in a white fluffy négligé, drinking and smoking.
He poured the champagne. ‘No, I don’t want any. Do you mind if I open the window?’
‘I mind very much. It’s raining outside.’
‘The rain won’t come in. This room is full of smoke. I can’t breathe.’
‘Of course you can breathe, why are you so feeble – why don’t you go back to Italy, you aren’t all that helpless, you can get about.’
‘You said it would be too expensive, I’d have to pay doctors over there.’
‘Did I? Well, you’re getting better now. You’re just doing this to punish yourself, since you made one mistake you want everything to collapse so you can call it fate.’
‘Oh do shut up, maman!’
‘Look, I want to write something on your cast. Why should I be left out?’
‘Oh please not!’
‘Give me a pen or something.’
Harvey produced a felt pen from his pocket and obediently propped his stone leg up on an adjacent chair.
‘Here, hold my cigarette.’
Leaning over from the bed Joan wrote upon the cast the words which had been uttered by the man who passed him on the bridge and which Harvey had repeated to her.
He laughed, returning the cigarette and lifting down the heavy object, holding it carefully in his hands. He surveyed his mother. The white négligé, softness itself, seemed to be made of cotton wool, and some little white feathers had been sewn in around the neck where a pink nightdress discreetly peeped. Harvey did not want his mother to look too feminine. She had evidently powdered her nose, her pretty so faintly retroussé nose, making it look curiously pale, but had not yet donned the glowing mask of make-up which so magically composed her face. Her long slim hand emerged from the fleecy sleeve and adjusted her dark red locks which were snakily straying upon the pillow. Her eyelashes, not yet darkened, fluttered, her eyes, narrowed, sparkled. They gazed at each other.
‘When I give them that stare, it hits them just like Bacardi!’
‘I can do everything, but nothing with you.’
‘That was a good song, I remember the girls used to sing it, there are no good songs now, nothing but repetitive shouting. How are the vestal virgins?’
‘The same as ever. Beautiful and good.’
‘All that will change in the twinkling of an eye. Aleph who folds her pretty wings like a dove will become a Valkyrie and marry a tycoon. Well, I suppose Sefton will tramp sturdily on until she’s an old maid and head of some dreary college. But Moy – ’
‘Aleph said Moy will be an extraordinary woman.’
‘Yes. Something amazing, perhaps awful. I never said this to Louise, I told her that Moy would be in church arranging the flowers. I see her as a witch – ’
‘Chère maman, you are the witch!’
‘It’s not just the sickening aroma of female adolescence, there’s something mad there, it could become something horrid – ’
‘Never! She’s so gentle, she loves little things – ’
‘All that will go too far. Heaven help her husband, she’ll turn him into a mouse and keep him in a cage. I wonder if she thinks Clement will wait for her. He has the gift of eternal youth. He would make a good mouse. I gather she’s in love with him already. Thank heavens you think they are all your sisters. Now you have got to marry a rich girl, listen Harvey, you’ve got to, you’re so good-looking and it’s time you started being serious. What about Rosemary Adwarden for instance – ’
‘Oh please don’t bother me, please leave me alone – ’
‘You call that bothering? Wait till I commit suicide or go to Humphrey Hook!’
After some study Harvey had decided that this fictional individual signified drugs, or was another name for death. He did not take these threats seriously, but he hated to hear them.
‘I wish you didn’t go so often to that house. Actually those girls are zombies, they’re all asleep. Louise has been asleep all her life. God, how the place reeks of females.’
‘Louise is the widest-awake person I know, she isn’t living in a dream world – ’
‘So you think I am? I know, of course Louise is your real mother – ’
‘No – ’
‘You always sided with your rotten father – ’
‘You mean at the age of six!’
‘Yes, and then you poured it out to Louise – ’
‘Oh don’t start up that old stuff, it’s so boring – ’
‘My father gambled the money away, your father stole it, and now you – ’
‘Do you want me to give up the university and take a job as a clerk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t be silly, I get scholarships don’t I, I’ll earn more later on, I’ll support you – ’
‘In my old age, which begins tomorrow. All right you don’t want to think about money, you don’t want a job, you imagine someone will always look after you – ’
‘Well, you earn some money somehow – ’
‘What do you mean “somehow”, are you insinuating – ?’
‘I think I’d better go away, I’m just annoying you.’
‘So you find it boring when I try to help you! Go away then. I can always stay with my ma in Antibes.’
‘You say you detest her.’
‘Of course I do, but – ’
‘Mind your cigarette, it’s boring a hole in the sheet.’
Such arguments occurred more frequently, now sometimes ending in his mother’s tears, which he shuddered to see and blamed himself for occ
asioning. Her unhappiness had always caused him pain. But in the past he had felt, when they quarrelled, that somehow ultimately it was play-acting, and there was no background of a reality in which he was expected to play a heroic part. Now however, at this very moment of his being grown-up and free, he was being handed a terrible new burden of responsibility. He resented being made to think of himself as in some serious sense likely to do wrong. Of course he didn’t want to think about money! He disliked the, also more frequent, references to his father. Harvey had, without any purposive intent, carried with him an evolving interpretation of his father. In this lively ‘remembrance’ his father, portrayed by Joan as a monster, appeared as reserved, laconic, silent, simply not framed by nature to control, or skirmish with, or be in bed with, an emotional passionate pugnacious woman. Joan had made scenes in order to stir him into some more positive relationship, to force him to respond, even to dominate. But this rough treatment, far from enlivening her husband, made him draw away, become even more laconic, until one day he vanished altogether. Harvey remembered that day. Some money, Harvey did not know or try to discover how much, did indeed vanish with him. About this truant father Harvey did not speak to anyone, not even to Louise. Sometimes he had dreamt of going to find him. But his love for his mother eternally forbade this move. Harvey adored his mother. She adored him.
Joan was staring at him. Her untended face looked damp and spongy, her cheeks were flushed, the grains of powder dabbed onto her nose were dry and visible. Aggressively she gulped down some champagne, spilling some on her nightdress, and put the glass down noisily on the side table. Adjusting her pillows she upset the overflowing ashtray onto the floor. Harvey picked it up, retrieving the cigarette ends and kicking the ash away under the bed.
‘Ma petite maman, ne t’en fais pas comme ça!’
‘Tu es un moujik!’
‘Well, well! Have you heard any news of Lucas?’
‘No, why should I? Why do you suddenly say that? Are you trying to change the subject?’
‘I don’t know what the subject is, I’m just making conversation.’
‘Making conversation! My son comes here to make conversation ! Why don’t you go somewhere else and make something else. Have you, meaning you and Clement and Bellamy and Louise, had any news of him?’
‘No. Clement is terribly worried.’
‘Everyone goes round saying how worried everyone else is. I’m not worried. Damn Clement, I wish I could turn him into something.’
The doorbell on the flat buzzed from below. Harvey lifted the answer-phone. ‘Hello.’ He said to his mother, ‘It’s Tessa.’
‘Good. Tell her to come up.’
‘Tessa, come up. My ma’s here.’
Harvey went out onto the landing. Tessa Millen came up the flights of stairs fast, striding not running. She patted Harvey’s cheek and sped into the flat. Harvey followed her in.
Tessa was, in the lives of what Joan called ‘Louise’s set’, an anomaly, a misfit or enigma, liked by Harvey, Sefton, Clive, Emil, Bellamy, and Joan, a puzzle for Clement, treated with suspicion by Louise, Aleph and Moy, liked by the male Adwardens, disliked by the female Adwardens, loved by Cora Brock, and so on as the circle widened. She was said to be an odd bird, certainly a ‘card’. She was not comme il faut and made some people uncomfortable. Others said there was nothing at all odd about Tessa, she was just a liberated woman, and if she seemed peculiar that just proved how few of them there were. She was handsome, had short-clipped blonde hair and narrow grey eyes, Bellamy said she looked ‘angelic’, and Emil said she had an ‘archaic smile’. Said to be over thirty, she had a long obscure past. She kept her maiden name, but had been married to some (now vanished) foreigner, perhaps Swedish. She had been born somewhere in the north of England, had a degree from a northern university, had lived in Australia (perhaps with the Swede), was active in left wing politics, had worked in a publishing house, written a book, nearly died of cold in a ‘protest camp’, had affairs with persons of both sexes, and been a social worker but ceased to be one ‘under a cloud’. She was said to have ‘money of her own’. A photo, purloined by one of her ‘patients’, showed her on a horse. Bellamy, who had known her slightly in her social work persona, had introduced her to Louise and the others. Emil, it turned out, had already met her through Gay Rights. At present, having evidently re-established her relations with the social services, she ran a woman’s ‘refuge’ and advice bureau. She had a clear cultivated voice retaining some northern vowels. She used to frighten Harvey, but he had got over that. He had, as he grandly put it, seen the point of Tessa.
‘Hello, Teacher!’ Thus Joan greeted her.
Joan had used the brief interim to effect some improvements to her face. She sat up, eager and alert, against her reorganised pillows, her thick dark red hair combed and patted.
Tessa handed over her wet mackintosh and dripping umbrella to Harvey who put them in the bathroom. She advanced on Joan and took away her champagne glass and stubbed out the cigarette which had been smoking in the ash tray. Then she opened the window letting in the hiss of rain and a waft of moist cool rainy air. Joan groaned. Tessa sat down on the chair Harvey had vacated, Harvey sat on the bed.
‘This place is foul!’
‘Sorry, Teacher!’
‘Hello, Harvey, how’s the leg?’
‘Fine.’
‘He lies,’ said Joan. ‘And how are you, saver of fallen women? Do save one for Harvey.’
‘Someone said you were away,’ said Harvey.
‘I was in Amsterdam.’
‘I think I know why.’
‘I don’t,’ said Harvey.
‘Don’t hustle Harvey,’ said Tessa, ‘He’s romantic.’
‘I think you are romantic, Tessa, you don’t want to explain the world, you want to change it.’
‘She is the eternal student protester,’ said Joan. ‘Good luck to you, angel. Students will save us all.’
‘Who told you I was away?’ said Tessa.
‘Sefton.’
‘My ma sends her love,’ said Joan. ‘She was bowled over by you. You must come again.’
‘So she is still with that old chap.’
‘Of course. He is beau comme Croesus as someone said of – ’
‘You went to see my grandmother?’
This was unwelcome news to Harvey. He rarely visited Joan’s mother, but he felt possessive about her. He felt possessive about his mother. He did not care for the bond between Joan and Tessa. He did not like to think they discussed him.
‘Well, you won’t go and see her!’ said Joan. ‘She has given up sending you her love!’
‘I need love,’ said Harvey. ‘I hope she won’t switch hers off. I’ll send her a postcard.’
‘Big deal!’
Since his accident the idea had occurred to Harvey that he might go to Antibes and be looked after by his grandmother and the ‘old chap’ who was beau comme Croesus. But the vision had faded. He lacked the will. Besides, Joan’s mother was difficile.
‘Let’s send Harvey away,’ said Joan, ‘grown-up talk bores him.’
‘All right,’ said Harvey crossly. ‘I just wanted to talk to Tessa.’
‘Come and see me tonight at six,’ said Tessa.
‘Tessa loves to get her claws into a new patient, she thrives on the anguish of others. Anyway I know you two have a secret pact.’
‘Don’t be silly, maman!’
‘Shall I help you down the stairs?’
‘No!’
An hour later Clement arrived. Heavy rain was coming down, straight, in long pellets, glinting. Joan was up, dressed in a dark-blue and white kimono. Clement threw his wet overcoat into the bathroom. He sat down on the tumbled bed. Joan, who had been sitting by the window, drew her chair near to him.
‘Hello, Harlequin. Your beautiful black hair is wet. You’ve just missed Tessa.’
‘Oh, too bad.’
‘She frightens you. It’s that ambiguous charm. Are you in love
with her?’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Are you in love with me?’
‘No.’
‘Are you in love with – ?’
‘Is there any champagne left in that bottle?’
‘Can’t you face me without a drink?’
‘No.’
‘Well, there isn’t. Unless you’d like to open another bottle. Let’s open another bottle.’
‘No, don’t bother, don’t bother!’
‘Actually there’s some whisky in that slit there, Harvey’s so-called kitchen. Get yourself a glass and put some in mine.’
Clement fetched a glass and the whisky bottle. He poured a little into Joan’s glass and into his own.
‘Would you like a towel to dry your hair?’
‘No.’
‘Well, please yourself. Cheers, Harlequin. Why didn’t you come sooner?’
‘I’ve been busy. Have you heard anything about Lucas?’
‘No, I don’t know anything about him, why ever should I, why do you ask me?’
‘I just ask everybody.’
‘Harvey was here too, the poor little monster.’
‘Yes, poor fellow.’
‘You mustn’t have guilt feelings about him.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well, perhaps you ought to. Never mind. He’s smashed himself up accidentally on purpose. Tell me something. So it’s still raining. We can agree on that.’
‘I just hope Harvey isn’t in for a depression.’
‘If he is, Tessa will cure him.’
‘Have you seen Tessa – yes, of course you just said she’d been here.’
‘You aren’t concentrating. Soon you’ll be asking me if I’ve seen Joan lately. Aren’t you glad to see me?’
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘Did you know that a man’s sexuality ascends into the highest pinnacle of his spirit? That implies, no sexuality, no spirit.’
‘I don’t know what it implies or what it means.’