Oh, a friend of Father Carruthers. They used to be at theological school together.
Stein's a psychiatrist. Why?
Nothing. I'm just very curious about Austin, and about anyone who's interested in him.
I see. You're not falling in love with him, are you?
For Christ's sake! Are you serious?
Well, I don't know. I'd say there's a definite touch of homosexuality in you. It'll burst out one day. Probably surprise you.
You really are a fool!
You see. I bet I'm right.
Garn! Maunsell said, chuckling:
You see… I bet I'm right. I've got to go.
You are a cow. When are you coming again?
Tomorrow probably. Father Carruthers asked me to look in again.
I say! He's taking you under his wing!
Maybe.
Well, come in early and see me first. Will you?
All right. I may not come at all. I'll phone first.
Good. I always answer the phone.
Sorme stood with his hand on the doorknob; he asked:
Can't you remember exactly what it was that Father Carruthers said to this man
Stein?
Maunsell looked alarmed:
No! For heaven's sake! Don't mention it to anyone. I may be wrong. He might easily have been talking about someone else.
Sorme realised that Maunsell regretted telling him; he said casually:
Don't worry. I'm not really interested. See you tomorrow.
All right. Come early.
Maunsell let him out of the door, saying: Bye-bye, my dear.
Sorme lifted his foot on to the crossbar of the bicycle to clip his trousers. He felt suddenly exhausted and discouraged.
CHAPTER FOUR
As he wheeled the bicycle into the yard it began to rain. He covered it over with the tarpaulin. The light in the basement flat was on; as he turned away to leave the yard the curtain stirred and the girl looked out. He grinned and nodded, and her face disappeared abruptly. As he was about to insert his key in the front door, it opened. He said:
Thanks, Carlotte.
I'm glad you came. I'm going out. There's a message for you.
Really?
Someone rang you from Switzerland. He's going to ring back this evening.
Switzerland!
He rang just after you left. He'll ring back about seven.
Thanks very much. Has everything quietened down now?
Yes. Only we've had two reporters here.
Reporters, eh? What did they want?
Oh, details about the fire. Mrs Miller talked to them. I think she likes the idea of getting into the papers.
Mmmm. That's interesting. Did she tell them about me?
I don't think so. Why?
I was hoping to get the George Medal.
He saw, from her blank expression, that she didn't understand. He felt too tired to explain. As he advanced to the foot of the stairs, he asked:
Where's Mrs Miller now?
Back in her own house. Why?
Nothing. I'm just delighted.
This time she laughed. He noted the bouncing of her breasts as she passed underneath him, and was disturbed by it. He thought: Why do I always want a woman most when I'm nervously exhausted? His legs ached as he mounted the stairs.
In his room, he lit the gas, set the kettle on it, and sank into the armchair, yawning. His thoughts revolved round the German girl. The idea of making her his mistress was more appealing than it had been earlier. He put this down to his tiredness thinking: the body's exhaustion inflames the imagination.
The kettle began to steam. He reached out to the thermos on the table and found it half full of cold tea. He was too lazy to go to the lavatory to empty it. He shook it up, then poured the tea down the sink, turning on both taps to wash away the leaves.
What the hell could Austin be phoning me for? Where did he get the number?
Soon find out. He looked at his watch: it was ten past five. Two hours. I must eat.
Hungry. But after tea and a rest. The steam rose from the flask as he poured water into it.
Like Vaslav. I am god. Wonder if he is a sadist? They need to beat somebody. Must ask him.
The hot tea and the heat of the gas fire were too much for him. He retreated to the bed. As he drank he began to feel sleepy, and thought irritatedly: Why should I feel sleepy? I didn't get up till eleven. Nervous shock, perhaps. He resisted the impulse to lie down and close his eyes, and felt immediately overwhelmed by the desire to sleep. He stood up, and looked vaguely around the room for something to do. There was a case on top of the wardrobe, still not unpacked; he opened it on the bed, and began sorting out ties and handkerchiefs. In the bottom of the case he found the three Van Gogh prints, slightly corrugated with damp, that had been pinned on the walls of his old room. He selected the space over the mantelpiece for the Field of Green Corn. The Starry Night he placed at the head of the bed, where he could see it every time he faced the wall in bed.
He pinned the Cornfield with Crows in the centre of the opposite wall near the door. He stood opposite the Field of Green Corn for a long time, trying to recapture a mood, without success. He concentrated, staring at it:
To renew the fiery joy and burst the stony roof…
For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.
And Nunne. And the old man. And a sadistic killer of four women. My body is not ill — it is my soul that is ill. Contempt. What else is there to feel? Not my body, but my soul. Poor Vaslav. He died.
The sleepiness came back and he restrained it. Dirt. Fatigue. This room. Not anonymous, my room, a prison. The wind blew a gust of rain against the windows. But it is my consciousness. Sick and exhausted, I choose it. I choose it. It is mine. Violence.
That's it. I contain violence. I don't want to be soothed. The violence is in the muscles, in the throat. When it explodes, I become myself. Everything that lives is holy.
He noticed the fading warmth on his shins. The flames of the gas fire were low.
He groped in his trouser pockets for a shilling. In the back pocket he found a folded slip of paper; written across it in a neat feminine hand: Gertrude Quincey; phone any day after five. He searched the pockets of his jacket without finding a coin. Pulling on his raincoat, he went downstairs. On his way back into the house again, five minutes later, he stopped by the hall telephone and smoothed out the paper on the coin-box. Her voice answered almost immediately. He pressed Button A, saying: Hello. This is Gerard Sorme speaking.
Gerard who? Oh, Austin's friend! Hello! How are you?
I'm fine. I thought I'd like to take you up on that offer to come over some time when you're not busy.
Yes, please do. Would you like to come to tea?
