“Oh, she went from one institution to another. No one could keep her. I told you, she was like a wild animal.” She paused. “What is the point?”
“The point?”
“Of the story.”
“I don’t know,” Colin said. “I wish you hadn’t told it to me. It’s one of the most horrible things I’ve ever heard.”
Isabel looked at him appraisingly. “Would it have been more bearable if the child had grown up in some other way?”
“Normal?”
“Yes, normal.”
“I suppose so.”
“At that time, when they were buried in the hole, the people above them were much worse than animals. Animals have no cruelty; we always defame them. At least, whatever became of the child, she had no opportunity to become cruel.”
“But you can’t speculate…you don’t know about these people. To survive like that you would have to be a different breed.”
“I think they must have been terrible people, to breed such monstrosity out of desire for life. But not different.” She turned her head. “Do you see how he made her suffer, by loving her? When she had the child she could not even walk out and go to Treblinka. Now I know all about it…the stifling power of love.”
They had reached her front gate. Colin stopped the car. He was afraid to look at her, knowing that he had failed to find any meaning in the story, to give anything at all back to her.
“I didn’t know such issues preoccupied you,” he said. “Have you found some moral in it to apply to me?”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that light, but now that you speak of it—”
“Isabel, kiss me, don’t just go.”
She unclipped the seat belt, swung open the door, and paused halfway out of the car.
“Now that you speak of it, when you are so spiritually stifled, what kind of life can you hope to give birth to?” The door clicked behind her. “I’ll miss you, Colin. You think I won’t, but I will.” She walked around the back of the car and bent her face to his window. “When you are fifty you will be able to tell people what a gay dog you were. What an untrammelled life. And look at the heap of ashes you live on, and blame Sylvia.” He stretched out a hand but she pulled away almost playfully, and with a little smile turned and walked in at the gate. She was playing all the time, Colin said to himself. Hunched in his seat, he sat for fifteen minutes watching the front of the house; lights going on, upstairs curtains drawn, light finally switched off. She has slipped through my fingers, he thought. He drove home.
Muriel looked pale. Suspecting her to be undernourished, Evelyn got her coat on, picked up her purse and her basket, and set off for the butcher’s shop on the Parade. When she got to the door she saw that there was quite a queue waiting to be served. Her first thought was to pretend she had not wanted anything and walk away down the street. But she hesitated for a moment, and heard a voice behind her:
“Liver looks nice. Hello there, Mrs. Axon. I thought I saw you passing.”
She would have to go in now. After all, nobody looks into a butcher’s window for idle amusement, they would think she didn’t have the money, they might talk about her. Evelyn turned her head stiffly. Josie Deakin from number four, a woman of forty-five in her brown leather knee-boots and pixie-hood. She heaved up to Evelyn, bustling with her shopping bags, edging her into the shop doorway.
“Nasty weather, Mrs. A.,” Josie said cheerfully.
Mrs. A.? Evelyn thought. As if she were the subject of an experiment.
“Seasonable,” she replied.
“How are you keeping then?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“And Muriel?”
“Very well.” Some residue of social unction oiled her tongue. “And you, Mrs. Deakin?”
“Can’t complain.” Mrs. Deakin took off her woollen gloves and rubbed her hands together. “Haven’t seen Muriel about for a bit. Too cold for her, is it?”
“Yes. Too cold.”
“I used to see her last summer, striding along, you know, not a care in the world, and very nice she looked in that pink angora cardigan. You do keep her lovely, Mrs. A. I said to Dennis, Mrs. Axon keeps Muriel lovely, to look at her you’d never know. Well, I said to Dennis, if people only knew. I bet Muriel’s got more about her than people give her credit for.”
“And what did Dennis say?” Evelyn enquired.
“Well…I expect he said, I agree with you. I don’t remember exactly what he said but he certainly agreed with me. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Axon, it is a coincidence me running into you today like this.” She craned her neck to look at the counter. “Oh, aren’t they slow in this shop! The thing is, do you still do seances? Only Uncle Bill’s passed on, end of September, liver complaint, he’d had it for years—and Auntie Agnes—she’s my father’s sister, you remember our Ag—she’s mislaid one of the policies.”
“And so she wants to get in touch with him?”
“Well, I know you do that sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t any more.”
