CHAPTER TWENTY
Muriel's Day-Book
Dear, youthful Daisy! I have stirred her well. She has the devil in her more than Sylvia. The latter is the quieter one, but she will make her way all right. And as to Celia, she walks upon a brink, yet so do I in more ways than I count, as things progress.
'Because you love her, so you wished to make her cry indeed!', said Jane of her, and gave a little sneer. She sees a change in me-I know not what. It was true, I said, and added that we did the same with Phillip, after all, to which she conceded I was right.
Daisy did well. I told Jane so.-'Well, it is Sylvia's turn', Jane said. I shrugged and did not answer her. A week ago I would have said to take her in to him. Do I grow older, old? Oh, surely not! I thought of Celia's warm tongue, her pulpy mouth. What curious fancies take one at such times.
'I shall take her in if you do not', said Jane. She held my hand. We stood as people in a likeness do, stared out into the garden and saw nothing there.-'You're in a curious mood', she said.-'Oh no, I'm not!', I said. We laughed and kissed. Today there is an absence of desire in me to do other than to bed with Celia and Roger both. I told Jane so and asked her why. She searched my eyes and looked away.
'You wish to escape', she said to my surprise.-'From what?', I asked. She shook her head, looked worried.-'I don't know', she said. We put our cheeks together and stood quiet. My old spirit returned when Sylvia went up tonight. I said to have her father stand again.
'I know. All right', she said in an old-fashioned way. I could not help but listen. They were very quiet. I heard the chair squeak, that was all. Ten minutes later she came out and went into her room, said naught. Jane went into him and returned after a long, long interval and said he was 'in fine array'. He had not come, was dying to.
'Be sure he doesn't, Jane', I said.-'Oh, you ARE strange today', she said, and went back into him and closed the door. Poor Phillip, how he groaned for all to hear! Rose asked if she might go in Sylvia's room. I said she might. I heard them whispering together. That will do no harm. All seems distant from me at the moment. Very curious! My mind dwells in another house. I must rid my mind of fancies about Celia and Roger. It is quite absurd. Do I love them both or do I seek protectiveness? I hardly know myself at all.
Roger's Day-Book
It was dark in her room. Dammit, I could not help myself. The curtains were drawn, the lamp was out. I blundered to her bed, felt a bare leg. She lay there naked and her bush was moist.
'There are riders at night', she said. Was there delirium? Mouth upon mouth all of a sudden then. I pushed my trousers down-was deep at fault. My prick sprang out as hard and firm as I have ever known it be. O fearsome rushings of our breaths, O sweet douleur of entering her nest, the bumpings, heavings, and her bottom sleek and wriggling on my brazen palms again. This time the turmoil and the storm carried the bridges all before it in the dark. Warm, wet and seeking caves of mouths, legs locked, arms locked, her honey trickling down my threshing cock- and bursting, O it burst, I burst and flooded her in a gigantic whirlwind of desire, she sobbing, drawing on my prick until my last, small pearls were spent, the jets gone on before, absorbed. And say goodnight with languid tongues, then-hesitating ('Yes!', she moaned), plunge in again and fill her spermy cave anew until all breath was gone from us, and we like stranded ones upon a shore, her slim legs wide apart beneath my own. And Celia returned, and it was light. How could it then have been so dark, or did I sleep and dream it all? My trouser-gap was rimed with white, dried sperm where I had buttoned-up again.
I tell myself I dream it. It was dark. Those heavy curtains that let in no light, save for a searching, sun- pierced slit. Say that I dreamt it, that my mind's awry. Hot points of nipples at my lips. Another guides my pen today. I am possessed and know myself to be.
Celia's Day-Book
Sometimes when all is quiet, too quiet, there brushes at the mouth, nose, eyes, a silence like to cobwebs. So it was when I returned, my heart a-bursting as it was. Roger, like a shipwrecked captain, stood within our doorway with his trousers off.
'Changing', he said, and I said yes. His prick was pendant, glistened in the light.-'Roger, I want to tell you, to confess', I said. He backed away and let his trousers fall. They crumpled on the floor. His boots were off.
'No, do not tell me for I must confess to you, I must. I want…' His voice trailed off, he looked bemused. Daisy was in her room, he said. He sounded anxious, and I knew my guilt the more. He had not known what to do in all the waiting hours, I told myself, and threw my arms about his neck.
'Confess-let me confess', I said.
'No, Celia, do not-for if we both-if we should both confess…'
“What have you done but wait?', I asked, and cried against his shoulder as I spoke. We had both sinned, he said. I knew him to mean that he had acquiesced in my dire sins, but to allay his fears said that I understood.
'Do you? And yet you cannot know', he groaned.- “What I have done to you? I do! I shall never go to her again, I promise, Roger. And besides…'-'Yes, what?' His voice was edged with fear. Oh, that I have brought him to such a precipice-he who is faithful to me to the end and succours my most sinful whims. I am the one who must have strength, I told myself.
'What is the hour? Is it not night?', he asked.
'It is but dusk. I meant not to be late'. I moved from him. His penis had not stirred for me, was coated as with frost or rime. I thought he had… But he could not, would not. There is no other woman here. I would go to bed, I said-was tired. The day had such a dying fall! Dear Daisy did not come in to say goodnight. Perhaps she frets for me as well.
Deirdre's Day-Book
Vaguely I think of returning-yet what will be there but an emptiness? I languish without Sylvia-or is that my excuse? I would lose my freedom-would lose all. Muriel, in a letter, says that I stay best where I am, and that Sylvia will visit shortly here, but not alone, for Jane will come with her. I think that Muriel is right.
Dear Eveline, she has confessed to me all that was done.-'You brave one', so I said to her. Maurice appeared and asked us bluffly what we spoke about.-'Go on and tell him', Eveline said. I could not, though.-'We spoke of Maude', she said and then he laughed and said that he was glad the truth was out. He told me then what he had told them both, and Eveline looked quite proud at that.
'You see, we are libertarians to a fault', she said, though looked not as comfortable as she might. It was a strange day-empty in its way. I half expected what they said. I doubt the word of Maurice, though. A woman's instinct? Yes, perhaps. It is as much to say as, 'I will not eat another chocolate from that box'-and then within the very thought one's hand extends to it. I know. I have dipped into that box myself. The lure of sin is like the thought of Christmas to a child. If Richard only had a different face, ah then I know I would-tonight.
Eveline said that they will have a 'party' soon-'Just chosen guests', she said, and winked.
“Would Maude be there? Could she not be?', I asked. She flushed at that and looked away, Maurice said nothing but just hummed.-'Well-you could chaperone her in a special way', said Eveline and looked at Maurice straight. I think their house is built upon dry sand. He shrugged and said, 'Of course-what else?', but which question that he answered neither of us knew. I saw myself in minors all about and knew myself to be no better then they are.
Richard was in Amy's room when I returned. They both sat straight up on the bed.
'It is good for you to talk', I said. I cannot stop the world from going round. Richard jumped up and kissed me on the lips and said 'Mama', just like a parrot might while Amy simpered and looked down, fingered her dress which was much creased. Two dents showed in her pillows. That I saw. Maurice will have to see to her again. I know about 'the Committee' now, for Eveline has told me, has confessed that, too.
I took the key from Richard's door and locked him quietly in when he had gone to bed. He waited, thought I slept, then tried the door. I heard him grumbling to himself. Perhaps I should lock Amy in as well. They cannot have it as they will. Despite my sins I do not think myself so much a libertarian yet! And Eveline, I do believe, is having other thoughts as well concerning that, with Maude upon her mind. The biter who is bit knows well the pain.
