» 'Oscar Belling.' « ш «What?»
«That was his name. Look, I'm using the past tense! It's all over!
«Did you abandon him or did he-?»
«I'd rather not talk about it. Bradley, I wanted to ask you something.»
It was quite dark now, a bluish night gauzed over by the yellow street lamps, and reminding me irrelevantly of Rachel's reddish golden hair adhering to the front of Francis's shabby blue suit. We walked slowly along the street.
«Look, Bradley, it's this. I've decided to be a writer.»
My heart sank. «That's fine.»
«And I want you to help me.»
«It's not easy to help someone to be a writer, it may not even be possible.»
«The thing is, I don't want to be a writer like Daddy, I want to be a writer like you.»
My heart warmed to the girl. But my answer had to be ironical. «My dear Julian, don't emulate me! I constantly try and hardly ever succeed!»
«That's just it. Daddy writes too much, don't you think? He hardly ever revises. He writes something, then he 'gets rid of it' by publishing it, I've heard him actually say that, and then he writes something else. He's always in such a hurry, it's neurotic. I see no point in being an artist unless you try all the time to be perfect.»
I wondered if these were the views of the late Oscar Belling. «It's a long hard road, Julian, if that's what you believe.»
«Well, it's what you believe, and I admire you for it, I've always admired you, Bradley. But the point is this, will you teach me?»
My heart sank again. «What do you mean, Julian?»
«Two things really. I've been thinking about it. I know I'm not educated and I know I'm immature. And this teachers' training place is hopeless. I want you to give me a reading list. All the great books I ought to read, but only the great ones and the hard ones. I don't want to waste my time with small stuff. I haven't got much time left now. And I'll read the books and we could discuss them. You could give me sort of tutorials on them. And then, the second thing, I'd like to write things for you, short stories perhaps, or anything you felt I should write, and you'd criticize what I'd written. You see, I want to be really taken in hand. I think one should pay so much attention to technique, don't you? Like learning to draw before you paint. Do please say you'll take me on. It needn't take much of your time, not more than a couple of hours or so in a week, and it would absolutely change my life.»
I knew of course that it was just a matter of choosing a way of getting out of this gracefully. Julian was already grieving over the wasted years and regretting that she had not much time left. My grief and my regret were a rather different matter. I could not spare her a couple of hours a week. How dare she ask for my precious hours? In any case, the child's suggestion appalled and embarrassed me. It was not just the display of youthful insensibility. It was the sadly misplaced nature of her ambition. There was little doubt that Julian's fate was to be typist, teacher, housewife, without starring in any role.
I said, «I think it's a very good idea and of course I'd like to help, and I do so agree with you about technique-Only just now I'm going to be abroad for a while.»
«Oh, where? I could visit you. I'm quite free now because my school has measles.»
«I shall be travelling.»
«Oh Iliad, Divine Comedy, please. That's marvellous! That's just it! The big stuff!»
«And you don't mind poetry, prose-?»
