To Room Nineteen: Collected Stories Volume One. Doris Lessing

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СКАЧАТЬ Rosie, you mean it nicely, but I don’t like it, that’s why I didn’t tell you before. Get it?’ She responded to him, listlessly, and he found himself thinking, angrily: ‘I’ve got two wives, not one …’ They were both dismayed and unhappy because their happiness was so precarious it could vanish overnight just because of a little thing like ulcers and milk pudding.

      A few days later he ate in heavy silence through the supper she had provided, and then sarcasm broke out of him: ‘Well, Rosie, you’ve decided to humour me, that’s what it is.’ The meal had consisted of steamed fish, baked bread and very weak tea, which he hated. She looked uncomfortable, but said obstinately: ‘I went to a friend of mine who’s a chemist at the corner, and he told me what it was right for you to eat.’ Involuntarily he got up, his face dark with fury. He hesitated, then he went out, slamming the door.

      He stood moodily in the pub, drinking. Pearl came across and said: ‘What’s eating you tonight?’ Her tone was light, but her eyes were sympathetic. The sympathy irritated him. He ground out: ‘Women!’ slammed down his glass and turned to go. ‘Doesn’t cost you anything to be polite,’ she said tartly, and he replied: ‘Doesn’t cost you anything to leave me alone.’ Outside he hesitated a moment, feeling guilty. Pearl had been a friend for so long, and she had a soft spot for him – also, she knew about his wife, and about Rose, and made no comment, seemed not to condemn. She was a nice girl, Pearl was – he went back and said, hastily: ‘Sorry, Pearl, didn’t mean it.’ Without waiting for a reply he left again, and this time set off for home.

      The woman he called his wife looked up from her sewing and asked briefly: ‘What do you want now?’

      ‘Nothing.’ He sat down, picked up a paper and pretended to read, conscious of her glances. They were not hostile. They had gone a long way beyond that, and the fact that she seemed scarcely interested in him was a relief after Rose’s persistent, warm curiosity – like loving white fingers strangling him, he thought involuntarily. ‘Want something to eat?’ she inquired at last.

      ‘What have you got?’ he inquired cautiously, thinking of the tasteless steamed fish and baked bread he had just been offered.

      ‘Help yourself,’ she returned, and he went to the cupboard on the landing, filled a plate with bread and mustard pickles and cheese, and came back to the room where she was. She glanced at his plate, but made no comment. After a while he asked sarcastically: ‘Aren’t you going to tell me I shouldn’t eat pickles?’

      ‘Couldn’t care less,’ she returned equably. ‘If you want to kill yourself, it’s your funeral.’ At this he laughed loudly, and she joined him. Later, she asked: ‘Staying here the night?’

      ‘If you don’t mind.’ At this she gave a snort of derisive laughter, got up and said: ‘Well, I’m off to bed. You can’t have the sofa because the kids have got a friend and he’s got it. You’ll have to put a blanket and a cushion on the floor.’

      ‘Thanks,’ he said, indifferently. ‘How are the kids?’ he inquired, as an afterthought.

      ‘Fine – if you’re interested.’

      ‘I asked, didn’t I?’ he replied, without heat. All this conversation had been conducted quietly, indifferently, and the undercurrent was almost amiable. An outsider would have said they hardly knew each other. When she had gone he took a blanket from a drawer, wrapped it round his legs, and settled himself in a chair. He had meant to think about himself and Rose, but instead he dropped off at once. He left the house early, before anyone was awake. All day at the factory he thought: About Rose, what must I do about Rose? After work he went instinctively to the pub. Pearl stood quietly behind the counter, showing him by her manner that she was not holding last night’s bad humour against him. He meant to have one drink and go, but he had three. He liked Pearl’s cheerful humour. She told him that her young man was playing about with another girl, and added, as if it hardly concerned her: ‘There’s plenty of fish in the sea after all.’

      ‘That’s right,’ he said, non-committally.

      ‘Well, we all have our troubles,’ she said, with a half-humorous sigh.

      ‘Yes – for what they’re worth.’ At this he felt a pang of guilt because he had been thinking of Rose. Pearl was giving him a keen look. Then she said: ‘I didn’t say he hadn’t been worth it. But now that other girl’s getting all the benefit …’ Here she laughed grimly.

      He liked this cheerful philosophy, and could not prevent himself saying: ‘He’s got no sense, turning you up.’ He looked with appreciation at her crown of bright yellow curls, at her shapely body. Her eyes brightened, and he said good night quickly, and left. He mustn’t get mixed up with Pearl now, he was thinking.

      It was after eight. Usually he was with Rose by seven. He lagged down the street, thinking of what he would say to her, and entered the flat with a blank mind. For some reason he was very tired. Rose had eaten by herself, cleared the table, and now sat beside it, frowning over a newspaper. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked, for something to break the ice. Looking over her shoulder he saw that she had marked a column headed: ‘Surplus Women Present Problem to Churches.’ He was surprised.

      ‘That’s what I am, a surplus woman,’ she said, and gave that sudden, unexpected laugh.

      ‘What’s funny?’ he asked, uncomfortably.

      ‘I’ve a right to laugh if I want,’ she retorted. ‘Better than crying, anyhow.’

      ‘Oh, Rose,’ he said, helplessly, ‘oh, Rose stop it now …’ She burst into tears and clung to him. But this was not the end, and he knew it. Later that night she said: ‘I want to tell you something …’ and he thought: Now I’m for it – whatever it is.

      ‘You were home last night, weren’t you.’

      ‘Yes,’ he said, alertly.

      A pause, and then she asked: ‘What did she say?’

      ‘About what?’ It was a fact that he did not immediately understand her. ‘Jimmie,’ she said incredulously, under her breath and he said: ‘Rosie, it’s no good, I told you that before.’

      She did not immediately reply, but when she did her voice was very bitter: ‘Well, I see how it is now.’

      ‘You don’t see at all,’ he said sarcastically.

      ‘Well, then, tell me?’ He was silent. Her silence was like a persistent question. Again he felt as if the warm, soft fingers were wrapping around him. He felt suffocated. ‘There’s nothing to explain, I just can’t help it.’ A pause, and then she said in the flat, laconic way he hated: ‘Yes?’ That was all. For the time being, at least. A week later she said, calmly: ‘I went to see Jill’s Granny today.’

      His heart faltered and he thought: Now what? ‘Well?’ he inquired.

      ‘George was killed last month. In Italy.’

      He felt triumph, then he said guiltily: ‘I’m sorry.’ She waved this away and said: ‘I told her Granny that I want to adopt Jill.’

      ‘But Rosie …’ Then he saw her face and quailed.

      ‘I want kids,’ she said fiercely. He dropped his gaze.

      ‘Her Granny won’t want to give her up.’

      ‘I’m СКАЧАТЬ