I don't feel like Lorelei.
She laughed, and ran her fingers through her hair.
How do you feel?
Strange. I'm not used to sitting in my dressing-gown in front of a man.
That's OK. You look superb. You look even better naked.
No. I don't.
He pulled back the dressing-gown, and kissed the tip of her breast.
You do. You've got a wonderful body. Like… a young girl.
He stopped himself on the point of saying: Like a sixteen-year-old. But she noticed the hesitation, and smiled at him, her eyes suddenly mischievous. He said, laughing:
I think you're a thought reader.
I don't have to be… with you.
He said:
Don't you really care… about Caroline?
Of course I care. I'd rather it hadn't happened. But it's no use wishing it hadn't happened. And anyway… it's in the past now, isn't it?
He put his arm around her waist, and pulled her to him as she went past. He said:
Yes. And I don't care.
She placed a coffee cup in front of him, and poured hot milk into it, catching the skin in a strainer.
But what about Austin?
Ah yes… Austin.
He waited until she was seated opposite, pouring the coffee.
Well, I'm afraid Austin's likely to be in trouble with the police.
Why? What has he done?
He spooned sugar into the cup, staring at the tablecloth. It was difficult to express it gently.
Well… you remember you told me once that he liked smashing dolls as a child?
Yes.
Why do you think he did that?
I… don't know. A lot of boys don't like dolls. They think they're silly. It's a sort of expression of contempt.
Perhaps. But, you see, Austin also has periodic urges to break things. Or hurt things. It's called sadism.
Sadism!
Her coffee slopped into the saucer. She set the cup down, staring at him. He said quickly:
Oh, don't get upset. It may not be as bad as you think. But the point is… well, that he's known to the police as a sadist.
But how? Why?
He said, shrugging:
Because he probably mixes with people who don't mind being beaten for money. And these people are known to the police. Anyway, to cut it short, he'd be an automatic suspect in a case like these recent Whitechapel murders. So would thousands of others, of course.
But… the man's been arrested, you said.
I know. And if he's the right man, there's an end of it. But he may not be.
I… don't understand. Austin wouldn't harm anyone. He couldn't be a murderer. Could he?
I know. I agree. But he's got himself into a rather nasty position. If he was sensible, he'd leave the country for a year. I don't know what kind of trouble he's in. I think that perhaps he's being blackmailed.
What makes you think that?
He told her in detail about the phone call from Switzerland, the basement flat and the night club. Watching her face, he found himself admiring her. After the first shock her face became calm, and she listened quietly, drinking her coffee. When he mentioned Stein and the Hamburg incident, she interrupted:
But that's stupid: he went into a monastery in Germany! Surely they don't think…
My sweet, it's not Austin they suspect in particular. As Stein pointed out, the police have to check on thousands of suspects in a case like this. Stein was involved in the Kurten murder case in Dusseldorf, and the police interviewed a fantastic number of people over three years — I forget the figure, but it was something like half a million. And there's probably a great deal more sadism about today than you realise. What do you suppose happened to all the guards in places like Belsen and Auschwitz? They weren't all tried as war criminals — or even five per cent of them. I've talked to men who went through the German prison camps — men in the French Resistance — and I gather it happened everywhere. They weren't all sadists, of course. But movements like Nazism incubate sadism. Whereas in England it breaks out as the occasional sex crime or act of violence.
He was being deliberately abstract to reassure her, sensing that her fear was fear of the unknown, the unexplainable. She said:
But surely… it's not like that with Austin? He's just not that kind of a person.
Sorme said:
Ah, you may be right there. It's rather difficult to explain. There are probably two types of sadism.
He crossed to the kitchen window, and rubbed away the steam; the sight of the trees in the rain brought a sensation of happiness.
I think that with some people sadism is just an expression of animalism. They feel no responsibility to other people. Psychopathic criminals. But I think it could be just an expression of conflict.
How?
He did not look round; he had no desire to see her face and feel her need to be convinced. He said:
For example, I find that I'm tending to grow up sexually. You know there's an old Army saying: A standing tool has no conscience. I suppose that's where men differ from women. Sex is a raw, physical appetite for them as well as a way of expressing love. It's the sense of life-purpose in a man, the need to turn every attractive woman into a mother of his children. Whereas, for a woman, sexual intercourse is a climax of lovemaking, an expression of tenderness, not an end in itself. Well, I find myself reacting to sex like a woman. If the most beautiful girl in London climbed into my bed and said, 'Come and get me', I'd fail. I can't make love like a machine.
She said, with a touch of irony:
I'm glad to hear it.
But that's only because the sense of purpose in me is becoming stronger, and therefore more selective. Don't you see? An animal mates and produces children instinctively. And a great many human beings do the same. But in some men there's a need to feel more conscious about it all. They oppose the instinct that ties them to a particular woman. Their sexual desire isn't directed at a particular woman, but at all women. Individual women excite such a man less than the idea of women in general. And that's the dangerous point where he could become the sexual criminal. His sense of purpose is higher than that of most men, but his instincts are still an animal's. If he can grow beyond that stage, he'll go back to the need for one person, and the sense of purpose passes beyond sex. It can become sublimated in a need to become an artist, a philosopher, a social reformer. But until that happens he's caught between two stools. His sense of purpose makes a fanatic of him, and his appetites can't soar above sex. Do you understand me?
I… think so. But… I don't see how it could lead to hurting people. If it's a higher kind of purpose…
Because of the conflict. The man begins to detest himself, and the disgust expresses itself as cruelty. Only in some people, of course. In others — Oliver, for instance — the disgust would turn against himself. He might try to hurt himself. Or simply turn to drink or drugs.
Even so… a man who kills can't feel this sense of purpose you talk about.
Why? Don't forget, it's an attempt to resolve a conflict. Let me give you an example. One of the major feelings sexual intercourse arouses in me is a sense of my own inadequacy. For a few seconds, my memories are all intensified, my vision widens. And then it disappears. And I realise that my chief enemy is my own body. I live in the present all the time. And time dilutes my memory. I learn something today, and by tomorrow it's been washed away like footprints on a sandy beach. The present closes me in. Well, if I was a different type of person I might identify this frustration with sex. The resistance of the physical world might enrage me. I see a pretty twelve-year- old-girl in the street and know I can never satisfy the desire she arouses. The physical world frustrates me and my
