A Severed Head

to go on being happy.'

'Happy, yes,' said Antonia. 'But happiness is not the point. We aren't getting anywhere. You know that as well as I do.'

'One doesn't have to get anywhere in a marriage. It's not a public conveyance.'

'You must face the fact,' said Antonia, 'that you're a disappointed man.'

'I'm damned if I'm a disappointed man,' I said, 'and if I were it certainly wouldn't be your fault. What you mean is that you're a disappointed woman.'

'A marriage is an adventure in development,' said Antonia, «and ours is simply at a standstill. I was conscious of that even before I fell in love with Anderson. It's partly my being so much older and being a sort of mother to you. I've kept you from growing up. All this has got to be faced sooner or later.' She sipped her drink. She had stopped looking frightened.

'Spare me the clinical stuff, for Christ's sake,' I said, 'it makes me feel sick. Leave me because you want someone else, let's have honest lust, not pseudo-science. But in any case you aren't going. You can't make changes like this at your age. You're my wife and I love you and I want to go on being married to you, so you'd better resign yourself to having a husband and a lover.'

'No,' said Antonia. 'I've got to go, Martin, I've got to. C'est plus fort que moi.' She got up and stood there opposite to me, her stomach thrust out, tall, twisted into a pillar of determination. She added, 'I'm extremely grateful to you for being so rational about it.'

I stared at her beautiful haggard face, concentrated now in a look of boldness mixed with a sort of cringing pity. Her big mobile mouth was working as if she were masticating inwardly the tender things she might have said. I had a sense of miserable confusion and of things having utterly escaped my control. «I'm not being rational,' I said. 'I can hear what you say, Antonia. But your words make no more sense to me than if you were a mad woman. I think I'd better go and talk to Palmer. And if he says we must behave like civilized men I shall kick his teeth in.'

'He expects you, darling,' said Antonia.

'Antonia,' I said, 'let me out of this bad dream. Pull yourself together. This is what is real, our marriage.'

She simply went on shaking her head.

'Anyway, my darling, my Antonia, what would I ever do without you?'

The painful concentration of her face increased and then dissolved as she gave a cry and began suddenly to weep. She looked infinitely pathetic when she was in tears. I went to her and she bowed her head slowly on to my shoulder, not raising her hands to her face. The tears fell between us.

'I knew you'd be good about it,' she said in a moment. 'I'm so relieved to have told you. I've hated lying about it. And you know, you need never do without me.' And she repeated, 'Thank you, thank you,' as if I had already set her free.

I said, 'Well, I haven't broken your neck, have I?'

She said, 'My child, my dear child.'

Four

'So you don't hate me, do you, Martin?' said Palmer.

I was lying down on the divan in Palmer's study where his patients usually reclined. Indeed I was to all intents and purposes his patient. I was being coaxed along to accept an unpleasant truth in a civilized and rational way.

'No, I don't hate you,' I said.

'We are civilized people,' said Palmer. 'We must try to be very lucid and very honest. We are civilized and intelligent people.'

'Yes,' I said. I lay still and sipped the large cut-glass tumbler of whisky and water which Palmer had just replenished for me. He himself was not drinking. As he talked, he paced to and fro, tall and lean, with his hands behind his back, the purple dressing-gown which he wore loosely over his shirt and trousers making a gentle silky swish. He paced to and fro in front of the line of Japanese prints which decorated the far wall, and bandit faces leered from behind him. His small cropped head moved against the blurred soft blues and charcoal blacks of the prints. The air was warm and dry, agitated by a mysterious breeze from some invisible fan. I was sweating.

'Antonia and I have been very happy,' I said. 'I hope she has not misled you here. I still cannot take this in or accept it. Our marriage is an extremely solid structure.'

'Antonia could not mislead me if she tried,' said Palmer. 'Happiness, my dear Martin, is neither here nor there. Some people, and Antonia is one, conceive of their lives as a progress. Hers has been standing still for too long. She is due to move on.' He glanced at me occasionally as he paced, his slightly American voice soft and slow.

'Marriage is an adventure in development,' I said.
'Exactly.'
'And it is time for Antonia to take a more advanced course.'
Palmer smiled. 'You are charming to put it so!' he said.
'So the thing has a sort of inevitability.'
'I admire your capacity for facing the facts,' he said. 'Yes, perhaps it has a sort of inevitability. I do not imply this in order to avoid my own responsibility or to help Antonia to shirk hers. There is little point in talking of guilt, and it was not to talk of that that I saw you this evening. You know as well as I do that any such talk would be insincere, whether in your accusations or my confessions. But we are causing hurt and damage. For instance to Antonia's mother, who is fond of you. And there are others. Never mind. We do not close our eyes to this or to anything.'
'What about me?' I said. 'Damn Antonia's mother!'
'You will not be damaged,' said Palmer. He paused in front of me, looking down with a tender concentration. 'This is a big thing, Martin, something bigger than ourselves. If it were not so, Antonia and I might have played things differently. It would then have been possible to deceive you, though whether we would have done so I don't know. But this is too important and it is something that holds all three of us. You will see. I would not say this unless I were pretty sure. I know Antonia very well, Martin. Better in some ways than you do. That's not your fault but my profession. I know you better in some ways than you do.'
'I doubt that,' I said. 'I've never subscribed to your religion. So according to you we're all going to be better off.'
'Yes,' said Palmer. 'I don't say happier, though that might be so too. But we shall grow. You have been a child to Antonia and she a mother to you, and that has kept you both spiritually speaking at a standstill. But you will grow up, you will change, more than may now seem to you possible. Haven't you sometimes realized the extent to which you now regard yourself both as a child and as an old man?'
This was very acute. 'Nonsense,' I said. 'I reject your explanations. Things were very well between me and Antonia before you turned up.'
'Hardly, my dear Martin,' said Palmer. 'There was your failure to give her a child.'
'Her failure to give me a child.'
'There you are, Martin,' said Palmer. 'Each naturally thinks of it as the fault of the other. And the biological evidence is indecisive, as you know.'
The warmth and Palmer's almost noiseless movements and his repetition of my name had produced in me a sort of stupor, so that I hardly knew what to say to him. I said, 'You aren't hypnotizing me, are you?'
'Of course not,' said Palmer. 'What would that profit me? Relax, Martin. Take your jacket off. You're streaming with perspiration.'
I pulled it off and undid my waistcoat and rolled up my shirt sleeves. I had trouble with the cuff links. I tried to sit up a little, but the divan was not made for sitting up, so I lay back again. I stared up at Palmer, who had