Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky

  ‘But you are, Jenny. You are. You got — ’ He touched her arm again.

  ‘How dare you say such a thing!’ She flung his hand away. ‘How dare you! – eh?’

  ‘But Jenny. You got to listen. You got to be up in the morning. You got to be up in the morning!’

  ‘Oh, have I, indeed? And who said I had? Supposing I haven’t! What then!’

  ‘But Jenny – it’s for your good. You’ll lose your job. You’ll lose your job!’

  ‘And suppose I don’t want my job – eh? What then? Suppose I don’t want the dirty job! Suppose I got a better one?’

  ‘Jenny — ’

  ‘I’ll tell you something. I don’t want your dirty jobs – see? I wouldn’t defile my ’ands with ’em – see? You thought you was dealin’ with a skivvy – didn’t you?’

  ‘Jenny — ’

  ‘And I don’t want you neither – see? I don’t want to see your funny pale face again. I’m sick of the sight of it. And I’ll tell you where you ought to be. You ought to be in ’ospital – see? You’re infectious!’

  For one moment Tom drew himself up, and his face worked with distraught and sickly rage. He looked as though he could kill her.

  But now Jenny had taken this line, like one who is stamping out the life of an insect which still maddeningly writhes, she was blind and uncontrolled: and the thought that he might be about to show fight merely impelled her to strike and strike again.

  ‘Jenny. . . .’ he said.

  ‘You’re in consumption – that’s what’s the matter with you – see? You got T.B. – that’s your trouble – T.B.! An’ I don’t want the likes of you hangin’ round me – see? An’ that’s final. An’ if you don’t shove off now, I’ll go in there and set my friends on you – got that! They’ll soon give you what you want!’

  They looked into each other’s eyes. There was no motion in his face or body.

  ‘All right, Jenny,’ he said, and still did not move.

  She walked away.

  * * *

  Gee, she had been mad! Gee, she had given him a piece of her mind! Gee, she never knew she had a temper like that! She’d ‘dressed him down’ all right!

  She flung back the swing door, and was in the crowd and smoke once more. Lord – what a crush! Where were they? She discerned them at the far end of the room seated at a table.

  ‘Hooray!’ cried Rex, and they all cried ‘Hooray,’ and made room for her to sit down.

  There now appeared to be an addition to the party. Andy was in drunken argument with a rather good-looking young man, anything between thirty and forty, wearing a military moustache, and speaking with the affected (though now inebriated) accents of a ‘gentleman.’

  ‘Here you are,’ said Violet, and she made room for Jenny between herself and the stranger. ‘Where’ve you been all this time?’

  ‘Where’ve I been?’ she said. ‘I just happen to have had a bit of an argument with someone, that’s all. Come on. Let’s have a drink.’

  There was a drink in readiness for her, and she gulped almost half of it down at one go. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Gee – I ain’t half a little spitfire when I get going.’ And she sat there glorying in the part.

  Rex and Violet asked her who it was, but she wouldn’t say. ‘Never you mind,’ she said. ‘Never you mind. Never you mind.’

  ‘Never you mind,’ she added, a moment later. She knew, in a dizzy way, that she had said ‘Never you mind’ too often, and that she was behaving wildly and hysterically, but she didn’t care any more. It was at this moment that, if there was any final inhibition dwelling in Jenny to restrain her, it took its flight along with the others.

  It was just on closing time in Hammersmith, and all she said and did in the remaining minutes in that place she hardly knew at the time, and never remembered afterwards.

  She had scarcely been sitting down a moment before the moustached ‘gentleman’ stranger next to her had put his arm round her.

  ‘Well, my little one – how are we?’ he began, and she said she was all right – what about him?

  ‘Passing well, passing well, passing well,’ he said, but Alas and Alack, he was no longer what he was. He had fallen into the sere and yellow leaf. Shakespeare. Act one. Scene Three. . . . Well, said Jenny, that sounded all right, but was he quite sure it wasn’t Hamlet? . . .

  No, he said, it wasn’t. It was Milton. The Greatest of the Puritans. Did she read Milton? . . . No, said Jenny, she didn’t. The only sort of Milton she read was the disinfectant. . . . ‘Quite true,’ he said. ‘Quite true. Only one in five escapes deadly pyorrhoea. . .’ But she ought to read Milton. All the lower classes ought to read Milton. Not that she was a member of the lower classes – though, of course, she was, wasn’t she?. . .

  And then Andy was cutting in and saying he knew some Milton – what about this? – There was a Young Lady of Tring. . . . And having recited the bawdy limerick in full, he asked whether Milton could beat that. . . .

  Whereat Rex joined in with another Limerick, and Violet with another, and Jenny tried to think of one herself; but her mind wandered away and she noted with renewed interest that she was seeing double again. . . .

  When she next listened to them they were all talking about a Bet. . . . It was Bet. . . . Bet. . . . Bet. . . . ‘I’ll bet you,’ Andy was saying to the young man, and the young man was saying, ‘Excuse me, sir, you will not. I will bet you. . . .’

  It seemed they were talking about a Car. . . . ‘My dear sir,’ said the young man, ‘I will take you in that Car and bloody well demonstrate now.’ ‘No, you won’t,’ said Andy. ‘I’ll bloody well take you in mine.’ ‘Done!’ said the young man. ‘Done!’ said Andy.

  And then suddenly half the lights had gone down, and there was a sound of glasses being briskly and harshly snapped up in all directions, and a man’s voice crying ‘Now then, gentlemen, please! Time please, ladies and gennelmen! ALL OUT THERE!’

  And with Andy and the young man still arguing, and Rex trying to shout them both down in passionate argument against the folly of argument, they all got up.

  And walking towards the door, with all of them arguing around her and over her, Jenny felt decidedly giddy. Everything kept on going round and round, and then rather horribly stopping, and then going round and round again. . . .

  And for a moment it did just occur to Jenny that she had, after all, to be up and working in the morning, and she wondered how on earth she was going to do it, and what was going to happen now. But the thought didn’t trouble her, and passed away at once.

  And then they were out in the street, with a dumb and darkened house being savagely bolted behind them, and the next thing she was aware of was the moustached stranger, who was again embracing her, and at the same time yodelling to the skies – displaying with great virtuosity an astonishing falsetto voice. ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ he went. ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ and she noticed that people on the other side of the street were standing in couples and trios and looking at them.

  And then they had all gone down a corner, and he was doling out whisky to them, in turn, from a little thermos cup. . . . And then they were moving on again, and the young man was again embracing her, and again yodelling. ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ he went. ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ And by now it didn’t seem in the slightest way odd.

  And then they were passing over the Broadway, and then they had gone down a side-street, and were outside a large garage, with ‘ALL NIGHT GARAGE’ on a large electric sign outside.

  And then Andy was telling them all to stay where they were, and not to behave silly or they wouldn’t let him take the car out. . . . And then he had vanished and Jenny realized that they were all going out for a car ride. . . .

  She was delighted at this, as she had never been in a car in her life. ‘Where’s he taking us?’ she asked. ‘Where’s he taking us?’ But nobody seemed to answer. Instead the young man again put his arm round her and said ‘Well, little one – are you coming home with Daddy to-nig
ht?’ ‘What for?’ she said. ‘To sleep, my angel,’ he said. . . .

  And then Andy had drawn up to the pavement in a lovely big car, and they were all clambering in. ‘I’m by the driver!’ cried Jenny. ‘I’m by the driver!’ And she pushed Violet out of the way. ‘Here – who’re you pushin’?’ said Violet. ‘Go on. Get on out,’ said Jenny, ‘you take a back seat.’ ‘No,’ said Violet, ‘you’re Rough.’ ‘Oh, shut your row,’ said Jenny, and ‘No,’ said Violet. ‘You’re Rough.’ ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ went the young man, and he embraced Violet in the back seat.

  And then the car had started, and she felt the wind on her face. Gee, this was fun! And to think she’d never been in a car before! Gee, this was just what she was wanting to clear her head.

  They were back in the Broadway in less than a minute, and flying along King Street in the direction of Chiswick.

  ‘Where are we going?’ cried Jenny, against the speed and wind. But no one answered her. The young man was yodelling, and Rex and Violet were cuddling each other with raucous laughter behind; and Andy, now wrapped in the authoritative taciturnity of the driver, did not see fit to answer.

  Gosh – he was getting up a pace! . . . Ravenscourt Park. . . . Stamford Brook. . . . She knew the route well enough – she had come that way earlier in the evening by tram. . . . She supposed it was safe – going at this pace. There were very few vehicles on the road, but he was overtaking them all. She supposed it seemed risky to her because she had never been in a car before. . . .

  Here they were! – scouring along the Chiswick High Road itself! Chiswick! As they whizzed past the Green she looked over towards the home of the two old fossils. And to think of them sleeping peacefully in bed, and she out here. It must be pretty well midnight. Gee, what a life!

  And now they had passed Gunnersbury, and had turned up to the right, and were ripping up the wide, smooth, deserted spaces of the Great West Road. . . . Gee! – it was like a racing track – no wonder he put on speed. It was like being in an aeroplane!

  ‘Go on. Let her rip!’ cried Rex from behind, and ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ yodelled the young man.

  Gosh – they must have gone about two miles on this road already. They were leaving London behind. Andy, whose face was set, was clearly out for nothing but speed now.

  ‘Go on – step on ’er. Step on ’er!’ screamed Violet from behind.

  ‘That’s right. Step on ’er! Step on ’er!’ echoed Jenny, and Andy’s face grew more and more set.

  And then, intoxicated with wine and speed together, and with the wind tearing at her face and round her ears, an insane and uncontrollable impulse surged into Jenny’s soul. She stood up like a fury. She screamed.

  ‘Step on ’er!’ she screamed. ‘Step on ’er! Step on ’er!’

  And then ‘Look out for the bike! Look out for the bike!’

  But it was too late. With a grating noise and a thud, a man and his bicycle were hurled helplessly against the side of the car, and left behind in the darkness.

  She heard Violet scream piercingly, and she looked back.

  ‘You’ve hit him!’ Violet yelled. ‘You’ve hit him. Stop!’ ‘Yoah-ah-eye-atee!’ went the young man from the comfortable depths of the back seat. ‘Stop, you dirty swine!’ yelled Violet. ‘You’ve killed ’im! Will you stop!’

  Andy slowed down a little and Jenny watched his face. It was like something made of stone, with false glass eyes. Putting his tongue carefully out of his mouth, he swerved round and entered a quiet lane to their right.

  ‘Yo-ah-ah-eye-atee!’ went the young man, and Violet emitted another piercing scream. ‘Stop! Stop! Will you stop, you dirty rotter! Will you stop!’

  It was slightly up-hill, and Andy changed his gear. The car gathered pace. The headlights shone dazzlingly on to leafy hedges.

  ‘Stop! Stop! Will you stop!’

  Jenny sank back into her seat. She felt and heard a singing in her ears, and she was aware of a crawling numbness rising in her legs. She tried by will-power to check its advance up into her body – but she could not. She began to sweat in her endeavour to stop it. Great black blotches sprawled and floundered over her eyes. Her stomach turned over, and rose up. She was going to be sick. She was going to faint.

  ‘Will you stop!’ she heard Violet yelling, and then, at a great distance, the sound of Violet’s passionate and resigned weeping. After that she knew nothing else.

  III

  THE MORNING AFTER

  PROJECTED FROM AN urgent and resounding dream, Jenny opened her eyes in silent darkness, her head buried between unfamiliar sheets.

  She had slept a long while, but apprehended that it was still night in the world without. That the sheets were unfamiliar she sensed, but was not at present consciously aware. Also she heard the sound of a Venetian blind spasmodically crack-cracking against a window in the draught, but she did not realize that that sound was unfamiliar. . . .

  A shot of pain careered through her head, and left it hideously throbbing, and a feeling of bile spread up and over her. She closed her eyes until it allayed itself a little. Something had happened. That was all she could take in at the moment. Something had happened.

  What was it? What was the time? Where was she? What had she done? She heard her trembling breath coming and going in a roar in the sheets. Yes. She remembered. She had got drunk. (Couldn’t she stop her trembling?) She had got drunk.

  Last night she had got drunk. She had gone into that pub, and got drunk. It was in Hammersmith, with those three. It wasn’t fair – them making her drunk like that. Violet, and those two common ‘boys.’

  Where were they now? What had they all done? Oh God – she was in trouble. She was in trouble all right this time.

  What was it she had done? Tom. . . . Tom was in it somewhere. . . . Yes – she had gone outside that pub, and heaped vile words on him. She had been mad. She had been drunk, and he had told her so. She had been drunk all over Hammersmith. Oh God – what had she said and what had she done? Oh God – she was in trouble. In fearful crescendo her memories flocked back upon her.

  Then they had all gone in that car. Andy had been driving, and she had been beside him. And the other three shouting and drinking behind. It wasn’t fair – that dirty crowd making her drunk like that. Where had they all gone? Past Chiswick and out on the Great West Road. . . .

  The accident! The bike! ‘Look out for the bike. Look out for the bike!’ She heard herself screaming it now. That vibrating thud against the side! They had knocked a poor man over. And she had been in the car with that drunken lot; she had been the drunkest of the lot! They had killed a man! Oh God – she was in a scrape this time all right.

  Had they been found out? What had happened? Andy had driven on. Had they escaped?

  Where was she? These sheets – they weren’t hers. That blind rattling – this wasn’t her room. Someone had brought her somewhere. Oh God – what had they done with her, and where was she? She sprang up in bed and stared in horror and silence at the window.

  She was in a narrow slip of a room, with the window facing her a few yards from the end of the bed. Through the open slats of the Venetian blind she perceived that the window was open at the bottom, and she at once knew what manner of day it was outside. Though the dawn had risen, the world was hidden in sombre brown darkness. It was one of those night-days, familiar to Londoners, wherein visibility below is not obscured, but the upper air is occupied by that dense black fog which glows purple when reflecting the lights of a city.

  Beyond the window, through the slats of the blind, she saw the laced outline of a denuded tree, and, listening intently, she heard the faint, miserable chirrup of a sparrow. The blind went ‘clack . . . clack’ gently – stirred by an insensible draught.

  She gazed ahead without motion, and tried to think in what room, under whose shelter, in what part of London, she might be.

  Then delayed panic struck. Where was she? Had she been kidnapped? Someone had kidnapped her. Where was she? What horror
was this? She jumped out of bed, and was rushing to the window, but stopped. She was in her underclothes. She looked down on herself. She was in her underclothes! In that sombre fog-light she felt hideously, terrifyingly denuded – stripped! Where was her dress? Oh – where was her dress? It was nowhere. They had taken it. There was a man – there were men in this somewhere. Where was she?

  Oh, where was she, where was she, where was she! She flew over in a blind frenzy to the window. She grasped madly at the cord of the blind, cutting her finger on the nail round which it was wound. She pulled it up with a mighty rattle, and tied the cord furiously and carelessly round the nail. The whole thing fell down again, flying down upon her like a giant angry bat, and striking her forehead. Once again she pulled it up, and firmly tied the cord.

  She looked out of the window.

  The house she was in had three stories, and she was on the second. In the eerie quiet of the night-day, she saw on each side a succession of walled suburban garden plots. There were two rows of them, and behind them rose the backs of another row of houses. Some of these plots were neatly kept, others were rank with weeds. Wireless poles abounded. To her left, about a hundred yards away, was a road, down which she heard a cart rattling in a business-like way.

  What was the time? Judging by the sound of that cart, and the general look of the sky, she judged it was about seven o’clock. What part of the world this might be she could not guess, but she experienced a very faint relief at its apparently respectable air.

  The biting cold caught her bare arms, and she shiveringly tried to close the window. But it would not close. She put her whole weight on it, but it would not close. Oh God – she’d catch her death. Where was her dress? She came back into the room. Where was her dress! She’d catch her death!

  She jumped back into the bed, and drawing the clothes up around her, stared once more at the window. Where was she? She had got to do some thinking – some quick thinking. She was so sick and giddy she could hardly think. She had got to get out of here. She must think. Sitting up in bed, staring at the window, her teeth chattering, Jenny thought.