For a moment it was invisible behind a tree. Then suddenly, wafted faster by a momentary breeze, it swept down over the street, moving into the arc of the lamplight. For a second or two it appeared in front of me, huge and yellow, its tail of pendant bows swaying crazily. I could even see the string. I raced towards it. Something lightly brushed my face. The street lamps dazzled me as I clutched above my head, and clutched again. And then it was all gone. The balloon had vanished, descending into some dark and farther maze of suburban gardens. I continued for some while to hurry to and fro among the little intersecting streets, but I did not set eyes again upon the travelling portent.
At the tube station I saw Arnold coming through the ticket barrier, smiling secretively to himself. I moved to the other side and he did not see me. When I reached my flat Francis Marloe was waiting outside the door. I amazed him by asking him in. Of what passed between us then I shall speak later.
Q ne of the many respects, dear friend, in which life is unlike art is this: characters in art can have unassailable dignity, whereas characters in life have none. Yet of course life, in this respect as in others, pathetically and continually aspires to the condition of art. A sheer concern for one's dignity, a sense of form, a sense of style, inspires more of our baser actions than any conventional analysis of possible sins is likely to bring to light. A good man often appears gauche simply because he does not take advantage of the myriad mean little chances of making himself look stylish. Preferring truth to form, he is not constantly at work upon the fagade of his appearance.
When I say that I also thought I ought to leave London because of what had just happened between me and Rachel I would not be understood as suggesting that I was entirely moved by delicate conscientious scruples, though I did in fact feel such scruples. I felt rather more, about Rachel, a kind of curious detached satisfaction which had many ingredients. One ingredient of a less than worthy sort was a crude and simple sense of scoring off Arnold. Or perhaps that indeed puts it too crudely. I felt that I was now, in a new way, defended against Arnold. There was something important to him which I knew and he did not. (Only later did it occur to me that Rachel might decide to tell Arnold of our kisses.) Such knowledges are always deeply reassuring. Though, to do myself justice, there was in this no intent of going any further with the matter. What was remarkable was how far we had, in our little exchange, actually gone. And that we had gone so far suggested, as Rachel herself later said, that in both our minds the ground had long been prepared. Such dialectical leaps from quantity into quality are common in human relations. This was another reason for going away. I now had more than enough to brood upon and I wanted to brood without the intrusive interference of any real developments. As it was, we had carried the thing off well, with dignity and intelligence. It had a certain completeness. Rachel's gesture had enormously comforted me. I felt no guilt. And I wanted to bask at peace in the rays of that comfort.
However it appeared, when I attempted to be realistic about it, that I could not thus solve my problems all together. Priscilla and myself at Patara was simply not a viable idea. I knew I could not possibly work with my sister in the house. Not only would her sheer nervous presence make work impossible. I knew that she would soon irritate me into all sorts of beastliness. Besides, how ill was she really? Ought she to have medical attention, psychiatric treatment, electric shocks? What ought I to do now about Roger and Marigold and the crystal-and-lapis necklace and the mink stole? Until these things were clarified Priscilla would have to remain in London and so would I.
I let Francis into my house because Rachel had kissed me. At that stage, a fluid all-conquering confidence was still making me feel benevolent and full of power. So I surprised Francis by letting him in. Also I wanted a drinking companion, I wanted for once to chatter: not about what had happened of course, but about quite other things. When one has a secret source of satisfaction it is pleasing to talk of everything in the world but that. It was also important that I felt myself so immeasurably superior to Francis. Some clever writer (probably a Frenchman) has said: It is not enough to succeed; others must fail. So I felt gracious that evening towards Francis because he was what he was and I was what I was. We both took in a lot of drink and I let him play the fool for my benefit, encouraging him to speculate about methods of getting money out of his sister, a subject on which he was droll. He said, «Of course Arnold wants to bring you and Christian together again.» I laughed like a maniac. He also said, «Why shouldn't I stay here and nurse Priscilla?» I laughed again. I threw him out just after midnight.
PS. I've read the review and enclose it with this letter. I think you shouldn't publish it. It would hurt Arnold so much. You and he must love each other. That is so important. Oh help me to remain sane.
I was upset, touched, annoyed, pleased and thoroughly frightened by this emotional and jumbled missive. What large new thing was happening now and what consequences would it have? Why did women have to make things so definite? Why could she not have let our strange experience drift in a pleasant vagueness? I had dimly thought of her as an «ally» against (against?) Arnold. She had made this horrible idea explicit. And if I was to be made mad by a relationship between Arnold and Christian would it help me at all that Rachel was made mad too? How I feared these «needs.» I now wanted very much to see Arnold and have a frank talk, even a shouting match. But a frank talk with Arnold was something which seemed to be becoming more and more impossible. In utter dismay I sat down where I was upon a chair in the hall to think it all over. Then the telephone rang.
«Hello, Pearson? Hartbourne here. I'm thinking of giving a little office party.»
«A little what?»
«A little office party. I thought of inviting Bingley and Math– eson and Hadley-Smith and Caldicott and Dyson, and the wives of course, and Miss Wellington and Miss Searle and Mrs. Brad– shaw-«How nice.»
«But I want to be sure you can come. You'll be by way of being the guest of honour, you know!»
«How kind.»
«Now you tell me a day that would suit you and I'll issue the invitations. It'll be quite like old times. People so often ask after you, I thought-«Any day suits me.»
«Monday?»
«Fine.»
«Good. Then eight o'clock at my place. By the way, shall I invite Grey-Pelham? He won't bring his wife, so it should be all right.»
«Fine. Fine.»
«And I'd like to make a lunch date with you.»
«I'll ring you. I haven't got my diary.»
«Well, don't forget about the party, will you?»
«I'm writing it down now. Thank you so much.»
As I put the telephone down someone began ringing the doorbell. I went and opened the door. It was Priscilla. She marched past me into the sitting-room and immediately began to cry.
«Oh God, Priscilla, do stop.»
«You only want me to stop crying.»
«All right, I only want you to stop crying. Stop crying.»
She lay back in the big «Hartbourne» armchair and in fact stopped. Her hair was in ugly disorder, the darkened parting zigzagging across her head. She lay back limply, gracelessly, with her legs spread and her mouth open. There was a hole in her stocking at the knee through which pink spotty flesh bulged in a little mound.
«Oh Priscilla, I am so sorry.»
«Yes. Be sorry. Bradley, I think you're right. I'd better go back to Roger.»
«Priscilla, you can't-«
«Why not? Have you changed your mind? You were saying so much I should go back. You said he was so unhappy and the house was so awful. He needs me, I suppose. And it is my home. Nowhere else is. Perhaps he'll be nicer to me now. Bradley, I think I'm going mad, I'm going out of my mind. What's it like when people go mad, does one know one's going mad?»
«Of course you aren't going mad.»
«I think I'll go to bed if you don't mind.»
«I'm sorry, I still haven't made up the spare bed.»
«Bradley, your cabinet looks different, something's gone. Where have you put the water-buffalo lady?»
«The water-buffalo lady?» I looked at the gaping empty space. «Oh yes. I gave her away. I gave her to Julian Baffin.»
«Oh Bradley, how could you, she was mine, she was mine.» Priscilla gave a little moan and the tears began to flow again. She started to fumble vainly in her bag looking for a handkerchief.
«You couldn't even keep that for me.»
«I'll get it back.»
«I only let you take her because I knew 1 could visit her here. I liked visiting her here. She had her place here.»
«I'm terribly sorry-«I'll never get my jewels and now even she's gone, my last little thing gone.»
«Please, Priscilla, I really will-«You gave her to that wretched girl.»
«She asked for it. I will get it back, please don't worry. Now please go to bed and rest.»
«She was mine, you gave her to me.»
«I know, I know, I'll get it back, now come on, you can have my bed.»
Priscilla trailed into the bedroom. She got straight into the bed.
«Don't you want to undress?»
«What's the point. What's the point of anything. I'd be better dead.»
«Oh buck up, Priscilla. I'm glad you've come back though. Why did you leave the other place?»
«Arnold made a pass at me.»
«Oh!»
«I pushed him away and he turned nasty. He must have told Christian about it. They were downstairs laughing and laughing and laughing. They must have been laughing at me.»
«I don't suppose they were. They were just happy.»
«Well, I hated it, I hated it.»
«Was Arnold there in the afternoon?»
«Oh yes, he came straight back after you'd left, he was there nearly all day, they made a huge lunch downstairs, I could smell it, I didn't want any, and I heard them laughing all the time. They didn't want me, they left me alone nearly all day.»
«Poor Priscilla.»
«I can't stand that man. And I can't stand her either. They didn't really want me there at all, they didn't care about me really to help me, it was just part of a game, it was like a joke.»
«You're right there.»
«No.»
«She said a doctor was coming but he didn't come. I feel terrible, I think I've got cancer. Everyone despises me, everyone knows what's happened to me. Bradley, could you ring up Roger?»
«Oh no, please-«I'll have to go back to Roger. I could see Dr. Macey at home. Or else I'll kill myself. I think I'll kill myself. No one will care.»
«Priscilla, do get properly undressed. Or else get up and comb your hair. I can't bear to see you lying dressed in bed.»
«Oh what does it matter, what does it matter.»
The front doorbell rang again. I ran to open it. Francis Marloe was outside, his little eyes screwed up with ingratiating humility. «Oh Brad, you must forgive me for coming-«Come in,» I said. «You offered to nurse my sister. Well, she's here and you're engaged.»
«Really? Oh goodie, goodie!»
«You can go in and nurse her now, she's in there. Can you give her a sedative?»
«I always carry-«All right, go on.» I picked up the telephone and dialled Rachel's number. «Hello, Rachel.»
«Oh-Bradley-«
I knew at once from her voice that she was alone. A woman can put so much into the way she says your name.
«Rachel. Thanks for your sweet letter.»
«Bradley-can I see you-soon-at once-?»
«Rachel, listen. Priscilla's come back and Francis Marloe is here. Listen. I gave Julian a water buffalo with a lady on it.»
«A what?»
«A little bronze thing.»
«Oh. Did you?»
«Yes. She asked for it, here, you remember.»
«Oh yes.»
«Well, it's really Priscilla's only I forgot and she wants it back. Could you get it off Julian, and bring it round, or send her? Tell her I'm very sorry-«She's out, but I'll find it. I'll bring it at once.»
«The human lot is sad and awful,» murmured Francis. «We are demons to each other. Yes, demons.» He was looking pleased, pursing up his red lips and casting delighted coy glances at me with his little eyes.
«Priscilla, let me comb your hair.»
«No, I can't bear to be touched, I feel as if I were a leper, I feel my flesh is rotting, I'm sure I smell-«Priscilla, do take your skirt off, it must be getting so crumpled.»
«What does it matter, what does anything matter, oh I am so unhappy.»
«At least take your shoes off.»
«Sad and awful, sad and awful. Demons. Demons. Yes.»
«Priscilla, do try to relax, you're as rigid as a corpse.»
«I wish I was a corpse.»
«Do at least make an effort to be comfortable!»
«I gave him my life. I haven't got another one. A woman has nothing else.»
«Fruitless and bootless. Fruitless and bootless.»
«Oh I'm so frightened-«Priscilla, there's nothing to be frightened of. Oh God, you are getting me down!»
«Frightened.»
«Do please take your shoes off.»
The front doorbell rang. I opened the door to Rachel and was making her a rueful face when I saw that Julian was standing just behind her.
Rachel said meaningfully, «Julian arrived back and insisted on bringing the thing along herself.»
Julian said, «Of course I'm very glad to bring it back to Priscilla, of course it's hers and she must have it. I do so hope it will make her feel happier and better.»
I let them in and ushered them into the bedroom where Priscilla was still talking to Francis. «He had no idea of equality between us, I suppose no man has, they all despise women-«Men are terrible, terrible-«Visitors, Priscilla!»
Priscilla, her shoes humping the edge of the quilt, was propped up on several pillows. Her eyes were red and swollen with crying, and her mouth was rectangular with complaint, like the mouth of a letter box.
Julian went directly and sat on the bed. She laid the irises down reverently beside Priscilla and then pushed the water-buffalo lady along the coverlet, as if she was amusing a child, and thrust it up against Priscilla's blouse, in the hollow between her breasts. Priscilla, not knowing what the thing was, and looking terrified, gave a little cry of aversion. Julian then took it into her head to kiss her and made a dive at her cheek. Their two chins collided with a click.
I said soothingly, «There you are, Priscilla. There's your water– buffalo lady. She came back home to you after all.»
Julian had retreated to the bottom of the bed. She stared at Priscilla with a look of agonized and still rather self-conscious pity. She opened her lips and put her hands together as if praying. It looked as if she were begging Priscilla's pardon for being young and good– looking and innocent and unspoilt and having a future, while Priscilla was old and ugly and sinful and wrecked and had none. The contrast between them went through the room like a spasm of pain.
Priscilla murmured, «I'm not a child. You needn't all be so-sorry for me. You needn't all stare at me-and treat me as if I were a-She fumbled for the water buffalo and for a moment it looked as if she were going to fondle it. Then she threw it from her across the room where it crashed against the wainscot. Her tears began again and she buried her face in the pillow. The irises fell to the floor. Francis, who had picked up the bronze, hid it within his hands and smiled. I motioned Rachel and Julian out of the room.
In the sitting-room Julian said, «I'm terribly sorry.»
«It wasn't your fault,» I told her.
«It must be so awful to be like that.»
«You can't imagine,» I said, «what it is to be like that. So don't bother to try.»
«I'm so awfully sorry for her.»
Rachel said, «You run along now.»
Julian said, «Oh I do wish-Ah well-«She went to the door. Then she said to me, «Bradley, could I have just a word with you? Could you just walk with me to the corner. I won't keep you more than a moment.»
I gave a complicit wave to Rachel and followed the child out of the house. She walked confidently down the court and into Charlotte Street without looking round. The cold sun was shining brightly and I felt a great sense of relief at being suddenly out in the open among busy indifferent anonymous people under a blue clean sky.
We walked a few steps along the street and stopped beside a red telephone box. Julian now wore a rather jaunty boyish air. She was clearly feeling relieved too. Above her, behind her, I saw the Post Office Tower, and it was as if I myself were as high as the tower, so closely and so clearly could I see all its glittering silver details. I was tall and erect: so good was it for that moment to be outside the house, away from Priscilla's red eyes and dulled hair, to be for a moment with someone who was young and good-looking and innocent and unspoilt and who had a future.
Julian said with a responsible air, «Bradley, I'm very sorry I got that all wrong.»
«Nobody could have got it right. Real misery cuts off all paths to itself.»
«How well you put it! But a saintly person could have comforted her.»
«There aren't any, Julian. Anyway you're too young to be a saint.»
«I know I'm stupidly young. Oh dear, old age is so awful, poor Priscilla. Look, Bradley, what I wanted to say was just thank you so much for that letter. I think it's the most wonderful letter that anybody ever wrote to me.»
«What letter?»
«That letter about art, about art and truth.»
«Oh that. Yes.»
«I regard you as my teacher.»
«Kind of you, but-«I want you to give me a reading list, a larger one.»
«Thank you for bringing the water buffalo back. I'll give you something else instead.»
«Oh will you, please? Anything will do, any little thing. I'd so like to have something from you, I think it would inspire me, something that's been with you a long time, something that you've handled a lot.»
I was rather touched by this. «I'll look out something. And now I'd better-«Bradley, don't go. We hardly ever talk. Well, I know we can't now, but do let's meet again soon, I want to talk to you about Hamlet.»
«Hamlet! Oh all right, but-«
«I have to do it in my exam. And Bradley, I say, I did agree with that review you wrote about my father's work.»
«How did you see that review?»
«I saw my mother putting it away, and she looked so secretive-«That was very sly of you.»
«I know. I'll never become a saint, not even if I live to be as old as your sister. I do think my father should be told the truth for once, everyone has got into a sort of mindless habit of flattering him, he's an accepted writer and a literary figure and all that, and no one really looks at the stuff critically as they would if he were unknown, it's like a conspiracy-«I know. All the same I'm not going to publish it.»
«And another thing, about Christian, my father says he's working Christian on your behalf-«What?»
«I don't know what he thinks he's at, but I'm sure you should go and see him and ask him. And if I were you I'd get away like you told them you were going to. Perhaps I could come and see you in Italy, I'd love that. Francis Marloe can look after Priscilla, I rather like him. I say, do you think Priscilla will go back to her husband? I'd rather die than do that if I was her.»
So much hard clarity all at once was a bit hard to react to. The young are so direct. I said, «To answer your last question, I don't know. Thank you for the observations which preceded it.»
«I do love the way you talk, you're so precise, not like my father. He lives in a sort of rosy haze with Jesus and Mary and Buddha and Shiva and the Fisher King all chasing round and round dressed up as people in Chelsea.»
This was such a good description of Arnold's work that I laughed. «I'm grateful for your advice, Julian.»
«I regard you as my philosopher.»
«Thank you for treating me as an equal.»
She looked up at me, not sure if this was a joke. «Bradley, we will be friends, won't we, real friends?»
«What was the meaning of the air balloon?» I said.
«Oh, that was just a bit of exhibitionism.»
«I pursued it.»
«How lovely!»
«It escaped me.»
«I'm glad it got lost. I was very attached to it.»
«It was a sacrifice to the gods?»
«Yes. How did you know?»
«Mr. Belling gave it to you.»
«Yes, how did-«I'm your philosopher.»
«I really loved that balloon. I did sometimes think of letting it go, it was a sort of nervous urge. But I didn't know I'd cut the string-«Until you saw your mother in the garden.»
«Until I saw you in the garden.»
«I'll ring up-«Don't forget you're my guru.»
I turned back into the court. When I got to the sitting-room Rachel moved towards me and enveloped me with a spontaneous yet planned movement. We swayed together, nearly falling over her piled macintosh upon the floor, and then slumped down onto Hart– bourne's armchair. She tried to nudge me back into the depths of the chair, her knee climbing over mine, but I kept her upright, holding her as if she were a large doll. «Oh Rachel, let us not get into a muddle.»
«You cheated me out of those minutes. Whatever it is, we're in it. Christian just rang up.»
«About Priscilla?»
«Yes. I said Priscilla was staying here. She said-«I don't want to know.»
«Bradley, I want to tell you something and I want you to think about it. It's something I've discovered since I wrote you that letter. I don't really mind all that much about Christian and Arnold. I suddenly feel that it's sort of set me free. Do you understand, Bradley? Do you know what that means?»
«Rachel, I don't want a muddle. I've got to work and I've got to be alone, I'm just going to write a book I've been waiting all my life to write-«You look so Bradleian at this moment I could cry over you. We're not young and we're not fools. There'll be no muddle except for the one that Arnold makes. But a new world has come into being which is yours and mine. There will always be a place where we can be together. I need love, I need more people to love, I need you to love. Of course I want you to love me back, but even that's less important, and what we do isn't important at all. Just holding your hand is marvellous and makes my blood move again. Things are happening at last, I'm developing, I'm changing, think of all that's happened since yesterday. I've been dead for years and unhappy and terribly secretive. I thought I'd be loyal to him till the end of time, and of course I will be and of course I love him, that's not in question. But loving him seemed like being in a box, and now I'm out of the box. Do you know, I think quite accidentally we may have happened upon the key to perfect happiness. I suspect one can't be happy anyway until one's over forty. You'll see how little drama there'll be. Nothing will change except the deep things.
I'm Arnold's wife forever. And you can go and write your book and be alone and whatever you want. But we'll each have a resource, we'll have each other, it will be an eternal bond, like a religious vow, it will save us, if only you will let me love you.»
«But Rachel-this will be a secret-?»
«No. Oh, everything's changed so since even a little while ago. We can live in the open, there's nothing to be secretive about. I feel free, I've been set free, like Julian's balloon, I'm sailing up above the world and looking down at it at last, it's like a mystical experience. We don't have to keep secrets. Arnold has somehow forged a new situation. I shall have friends at last, real friends, I shall go about the world, I shall have you. And Arnold will accept it, he'll have to, he might even learn humility, Bradley, he's our slave. I've got my will back at last. We've become gods. Don't you see?»
«Not quite,» I said.
«You do love me a bit, don't you?»
«Of course I do, I always have, but I can't exactly define-«Don't define! That's the point!»
«Rachel, I don't want to feel guilty. It would interfere with my work.»
«Oh Bradley, Bradley-«She began to laugh helplessly. Then she drew her knees up again and threw the weight of her torso forward against me. We toppled over backwards into the chair with her mainly on top. I felt her weight and saw her face close to mine, leering and anarchic with emotion, unfamiliar and undefended and touching, and I relaxed and felt her body relax too, falling like heavy liquid into the interstices of my own, falling like honey. Her wet mouth travelled across my cheek and settled upon my mouth, like the celestial snail closing the great gate. As blackness fell for a moment I saw the Post Office Tower, haloed with blue sky, aslant and looking in at the window. (This was impossible, actually, since the next house blocks any possible view of the tower.)
«Of course you will. You are a chap who thinks.»
«Rachel-«
«I know. You're going to tell me to go.»
«Yes.»
«I'm going. See how docile I am. Don't be frightened by anything I said. You haven't got to do anything at all.»
«The unmoved mover.»
«I'll run. Can I see you tomorrow?»
«Rachel, I'm so terrified of being tied by anything just now. You'll think me so mean and spiritless-I do care and I'm very grateful-but I've got to write this book, I've got to, and I've got to be worthy to-«I do respect and admire you, Bradley. That's part of it. You're so much more serious about writing than Arnold is. Don't worry about tomorrow or about anything. I'll ring you. Don't get up. I want to leave you sitting there looking so thin and tall and solemn. Like a-like a-Inspector of Taxes. Just remember, freedom, a new world. Perhaps that's just what your book needs, what it's been waiting for. Oh you're such a schoolboy, such a puritan. It's time for you to grow up and be free. Good-bye, Bradley. May your own god bless you.»
She ran out. I stayed where I was, as she had told me to. I was greatly struck by what she had just said. I reflected upon it. Perhaps after all Rachel was the destined angel. How very peculiar it all was, and how brimful I was of sexual desire and how unusual this was.
I found that I was staring at the face of Francis Marloe. He had, I realized, been in the room for some time. He was making curious grimaces, closing up his eyes in a way that involved wrinkling his nose and dilating his nostrils. He looked, while doing this, as unselfconscious as an animal in the zoo. Perhaps he was shortsighted and was trying to focus on my face.
«Are you all right, Brad?»
«Yes, of course.»
«You've got a funny look.»
«What do you want?»
«Do you mind if I go out and have some lunch?»
«Lunch? I thought it was the evening.»
«It's after twelve. There's only baked beans in the kitchen. Do you mind-«
«Yes, yes, go.»
«I'll bring some light stuff in for Priscilla.»
«How is she?»
«She's asleep. Brad-«Yes?»
«Could you give me a pound?»
«Here.»
«Thanks. And, Brad-«
«What?»
«I'm afraid that bronze thing got broken. It won't stand up properly.»
He thrust the warm bronze into my hand and I put it down on the table. One of the water buffalo's legs was crumpled. It fell over lop-sidedly. I stared at it. The lady smiled. She resembled Rachel. When I looked up Francis was gone.
I went softly into the bedroom. Priscilla was sleeping high up on her pillows, her mouth open and the neck of her blouse pulling at her throat. Relaxed in sleep, a softer less peevish dejection made her face look a little younger. Her breath made a soft regular sound like «eschew… eschew…» She still had her shoes on.
Very gently I undid the top button of her blouse. The neck fell open, revealing the badly soiled interior of the collar. I eased off her shoes, holding them by the long pointed heels, and pulled the blankets over her plump sweat-darkened feet. The breathing-murmur ceased, but she did not waken. I left the room.
I went into the spare room and lay down on the bed. I thought about my two recent encounters with Rachel and how calm and pleased I had felt after the first one, and how disturbed and excited I now felt after the second one. Was I going to «fall in love» with Rachel? Should I even play with the idea, utter the words to myself? Was I upon the brink of some balls-up of catastrophic dimensions, some real disaster? Or was this perhaps in an unexpected form the opening itself of my long-awaited «break through,» my passage into another world, into the presence of the god? Or was it just nothing, the ephemeral emotions of an unhappily married middle-aged woman, the transient embarrassment of an elderly puritan who had for a very long time had no adventures at all? Indeed it is true, I said to myself, it is a long time since I had an adventure of any sort. I tried to think soberly about Arnold. But quite soon I was conscious of nothing except a flaming sea of vague undirected physical desire.
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