The telephone rings again.
I go and lift the receiver.
«Brad! I say, is that really you? Guess who this is!»
I put the telephone down, settling it carefully back onto its stand.
I went back into the sitting-room and sat down. «That was her.»
«You've gone quite white. You're not going to faint, are you? Can I get you something? Please forgive me for talking so stupidly. Is she hanging on?»
«No. I put the thing-down-The telephone rings again. I do nothing.
«Bradley, let me talk to her.»
«No.»
I get to the telephone just after Arnold has lifted the receiver. I bang it back onto the rest.
«Bradley, don't you see, you've got to deal with this, you can't shirk it, you can't. She'll come round in a taxi.»
The telephone rings again. I lift it up and hold it a little way off. Christian's voice, even with the American tang, is recognizable. The years drop away. «Brad, do listen, please. I'm round at the flat, you know, our old place. Why won't you come round? I've got some Scotch. Brad, please don't just bang the phone down, don't be mean. Come round and see me. I do so want to take a look at you. I'll be here all day, till five o'clock anyway.»
I put the telephone down.1
«She wants me to go and see her.»
«You've got to, you've got to, it's your fate!»
«I'm not going.»
The telephone rings again. I take it off and lay it down on the table. It bubbles remotely. Priscilla calls in a shrill voice, «Bradley!»
«Don't touch that,» I said to Arnold, pointing at the telephone. I went in to Priscilla.
«Is that Arnold Baffin out there?» She was sitting on the side of the bed. I saw with surprise that she had put on her blouse and skirt and was putting some thick yellowish-pinkish muck onto her nose.
«Yes.»
«I think I'll come out to see him. I want to thank him.»
«As you like. Look, Priscilla, I'm going to be away for an hour or two. Will you be all right? I'll come back at lunch time, maybe a bit late. I'll ask Arnold to stay with you.»
«You will come back soon?»
«Yes, yes.»
I ran in to Arnold. «Could you stay with Priscilla? The doctor said she shouldn't be left alone.»
Arnold looked displeased. «I suppose I can stay. Is there any drink? I wanted to talk to you about Rachel, actually, and about that funny letter you wrote me. Where are you off to?»
«I'm going to see Christian.»
Marriage is a curious institution, as I have already remarked. I cannot quite see how it can be possible. People who boast of happy marriages are, I submit, usually self-deceivers, if not actually liars. The human soul is not framed for continued proximity, and the result of this enforced neighbourhood is often an appalling loneliness for which the rules of the game forbid assuagement. There is nothing like the bootless solitude of those who are caged together. Those outside the cage can, to their own taste, satisfy their need for society by more or less organized dashes in the direction of other human beings. But the unit of two can scarcely communicate with others, and is fortunate, as the years go by, if it can communicate within itself. Or is this the sour envious view of the failed husband? I speak now of course of ordinary «successful» marriages. Where the unit of two is a machine of mutual hatred there is hell in a pure form. I left Christian before our hell was quite perfected. I saw very clearly what it would be like.
«You've met her, you've discussed me, you think she's 'a most enormously nice person-«Bradley, don't shout. I-The telephone rings again.
I go and lift the receiver.
«Brad! I say, is that really you? Guess who this is!»
I put the telephone down, settling it carefully back onto its stand.
I went back into the sitting-room and sat down. «That was her.»
«You've gone quite white. You're not going to faint, are you? Can I get you something? Please forgive me for talking so stupidly. Is she hanging on?»
«No. I put the thing-down-The telephone rings again. I do nothing.
«Bradley, let me talk to her.»
«No.»
I get to the telephone just after Arnold has lifted the receiver. I bang it back onto the rest.
«Bradley, don't you see, you've got to deal with this, you can't shirk it, you can't. She'll come round in a taxi.»
The telephone rings again. I lift it up and hold it a little way off. Christian's voice, even with the American tang, is recognizable. The years drop away. «Brad, do listen, please. I'm round at the flat, you know, our old place. Why won't you come round? I've got some Scotch. Brad, please don't just bang the phone down, don't be mean. Come round and see me. I do so want to take a look at you. I'll be here all day, till five o'clock anyway.»
I put the telephone down.
«She wants me to go and see her.»
«You've got to, you've got to, it's your fate!»
«I'm not going.»
The telephone rings again. I take it off and lay it down on the table. It bubbles remotely. Priscilla calls in a shrill voice, «Bradley!»
«Don't touch that,» I said to Arnold, pointing at the telephone. I went in to Priscilla.
«Is that Arnold Baffin out there?» She was sitting on the side of the bed. I saw with surprise that she had put on her blouse and skirt and was putting some thick yellowish-pinkish muck onto her nose.
«Yes.»
«I think I'll come out to see him. I want to thank him.»
«As you like. Look, Priscilla, I'm going to be away for an hour or two. Will you be all right? I'll come back at lunch time, maybe a bit late. I'll ask Arnold to stay with you.»
«You will come back soon?»
«Yes, yes.»
I ran in to Arnold. «Could you stay with Priscilla? The doctor said she shouldn't be left alone.»
Arnold looked displeased. «I suppose I can stay. Is there any drink? I wanted to talk to you about Rachel, actually, and about that funny letter you wrote me. Where are you off to?»
«I'm going to see Christian.»
Marriage is a curious institution, as I have already remarked. I cannot quite see how it can be possible. People who boast of happy marriages are, I submit, usually self-deceivers, if not actually liars. The human soul is not framed for continued proximity, and the result of this enforced neighbourhood is often an appalling loneliness for which the rules of the game forbid assuagement. There is nothing like the bootless solitude of those who are caged together. Those outside the cage can, to their own taste, satisfy their need for society by more or less organized dashes in the direction of other human beings. But the unit of two can scarcely communicate with others, and is fortunate, as the years go by, if it can communicate within itself. Or is this the sour envious view of the failed husband? I speak now of course of ordinary «successful» marriages. Where the unit of two is a machine of mutual hatred there is hell in a pure form. I left Christian before our hell was quite perfected. I saw very clearly what it would be like.
The reason why, after swearing that I would not see her, I changed my mind and rushed to her was simply this. I realized quite suddenly that I would now be in torment until I had seen her and settled that she had no more power over me. Witch she might be, but surely not for me any more. And this was of course made much more obviously necessary by Arnold's having, by this vile chance, «got in on her.» I think his describing her as «an enormously nice person» had some cosmic effect on me. So she had got out of my mind and was walking about? Arnold had seen her with innocent eyes. Why did this threaten me so terribly? By going to see her myself I would be
