Guilty: The Lost Classic Novel

  The sound of my name on her lips gave me a delicious thrill; in her magic ambience it seemed quite natural that she should know it. Passively, I listened to her melodious voice, scarcely hearing the words which dealt so competently with her would-be escort that he was soon accompanying us to the door, smiling and acquiescent. I left the situation entirely to her, as she was so obviously in command of it and only waited impatiently for us to be alone, feeling when we came finally out into the empty street that I had attained something I’d been struggling for all the evening.

  Until it happened, nothing could have seemed less likely than that I should fall in love with a girl I didn’t even know and at first sight, too, in this headlong fashion. Nor could it ever have happened, I’m sure, had she not made that initial move which had such great significance for me and set free my blocked emotions. Some obvious integrity she possessed made it impossible to question the impulse on which she had spoken to me; I could only be deeply grateful to her for her courage and quickness in seizing the chance I’d have been too timid and too slow to grasp, prepared in return to give up on the spot the comfortable pattern of life I’d hitherto been determined to preserve.

  ‘There’s so little time,’ I remember her saying once, apropos of our first meeting. ‘And it’s all so precarious – senseless. Only pure accident decides whether one meets the right person or passes him in the street; any stranger, almost, might be the one, there’s no way of knowing. So if, by some miracle, one does know – don’t ask me how – isn’t it mad not to stop him?’

  But this was later. Our conversation that night was devoted to getting to know the ordinary facts about one another, and long before we arrived at her home on the city’s outskirts we had ceased to be strangers. She told me she was the only child of rich parents, whose wealth had been devoured by war and taxation, so that, when her father died recently, he’d left little besides this house, in which she and her mother lived – they were even forced to let some of the rooms to make ends meet. I realized that our two worlds weren’t the same and had only happened to coincide because of the general chaos of the time. And, as the bus slowly jolted us along, I remember looking out at the maze of unfamiliar streets, contemplating the tremendous odds there must have been against our ever coming together and thinking it really did seem a miracle that we’d met.

  And I remember her smiling at me, so that all my tension relaxed, and I smiled back a completely uncensored smile of pure joy; but then, afraid I might have given away too much by showing her my entirely unguarded face, which I never let anyone see, I looked out at the darkness again.

  We arranged to meet again next day and were soon meeting daily, for our relationship advanced without a single setback until, after some weeks, with her mother’s consent, we became engaged.

  Perhaps because I’d never really loved, or entirely trusted, anyone before, it continued to seem miraculous to me to have found a person on whose affection and understanding I could always rely and with whom I could share all my thoughts. That first gesture of Carla’s, in throwing a bridge to my isolation, had enabled me to love and be loved, and, gratitude making me all the more dependent, I lived only for her. All my other friends were abandoned without a thought; they just ceased to exist for me. Even Link, who, faithful in his dogged fashion, kept trying to win me back to a more sociable attitude, no longer mattered. Though I was aware of behaving shabbily towards his sister and the family from whom I’d received only kindness, I felt no guilt, for I had no sense of responsibility or obligation except to the girl I loved. With her I was wonderfully happy, living throughout that summer a completely carefree existence. Quite simply, I lost myself in my love and with a luxurious abandonment let everything else go.

  An exquisite peace would descend on me as soon as we met, an almost languorous contentment. I’d have liked to stop all the clocks in the world, so that time would stand still. I might have been in a happy trance, and I suppose this was partly why I made no effort to hasten our marriage. But I also felt an instinctive aversion to thinking about the future, as though it were darkened by some obscure foreboding I couldn’t even recognize consciously. My rationalization was that I couldn’t bear to interrupt our present idyllic companionship; I clung to the carefree serenity of those long summer evenings, which gained a dream-like quality from my knowledge of their impermanence. It was true enough that I dreaded the end of this blissful interlude, which came about so suddenly that I can recall it with extraordinary clarity.

  I was in my flat, waiting for Carla at the open window, high above the town. Slanting sunshine was still warm on my face and hands, sunshine still gilded the rooftops and craggy ruins that reached my level, while in the street below dusk was already coagulating, where homebound crowds surged in every direction, like disturbed insects, in seemingly senseless haste. The obvious symbolism of the scene pleased me, the scurrying anonymous people down there in the shadow of darkness, while I was up here in the light. I’d been one of the crowd once, and if I liked I could be one of them again. For the present, I’d withdrawn of my own free will to my gilded tower. For the first time, I felt confident and in control of my life.

  But my sense of power was short-lived, vanishing as I realized Carla had raised me up and that, but for her, I should still be priding myself on being just like everyone else. Only a second ago I’d considered the possibility of reverting to what I had been … Suddenly I frowned and began to pace the room, unable to avoid the suspicion that I was trying to enjoy both my love affair and my freedom at the same time. This would explain my unwillingness to think of the future and the fact that I never pressed Carla to fix a date for our marriage. Horrible as it was, I couldn’t escape the idea that I’d been using my happy entranced state to hide a selfish reluctance to commit myself finally to married life; hating myself for it, I continued to prowl up and down till Carla arrived.

  She had barely come into the room, I could barely wait to embrace her, before I begged her to marry me as soon as possible. She looked at me in surprise, smiling at my feverish urgency. Why this sudden tremendous rush? she wanted to know; weren’t we quite all right as we were? Her smiling questions, counter-checking my deadly seriousness, suggested a lack of enthusiasm on her part, which at once alarmed me. Perhaps she’d been hurt by my dilatoriness as a lover. Perhaps she was getting tired of me altogether. Increasingly agitated, I implored her still more insistently to decide on a date, finally declaring I’d get a special licence so that we could be married tomorrow.

  ‘And where shall we live? Here?’

  Of course, I hadn’t overlooked this important point, but I hadn’t exactly considered it either, merely assuming that some suitable arrangement could be made without too much difficulty, since we were both the lucky possessors of homes. Now, with an ominous sense of approaching an obstacle I knew had been there all along, my memory began to throw off the oblivion I’d imposed upon it. Against my will and with a sinking heart, I recalled Spector’s words – almost the last he had spoken to me – as well as his earlier stipulation. I told myself that neither he nor the authorities could object to my sharing the flat with my wife; yet I was as certain as I’d ever been of anything that, if I were to ask permission for Carla to live here with me after our marriage, it would be refused. How this certainty arose I can’t explain; but it was positive enough to make me reply rather hopelessly, ‘No, I’m afraid that’s quite out of the question.’

  Thanks to her, I’d gained confidence. I’d thought myself independent of the man who was at once my landlord, employer and oldest friend. But that her influence hadn’t entirely freed me from his power now became clear, when her puzzled look reminded me of how little I’d told her about him. Of course, I’d often mentioned him and outlined the events in my life in which he’d played a part. Several times I’d been on the verge of describing my relations with him more fully, but, for some unknown reason, I’d always refrained at the last moment. Now I saw I’d be obliged to go into details when she said,
‘If he lets you live here, why not both of us? Surely, he would, in the circumstances?’

  Her beautiful candid eyes were looking straight into mine. Suddenly I was ashamed of my secretiveness, unable to understand why I’d deliberately concealed from her Spector’s peculiar hold over me. Taking her hand between both of mine, I told her what he had said; continuing with the whole story, emphasizing his influence on my childhood, the sense I’d once had of being dedicated to him, and my ambivalent attitude towards him that sometimes attracted, sometimes repelled.

  In my eagerness to compensate for my earlier secretiveness, I poured out all at once a confusing mass of information that should have emerged bit by bit, at different times, as it fitted naturally into our talk. I complicated it, too, by all sorts of incidents dragged in, regardless of relevance, in the hope of making the picture comprehensive – comprehensible it couldn’t have been. It must have sounded like a confession.

  I was still holding her hand. I think its inertness was my first indication that I was failing – as I’d failed once before with a different person – to convey the perhaps incommunicable nature of my relationship with this man. But I went on talking, unable to believe she wouldn’t suddenly know just what I meant, for she’d always understood me so perfectly.

  It was only when lines appeared on her white smooth forehead that I became silent, hating to see her perplexed or troubled. However, they must have been lines of vexation, for she withdrew her hand and, with a certain coldness that matched the gesture, said, ‘I’d no idea you were so dominated by Spector. Why didn’t you tell me all this before? You ought to see him again and try to make friends.’ I wanted to interrupt, to tell her she alone was important to me these days, but, mistaking my intention, she hurried on. ‘No, not only because of the flat but because it’s obvious that you won’t be happy till you’re on good terms with him.’

  It was our first misunderstanding, the first time I’d heard that chill in her voice, and a sort of desperation made me exclaim, ‘I don’t care if I never set eyes on the fellow again’, continuing more calmly, ‘He was only important to me once because I was so lonely. Since I’ve known you I haven’t even thought of him. That’s why you haven’t heard much about him.’ She looked at me gravely without speaking; and I, conscious that I was no longer being strictly truthful, said no more, glad that she didn’t pursue the subject.

  For the rest of the evening we went on as usual as if Spector hadn’t been mentioned. But our gaiety was a trifle forced; I was afraid we’d called up a ghost that wouldn’t be easily exorcized. And in that I was right; this was proved afterwards by our mutual inability to speak naturally of the man. Carla rarely uttered his name at all. And, though I refused to revert to my former reserve, I was incapable of talking about him simply and spontaneously; whatever I said seemed to have unintended implications, the most trivial remark developing undertones of startling significance.

  The day after our conversation, capitulating deliberately, I admitted there was no real reason I shouldn’t ask my employer’s permission for the two of us to live here, except that I was already in disfavour and felt certain it would be no good. She answered calmly that I must know what I was talking about – there must be some good reason for thinking he wouldn’t help us. Her face was composed and cool-looking, gentle, still, inexpressive. This unchanging composure of hers was sometimes faintly disturbing. It made me wonder now what she was really thinking. But I was glad of it, too, relieved that she didn’t want me to approach Spector.

  I had, I told her, a much better plan. Why shouldn’t we occupy some of the rooms in her home, replacing the present tenants? I’d inherited a little money from my father, and, with this and my salary, I could certainly make up the full amount they were paying, so that her mother wouldn’t lose by the arrangement. I smiled, thinking our future already as good as settled, as I put forward this simple and obvious suggestion, wondering why neither of us had thought of it sooner.

  To my surprise, Carla shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid that can’t be done.’ I thought she must be joking, imitating my objections of the previous day, until she went on to explain quite seriously that the rooms were let to officials of the highest grades, who couldn’t be asked to leave. ‘But, surely, in the circumstances …’ I began protesting, to break off hastily as I fancied I caught a gleam of amusement in her dark eyes. I seemed fated to make a fool of myself – or was she making a fool of me? Again I was struck by the singularly unrevealing serenity of her expression, her pale, smooth face perfect like a mask, at which I could gaze for ever, it was so clear and lovely. Yet something strange had looked out of her eyes for a moment – strangely disturbing. I’d believed there could never be any misunderstanding between us, but I’d been wrong, and now for a chilling second I seemed not to understand her at all. There was a suggestion about her of something obscure, secret and impenetrable. It was gone almost before I’d seen it; but not before it had brought about a change that proved to be permanent in our emotional climate. It wasn’t possible to go back to where we’d been before; nor did I really wish to revert to a stage I seemed suddenly to have outgrown.

  Summer was ending. In the sharper, cooler days that ensued, my former languid passivity seemed out of place. Though I loved Carla if possible more than ever, and still experienced in her company hours of relaxed happiness beyond all compare, my contentment now began to develop a reverse side that was correspondingly painful. Uneasy restlessness possessed me all the time we were apart. I was like a nervous traveller waiting for a train, existing in anxiety till our next meeting. If a day passed without seeing her, I became quite distracted, for without her I was lost and incomplete.

  With typical spite, life afflicted me with these distressing sensations just when I couldn’t possibly be with her as much as before, because I’d started to look for a house for us and saw her only for a short time after the day’s search was over and sometimes not even then.

  I remember very well how I started searching, diving headlong into the hateful business before my good resolutions had time to cool. This was the day after Carla had said indulgently, ‘What a child you are still’, stroking my hair while I sat on the floor at her feet. I wouldn’t disturb my dream-state to ask what she meant but assumed she referred to my undignified posture, which was one I loved to assume. Resting against her knees, feeling her hand on my head, I was sublimely happy, supremely content. This was all I wanted; just to lean on her, lulled into perfect peace by her rhythmic touch, secure in my dependence, relieved of every responsibility, almost of every thought, existing in a drowsy dream.

  Vaguely I contemplated the carpet on which I was sitting, remotely puzzled because its blurred pattern seemed so very familiar, though I’d never consciously noticed it till this moment, when the dim flowery thickets and tangled scrolls seemed to transfer themselves to the covering of something more resilient than floorboards. Suddenly it was a sofa I was sitting on. The warm protecting body I leaned against was clothed in tweed, through which I could feel the hard muscular masculine flesh, the underlying structure of the male skeleton. My child’s face, tingling from outdoor cold, was now beginning to burn in the heat of a fire long since reduced to ash. Yet, at the same time, words just spoken echoed confusingly in my head. Suddenly they ceased to be mere sounds, and I understood them, the floor hardening under me as time moved forward again.

  Somewhat bewildered, I thought: But I’m not that child any longer. There was something I certainly shared with the boy so dependent on Mr Spector: thinking of the passive attitude I’d all along adopted towards Carla, as if her original act had fixed our relative positions for all time, it occurred to me that I’d merely exchanged one dependence for another. Perhaps I could only exist under a stronger nature’s dominion. But then I insisted to myself that my relationship with Spector had been quite different. There was no comparison; the two couldn’t be said to resemble each other in any way.

  I jumped up abruptly, pushing a wisp of hair ou
t of my eyes and, seeing Carla sitting there quietly, seized her in my arms. She struggled, laughing, protesting that she couldn’t breathe and, when I let her go, looked at me teasingly. ‘What’s the matter? I believe you were asleep down there – what were you dreaming about?’ My only answer was to embrace her again, forgetting my odd little journey into the past, which left me a disquieting legacy, nevertheless. My dependence had suddenly started to make me uncomfortable. I wasn’t a child any more. I knew I ought not to hide behind Carla’s strength. I ought to go out and grapple with life and find a home for us both. For her sake, I believed I could do anything, even turn myself into a responsible adult person.

  This was how I came to start searching for somewhere to live. The prospect of getting involved with the phoney mysticism of the Housing Bureau was so repugnant to me that if I’d had to go far to get there I doubt if my resolve would have stood the strain. But the place happened to be almost next door, down a dreary side street I’d never explored.

  Considering its fantastic reputation, and the interdependence of individuals in city life, it was only to be expected that fragments of stories I’d heard should keep coming to me on the way there. I told myself that these tales of frustration and failure had all emanated from people in an abnormal state; no wonder they failed, when they were so agitated, incapable of the thoroughness and perseverance essential to success in any undertaking. It was up to me to avoid their mistakes, to keep cool and above all to make myself impervious to whatever suggestive techniques had induced their semi-hysteria. But wasn’t I already falling into the very trap against which I was warning myself, attributing mysterious unknown powers to the Bureau, even before I got there? Thank goodness I still had a sense of the ridiculous. Smiling at my own absurdity, I suddenly felt more confident, very much better. Carla loved me, and that was enough; I needn’t fear anyone in the world.