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HARAIEET
PRINTED
VERSION
ARTS I
NoT THE
AST OH
THe Foher


mught
The
Eclipse




BOOK
CHAI PTER 6
Thè fine weather continued and walking became his only pleasuré.
got Unck
He would netarn dead-tired in the evening and sit with the others drinking
wine sleepily; his nerves exhausted. He found his thoughts were clearer
when he walked and that dark notions didn't master him so easily as in a room.'
Sométimes he set out early in the morning, before Pinkie was up. He would
walk along Leadenhall street and the Cornhill past the Bank of England, then
down Cheapside to the back of St. Paul's, and from there he would cut up to
Smithfields to have a look at St. Bartholomew's church, hidden and silent,
at thé end of its own walk. Then he would turn south again to Fleet Street
and the Strand, go through the Horse Guards' Parade to St. Jamests Bark,
where he would sit and watch the ducks for a time, and make the last stage of
his journey to Kensington gardens; he always ended there, and the walk was
the same every morning. Everything gleamed and flashed in the sun on the
way; it was always best during the morning hours; the air was cleaner and
the shops and streets had a remarkably country-look; there was a golden bust-
le everywhere, and the sky looked especially high and blue and spacious above
the roofs. Sometimes he took sandwiches, and sat on the grass near the Zido,
now
where he'd gone with Hanni; she got little time off,and came tor the house
Hanni's
less; Pinkie said HIMAN she thought har relation with 1Joe Clockwork' had
clicked, and she was spending her evenings with him; so far Dick wasn't
'rattled'.
To 626(a)


One morning he was walking near the Serpentine when he saw Pinkiets
cousin, Deryk Grysham, strolling along; he'd just walked over the stone bridge
and was standing still while some children ran past him. It was a lovely
day; the water flashed through the trees, and the sky was a perfect blue, wi th
only a slight warm breeze that stirred the grass now and then. One could
hear the splash of an oar from the lake and the dull swishing sound of the
traffic. behind the trees. Grysham came out of the shadows, one hand idly
in his jacket pocket, gazing before him, quite lost, while the children play-
ed and shouted near by. He looked drawn into himself as Granville had ne ver
seen him before; they'd met a hand-full of times, especially just after he
and Pinkie were married; but since then they'd hardly seen each other. The
family didn't .hang together on the whole; Pinkie's brother Nigel, for instance
Gryshas
hardly knew Deryk. E/had a long, pale face and gave the impression atane
anaithensamentive of being both massive and fragile; he was quite tall, and
broad in the shoulders.
There was a certain heaviness in his body, but it
was veiled by a frailty of nature. Not that his face had any great delicacy:
His nose was long and his jaw heavy, giving his face a formless, ever so slight
-ly coarse appearance when in repose. His eyes had a pale look, tired and not
fully open. All his body seemed to be in sleep, removed from the rough air;
the delicacy was clearly in him, but he had no really delicate featured He
was strolling along with a slow, pale motiên, and seemed to emerge bodilessly
ke was there.
from the shadows; Granville had to look twice before he was sure itwasbim.
Therewasnt/anything unhealthyin-hispalloryalleryland #e had a nandetrtrllhy grac e-
and
ful way of moving aPonematobeanitforlognnne gave the impression of har-
mony. It wasn't Dick's deliberate cool harmony, but a real quiet cohesion
of the body, by virtue of its withdrawal from the world; Granville had never
seen him in repose before, not quite, like this, shenhe-thonghghthettas un-
lstsead bered klin
sarr He cea only take ef Dexyk-Gryshat in drawing-rooms, smiling and
shaspness.
shaking hands, gazing at everyone with eyes that seemed incapable of shymesso
A oe AA
Aak
pet n
he S
BER
ut of place walking bythe-brees) CET he hadaneffest
To 627


And now Grysham had an effect on the trees round him: he made them
seem part of a magnificent park still closed to the public. Granville
thought of the gardens of Versailles. Partly it was Grysham's corduroy
jacket, which at first sight looked velvet.
They walked towards each other quickly.
"What a wonderful surprise!
I'd no idea you were back, Philip!"
They shook hands, smiling at each other, and Granville replied,
"Yes, about two months ago!"
Grysham was so effusive that he felt ashamed of the weakness of
his own feelings: he only felt a mild affection; also excitement,
perhaps, at being with one of the Gryshams again---they all had such
a glow and style! Though Deryk and kex his mother Beatrice were looked
on as outposts of the family---too tidy and conscious of rank! That
was because Beatrice was 'trade'---she was more Grysham than the
Gryshams, the family said. She was a flashing, wild, haughty woman--
but also carefulx underneath her style---a snob from top to toe.
In Grysham S gaze now there was mingled admiration, curiosity
and a subtle glittering look of being complimented by Granville's
presence.
"Isn't it lovely?" Granville said, nodding towards where the
sunlight flickered on the water, through the leaves.
"Isn't it? I couldn't bear my room any more!x You look awfully
well," Grysham xadded, giving him a side-glance. "How's Hester?"
To P.632


"Lot-Tookawfully-welhyuryshag told aim, giying himaBide-glants,
"Hows Hester?#
"Shets finel"
he and lis Ike
Rerabe
'Pinkie' was unknown to Beatrieerand Deryk; they) always said Hester.
Granville tried to think of something mor e to say but couldn't, and they
Hestar hadl
continued along the path; he added that shald/got nice and sunburned in the
Middle East, but stopped there.' He felt quite tongue-tied but yet easy as
well: there was something so foreign to him in Grysham, he himself had been
away so long and in such a different world, that he felt a fascinated curiosity
towards the other man, as if he himself was cancelled out and calmly listening
av ti side,
two ycar ago
to Deryk's being, that took shape befera him helped by his silence; before,
Grannike would alprays have forced the conversation along, believing that this
Dershsmott
was expected of him; he'd always been nervous with, Beatrice; he'd always
Kos
felt too fired and stimulated socially, because of their gushing charm, for
auy
this drowsy, inquisitive calm to be possibleo It was like being drawn into
a strange, vivid country now, where he only had to watch and listen; he was
no longer involved; what Beatrice or Deryk thought of him didn't matter so
much; they had less power to hurt; their exclusion of him, if that had ever
been in their minds, seemed not to concern him, but to be about an idea of him
from which he in himself was immune; he hadn't heard the word 'background'
two
for A yearsor more! He was thus less in awe of Deryko A glow had come into
his own life which he held intact; he'd tasted friendship; he deliberate-
ly remembered Mohammed as they walked along, as a protective devicet ! AeMad
amorldhe caufddeschiber/itmsay/mysberiausto Deryky #e clung to the mem-
ory of Basrah. He felt nervous apprehension threaten to mount in him for a
like a devil inside him which his confidence
moment, SremxaxdexiiishxxemaseASERXEIORXanxefckhexpast
had tempted to come out i
he'd always felt feathers in the belly before seeing Beatrice, because of her
terrific social requirements of wit and constant talk, which he'd always
found, once he'd steeled himself to them, that he enjoyed fulfilling; but
now hé steeled himself the opposite way, to calm; with nothing to say he


L33
said nothing! de Was the first time in hislife beva donethis conscTouslyi
itwas
first Step towards mamner of Ponversation that was pable foreigr
tohim, andwhich had eost him so much stumbling; hitherto, he'd always hung
on people's words and hurried to reply, usually without thinking, much as the
women inAbbottts Road did when they hung on the gates that had meant fright-
ful rebuffs for him, and a sense of showing himself naked, while other people
were taking pains to cover themselves all the time; this was what Deryk did
naturally now---he elothed himself all the time when he talk ed; his ease of
namer cane from having boenbrought
thoug
Boatriserberd
knowtt
eniet erati
And Deryk sensedsomething new in
him; his tone was more confidential than Granville could remember it, with
h.t less deliberate charm and coutesy; they were on an equal footing. Granville
was aware that this calm he had, which he knew wouldn't last long, wight be
his first glimpse of maturity, as he would have to find it in the world he 'd
graduoted (6
inherited; it had something to do with the defeat of pride in himself; he
would have to learn how not to care what people thought of him; then he would
be able to rest, and watch and listen; he would allow his own self to reside
elsewhere, intact; and that would take much construction---perhaps years morg
peryr-said-how-frighbfully tired Beabricogotthese
dayst she-didnttnget
8 an
younger, poor darlingo And GanyyAe glanced-at-hing sideways just ashend
doned befose; the ehildisk repose-had quite-left-hhe face; he still-hadthe
hi P, meditating-Iook but
was lert UN SV a guI now. The carriage of Deryk's
head was like a sea-horse's, uplifted, his eyes half-closed in a sleepy, pale
surveillance, his nose long and also pale, seeming to overhang his lips. He
could remember the first moment Deryk had opened the door of theiftop-floor
flat to him, a few weeks after he and Pinkie were married; he remembered the
44A
sâne sense B - Rerromone
of being incorporated into some grand and
Rowever;
Dergk's
blazing activity, which never quite came about) it was in his deligheed
smile as he stretched out his hand---to his favourite cousin's husband---
wit,
gut wsarid, "How very nice to meet youl Do come in!" Phe/CaAne/pArat/apt/Alara


"What's the work like out there?" Deryk asked him.
"Oh---it's fascinating:"
He made the words up, and smiled.
And now a return-question was
required of him: "How'$ the school?" Deryk worked in a school where
his mother had a money-interest.
"Oh! I'm always thinking of giving it up---travelling: But---!"
Granville glanced at Deryk quickly---suppose he had failed to under-
stand Deryk?---suppose they had equal desires, only on two sides of an
immense gulf planted by history?
"Do you want to travel?" he asked quickly.
"Yes, I'd love to!"
"Why don't you come out to.the Middle East?"
"I've always dreamed about it---but, you know, Beatrice really
couldn't get on without me---at the school for one thing!"
"Why don't you try it? You could send the money home!"
"I know!" Then a charming smile, which seemed to make it all
make-believe---everything he,d been saying.
"You could easily find some work out there!" Granville went on,
persisting deliberately.
And Detyk's smile faded a little.. The little formula of charm
had been disturbed. "Yes!"
"Why don't you do it?" He persisted further, forcing himself
to it.with a hard directness while--- absurdi---beginning to quiver ever
so slightly inside, with apprehension---from breaking the little form-
ula that the other man insisted on with all his soft, casual being
like a pale weight in the sunlight.
"Perhaps I will one day," Deryk replied. That was a little
patronising. And the smile had almost quite faded. There was even
the slightest adge of ---nastiness? But no---perhaps a delicate
sour distaste.
Slowly the old clouds, which he:d all but forgotten, gathered
in "ranville again. He begam to remember the past. Partly it was
Deryk's accent, which was like a deliberate attempt not to spe: ak the
language of ordinary men, with 'rarely' for 'really' and a painful
ee-ow' for'oh', an accent that seemed to say,'I was paid for!"
Granville fought against it, reminding himself of Basrah andtrying
to keep the idea of Deryk as someone foreign to him, and also myster-
ious. Partly he succeeded as they walked along together under the


trees with the children's voices behind them.
But the memories
became more and more detailed---of a slight rudeness here, of a sudden
harsh sneering sentence from Beatrice; the 'lady', a look of horror on
her face when he mentioned his mother casually in a conversation- --the -
horror really had made her face seem to fall into her chin! VAbsurd,
dead, historical, but here they were coming up like steam from Deryk's
presemce at his side! Was he slowly,recapturing that old sense of
being favoured by Deryk---was that the web he and deatrice weaved on
their visitors, was that the costly invisible article they were still
trying to sell in a world which had flung them off as faras authority
was concerned fifty years ago!
Behind them was the inner citadel of powerx, and they held the
keys---that was the idea you were supposed to get. But you were never
let in. So the dream was always to hover before you.
Deryk had his pale hands behind his back, idly clasped together.
They came out into an opening where a hill rose steeply, smooth and
green, and the warmth of the sun had collected there, in the hollow,
full of hot, dusty scents. He seemed like other men---lost in
thought, kickly slightly at the gravel with his foot, but as if he
were off-duty in some way: his fragility wasn't that of the drawing
room for the moment, but more childish---he might be a child kicking
at the gravel, rather bored!
His eyes had a childish, dreamy quality,
too, without anything self-protective in their look. His jacket was
a deep wine-colour, and his grey trousers had lost their crease;
he was untidy but yet he had an air of clean, fastidious detachment.
His shoulders were bowed wearily. Granville had an impression of a
child alone in his own park, pouting a little, sad and frightfu lly
lonely, wondering what had gone wrong, becayse this was a public park
and all the world roared close by. Suddenly Rertheiia akalareim
and werksed Entaged at once, the dimness left' his
If ke some thing
falling into the séa, a shadow, replaced with a look of gentle sol-
icitude---yes, was Granville about to ask a question?
Granville's heart was moved at once. He had the sensation af
that there was a special recognition in Deryk's eyes at that moment,
perhaps becayse they were in--well, the same family! He suddenly
blamed himself for the dark thoughts he.d just had, and for the
absence in his life of this light courtesy! When Deryk shook hands
with someone his expression was extraordinarily gentle and delighted,


and humbly solicitous. His whole body seemed made for courtesy,
and one couldn't imagine that he had a dark thought, much less a
censorious one. His eyes filled with light as if the social command
had become the natural one for him. He disclaimed self when he
talked to people, too---it was all "How wonderful!" and "No, really?"
and "How very nice for you!" And when he did bring, his own life he
made that it seem like a game, somet thing you didn't bother about.
He steemednto smooth/the path all the time, nodding and smiling,
calling the other person on. But---it didn't go all the way through.
You were left atenarona with the feeling that he andun Beatrice would
tear you to pieces as soon as your back was turned.
frusl
He remembered their fhat so well---the hushed anteroom of the
citadel of power!---the thick KEKEE carpets, the white, curving
bannisters, the dim and heavily curtained drawing room that seemed
to promise. everything, the dead-white walls because that was the only
Tlals colour you could furnish to,/00q the great EKI porcelain bowl that
from Aldercote that shone from one of the tables, eha the deep arm-
chairs where you sank down, the striped chintz everywhere, aub then
rising
as you camein
Beatrice Bottingnag from an armchair/with a mighty rustle and sweep,
always in a long, flowing gown that shone and gxitexe glittered in
the dim light. Yet she was robust as well, with thick arms and
a determined, chin.
Her eyes sparkled at you, gleefyl and challenging,
black, with a tiny light of irony in them. Her dress was always cut
low, and the lights were arranged to take twenty years off her age,
which they did, giving her skin a marvellous, soft, healthy glow,
with nothing pinched or thwerted.She had the habit of giving you an
wwen
wasie
admiring nod every now and then, whether she vas)talking to you, exnatz
husking
together with a wide smile that had something roguish in it, making
her teeh shine.
MEXXE**XXXXXINX She had blonde, unruly hair and tagether with her
ahnp) nose it gave her an eagle-look, especially as bbe had the habit
of darting her head ffom side to side as she switched her gaze.
Her lips were full and open,. yet gripped firmly in sensual will,
with something flirtatious and conniving MAH in them.
Beatrice loved rank ravenously, almaot with an innocent passion.
tar
Knowing, somebody was a lord'or higher (lower she didn't go)'made them
seem extraordinarily beautiful to her, and she really did look at them
with sexually admiring eyes, even if they were a lady or a duchess.


When she was with Pinkie's uncle, Maimbury, she laughed and threw
back her head, and all her wit came out---she would flash him glances,
tau,
uaturally
and dim lights seemed unnecessarya because her skin vibrat ed/with
youth. By the same token she hated the absence of rank in people.
fays
She couldn't respect them. But, more than that, she couldn't forgive
them. She simply was unable to. There was no dream there for her.
She had a wonderful way' of talking about the family. Did Pinkie
know that one of' her cousins was marrying the marquis of Averdale next
year? Such a clever, charming girl! And had Philip been introduced
to the Wynters girl? That must be arranged! They'd adore each other-
--she knew that! And she would look across at Deryk and say, "Don't
you think so, darling?" and. he would answer, "Yes, mummy!" It never
was arranged. But the promise was intoxicating. Beyond Beatrice
ikes
you always saw a country mansion wi th tall lighted. windows HERINE
peeping through the céfdar trees. Then it would be, "Your grandfather
adored you when you were small," to Pinkie, smiling brilliantly.
"Clive took your grandmother down to Aldercote that summer, do you
remember, for the last time, she died, the same year Pamela was born---
I always remember Pamela in her baptism clothes, she made such a
lovely baby!" Or, "That was before your father sold everything up,
when we always went down to Beeches for July and August, do
Ans
was
closer cun C clos Ler
yourn
wel
spun,
evey
remember, darling?" shemndadee abeut therhouse
Bhaworth_Road.
vinv.
Riatny-peadangfurnituce? They ought-to have that eld commode
dowmat Aldexcoter à was standing
eorner unusedt
WITEXEYETEXXISST AE. X PARXEMEXWELXEIBSEEXARdXEIEEXERAXEIESEY
"Hester must be looking well after all that sun!' " Deryk said.
sou aaTims
"Isn't xatx it rather too hot aboutinowpn
"Well," Granville replied, "you can always go for a dip in
the swimming pool---you don't dre'am of working aft tereleven in the
inthe morning!' #
"Oh! Is that a company pool or--?"
"Well, it's a kind of club run for the oil people mos tly,
and we've got membership cards. Whiskyxingidenta**x*xXXX***X*X*X*XXXXX
kak.ches.shoughthne was just about to add that they'd idéd lost
their membership cards when he cut himself short, knowing too well
the hot feeling of regret that might result if he let his words rush
on without preparation, whatever the words were!


"Isn't it difficult for an English woman---moving about
freely, that sort of thing?" Deryk asked him.
"Well, it isn't easy but you get more and more women without
the veil.
They're quite used to seeing English women. They think
they're all mad anyway."
"Oh!" Deryk chuckled in a breathless way. 11 And you work with
Arabs, do you?"
"It must be a wonderful.life, Philip,' I Deryk said quietly.
They came to a stone bridge wi th fat pillars where there were
people leaning on the parapet gazing down into the water, silent.
The stream was very still: below, touched at the edge by willow XXEEXX
branches. The sunlight cast the design' à of the pillars on to it,
and these shadows trembled with the breeze sometimes; or a fish
passed swiftly across.
1I Are they trout?" Deryk said, peering down.
"They look like it!"
Two or three fish darted under the bridge, their bodies silvery
blue. Further on they could see boats out on the Serpentine, moving
slowly, without a sound from any of them; nearer the bank there were
toy yachts, their sails a dazzling white. as they went up and down on
the tiny waves; far on the other side they could see people diving
into the water at the Lido, white bodies streaking down and making a
splash, with the trees where he and Hanni had sat making a dark
cave-like hollow behind.
They came to a man launching a toy ship from the bank, with
a crowd watching him. The little vessel had three funnels and
was worked by radio. Some of the people watching were dressed for
the office, in dark winter suits.
ToR651


The man started the engine by pulling at a piece of cord, then he pushed
the boat carefully away, gitimg it a final little shove with the tips of his
fingers; he was a small man with a wrinkled, pale face and freckled hands,
1 : a utterly absorbed in his task, the stub-end of a cigarette forgot-
ten in the corner of his mouth, brown and dry. As the dignified little ship
went smoothly out, keeping a straight course and sending out a surf on either
Hke
which had,
side, he bent down to aretrenatodtbera radio, Miah an aerial and three or
diulso
Hen
broats
So tat it
.four knabay And wiehvtnds. he controlled thel direction, ofihevbontyahich moved
out heavily, as- if spapes massive, still going a straight course ; but then
oneof/ohelknobs_wawasrturnedraue it veered heavily round, gleaming in the water'
The port-holes and cabin windows flashed as it turned, and all the time the
gaye
man kept his head bowed, only lifting his hend slightly to look out for other
dials,
boats, his hand on the knohev The cnly noise from the lake was the muffled
bumping of an par now and then on #e rowlock, far out, and the flapping of
the tiny yacht-sails. Again Granville glanced at Deryk and was sur prised to
again
seè that he was rapt and fascinated like every one else in the crowd; he was
like a childg faMartomnns Hertarned LandraskedGedGrahiNNewith asilaydid
2.p. herthinktha man came here every dayf Andthen-ke-sokch, "He must be a happy
Derye Laied wnt a mile.
man, don't you think?" L There was the same wistfulness Granville had noticed
a tangible selg
before; he was bereft of/ epotrythlong) jand looked extraordinarily lonely.
peerasked hinas thaywalked awrifheenjoyedlufing i Mndom hoping
for the kind of refelations hétd Just made about his owlife, but Deryk
only said thatit got awfully wearing sometimes and he wished he could get
away, but the' schoolholidays were good; he mustn't grumble at that; and
heturned to Granville with a final air, smiling brilliantly like his moth-
er, as if to say, as always, what a game life was, wasn't it? It quite elated
Granville to think they'd got so - close to each other, were the old inequalit-
ies ryled out? Would they be able to talk to eachother about their own lives,
and their fears on each side? How fascinating that would bel They reached
thepoirembere-treytaueytumteacchothormdwhocethecbealdren-struhplayed
7o P651(a)


"Do you enjoy living in London?" Granville asked him as they
walked away.
"Well, it's awfully wearing sometimes but the holidays are good---
I do get long holidays, that's one advantage of teaching!" And then,
having said this little bit about himself, he turned to Granville with
a final air, as if drawing a curtain, and made his little smile ax
that seemed to say,'But my life's just a game, what about yours?%'
Granville felt suddenly elated---he would really talk to Deryk,
he'd get hiim to tell him about his life and fears, he' d dig further
and further down, why shouldn't they be friends, why shouldn't he
explore things in this way, why not cut through all this dreariness
and formula and set talk that governed everything, that gripped England
like a deadly paratysis and which you could see in people S faces!
What was there in the air, against that exploration?
They'd come round the park full circle to where they'd met and
the children still played. It seemed to finish the canversation, too.
They walked on to Alexandra Gate, strolling. They saw two chestnut
horses on Rotten Row, under the trees, with women riders in elegant
top hats, turning and rearing slightly, their flanks close together,
the sunlight going over them in dazzling yellow spots as they kicked
-up the sand, seeming not move by their own wills but to be in an airy,
floating motion like the brilliant shadows all round them.
Well! He and Deryk turned to each other to say good bye.
So nice to have met! What about Hester, when was she going to call
Beatrice? Then they must both come over!
Yes, and Deryk must bring
Breatrice over for dinner one evening, Hester would love---and so
forth.
He hardly knew what he was saying or what he was hearing.
He only had an impression of Verykis face as gentle and solicitous
again, smoothing the path, always smoothing the path!
They put *HEXEXhands out their hands and gave each other a finab
smile.
"Be sure to give Beatrice our love!" Granville cried, in a last
sudden accesse of affection.
Hester's been me aning to phone for
a long time!"
"Do come round and see us! Mummy's going to be so excited when
I tell her!"
They walked away in opposite directions---he chose the opposite
direction though he was heading the same way as Deryk---and then turned
ToRhsMA 652.


to wave at each other simultaneously.
Granville caught a glimpse of
his long pale face again, and his pale fingers as they waved delicat ely,
flickering above Derykis head for a moment. Then he was gone.
ttha/


Pinkie's uncle, Maimbury, had a sparkling and golden quality
that put people at ease right away. It was this perhaps that Deryk
was striving for.
Why didn't he attain it? But He didn't---quite.
There was something grudging in him---he and Beatrice beckoned you
inside but that' was also a good way of making you feel shut out as
well, especially as there was no inside! All they did, really,
was create a fakte little fable, and then despise you secretly if
you fell for it.
But Maimbury was whole: a still, slim, quietly gracious man
wit th the same unaffected assura ance touched with pallor as . his son
Wynters; only there was more bite to his gaze---he'd made himself
one of the richest men in the country and pulled off a good many Priste
tnuk
deals, He was '1911 aristocracy'---omlg his mother was a Grysham;
a bit too expensive for tEM true blye blood, the family said, but
good to dine. off! He kept his tall London house, that shone like
a great white tooth in the sunlight?PEly a monument for them and partly
as a restaurant---they came in their muddy shoes and dirtied his carpet,
Pinkie said, and belched loudly after meals, to the horror of the butler
who was also '1911' and was fool enough to think that aristocracy and
delicate manners could ever go together!
Well, to some extent they did go together in Maimburyo banseld
He'd grown up in both worlds---a sornof bankers' world on the one
hand and the old lingering world of the country estate (supported
by the banks).on the other. - He was the effective head of Pinkie's
side of the family. Everyone came to him for advice and, of course,
money. They brought their bastard children for him to support, and
used his name when they were in a tight spot. Family conferences
took place between him and Beatrice, who knew better than anybody
teeded
ing
ing:
where the family oouhaiba bolstered up and patchads They were always
trying to keep the family together. But the family didn't want to be
itals
kept together: not unless they could see the money in it! As for
a eense of axidt aristocracy, they had absolutely none---they didn't
know what people me ant!
Pinkie had a childish, romantic admiration for Maimbury: it was
like her love for Nigel, only Maimbury---'Nicky'---was a debonair
figure who - arranged' everything; he belonged to the world of affairs,
and Nigel to nature.
The first real family event after Granville had married Pinkie


wws
was lunch with him. And that hadbaen an extraordinary eventy
because it showed Granville a world he'd never known before even in
his wildest imaginations, an invisible world which Pinkie had renounced
in herself. He was always conscious afterwards that she.d renounced
the England in herself, the unconscious and dreaming part of her
blood, for which she could see no use in the world.
The moment Maimbury had walked across the carpet in the hush
of the hotelvlounge Granville pad felt at ease, with a strange,
immediate, involuntary change of feeling as if the man had brought
a new golden light in with him, coming suddenly through the revolving
glass door,, treading softly, waving his hand in a casual movement
towards Pinkie.
He a worn his raincoat open and carried an old
his
trilby hat; Granville remembered the way hep swung ttza hat,
wi th an oddly childish and graceful abandon, so that it was like a
school-cap for a moment. His eyes caught Granville S attention
next: they were wide-set and still, remarkably platid, as if their
physical shape had been determined slowly by quiet, good thoughts.
And their original shape seemed to include a smile, which assergted
saftey safety and calm at once. It was a light, wondering quality,
and dominated them all the time they were at lunch.
It put Pinkie
in a specially gentle and courteous mood, bringing out that invisible
element that brooded and slept in her---the ecstatic, thrilling,
wild, half-choked way of talking that made her lips moist and full,
and put lost, distant, shining vagueness in her eyes as if she was
looking back across centuries and everything grand that had ever
happened in the country was happening in her again and as if an' a
natural authority and dominance lay in her body which only had to' be
called out, like the rustle of/silk dress and candèellght and the
flash of eyes in the dimness! She and Maimbury made the crowded
- and
Oxford Street outside distant, rotten,
foul, an idiot
deadproncbnas
like
dream sprayed on the earth inthasomod a stink and left to lie
for a few decades, not more, before it was smashed to pieces by
better hands than had put it there.
Maimbury had taken Pinkie by the hand warmly and spoken in
a low, easy voice that at once seemed to establish endless time A
"Hester, how are you?", with, anintimateglanoerintmtorhexeyesslaka
a quick glancento verify she was well. Then he turned to Granville,
at Rer
his eye S me asuring him for a moment in a mild, rather passive way,


without scrutiny, absorbing him with an unwatchful calm, and said
to him shortly, man to man, "How do you do?" Through the whole lunch
Granville kept glancing at Pinkie because of her metamorphosis into
a tall, gargefnt graceful, attentive creature, gazing before her in
a dazzled way---into her real self. She had a dark suit on with a
red silk scarf loose round her neck which made her face glow and her
skin pale and smooth, in a dramatic contrast. She could have been
one of the great women of the past---a Holland or Devonshire!
It was extraordinary what effect his presence had.
Maimbury's hair was slightly grey at the edges. and this made the
casual vigour of his body all the more striking. He had a firm, lean
face, weathered and lined; everything led to his eyes. As they went
into lunch he snapped his fingers and called out "Boy!" sharply to one
of the pages, then told him to 'take the gentleman S coat'. For a
moment Granville had been surprised, and had stood still in the carp-
eted lobby---'The man means me!" he thought. It seemed to him then
that Maimbury had subtly established equality between them by saying
that-- -by making a double announcement, to the page and himself.
And the page raced towards him, even before he took Maimbury's coat.
lo P656


toovyoersugatinemoertoistanStApeNONONrrerstrevevonnapakgMAIAAOAROWAPM
ment, to the public, that theywere fejlow-gentlemen? He thought it
was an exquisttery subtle way of establishing deference -itwas a
double announdement, to the page and himself. And the page raced
towards him, eren before he'd taken Maimbury's coatyrendot bansiarter
+ke dining room
mp. veratapuartiTMTAnasdlywoarthersarareavcomanreroamanrorce
were
Inside they
handed over to the head waiter, who said quietly, nThisway, milord, th
and led the way briskly betweel the tables, whispering to another wait-
er in a brittle, narrowft-eyed Aartos way, "Tell Joe quick--- -WHla
nt Maimburyls Seats were drawn back from their tables in the corner,
they all sat down, and Maimbury took the leather-covered menu in his
hand.
He glanced down at it and stroked his mouth thoughtfully, lean-
ing on his elbow. "How what shall we have?" he murmured.
Granville
uded le
said nothing e
He was gunteraceustonedvto being confused by wine-names
and dish-names at that time, s6 he decided to leave the talking to
Pinkie. She always knew what she wanted and said so, while hisneuel
umld
tantacaueraito order the same dish as someone else at the table, say-
ing to the waiter after a pause, "I'll have the seme)-opapaprasong,
noman eQutadobettarthan that, Mennongebeingusigulgnov Then he
all rglt.
just hoped the food would be toniorteston Once he' bad ordered
escallop in this way---it was one of the few dishes he knew---amd/got
InsTead wrav
a heap of fish in a sea-shell wbich hadnkt baembasrtontionstank
he'd expectedjveal! Hellooked down at the fish in a bemused way, try-
idea
ing to reconcile it with his inage of veal fired in breadcrumbs, and
whetker
wondering maradnia thewaiter had mispheard him anametherthelotet
eyeatercauaarnotioornta pungedrahcosushantit/ayaaaytadg
ork seconan if his leg was being pulled. Then helfaught sight of the
card and saw under FISH the word scallop and assumed this must be it.


tme umld use
Apparently, |the word eoylarerased for both veal and fish.
Botrit
RATURBAMAMAN
tim e,
ka Another asceahans when he was at the TIM training school,
hedmnag invited to lunch by one of the specialists in Arab affairs.
The man had. small, gleaming, kindly eyes but he only spoke when he had
something intelligent to say, a mannerism which always frighteded Gran-
Gramenlle
ville.
Suddenly, between courses, tharothernaw looked
at)him)in
calm, rather patriarchal way and asked, "Will you share some plovers'
eggs with me ?": He decided to nod and smile, as if the th ought had
occurred to him, too. But he had no idea what the words meant. He
thought it might be a wine/ardAcegtsegtudthe-nordaves something like
all nglt
'Plavers Seggs'. e
It seemed pertecayfaastbhoom'Plaver Seggs m'
And then the little mottled eggs came, six of them, and he ate three
of them with a panic-stricken show of relish.
After a pause Pinkie said to Maimbury, "Well, I don't know a
Nicky.
thing about wines for a start, Devid So you'd better do the order-
ing." There, it was perfectly simple! You just had to say it!
And Maimbury replied, "Would you like me to order the whole th ing?"
Granville answered, "Yes, that'd be lovely!" So homely, this idea
of the host ordering for everybody! Maimbury gave him an appreciative
little glance.
Rad
pharuonpassedueld Granville, noticed for the first time in
this
a restaurant of thet kind that he felt no apprehension, nor a eense
that he must hang on every word said to him in case he was guilty of
a breach of manners. He sat easily in his chair, his elbogws on the
rests, and actually thought about what he was saying---this was perhaps
the most amazing thing for him, to actually think an a. public place
with the same unhurried reflection as he did in private. The table


seemed to belong to them, their own, and though the hall clattered
and hummed with conversation, the other tables seemed far away, and the
streets outside were so remote as to be unimaginable.
He'd forgotten now what they talked about. But an extraordinary
graciousness had flowed from Maimbury; it was something rooted and
fixed in him, a bleesed mark, that could never have been imitated or
learned.
Granville was astonished how, within a few moments of being
in his presence, he felt not only at his ease but washed clean of guile
and baseness; it actually seemed, by contrast, that at other times
he'd learned to dislike himselft! for he settled so fomfortably---not
proudly or vainly---into his own frame under Maimbury's gaze, and he
doing
observed that Pinkie was fealing the same; thechargeretaladeseen
Abenfacey ahorbadeathorityandaormandnand her sentences were like
treachant little edicts, uttered blindly, as if from the past, with the
vagueness of the past round them, caught in a glow, dramatic, making
the present moment seem only a contribution to the slow, legendary
far
movement of time, beyond them. And her red scarf marked this more
strongly.
It was something in Maimbury's smile,mand in the soft
gaze of his eyes that carried no advance-image of the world but waited
in good will for the world to declare itself.
Granville only said
what hewanted to say, and his silence didn't feel hedged-in and intim-
idated.
It was such a relief---actually being with somebody in a
public place and yet keeping intact, without fear! In an epoch when
being in pubdic usdally meant 1going intactness, in the roar of the
city! Had the world always been like thatipeconsenhelasieedhimsedd;
asAtsA Meimbusyopressuce-BOR Was it only us, in our world,
who underwent a strange psychological shock when, went into the company
of other people, and uttered things we hardly knew or recognised, and


then, afterwards, felt a sense of betrayal, that we'd departed from
ourselves, unawares, and lost the road, as if wend been bewitched, and
odd public statements had been put into our mouths from the air? Was
holnday?
trees tkar?
ip the usual air infectioust And was dtuatsorround Maimburyt Granv-
ille had the momentary enchanting experience when he was with Maimbury
of discovering goodness in himself---not extra and above what he was in
himself---it was simply a recognition of the ordinary goodness every
man had, as if hitherto he'd been given a false story, that there was no
tls goodness in the ordinary state, no natural goodness inherited by every-
one ( There were even all sorts. of ways of talking and moving which
hif
had never appeared to him before; as if hitherto he'd been in the grip
of fear, and had been paralysed by the gaze of other men, not conscious-
ly any more but in a manner almost physical, certainly automatic, like
gooserflesh in sudden cold; sometimes it seemed that he could deduce
Hem,
the presence of other mean near him, without
by this automatic
seeing,
respouse of the flesh! Iudeed, it appeared to him that the whole of
his life, apart from aal interlude in Sussex, had been in a state of fear!
Long ago, he 'd forgotten what natural behaviour was like, and now)more
or less accepted a state of self-suspension as the price to be paid for
I And
being in public.
through Maimbury, he became aware that this
LNow,
state
might be true of most other people, too: it might be the atate of our
world.
With Maimbury he said whatever thoughts came into his head,
as if they were from a mysterious source---mysterious even to him-
and not open to the limiting judgements of men; it was a strange free-
dom he had never known before, and he was less willing to say after-
irwas chained
wards that he lived in a free epoch; for the flesh was in chains,/to
round
this throbbing public life that went in a circle and caught us up
like a St. Catherine's Wheel, stretching and torturing us, twisting
lic.


our faces and shooting out our hands in peculiar, unwilled gestures.
tals The viAAeNOnToraavon self was more or less in abeyance with Maimbury:
he was simply a man, Pinkie was simply a woman; there vas simply the
world, no "innert or 'outer', no 'private' or public', but people sit-
ting together to
Nor was this a primitive sense, of having
eat!
got
behing civilisation to a. supposedly untouched and intimate state; it
was the reverse---far in advance of anything primitive; it was actual-
tah
clever
ly a sense of civixlised people---not goutallyproficiant ones, or oupa
ally
ehc C mes
oF terrific] energy A or demoniacally astute ones, but civilised ones in
A In whom
a golden way, vrhore /reason wasn't a faculty of the brain but a sweet
powerbf curiosity and light! That was in Maimbury,s face. There
ibls
were no marks of fear.
Pinkie had once showed him a photograph of Maimbury as a child,
standing. in a tall hot-house with the rest of his family, dressed in
knickerbockers: he had long, fair curls and the wonderful softness was
already in his eyes. And it made Granville feel how seldom a child
keeps his dream in. our epoch, but was pinched and limited early, esp-
ecially a boy, in recognition of the pitiless, dry symmetry of the
public world that hed De be observed, requiring stricter gestures than
natural ones ever could be, and only certain brain-calculations in
place of thoughts, and hard pellets of 'factr in place of the flowing
truth and experience of life.
Maimbury had kept his softness.
thing had been damaged in him; so it was like a glimpse into more
golden epochs, seeing him.
He'd been allowed his own dignity from the
Could grow
beginning.
Perhaps only gurls marald like that in our world; with
their graciousness intact in them, and the light of dreaming still
allowed in their eyes.
Granville remembered all too well in his own
childhood how he had always tried to stop the graciousness in his face
as much as possible, and to' discourage the dream, agartherothersigna


af wayaug
hisezpressionag in deference to a public world
that never made a clear statement of its requirements, only seemed to
tkis
turn a cold shoulder whel he departed from te. discipline into natural
behaviour.
This was so wonderful in Maimbury's face---that it had
never been turned from its natural and sweet civilised development.
Instead of civilisation being progress or industries or ethical presump-
auyikiig
tion, or semethis grandly intellectual and public, it was, in Maimbury,
an intimate light that could only be passed from person to person; it
was something to do with the heart, inimiaable---in every man it would
pals be ax different flame---how extraomairdinary to think that once life had
consisted of all these flames, intact, touching and burning and reflect-
ing each otherf
How exciting it must have been before our epochs came
into being!
The flame was in Maimbury,s movements, in the way he talk-
ed and smiled; there was nothing constructed about him; he simply had
this shining presence, which couldn't leave him because it was in the
shape of his face and the sound of his voice! Granville whought of
it as 'extraordinary'; but suppose it was what men had inherited in
ahut
the past as the ordinary cousee of things, without thinking Of it?
Sayoee
Habbegan
feel as the differenee betweemainbe
ai Qwn
essentially
a slass
ine worldsgere
katdr
aloges thafn mervisex Aisown other
od a A Ne
bines
aidd
had
- ibe
thenpasty The two Wor a Le wes
essentially far a part,he thougkts
they
kept à flame f the heart
ive
iE was L a hir d worrd
a aad roken
a Granville despite his parentsf
the marvel
mip.
of Mainbury's presence---for which Granville had no aparallel or
previous warning in his life---was that it showed no trace at all of
that 'higher world'.
That was the revelatiou of Maimbury/s lunch
invitation for Granville. And he realised that Deryk did, emphatically,


ho C
belong to tat 'higher world': like Beatrice, he had taraad gentle7
fnt
Aessof heart satagnattteror gentle manners.
Ard
this light in Maimbury was somet thing that could never have
been invented end cultivated by one man alone; ; nhiserintimateraad
irintabla,
- binted to other peaple, and joinedwththeh, Mt
wesD"b-SOlftary- It could only have been inherited, and grown out
Were
of birth, through slow years of growing, in safety. tAre we going to
all
lose, that?euvanallovowapdered.
Were we going to become simply separ-
ate citizens, each with his personality, but with nothing marvellous
inherited? What Maimbury carried in his body and in his fine, rest-
ful eyes was a theme that had grown like a slow flower by the ingenuity
wad
of generations, andya dortrine that couldn't be passed on articulately :
it was a light known only by presence, and impossible even to give a
name to because no single thing composed it, only the total life of
lals
one person. That was aristocracy: it wasn't class---namely, # power4
groupA but a genius which no coubtry, once given it, would ever for-
en a
which, in
get, aamichyperhapsnued the cowl-atar-ceninty-) beyond whase/ sim-
it Conld AA 30
plicity and sweetness, oom-botd-gD. Phagmyortoted
the great
Clive Brysham, mearly two hundsed xears-besore he would a in Arout
of a painting surrgunded byhis dogs and chilaren, and give it thebest
heart possible, according to the painters of the times he had no
apbitions, singe he possessed everythinga man could want, and there-
fore was ix a way devoid of self. So with Maimburyy he gayé the
impression of a golden and euchanting seli, while yet he seemed to be
only for other people, askjug one qyestion after another, never talk-
ingabout àu
kife always aooking
Mibsothor-personngneedan
Aristocracy was only an image, caught for a moment; it wasn*t truly
a historical reality.
The image was only passed on in glimpses.
Mortaitbadbocorahiptoriomrodstretumctorrtrasnsnov


Mivéss cagentle emind
mograatcowbprhusesypaparkesypapartor
in the Aibraries and gaMleriess in a clear, viyid way of speech that
was the seed of poetry. Afistorracy was the attémpt to createcivi-
Lredpbeing not Roas a id abhic REoeetss E ashth Rhievement
péarly Kof
dAy imagev
No principles safeguarded or hindered it.
olone,
ls A man was/sinply by his presence pseypaasiSpites Mantarstasrtrverdr
shartigathaacouldn't be purchased or learned or damaged: it could
only be inherited.
Granvillanteld himself-thet we badtokeep this living magede
ofs
whatron/oivilisetlon-NaRA Were we to have only gare records) withoat
thelivin voleer Wanit only torba memoirs and, pheturasqoorglinpsenn
aptherpeatrin country palaces open to the public? 1 abon-haunsed
this ypublieyas with the - past
a - as
huerentmnaging
gver these mellow, wogden stairçases, algng the whispering galleries,
past the egbattlezents, gazing up in awe, trying to dream the past, -
epyy up a dream Grm evergone
Abesorg peopaa had lost their touch for eaçh other, before they had
elécted a ghostly public world above them which, was supposed to take
precedence over their owm intimate gestures! Only men like Maimburs
actually bore it in their faces, sunk into the flesh. They weré really
its Jiving image. Not an image by Fittue of the thoughts they had or
the work they did or tthe power they exercised; that was all public
worldy no, it was in his hands, in his voice that came like a cool,
cléar strear, 7 that gurgled however much noise there was outside, and
yrouli, perhaps, benthenlastithixg tobe heafd antheviatexe o Latreans.
Were te to do away with phatmervellous-eridemeng the pastn
VAth the first imagei portaapeakt of our own souls? Could we inherit
as well? Bbemiddle-class Madndone AajabDowg erterall HA
hadbrokendownall imeritancer therewasn
whi
ine
nerkkilogenin-the world outside the Vaticans Hadn the)redched/bhel


Had He te vtlol'
tal
end of thobn historical task? Now a man had to create his own life!
Would he do it in that most perfect of all images? It was all laid
before us in the tales of kings, in the country houses that had never
stirred from their first tranquillity: what an extraordinary inherit-
ance awaited us if we could break our silence of the heart! But if
we kept to the middle-class road, ashamed to be ourselves, because self
was dark and secret4, if we kept on joining movements and trying to
make more movementg, if we looked for the right society all the time,
and the right principles, and the right safeguards for our childreng,
if we let our selves of hereand now die, broken by the noise outside
that prompted us to join and spoke to us out of radios and stared at
us in the morning from the newspaper and gazed at us from films, al-
ways drawing us to believe in a bigger and finer world outside which
ouralues,
was Smfeth only composed of people like me-ihoc-cstas-housthpred
into,alnost,hollomnees if we never turned to our own silence,
never let that silence take its own time, withus, never learned to take
action from its sound root; if we never braved the accusation that we
were useless or lazy or selfish, or out of the group, or hollow, or
dead by virtue of our solitude: then we should inheritx death, and
our children would look into our public faces and read nothinglumon
A great religious duty for the first time awaited, not simply a few
vonsolepriodd people but untold numbers.
Buring that fitst-luronwithuakbbury,beforenthe-coffeeDe-coffeeDamog
hag
he had excused himself and gone to the lavatory; this/meant walking
pcross the dining room and then the Xong foyeroutside,, that he was
away for some minutes. He corbed his hair and washed his hands withr
out hurrying, and wandered back to the table. The moment he sat down
he was aware that the atmosphere had changed. Henoticed it at once
To P672 (Na Chaptes)


04Fl02
New
CHAPTER 20
gel
Pakie
Men Pankiecede bask Fhat evening he told har/about hviss) meeting
with Deryk and she chuckledo She said she wondered what Deryk was do-
ing in InKensington Gardensp-he had a date with Peter Pan, perhaps!
She would Aphone Beatrice one day from the office and they'd get a
lunch out of noth *e uld gire!
dashed
house and dhook him ande,
Dick swept into the bedroommsrhe-uansittine iadesk later
weny k l
aaererorcangraassing kis beard wagging excitedlyk "Jesus, I could
kick myself---I've just let the most dazzling girl slip through my
fingers! She sat next to me on the fbus and we got off at the same
stop! She started looking in the chemist*s window and I know she wanted
me to speak to her! But I funked it! You know, that sort of thing
spoils the whole evening for me. What a fool I am!"
"Why don't you go back and look for her?" wesbkods
"No, ofea the spontaneity's gone wamromn
Mok slouched about the house and later on, upstairs in the kit-
Granuille's
chen when Pinkie had left the room for a moment, he whispered in nak
ear, "I keep going over it in my minal I've had dozens of imaginary
conversations with her.
I'll never let that happen again!"
Hanni joined them and they all went downstairs to the music-room.
Pinkie put on a Bach record from years ago, scratched and faint, the


suite in D major; they sat listening to 103 in silence; the atmosphere
was sad; they all lolled in their chairs; it seemed to him that Pink-
nit ie was on the point of tears! Some talk began afterwards about Bach
in which Hanni said in a quiet voice, "I think he's so wonderfully
Ahis angered Gramille
mathematical!m Rtnmather boneof soffiedal ersticismwraayilde
asked her, Memoallyaututeareoioes trying to stop all sorts of indignant
feelings rushing out, if she really meant that. And here Dick spoke up;
help.
he said there was a *case*'for the idea; Bach did have a 'anthematical
p. kind of symmetry' fo which Granville murmured, flushing, "Symmetry,
my arsel !" HannIds mettle was up: "What has he got, then," she asked,
"Feeling, I suppose?" Her face was fixed with fear and defiance at the
andpureudg
same time, so that her lips Worapurseds trembling slightly, and pale,
said
Dick stroked his beard and ERWRI he found 'old Johann
hip.


Sebastian really stunning stuff!"
Hanni persisted with her question to Granville, asking him what
there was in Bach if not symmetry, and he said with a rather foolish
expression, "God!" And he added quickly, "Christ as well---Bach
understood everything about Christ!"
He leaned forward and was just about to go on talking when Hanni
got up and strode out of the room. She left the house and Dick
followed to look after her. And she didn't appear again for three
days. - Granville was left bubbling over to himself. But the next day
Kod
alml
Pinkie said, Hanni had been most annoyed Wibh Dick---he would go on
ulpsde
itol
Ang talking about the girl he'd ne arly tatked spoken to outside the
chemist's and saying heywantedto kick himself, and asking Hanni if she
thought he.d missed anything really 'hot'. The #A Bach had just come
on top of that!
There was an incident rather like this one a few days later---it
left Granville in the same state. It involved Pinkie and Dick this
time. Pinkie was studying * I The Racing Times', which she sometimes
bought if she wanted to lay a bet; and she had ingenious ideas, which
she: never applied, for getting the XIANI winners by multiple betting,
which meant laying out a lot of money; in Basreh they d followed one
of these multiple systems on paper, with the race-results from England,
but were always baffled by the long losing-runs. She was lying on
the divan reading the dog-race results, and making notes with a blue
pencil.. Dick was talking about the office, and asking him ly casually,
with his light, deliberately objective voice, why he preferred working
these
in Basrah, since the work/was the Si ame as in London, the office-
furniture was the same, only it was stifling hot. This came ne ar to one


iogehiong idedaynbachshelhenereppliedyforgettangitherwinneralbyeadltipae
betting, whien meant laying outa lot of money; in Basrah theyld followed.
gne of these multiple systoms on paper, with the face-results from England,
were always baffled by the long losing-runs. She was lying on the
divan reading the dog-ractagresults, and making notes with a
blue pencil.
jug
Dick was talking about the office, and asked bim casually, with his light,
objective
deliberately XmperganEt voice, what he found were the chief differénces between
thersffseein Basrahanc
inLondon Thiscame neentaona
of Granville S 'themes', and he leaned forward to speak about it; he said that
the first thing was the presence of Mohammed facing him at the ppposite wall;
you didn't get that in London---and here Dick nodded and smiled agreeably;
and there was the heat; therewas the sunlight that blazed through the blinds
in little strips; one could hear the call-to-prayer; as he spoke he was lead-
ing up to something, the presence in Basrah of the religious world, in all A2991
Bues-
l.c. dlata things, big and small. L Suddenly, as he was speaking, Pinkie looked up
and said quietly to Dick, "I've just discovered abont the world's finest syst-
the fnuth 5 Shat shesaid;
em." Her voice was so quiet that it was impossible to doubtz ierg Dick's
eyes were alight at once and he asked task her to 'spill the beanst, and when
she said in the same quiet voice, full of her discovery, "You want to know
about a really watertight system, do you?", 2 Dick cried; "Yes, please, teacher!", 9
and jumped up from his chair; he went across to her without another glance at
she 'd
Granville and together they began going through the notes): zke) made in her
little book, with the latest results before them. Granville sat on,
stunned, his unspoken words whirling round in his head; 0
owh
usoloee but on behalf of his/dignity didn't get up and leave. He heard Pinkie
a dog
's voice, still soft with assurance; nSay you've got one running at 6-4/and
another one at 4-6 against, and you're betting even money hoth ways, well, what
you do---of course, that's if you've got more or less outsider-odds on at least
Mol Jm dois -his
three, otherwise you don't touch the race A # while Dick gazed over her shoulder,
rapt, no longer judicious, and invoaved as Granville had never seen him in any


discussion they'd ever had! To his surprise, half-way through
Pinkie's explanation Dick looked up and murmured, "Sorry I inteerupted
you, old sport, but I won't get an offer like this again." Pinkie
chuckled and they went on.
"You know, Pip, I think I'm better trained for this world than
you are," Dick said to him one evening in the pub. And Granville
nodded his agreement.
Dick paused, looking down at his finger-tips.
"I'll tell you something, Pip," he went on. "There's one thing
I've never been able to shake off, and that's--" He glancedat
Granville with a smile, blinking quickly--
"a sense that I belong
to the best people."
"Now that comes from Lady Godiva. She's always told me, so
has the old man, 'Remember, you've had the best this country can offer,
you've been to the best schools, you've got aduantages everybody else
if after---and they're going to envy you!' Now, it's odd, but I
can't shake that off. I can't agree that I have got advantages,
but I feel I have, I just can't help it---!" He looked into Granville's
eyes calmly, with the slight smile he always had when he was trying
to think something out. "I feel people look up to me, but more than
that---they want something out of me! They're trying to get some sort
of advantege out of me! It isn't a matter of attitude at all---it's
just a state I'm always in---I feel that when people approach me they
recognise some thing!"
"Perhaps they do!"
"But I feel it towards you as well."
Dick turned his pale eyes towards him, and Granville felt chilled
for a moment. But he was used to Dick's occasional frightening candour,
and smiled. "How do you mean?"
"Well, I feel you and Pidkie like having me round the house---
for my company---also to help the tone."
"I tell you, it isn't an attitude, it's just what I feel instinct-
ively. Say you stop and talk to me on the stairs, I feel you're
itals
after something! I can't help it! You want me to make you feel less


lonely, or you're after some information about the office, or you'd
like a drink, it's always something that I can give you! And I can
give it to you or hold it back, as I like."
Granville smiled at him. "It's honest of you.f"
"Well, you kmow me, old man, poor but honest!" Dick said with
a little laugh, falling into his facetious manner.
There was a pause.
"Is that how Lady Godiva feels?" Granville asked him.
"Yes! But she feels it about working people.
They're all
caricatures for her. Of course, I've passed beyond that. I'm not
a bloody fool!"
"Suppose your parents met mine, doyou mean they wouldn't talk
to them as if they were real people?"
"Well," Dick gazed before him, considering it. "I don't know
your parents, except fhat Hanni's told me---she liked them a hell of
a lot, but, yes, well, they'd see them as sort of working class
characters, like on the stage, not people they could relax with or
really talk to! They'd see them as rather pathetic---not responsible
for their own actions---not quite in life! Theyka humour them all
the time! Oh, they'd be kindly and enquiring, but as they would be
to---well, invalids. They wouldn't think your parents' feelings
worth talking about like their own!"
"What would my parents have to do to qualify as serious, then?"
"Well, theyld have to have money for a start, live somewhere
else, change their accents. They'd have to be 'educated'---but not
what you mean by educated. They don't mean being able to read and
think and that sort of thing, because all their reading and thinking
is fake anyway, and the ges it all from the newspapers like everybody
else---they me an by 'educated' living like them!"
"Being middle-class!"
"If you like. You see, they could never imagine that your
parents had as much refinement or sensibility as they do. This is
where I've advanced beyond them---I can imagine it! They'd never
tals be able to imagine themselves living in a working street and going
off to work early in the morning, and that sort of thing. It's just
a closed world to them! They couldn't credit someone who says
'iggins instead of Higgins wi th their capacities of feeling!"
To P6780)


ken
%What they feel towards working people you feel to everybodyl E,
Granville said with a smile.
vof
"Yes, but they also feel it to. everybody. Nobody's up to their
mark!" Them he added seriously. "I respect youmore than most people.
I'm rather scared of what you think. But at the moment of being wi th
you, in a position of contact, I feel superior!"
"But why?"
"Because---well, you're just you, if you see what I mean!
There's just you sitting in front of me every time, and that little
voice inside me says you ought to be more! I donft believe. you ought
to be more---but the little voice says you should come to people with
more style, if you see what I mean, not just yourself, you should
coat it all round a bit like Glenning, or keep a more orgamised
appointments book, or something like that---it's difficult to put it
into words. But I like you---I don't agree wit th the little voice,
but there it is! And when all's said and done, we're similar to
each other in one respect---we're---lone birds!"
"But that little voice doesn't say the same about everybody,
does it?" Granville asked him.
"What does it say about Pinkie?"
"It says she S got an obsession about being left out of the
party: So she needs my company! Which gives me a little itchn
to withdraw it."
"I'll tell you something else, Abdul," Dick said as he got up
to get more drinkso "You're the only man I'd allow to call me Dick.
Otherwise it'sRichard. Did you know that?"
"It's very flattering! # He realised for the first time that,
indeed, the only people who called him, Dick apart from himself were
Hamni and Pinkie.
And when that conversation was over, as they drank coffee
upstairs in the ki tchen, as the last light was going down, Dick
said to him,. "Well, old sport, have you made up your mind about
Makboula?"
"Makboula?"
To P.707.


7o7
"Yes, I know, but what---?"
Captergy
Aferdara lger Diok 1 X
Oid snoyt bavecyon
Aaderup
le - wa TRIL
foleohed G
Eneet
hat le Jorsarte
irals
"Well," Dick replied, "do you like her?"
"Well, then, you'd better get in while the going's good. You'll
tals
catch her on the hop. I believe she's just finished something with
an Australian crooner or al Aztec weight-lifter---I forget which!"
Granville laughed and said, in that case he certainly would do
somet thing! He noticed Dick was easier with him than beforeo It was
a barely perceptible change in his manner. Hoseered to feelrediea
ReuhaprAterunihlmavtuggLeupsen/tiburcona
A Grenrirlet
nit
srieprquaditteatitlerweeepanimy Chey/bae ceredrerrtigristaet
fofelet es i bateeathenyurgaarerta ac cevapaeteriateriakl K age
themotuntotntn DANAXEL aadeu x Pbd
He tried to remember the hair-girlis face, but couldn't. His
kindof
recent life had become abstract and floatinge, nanentin aldazed flow;
he could remember Deryk Gryshan vividly, and also how Pinkie had left
the house before breakfast ountie saturday morning a week, two weeks
ago; ; these incidents were like pictures in his mind, singularly
detagkedxfrmuxkir


detached from him; ndlouns-uorvesthpobbudroaroamrspaiturlygoitt
Nam he couldn't focus his attention properly.
Pinkie rang up Beatrice and they went over to lunch.
There was
the same gushing politeness as ever. Pinkie looked tall, dazzling and
lille
tair
rather patrician, as she had done for the first lunch with
Maimburyo
gaaronbolotel This time she wore a pair of. delightful turquoise ear-
kme
rings, which apparently she had bought at the same as the cuff-links
he'd amashedptm/Maarben
She was quiet, however, over lunch, and ans-
wered. Beatricets continual questions perfunctorily. She was detached
from them all, and for a moment it seemed to him that he was nearer the
family than she was. Basrah she hardly mentioned.
It was like dead
history now. Between her and Deryk there was a family-playfulness;
but it was automatic and didn't touch her inner: mood. The flat had a
sombre, damp light, without its former fabulous suggestions for him.
Beatrice looked only a trace older, her eyes strained, while Deryk
seemed to brood under an immense, overbearing fatigue that pushed him
further and further down in his chair.
Their inner moods, too, were
hidden. What were they feeling underneath? Why did one require to
lals know what they were feeling underneath? Boaarse-BOEruricatsonmara
publicrtomrin-tbeamerldneonsohastreatrean-trom the imMerAfen AGreat
ettantfonvarvapaiditokiz whente taTkedabout Bosraha
Pinkie said afterwards that his job had 'Imperial style' for
Beatrice and that he was now 'fully rehabilitatedg, meaning that he rd
all rght,
got over his "background : magmifscarblyu The/Cdotnoderhodytropan
aarodglandabelsasalshatuabelartartofartedtronapstalrelinrounruatena
beonarsegorthgothattramrtenahadpebalaofirato
She got a day off and they walked together near the river, then
went for a bathe in. the Lido. A letter came from her friend Elizabeth


Bewley-Patton inviting them both to her house at aplacaparia Meedham,
near York, in a week's times Pinkie was to Aphone aud arrange it.
He "d never been there but she said the countryside was lovely and that
was
therewas sea jnear by; the house was an old vicarage and had a marvell-
yhe Jaid,
ous panelled bathroom with huge Victorian taps ) all smelling of Bewley-
Patton's 'musk-perfume and pine-salts'; she'd met him several times
and said he was rather like Nigel, only/even mord*classical' sort of
person; he didn't ride to hounds and he 'liked the girls'.
Pinkie was sun-burnedegain, from the Lido. They went through
a few days like their very first together, in Reading; they walked
arm-in-arm, and she almost kissed him in the old style, with her tongue.
unce
They ragged and played the fool as they*d eyyre done before Basrah.
She called him Pip-squeak' for the first time in a year. He wondered
at this, and his numbed state of mind accepted good as well as bad.
Glenning came in one evening and let it fall that he'd just lost
"a good


mant at the office; this turned out to be Grove, of all people. Apparently,
they'd done some work together, and Grove came to the office in a free-lance
capacity. Pinkie wasn't there when Glenning talked about it; he didn't
glance at Granville once but seemed to talk to himself, mumbling and looking
Gnanualle
down; then he took kkm out for a drink and bought a bottle of wine; Granville
ofsome kiid! G lenning Yolol Rim,
n.p: wondered if he was trying to do him a service) Nerspid/hetd met Grove at the
house, before Granville came back, and found out that he was a first-class
photographer and 'contact-man'; "He's done bloody good work for me, I'll say
that," he mur mured; but now Grove had decided to set up on his own, a sort
of publicity firm under the name Grove Publicity Management. Ltd.' He didn't
Kad
know where his money came from, because he hadn't,a bean before. He knew he'd
got a loan from somewhere. There had been a rumour that someone quite influ-
ential had extended a helping hand; could the name be Maimbury? Granville's
cheeks flushed and he said quickly;
"Yes, that's
uncle of Pinkie's." And
Such
Glenning simply nodded in a lazy fashion, still gazing down; he
protect-
And
hadja
ive manner artadUrantriclimg after he'd said this he leaned forward and poured.
him another glass of wine; "Let S gét drunk tonight, shall we, old
said, and Granville nodded.
left the
They
house, which was empty, it being
Friday evening, and went to the Marquis, which Granville was proud to show him.
Glenning bought a bottle of whisky there, and they drank it slowly; neither
of them were members but Granville saw Joyce, the pale girl, and man aged to
to +e clul
get himself joined by paying a
agronealseteknowwas-therey withthe
poundo
witk Ker,
Ralengirl Hé was shy and detached, and was terrified she'd come downstayrs and
join them when she 'd finished at the bar; but there was no sign of her. Glen-
tkis
ning said that funnily enough he knew the place through Grove, who did the
publicity for the *Kaaba dancing company' who rehearsed here. Grove was achiev
-ing quite a ubiquitys AroMletttnghta During the whisky he remembered that
Pinkie's bank balance had been surprisingly low when he'd ask her for a loan;
this explained it; she and Maimbury had gone in together! He began to feel a
smarting indignation against them; but he remembered the last few sun-lit days


with Pinkie and refsued to believe it. Finally, when he went home, , he was
Rad freen
sure that Glenning would baly have told him what he did if there was/ no conn-
ection between Grove and Pinkie.
to the wrkm hifles
He begàn going to the office, and on the seond fay he asked Dick to spend
the night at the house so that they could trafel in together one morning; it
a weckiead', campiig ov
would be like the old Reading days, when they'd got up early to go for) a day's
hike across Berkshire on-geno-off-for-a-weck-endtscamping They breakfasted
alone in the kitchen, before Pinkie wad up; it was darfkening in the mornings
now and they had the light on; Dick made the tea while he managed the bacon
and eggs. They joked and chafed each other. The house was Wonderfully sil-
ent, and they spoke in undertones, sipping their tea. There was the old fasc-
ination he got from Dick's company, of seeing everything fresh and vivid, as
Kim
if life was being laid in front of them for the first time; there was none of
korgwus
the ache of being wi th a woman;/a wonderful relish wasitorbolotad in every-
thing; all the little sights and sounds of the kitchen could be noticed;
the light glowed more mysteriously; they ate their fill and then threw every-
thing into the sink.) Oneroaulhtauttesorstehont-anelsaplrithidhtona
app the whine of the first buses in the distance was thrilling to him; he
asvanced one of his favourite ideas to Dick, that men and women should have
their separate worlds, as the two 'rhythms' were so different; and Dick said,
while he nosed over the morning paper, that this would be all right as long
k te other wwed;
as he had access atareheinsy and headded that he'd managed to establish a
with women
comfortable rhythmiat times, differences no twithstanding: They chuckled and
went off to work. MansualteseuddsollonelyCompareiathsmide
They took a Abus down; the lights were still looking sickly inthe growing
tsl sunlight. "Well, botsun," Dick said, giving him a nudge, "now you know what
I go through while you're basking in the desert sun." The tiny office was
tke day Eforg,
exactly as he Sid left itA with the files ready, piled on the floor; and
the fbecret WeaponF was waiting for him with,notebook in her hand. A few
of the people downstairs recognised/and greeted him cheerfully; they all


had the same mild, respectful and enquiring air; what a difference it was
One
him
from the black stares of Basrahl Agroup of them asked/what life was like
'out there! and he stood be tween, their desks trying to asrwer thM while they
gazed at him with a certain light in their eyes; 5 they seemed to be seeing the
dazzling desert as he described it, gazing into the distance. When the door
sas
of his office was closed and the first file/lying on his désk he began to feel
a peculiar
amextraordipayy rélief; the chair was soft, on a swivel and made with leather?
He sat deeper in it and gazed out of the window; he could just see the edge
of St.Paul's 9 dusty like a piece of fabric in the sunlight. His thoughts
began to collect themselves into the office-plan he hadn 't known. for more than
skar
h p. two mohths. He worked there for three days and realised,the Work would take
him another week. Pinkie had talked to Elizabeth Bewley-Patton and had arr-
bicarve 2 as sxta wnk.
anged for them/to spend about five days thereo But. now that. was altered; she
alone,
would go up in a few daystand after a week, when he'd finished at the office,
he'd join hero ebeldalteadygotloave at the offiee, throagh-Nigetn She
said she was so relieved to be getting.out of London; and it wasn't going to
be a 'dressy' sort of visit; there'd only be fold Liz'; her husband was in
rald Aim,
l. C. Malta or somewhere for the Admi ralty; when shedlphoned Elizabeth up, she/ satan
the houserkeeper had thought she was Laura Lady Mainel But the house wasn't
durig kair
'grand', she added; there wouldn't.e even beithe housekeeper there whenthey
stay;
woptps it was going to be gosy and restful.
befere
In the evening he always left the office wirTane Dick, who would be del-
ayed at his desk or have to take a client out to dinner. This was the price
one
2.ck
Jick
Me had to pay, he said; fof early promotiong
had lost some of his ease
face
lok
of manner in recent weeks; his offico took on a HOFA careful/when he reached
of T. 1.M,
the pillared entrance dowatahrs where the commissionaire stood, and hebappear
nil2 ed to steel himself" Granville's life was regular again; he slept the moment
his head touched the pillow; wild thoughts were kept at bay; the idea of
was,
Pipkie having a lover EEEMEd now manifestly absurd to him; it was 'dramatic';
his mind was clear and practical! Other people's faces at the - office had a


fixed quietude; and he could see why; 'his own had become the same! His
secretary always closed the door with hushed, careful fingers; her face was
wholly set on the work, as if its themes went into the pores of her skin and
strétched down her long legs and into the thin heels and toes of her shoes;
ali her movements were under strict and minute surveillance,. from her tactful-
realls did havr
ly painted iips to her stockings; shey bed/the intricacy and exactitude of a
1t seemed w
weapono *Useomedtopircometima
Traver D E PE te eene
itheggale ee
she'd been a ven a list of points on which a woman is judge
in Tas doan ad manhars,
d by a man, and conformed to them methodically,/without herself being invo lved
in any wày.
He began to feel shame to wards his life at Chaworth road. What a chaos
was!
ptyopiae
and wreck it hadbeent Phiaorderta-beennquite lackingi Mow cofld he bear
to look into his secretary's eyes and say good morning to the people downstairs
1KL0 as he passed their desks, when he had this begind him?
I HE Lme Ke had
the throbbing conviction that his life was. remiss, far underground; . he wished
to keep to the order of the office from now on! It outlawed everything that
ofo belonged to him alone---in the dead of night---to do with him and Pinkie; it
you
established a fixed exterior; and there was pleasure in this; ane could becom
e as syymmmetrical as the office itslef, taking tea at eleven, going down to
Your
I unch with the morning paper under aneve arm, sitting in the same chair by
ym in
the window, with khegane glass of lager which the waitress put before ham/the
Sams way euery day, and 7
omint-A6-eaandoum.) picking up the telephone, talking in a formalised manner,
time te dictation was arer!
smiling the same smile at the seeretary every) jaogul Chaworth Road was sometime
hip.
S a shock in the evening; he couldn't make the adjustment at once; nemeni
Lao
wouldbewaitinge and, especially when a small party collected, one a a to look
free; a drink helped! He Bemembered Mohammed's face from a great distance;
it was a face wreathed wi th all sorts of little corruptions and kindnesses,
all
all
ri ike
with thé brothels he'd been to, with, the arakshe'd
drunki ovsry)evering, with
the girls off the street, and the boysaahdda he took
dtthtutn his
squalid room, gazing at them with his soft, black, incurious eyes! Mohammed


sat in a specially cushioned chair; - and he would sigh sometimes, murmuring,
"Allah, wa-Atlahl", and take a cigarétte, or send out for tea; sometimes he'
would lift his eyes and begin talking to him quietly about the latest bit of
Kodtreen
scandal; um' Hussein, the wife of the chemist Abdullah,) was) seen in the green
kis
district the other night, in a closed car, number-plate diplomatic;) apdk smoky
black eyes would gaze into the distance; the chauffeur of the Minister of
his marter,
colliig hin 'afethe hicks anol
Economics had screamed an insult at KiR; in his own house, ,) saying that this
votal
arse streamed with come', which was
= insult for a man; since
it implied the passive role; and that the Minister would surely 'put him
awayt! Granville began to think he td nefer see the face again; and that it
hadn't definitely happened.
Under his influence Pinkie also fell back into a routine life; the ritu-
als of Basrah were established again; she got up half-an-hour earlier and
made the tea; and she shopped on her way home, and. begaa to have something
ready for him in the evening. She even did extra cooking, and made delicious
meat-loaves- - and desserts; the bathroom was clean, and there were fresh sheets
nip on the bed. She hardly went out in the evening. He looked at her in wond-
er; the affectionateness of the last few days continued. She was flushed
wore
healthily, and put-on a pretty house-coat. From the moment he put on officè
Rod com e
clothes again a certain established submission/owmnlcver her; as Dick said
to him one day, "There's nothing like a nine-to-five routine for bringing a
a subuttan,
sthat
woman to heel"; every women, he said, was eprvertionaswn/thatvrespeeti AA The
lasm
hous e sparkled, and they got wonderful food. The
were
full
Abuses
always
when he came home, and very quiet, wi th the tiredness of everyone: Most
people had newspapers, and opened them with a crackle; the air was full of
mechanical, clcking movements. Newspapers were opened, folded
folded
once,
again, then held before the eyes; it went on mechanically; the desire to
read didn't seem esential to. it. As the conduttor moved down the gangway
there would be. clipped voices, "Aldgate, please," "Threefpenny one, please",
"Six and a half, please", while the fbus hummed and trembled in its depths'.


Everything went click-click and there were few easy movements of the eyes,
only
hare lhiddeu, eroken, AHAMBQAREN patets
lips or hands; Kat underneath there was) at a
warmth and calm, join-
ing everyone. After a few days the rhythm got into him, too; there was a
place for the newspaper in the right hand; it was folded in a certain way;
the face was set in a matter-of-fact expression; walking was business-like
yout
and unpretentious; vnens movements suggested that life was ordinary, known
and previously examined, SO that surprise, curiosity or the close inspection
anything
ofankykigz were out of place. He remembered the. hair-girl's dance, and
caught his breath to realise that' it had actually happened; and he couldn't
believe that he'd sat downstairs in the Marquis with Dick and the muscular-
looking girl, and kept his composure; life appeared to him as a pattern of
flat, simple, ordinary facts; these facts were that he had a house, lived
there with his wife, had a jobf, was,free in the evenings, and so forth.
Outside that commonsense-structure things were dreamy and unreal. 'Every-
thing has been taken care of,' the city seemed to say, bputcins/Untongdinn
Busesanetrats, 'and you needn't stir yourself.'
AMP
how
He was. astonished at the serious way A 44146 people/ treated him---the
commissionaire outside the T.I.M. entrance when he arrived in the morning,
and bus-conductors, shop-keepers, waitresses; ; he wore a dark suit and a semi-
starched collar, and the office-work made it possible for him to do everything
at the acgnowledged times; he was never anywhere out of hours; and there was
an understood public tribute for that? What he reallt felt, or what he was 1
had become vague:
Baul-
bossas
He: was brought up with a jolt; it happened on thboe Friday. Pinkie
out
iAphoned him at the office to say she'd be going/withe Hanni, and WO uld he mind
getting his own dinner tonight? Dick might be coming round to share his
grub. However, Dick didn't join him on his way out of the office; some last
-minute work had come in. Nobody was in the ho use when he got back, though
these days the downstairs door was Sutty left open for people like Gerald
SAF Glenning to wander in if they felt like it. He cooked some food and ate


the dessert she'd left him; it became dark and he decided he'd like to go
for a walk; he went as far as Piccadilly, where it was dusty and hot, and
took a bus back, getting home after eleven. She was still not home, so he
decided to go out agagh for a shorter stroll, down to Commercial road and
back; he was walking post-albus-otop quite near the house when he happened
to turn round and watch a/bus that was just slowing down; there weren't many
people on board, and the yellow lights inside had a blazing effect on the dark-
ness; it made him blink. He glanced at the upper deck and to his astonish-
ment saw Pinkie with someone at hér side; he looked closer and noticed that
a hand was resting on her shoulder; it was Grovejssthen Grove leaned towards
her, whispering something, and kissed her on the cheek; she gazed before her
in a sad way, like a child being taken home after a treat, droopy and tired3
Granville's heart was beating SO fast that he could hardly take breath. He
didistbknow which way to turn in case they. should get off the 4bus now; but
Hey didiv, and a, +ke tns clrew away mron tii
itwent en
hout
* getting soffand-now he had a better view from behind---
the pale hand resting heavily on her shoulder, Grove's thick, black hair down
to his collar, and the same neck he'd noticed the first evening, with fluffier
hair at the base; he turned down a side-street to avoid home; Grove might
take her to the gate and he might surprise them; he wanted to wait; he stum-
bled along, not seeing anything round him; his compesure was pela gone; the
palas of his hands were sweating and blood rushed into his head and pounded
about"
He wanted to give them time to say good night. The absurdest doubt
A r wlettas
started in him/thmt/he'd actually seen them; now he knew how he dis storted
things to his own advantage. He rushed towards Chaworth foad suddenly,
wanting further proof that they were together, or rather that they were lovers
suppose she said to him calmly, "Well, what's in a kiss? Don't friends kiss
each other sometimes?" But how it was too late. He'd given them time to
get away! There was a pleasure in the hunt; the shadow of a grim sexual
pleasure; it would excite him to see them together, see them kiss! He


dark
leapt along the pavement, hisjoffice-coat flying. When he got to the house
there was no one outside; a light went on in the music-room upstairsp the
skpendmsy
sight was exemact
Ny-forlom to him! He started in on the subject as
soon as he was standing in front of her; she was sitting on the bed taking
off her stockings, and she had sberted to undo her blouse so that hèr breats
were visible, preparing to go to bed. "What the blaody hell have you been up
to?" he shouted. She made a jump and looked up at him, pale at once, her
m outh open, like a child; he fought against his compassion. "What do you
mean?" she asked breathlessly, terrified. He could tell that her heart was
beating fast now as well; he noticed for thel first time that she had a touch
of grey at the eide of her hair. "You're having an affair!" he shouted.
hep.
nip. And she said to this, her voice trembling, "What on earth.are you talking
e:k. about?" "I told you to be honest---* the first night---1" he shouted at
mih. her. His anger mounted and she started crying. He kept repeating, "Have
you got a lover?" And to his surprise she suddenly looked up with the most
simple expression and said in *kEXSANE quiet voice, "Yes." - But either bec-
ause she saw the crushed and stunned look on his face, and the total collap-
with
sing movement he made inn his body, or because it was true, she added at once,
"No, I haven't." The room looked in ruins. The capret, bed anddchairs had
a disconnected look; he was dazed and sometimes it seemed his eyes had gone
wrong, because her image kept flickéring.
T maent ses
E EWRETCONE
He realised he hadn't
mentioned what he 'd see n; and he couldn't bring himself to mention itg! She
ten Yell
and
might) tryasnttascomzhnovsdorseranndreead him everything;/ he couldn't
bear thaty! He kept drilling into her, exhausting her, until it was past two
in the morning, storming about her lack of constancy, asking if she wanted
a divorce, repeating his question again and again---did. she have a lover?
She wept nearly all the time; he said she'd better get over her tears and.
start facing the question; to his question did she want a divorce, put for
the fourth or fifth time, she made the same simple reply she'd made before,


with the same expression, "Yes." When they were in bed she broke down again
and feal into his arms ; she said through her tears that she wanted them to
be 'Iovers' again, like at first; it was a strange thing to say; he didn't
tt meant; h
whal
Vo make Hem
know what) ha sepladog hON could he/changermabtersrsorbrsordhatpoheywoulaube 'love
ers' again? He thought about this even while she gti clung to him and he held
her round the shoulders. He was comfotted. The word came to his mind again
and again, 'loverst: what did she mean? They switched the light out and she
began to sleep; he lay pufzzling; she wanted to gp back to those first summer
days in Reading; it was impossible; he was finished; and there he slept.
His life here was a masquerade; it struck him next morning; he was sick
and beaten; he couldn't bear to look her in the face; he had nothing to say ;
and she seemed to have no sorrow; they sppnt e two hours over breakfast, it bein
Staurday, and then made coffee ; she was mute, with tight-closed lips. He
wanted to attack her again and go through the sàme questionnaire as the night
before; but what was the use? Questions presupposed a hope; and there wasn't
hope I
sayta) He'd tried to find out the truth abobutlhen before, but not too hard;
itals now he knew. He was alone, and he had to make a life for himself; it was
aca
a flat, pale, implaebble conviction. There were no other thoughts in his head
Everything was quiet and still in him. But it didn't afford him any relief;
it was only a weak state, like the pause after an operationo He tried not to
believe what he'd seen with his eyes. A little idiot-voice in his head said
that the kiss had been an illanion. He steeled himself to ask Hanni, had she
really
Hke previous
(been with Pinkie that/ evening? He hung about the kitchen when Pinkie went
tandi fwouald. Ppsk
VaceTe
Hanm
shopping, hoping/aheva/ come); but she didn't comejall day. ae appeared from
Bul
0 c. Hampton Court Sunday afternoon, without Dick. He couldn't do
Then he
suddenly forced himself, when Pinkie was in the bath, and he and she were sit-
ting in the kitchen. Had she been with Pinkie Friday evening? "Yes," she
replied without a flicker. They were with Joe Clockwork', she added.
She had a sane, cool expression, which made his pain worse, because he could
see how far he was from others. He was no wiser: why shouldn't there have


been four of them on Friday evening---Grove and CClockwork'? Hetd meant to
work on the report over the week-end but could only sit gazing in front of
how
h. b him. He. wouldn't go back to Basrah; he had no projects; it even felt
peaceful; he sat staring in front of him in a state of raw nerves, with hard-
ly the will to make himself a cup of tea; much less open a book or go for a
walk.. He couldnt/sleep, also. It was like actually living inside a dream?
Realls
Nothing was quite tangible: it was at second remove behind his raw nerves.'
He would suddenly wake up after dozing and say to himself, "Of course, it
isn't true!" And the truth would dawn on him slowly again like a pale light :
canteen
mips He worked at the office as best he could; downstairs in the i Aparpaam
he only pecked at his food; he was anxious to get to the bar, and went back
upstairs in the afternoon unsteady; the secretary found him much more jolly
behaved less mecha nicallu
StesRad
and relaxed, ba geay A e ay
Len Ct
ad even
doum B a * AE
dynge
sadarvthilaba
somethinghagrbendkey Dick hardly spoke to
agter work in
him, going about his work. Hanni came in/the evenings and manicured her
toe-nails by the fire. He tried to disburden himself; but before Dick he
was ashamed; Dick avoided people in trouble, and invalids; before Hanni he
was afraid she might use the information against him one day. With a trembl-
ing hand he kphoned up the Marquis to find out bf the hair-girl was there.
To his surprise she was, and with a trembling voice he asked her if shetd like
to go' to the ZOO with him---he said the ZOO on the spur of the moment ; he
esen
took
as Ais wwd
was/more surprised when she peemed-to-baire him aeriosuly and said she td love
to; hedexpected her to ring off in a huff; but she asked politely how he
wast Held dae i ! Suddenly ugre all These weeks!
tenexl day
He made it for the following afternoon; he simply walked out of the
office at the end of the morning and didn't go back, but caught a Fbus to
1 H Rodis Said a word to *e Lacretary.
Regents Park.A It was another lovely, warm day, and his black. clothes were
Tle Yair-gir
stiflingo /ste/was amused by them and also impressed; she made hi m put his
arm in hers, and st walked proudly along.' It gave him a sense of sacrilege
tal against her---that he wasn't fully aware of her; he only sew things through


his pallor, dimly and weakly. He was only concerned with not showing his
nervousness; his eyes twitched and he had to squint them against the sunlight:
His bones ached from lack of sleep. He asked himself what they were doing
together? She said "Gee, look at that!" to everything,and he smiled; she
said he seemed much happier and easier than on the first day she 'd seen him.
He gave her a little squeezé on the arm wheh she said this; apparently, such
gosjures
a ags were enough; what a ridiculous world!
faurphyAtfghu At/up
She walked with her head slightly down as before, préoccupied,. making
small jerky i steps; this time she was trearing a bright print dress, whi ch made
her look like a little girl, dark-skinned, with déep, péering eyes. Hér
hair was tied in a ribbon behind, neatly, falling in one strand. He asked
her how the dancing was going on and she said that 'the darkies' wete annoying
her as they always had done; and that her father had always warned her again-
st them; once more she said that if things were different; as. they'd been when
she was a child, those 'darkies'nwould be calling her miss and making their
n.p. salaams to her: She kept her voice down; she was even demure. As they
ke animals
reached one of the chimpanzee-cages one of thom bent down, doubled up for a
moment, then swung to a lower bar; there he sat. for a moment, and then,
gazing placidly at the spectators outside;)began to masturbaté. - He didhit
hear
with quick little movements. A womanlby tham with a sharp nose and sad
qui ckly
Ler
lines round her mouth sadd skaxply to the two children, the
"All right, that's enough," and pulled them away; there was personal indig-
and bellowed,
nation in her voice. The hair-girl laughedfww"Now just look at that!' You
dirty old man!" He laughed as well and suddenly the champnazee subsided and
looked at them both with an open mouth, peering at them, his hands at his
side; patoldbarahgt he'd heard that monkeys think you're angry when you
àaugh or smileopeveuse thaawa_whattbegdidtheemselveayturt/sholappenfet
Gnanville
noarttorbenp/hiny Ihel had difficulty in making hisnvoice come out properly;
2 it. cracked and droned: While they were walking towards the elephants she
suddenly asked him, "Don't you ever go out with your wife?" Bhe ga ave him


7a1
a dark, upward glance. Hesaid he did sometimes, and asked why she wanted
tol
to know. She'd met Pinkie, she told him, at the party she gaveo Hotabes
ype Said. A
agirnsaka they never seemed to bé together, 11 "Why should we be together?"
he asked. hers "What?" she said,' turning and looking him full in the eyes;
so quickly, that hér hair swung round from one shoulder to the other. "Whatgs
the good of marriage, then ?" He said, "Well, one's still got to have a life
of one's own." "Why get married, - then?" shenaskadd He shrugged, completely
done-up. "We go out together sometimes," he murmured.' "But sher's beautifull
I thought she was the sweetest kid at the party!" she cried:' "I can't under-
stand itl Aren't you scared she '11 run after somebody else?" And again he
shurgged? There were the delighted cries of children near by. They caie to
the gravel path where two elephants plodded slowly up and down, bearing awed-
looking children on a great saddle which swayed slightly, close to the trees.
The
adotrey eyes had a smoky and merciful look in the midst of black, wrinkled,
leathery' skin, old and tiny:
They went to the lion house, where the air was thick and stifling:
Sometimes a roar boomed out acros's the hall. Sunlight poured in through the
tall windows and the arched doorways; there was a lioness padding up and down
close to the bars, dark, with blazing eyes; her vast paws thumped softly on
the floor and her coat rubbed against the bars as she searched the distance.
The onlookers; tiny and shifting; were absent to her; she looked far over
heads.
their shouldersd Her paws levered her smoothly and quickly along, and her
watching.
body was tense with attoptian.) It was near feeding-time, somebody daid :
Then she stood quite still, her head high. She was entirely concentra ated
on her objecti Anp attendant had appeared, far at the - other end of the hall,'
amd his pail made a clanking sound; All the animals were up at once, and
the prowling walk went on in all the cages. The attendant jumped down into
a pit running in front of the cages and began walking along them, whistlinga
A lion gazed down at him as he passed, golden and red-maned, his mouth open
so that his long whiter teech showed slightly, his head lowered, watching the


tiny figure pass underneath, with friendly, intrigued eyes. The man reache d
the lioness and said something to her; - the crowd moved closer.. The man was
smail and thin, whippet-faced, with sharp. eyes. She gazed straight down.into
his eyes, peering at him in his tininess, her had a littel to one.side, trying
to understand his speech. All the time he spoke she - watched him and sometime
she glanced at. his pail, looking for the connection between his speech and
that. He put his hand in the pail and she started, forward sof tly, with a
masrie
qui ckened interest as if he'd said somethigg startling He held a,piece of
meat before him, lurid red flesh hanging in a strand, yellow-streaked: Then
with a quick accurate movement he threw it into the cage and she leaped on to
it before it reached the ground, tearing at it with a deep sustained growl thaj
was also like a croon of sympathy, for the caught Bepsts brey:
thak agtemeon;
He hardly remembered leaving the hair-girlp she was intrigued by his
silence and kept shooting him quick glances. Now and then he put a quest-
ion to her mechanically. It was one of those endless summer days when the
and diagpiating numbness :
air hap a feveredi krindogvhromsinaaag he took a Abus down to Marble Arch
through St. James's park.
afone and then walked across to the Cityk gntngxmukxmfskxnfxhiswaay /
There
were lovers everywhere, and he watched the ducks cleaning themselves at the
Hlicking *eir tails.
edge of the waterh fhe streets were rather deserted, as on a holiday.
He kept on thinking of the lioness; and heard her strange croon.of sympathy
as she tore at the flesh. He felt drained and withered; there was half a
bottle of wine in the kitchen which someone had left, and he drank it in
record time; Pinkie had gone to bed.
To make it worse, as the days went on, he began to feel a terrible desire
finkie.
ls her.
for hery But he couldn't bring himself to touch her or'even speaky He
reamined sunk in a chair in the music-room in the evenings. The previous
week, when he and Dick had travelled to the office together, seeme d positive 'y
ages ago. Only the immediate purpotses of his body coujted,.nothing else;
and giyped in
his desire for her was # local) modayysonochengitondnsh his genitals; not
Yut
spread in his body/ gnawing at him, disconnected from the question of her


character, that being past hope for him. He watched her surrpptttiouslyo
whicl
atched His mind began to work in that thin way)he'd always been
taught at school was true thinking; only the little brain-box ticked over!
It worked alone, ticking abjectly about life, making its own painstaking,
grim calculations, without moral drive behind it; there was no will in him.
The brain had the run of his whole being; but it had no direction except to
hisral
serve local needs. It was a pleasure to have this/ drive gone; the loss of
will left a trembling placidness. He didn it care. He looked at his report
on the desk, neatly laid out, and wondered that he'd ever had the sustaining
power to get that far. Life was now piecemeal, simply events. He waited
listlessly for t he next. event to turnup. Were some people always like that,
Ike
wet
he asked himselft, Msatl
M a people who Mages) deadly
factuallltw and yorehaWaLAn crisp and reasonable?
He thought he might try to construct his life on these shambles; let
him apply his mind coolly; let him decoy Pinkie arxfully, to satisfy his sex;
geedn with no moral drive his brain could work coally towards its end s;
ends iin a wrd,
these/were,his own comfort.
Thank God that was still with himi
Yals
d, not
But he darou/touch her; he had to overcome the sense of humiliation;
and yet the humiliation was part of the pleasure; it was the desire; the
more he felt it, the more his desire was stimulated; he remembered when she 'd
been brazen with him, recently; the memory was exciting!
He worked at his pride, trying to break it down; let him talk to her,
as a beginning; the silence. had to be broken down; then their life would
grow together again on the new thin basis. This was difficult because she
9 the Rase
gtitted her teeth against his feelings; this was clear; she went. out/ without
saying a word; she no longer cooked the meals; the wonderful desserts and
meat 16Càves were finished. Deliberately one morning she said to him, before
they both went off to work, "Oh, I shall be out for a day or so." He couldn-
't answer her, only stared. A scheme occurred to him ofmlocking the down-
stairs door and stopping her getting out; he hadn't thought her capable of


staying out the: whole night; he realised how much hope there had still been
in him, in the deep regions. He looked panic-stricken and : she seemed to take
ouly
pity on him. She
she/ meant she was going out for
sayd
thevening.
sugg-
estéd breathlessly that they go: and see' a film together; she agreed in a
perfunctory way; she was watehing him, her eyes flickering curiously. Her
Har
face showed the slightest sign of unstiffening. He spent the day wandering
about Soho; office-work was out of the question, and at about half-past four
he ràng the Kocret WeaponE and told her that he'd been up in Birmingham and
was delayed; would she lay out such-and-such a file for him, as he was coming
hexk
in an hour earlier insthe morning. He ate in a noisy Italian place with
o8 Soko
marble-topped tables; the narrow, bustling streets were a comfort to him, with
touch
their suggastion of foreign life. When he got back he found 'to his surprise
that both Dick and Pinkie were there; he had a sharp sense of foreboding as
he walked up the stairs, and his stomach did a turn; there was the smell of
Piikie's
her scent outside the bathroom.: Dick nodded to him when he walked in, with-
out saying anything; Pinkie was next door in the bedroom putting the last
touches to her hair; he almost dared not mention the cinema; it seemed out
omld
h.p. of the question that sherJactually come. He asked her if she was going out,
and she turned to face him slowly, her eyes lost and liquidly blue, as. they
sometimes were when she went out alone. She said she was; just round the
corner; she td forgotten about the cinema---some other time; she was going
round to pick up an ear-ring she td lost; didn't he remember? Those ones in
ttar firr night
the shape of the Muslim cresecent? He'd pointed out the loss to her
mimself
h. P. he ought to know, she said. He didn't want to say too much because of Dick
being within earshot, but he managed, "Can't you cancel it? I was keen on
seeing a film!" She coolly unscrewed a
and
her
lipstick
began touching
lips?
she said;
No, it was impossibles she'd fixed it up at the office; this fellow had hung
on to the ear-ring just to get her round to his flat; as the.ear-ring was
precious to her she 'd have to face the music; Dick chuckled next door.'
He went on asking her to make it another evening but she wouldn't budge.


She went to the bed and pulled on some knickers under her skirt so that the
elastic made a little smack on her skin.' "Can't he bring it round here ?" he
asked abjectly. She laughed: "Good God, I wouldn't want him : round here!"
She walked past him coolly, her high heels making a soft scraping sound on the
carpet, and he caught her scent again, something like ro ses, clean and disquiet
-ing. "Oh, Christ, #1 he went on, following her into the music-room, "I came
back specially. Why didn't you let me know?" She was adamant. He'd never
Rer
dragged after like this before. Dick sat there on the arm of a chair, swing-
ing one leg. He felt hot and ungainly. Also he had a protective feeling
towards Grove of all people; where was he tonight? He was aware of another
hope that had still been sound in him, that while she might betray him she
was incapable of betraying Grove as well---namely, doing it for its own sake!
His brain in its new abject capacity even suggested a compromise, that she
she
should be allowed Grove if shelagaeed/ta confinedher betrayals to him. She
picked up a small velvet bag from the mantel+piece and walked out of the room
wi th a little wink at Dick. He went to the lavatory, not wanting to face Dick
Lim
alone, and waited there until he heard/go upstairs to the kitchen; then he
left the house again. There wasn 't a sound in the street. A bird came and
perached on the railing, a blackbird, and made a sad, distinct little
song,
Timy
his (head uplifted and his tApYA yellow points of eyes shinging; then Gran-
ville disturbed him and he flew off.' It was the first blackbird he'd seen
here. He walked until he was exhausted and then returned; to his surprise
she was already back; it was only ten. He was elated as he walked up the
stairs, hearing her talk to Dick, but he checked his walk so that they WO uldn't
notice. He heard her tell Dick that after the second dance and the second
stiff drink the 'bounder' tried to get fresh', but shed/snatched the ear-ring
and made off. His relief was extraordinary; he wanted to get in touch wi th
Grove at once and celebrate the soundness of her character! He almost liked
tals
Grove. Perhaps it was fate's subtle way of resigning him to Grove's exist-
L D
ence? Eventually, perhaps, one could accept everything? Witth enought food


you
you
and drink, and enough money in. andls pocket for an evening out, perhaps done
eiked
could let life do whatever it waghed/with enpe
The next evening she was out again and when she came back he heard her
take a bath. He went into the bathroom afterwards, while she was dressing in
been ing voginal
the bedroom, and saw that she' rd/used her douche; that was strangely
careless;
why should she use it unless she'd slept with someone? But he couldn't recoll-
Coh ect if she used it whenever she took a bath; the impression stuck, however.'
He prevented his eyes showing any expression. There was pleasure involved in
his examining the douche; it was a painful sexual delight, taking his breath
away: His desire was being stimulated all the time; first there was the shocl
of discovery, then the desire began gnawing at him. He must let the brain go
on tic cking with its closed life, far behind the eyes; the eyes only twitched
ttoy were
ad is how
and fluttered, no longer the windows of the soul---or perhaps/ moret deastically
Aa eves efor,m
ss/1f he could only see himself; he dared not look in the mirror; when he sha-
ved in the morning he used a small magniftying mirror that Dick had left behind
nwn
h once, thus avoiding his/ eyes. On the wekk-end she went about the house clean-
ing, and played the piano for the first time since his return to England; it
brought the tears to his eyes; it was some Scarlatti, which she wlways played
well, with calm, deft fingers; he stood on the stairs listening, his desire
soothed a little; the playing was so lovely; it drifted through the house;
he didn't go down into the music-room because. it embarrassed her if she knew he
was near by while she played. There was a stormy skyy that evening, with
teal
great. heat. Sweat poured down his neck as it used to in Basrah; he co uld/his
m his neck,
rash again/ awakened; how would he able to face those suffocating, fly-blown
days again alone? It made him shudder. He remembered the tinkling of # He
aud
palm-tree by his batcony in the middle 'of the night,/2h the last monthy when
hadil Reer,
Pinkie/vastne/there, and his feverish fear that it was somebody climbing up:
How would he be able to bear itt agai, alone ?
Next morning his mind failed him with its humble little plans; he d plan-
decoying
ned to approach her subtly, with hard calculation, deasying her sex so that it


Exciling, Jeemng lo.
would be all the more denagrtfang) /coming from a stranger, behind the veil of
their silence together. But he ruined everything; a moment after they woke
up, before his eyes were open and his mind was aware of what his desires intend-
ed,tatoy he put out his arm towards her in a carressing movement, with the old
sincerity, and began kissing her neck, his will flooded out by yearning.' She
did éxactly what dhe'd done before; she was alert at once and he could feel hei
blinking, the tiny lashes fluttering against his cheek; and again she stiffen-
Brk
tis time,
Lic. ed with panic. Suddenly) his abjectness was gone; he kicked at the bedclothes
with one terrific push of his leg and, quiet awake; jumped off the bed with an
odd kind of roar, giddy, and then
pulied up the whole bed with his two
al Ais
hands,
supried
Apon smengt, *en
squaked
RAM lifted it until there was danger of her being Pressed against the wall;
she screamed exaggeratedly, as if knives were being used, and wi th a sudden
reversion to light-heartedness, so thathe could have laughed, seeing her crum-
plèd up on the edge of the bed like the. heroine in a melodrama, and Arawiner
Le les La bedfll saie. IE
tHhumfo
vea-mngm-uhoessdmy a0a came down with tRE a # X an almighty)
Shok
hecsls hurss ut laughins
ad clang and sheking the whole house. He gompet
ICS
Now he didn't know where to put himself; he wanted to undo his action, and
uudergmuid,
put his mind back into its)clicking life again: But he couldn't! With a fin
final
Ahl |show of disgust he pulled all the beclothes off and flung them across to
h.p. the other side of the room; then he stalked upstairs. If only he td kept hi m-
self in check! He'd ruined everything! It would take him another two days
NA to budld up the grim, satisfying muteness; and then slowly, he would remove her
veil. He made some tea and began to feel still and soothed. The house was in
silence. - A few minutes later she came up in her dressing gown, pale and with
the trace of tears on her cheek. He noticed at once when she looked at him
that her eyes whre devoid of any feeling towards him, even hatred. They'd
never been like this before. She sat down and pulled a cup and saucer toward
-s her, still gazing at him, her hair dishevelled, and said quietly, "You
>x actly?
bloody little clerks Who do you think you are,
And
she continued to gaze at him dully, all the consideration gone out of her eyesc


he@taiteput out hisband and eall her back, Worrinkiendorndolthath
It was so. profoundly against
her character,
She didn't feel, he knew
i t that dull, nauseated disrespect for other people which was_showingin her
efes,
red lor poortoutmortnatotardéniallorthorotierlpargopts
angoti J He sat under her gaze, frighteneds Ne/wastsrsutelit/was mothepets-
apappiJAti/hon Those were Grove's eyes, he thought.
'I'm not in her any more,' he thought. *My spell's gone.' He realis-
dumbly
have
L ed/what respect she must haxe had for him before; by its absence now.' He
hard
got up and her, eyes followed him; then she blinked and looked down at the
table againg porhape-eho-tenew-virat-whrat-ehotddoona. He went and lay on the bed
downstairs, hollowed-out. He could see himself from outside, stippl as white
flesh, discarded; his flesh lay on the bed, TAPPA only his mind kept life going;
otherwite he had no self. After all, she was so near him, and had been for
wit him j
five, six years, thinking everything bogetherg now a whole element of himself
was taken away; itwas like being drained of blood; he lay panting. Mirn
An uncanny feeling: his body was occupied by nothing. The sky looked death-
ly and bleak outside, Mits grey light touched every object in the room.'
Impossible that enchanting things could exist. She came and swept
up her office-things from the room and dressed in the bathroom, and then he
heard her leave the house. She was right, he thought; how frightfully he
behavedy! Ne deserved to be hollowed out; he must learn to look at it like
that every day; he had to protect her, against herself as well; he had to
soothe the éears she shed because of
he must see that the affair with
him;
Grove went well; in that way she isntd keep her beauty; why couldn't he do
that? Why not be her guardian, and go into her tears, be inside her all the
time, beyond sex? That would be a real intimacy; beyond people! He mustn't
diminish her in any ways
Tears filled his eyes; it began to patter with rain outside; he heard
wadsanart Hoody
what she'd said again---he was a pamnert little clerk: Chisnas/thanoceath
diddenly
ilal thimashonsajatehinn SAo realised/how precious his thinking was to him.


bi 'brottoms'! Nsva Littho derk- no-
The tears fell down the side of his face in a mechanical way, independently
of him; he simply felt them streaming down. And it wasn't crying on his own
behalf; he had the caim sensation behind his tears that he was crying for what
men did; Rnf UndmrartonAsta At
rying forwhat Hewasy it was
a lament for what t7 peoplardidtoeschoeachathery as'if A self had drained out of
p0 this
him and he was only the instrument of this unearthly lament that brought the
tears pouring down his face while his eyes stared quite calmly in front of hima
But what was he, in himself? Let him look at the matter clearly. All
he had wasthis faith in himself. What was he, more than a clerk? He remem-
bered the shock a few nights before when Dick had got up to look at the Rac-
ing Times' wit th Pinkieg May Shoutd he assume thaflphat M sald
inter restr
Nayted Aunes
ngt Suppose H was/boring forDich? Suppose a water-tight betting system
was more interesting tha an what he had to say? Suppose Histonerofuroieenasa
p-oblems' were Aothing ?
bortngeAnd his sdeas) worthlegs Suppose the moment he leaned forward to
speak he scared people off? He was bled dry; he couldn't lift his head;
hp. hetd reached the ultimate static depth of unbelief. Slowly he revived; the
spirit stirred and began to awaken in him; it was like a hand stretching out
stir
and beginning to witen with life. He told himself that this was a point at
which every man had to be blind, and not know what he was, and be prapared to
go on in blindness; something in life, at an essantial point, had to be acc-
tal
epted blindly; civilisation rested on itsL 'there had to be a blind point of
had lobe a spark
which
held
againsy
faith; there wasnthe apxk in every man thetjhe Hadttoshed up to eternity
doubs and
Roueyer/nuch ridicule! meast Aap
For a moment he fell back: how silly it
must look to an outsider, torses a little clerk storming and putting forward
his ideas! Who was there in the world to say that his thoughts had meaning?
Only himself! He couldntt think of one other person. In the Sussex days
abs ice.
he'd always had a faith that people saw the light in him imegtatply But
Hal
gM was goneso He had to go on in blindneds.'
Phe-night-before-ehe-went-up-to-Moodham-hie-desire-was fulfilled, It
righ ave-been-en-aet-of peliey-on-her parti she-teok pit N en
beyt


The night before she wert up to Meedham his desire was fulfill-
ed. It might have been an act of policy on her part; she took pity
on him, obeying a deeper wisdom, perhaps. She got into be d nake d,
switching the light out first, le aving her pyjamas un der th e pillow;
at one momen.t she tad been standing in her skirt an d blouse, wi th her
shoe S off, while he lay in bed, and the ne xt she pad switched the light
out and was slipping her clothes off quickly; and he felt her cool fle sh
agai nst his.
She'd just come in from an evening-out; her story was
But
gC that she'd been to the cafe and taken a taxi back. There wasa tremul-
Rofond
was already
ous exci teme nt about. her, quivering in her body, and
wet between ter
K she,
Ap legs ; his sudden excitement---a servant that answered her at once -
was almost unbearable, touched as it was wi th horror; thotrtnuretdsn
haye
Jsbt/coparAromatreosutohtac, 1
Aolendsawithbherfocbiddengrepta the re
him,
auotker
wa S an amage, th at both tortured and drugged hamind oromorotivery
contact.
It wa s a numbed, absent act with the echo of some thing intimate
massages
underne a th, liks a silent massagorbettetwesh-theury th e moment it was over 9
as after a succe ssfud operation, there wa S great calm, a sense of
cleanliness and light, and a cel rtatn air of convalescence. It wasn't
quite the sbtle act he'd beensteeling himself for, in which he'd get
behind the veil to where he could feel Grove's spirit in her and acce ept
it; but it left him satisfied. He felt qu iet al nd soo th ed, and ne xt
day he saw her off at the station.
She looke d- fre sh and young in a prin t dress, and t he y ble W each
oth er a kiss as the train drew out, its wi ndow S fla shing in the hazy
sunlight, making her eyes twi nkle ; there was a sudden affiction
Seemed b
betwee n thei m; he wanted to run after the train; they hed bo th / re coll-
ectda somethingl He strolled back to the house wi th his hands in his
pockets. Miraculously the burden lifted from him.


Tha t evening he went to a concert at the Albert Hall and had a
sense of retuming to himself, and of life at Chaworth Road as being
foreign to him. He read in bed afterwards, sipping cocoa; he
hadn't lived quietly like this for a ges, it seemed; the calm flowed
thi rough him; his th ough ts were clear; ponvaman the life he led wa S alien
thrmgh
to himf He was a: stonishe d at the balm that flowed oven him simply
from being al one. In th e morning he made tea a the gas-ring in the
bedroom and sat in bed drinking it, the curtains still closed. The
room, again to his surprise, looked settled and cosy, its objects
rooted there. For weeks past he must have been in a fever, by com-
parison with this. It occurred to h im that he wasn't worried about
her at th e moment: ; that was the main relief, perhaps 1 : she W ould -
ha ve a good, clean life wi th Elizabeth and the dh ildren; the nightmare
would lift for a few days; she would cook and gossip; she alw ays
bloomed in the country and looked
a different petson.
Elizabe th
was sane and responsible, accustomed to running a large household.
So he rested, inf initely, sleeping longer than u sual al nd browsing
hip.
through his travel books for hours in the evening. Hami and Dick
appe are d to feel this when they came over ; there was the e old s implicity
Hem
between them; Hanni cooked Whm meals, humming.
It reminded him of t he previous spring in Ba srah. Everything
had been sparkling a nd lucid then. There'd been no dangers. The
house had been quiet al nd spacious, with clear su nlight streaming
through the corridors, and t he lawns of the consular district had been
a dazzling green. He and Pinkie had gone for picnics, even as far as
Babylon once, in somebody's private plane; and they kad had tea in
th e garden, under the banana tree s, almost every day..
During those lovely spring weeks he'd undergone a cha nge wh ich
he thought would : affect his whole life. The eclipse ha d hap pened


Snch
then. It had seemed/a S ma 11 myloata thing: he Mad samdalA spent the
MHUNE night awake in his room, thinking. And in the moming he felt
he'd nev er see n things SC clearly, or answered SD ma ny questions .
seemed
It vasasf the lucidity of the weather had actually come insi de him,
and he was part of it.
But after that, contrary to his hope, life had be come darker.
The month with out Pinkie ha d been darkness itself. And since then
he'd fallen further and further down.
Yet that sleepless nigt rema ined a tandma rk for him, behind a
growing mist but always safe.


CHAPTER
It had started by accident, just before the eclipse, when he
and Pinkie wandered out on to the porch and found Abu Kath'm there.
Abu Kath'm had a round, very flat face with still, bla ck eyes set
wide apart, her mouth a thick, straight, ye llowish-crimson line.
There were henna marks on her brow and chin, to ward df the evil eye 9
and a hem of" her black abba was u sua lly drawn up over her nose, so that
her eye S shone blackly in the slit. She stood ha rdly higher than his
elbow and walked in a round, fussy way, but always in pe rfec t si lence,
her back st traight and her he ad up, going fo rwa: rd sof tly on her toes,
har rdly disturbing the sand, her long skirt making a brief circular
motion backwards and forwards. There was something t 8 fussy about her---
it annoyed him a bit. She would make cere monious little bows when
she brought the washing over, and once she tried to kiss his fest.
Bit it didn't impair her dignity. She had a dign nity that was like a
ingratiating
presence behind her, implied by her gest tures and onsotuiaus little
nods and smilesh but- not actually in them.
He often watched her from an upstairs window overlooking the gard en o
She would be squatting at the entrance of her mud hut menging cloth es
or pi ck ing bugs out of the hair of om of her grandchildren. Some tim s


she would look up quickly as if she'd heard somthing an d gaze before
her, narrowi ing he r eye S a lit tle so that they sh one: tameny and no
matter where she looked there alway S seemed to be the vast desert in
front of her. A special sf lence always seemed to hang round her hut,
however much she shouted at the chaldren or fussed about. Her husband
came only rarely, on an old bicycle which he leaned against on of the
banana trees. He had the sam e silence and the same distance in his
eyes. It didn't matter how many awkward or quick gestures they made,
the stillness was always there. And they weren't aware of each other's
proximity. They wen t close together a nd sometimes spoke loudly into
each other's faces. But there was a lways th e same distant stare in
their eyes, surpassing people.
The newspapers had been talking for days about th e do ming eclipse.
And the time of total obscuration was predicte ed to th e minuts . It was
to be a few minutes af ter three, in He agranom
like
Outside, a sligh t wind stirred the san d, DB) be fore a dust-storm.
lay in a great hush.
The cityl woarery-catet-) Only this sl igh t breeze touched th e sand on
the pathway out si id e and sent it whirling up in.thin yellow cloud S among
the palm-leaves. Usually they could he ar children pleying ne ar by,
hp. or cars.in th e distance. But today th ere wasn't a sound. The sun
still shone, but more and more dimly, as if a high. mi st welde obscuriag
it. There was something vague. ly disturb ing in the air. Perhaps it
silence.
was only the asstatoty
wese
wete
He oy te garden Jousne feomnis
The palm-leaves badama still like iron,
SMetg
and/colours)
more lurid as all brightness left the sky. He hadn't wanted to come
outside. They'd just finishe d lunch, and hega got up and W alked to
seemed lo be
Ld the window. Everything hadl boen) waiting. The sandy undulations of
the waste area outside had looked hard like flint, each mound getting
more and more fixed, a polishe ed yellog crust. Then Pinkië had said


stiangely
she 'd got a. headache, and MAA added, "Let's go outsid e!" It seemed /
wr ong to go outside, but he nodded. And they W alked out on to the
no W lay
porch over looking the garden, whe re eve rything)w mas) deep in a threat-
ening silence. The rugged, knarled bai rks of the banana tree s, the
endless
ragge d grass and the yellow mud-hut with the, shimering desert be yond,
grew
baaame more and more contrasted, in a fixed and flat way, as if, though
these ohjech
mo re distinct from each other tha n before, they) were all part of the
sam e. ha rd substance and had drawn to 8 ther in a new, unwholesome intim-
acy. There was no wind now, not e ven a breeze. An absolute stillne ss
hel d everything. Not a leaf ar bough moved. The rooms of the house
were very dark now. Inside and outside seemed to be drawing into one,
and the plants and the tres hed th e dead immobility of fumiture.
And the a: ir felt kh like that in a room.
Their shoes made' a sharp rustling noise on the ti les, and this was
covered up at once by the silence. Pinkie was frowning, her e ye S
SC rewe d up in a tired way. He strolled tov ards the parapet al nd' looke d
up at the sky. The sun was crescent-shaped now, almost finished.
Why were there no sourd S from th e city? Pinkie moved to his side and
he heard her breathing quite di st inctly. The bananat trees wera
bla ck with shadow, their ma ssive trunks like monuments of iron. The
crescent, ha: rd ly more than a brilliantly curved line, was grow ing small-
er,and smaller.
He be ca me aware of a' dark moverent below in the garden and look-
ed down qu ickly. He'd forgotten Abu Kath'm was stand ing th ere, so
much part of the ga rden had she become. Her black abba was drawn up
close to her e ye: S and he heard her say the greeting Allah bil khair
to him under the cloth. He nodded to her. She moved nearer th em
with her soft, cir cular motion. Her bare feet mac de the sl igtest
thud ding on the earth. Then she stood still under th e parapet,
To 735C)


gazing up at them, andxwken he noticed that her eye S were troubled,
blacker than usal, mor e fiery and pointed.
She made a long movement of her arm un der her cloak and nodded
with an urgent expression towards the house; she wanted them to go
back inside. Like the colours of the gar rden the cofours of he r face
had become more vi vid under the strange sky. The henna marks on her
brow were a more glaring re dd ish -brown, and the skin round her e ye S was
luminously yellow. Nei th er he nor Pinkie moved, only watched her o
She nodded tow ards the house again, her eyes screwe d up earnest tly.
She was standing perfectly still. Everything in the garde n seemed
immovable, the folds of her cloak like folds of iron. Her sallow,
slightly swe at ing skin could have been padevan wax. The sun was
almost gone.
The n she said some thing, speaking very quickly under the cloth
in a gutteral, hoarse whisper. It hardly touched the silence, and
he wasn't aware of her actually ceasing to S p ak, only of" the silence
having asserted itself again. The sound was secretive and rasping, from
an inhuman depth. It had a certa in dryness, like twigs breaking.
The voice seemed not her own. Her eyes, screwe d up with an urgent
concentration, seeme d the only human thing in her, as if th ey were try-
ing to send a message of help across the silen ce, to cor roborate the
Rer
voice that had come from under Whe cloth.
He didn't catch any of the words. He raised his eye brows, to
indicate he hadn't unders tood, but she took this for surprise at what
she'd said, and nodded quickly agin. Then she repeated the remark,
and this time he manage d to catch a few of the words. She was saying
something about th e su n being Allah. Then, "Allah is angry W ith men," n
he heard. And this was followed by a senten ce something like, "He
is hiding his eyes from men r or "He is 8 vel ring his sight from men in
To P736


shame for them!n: She repeate d the quick, sta bbing word for 'shame',
that was like a whip of punishment itself---aib, two syllables ru shed
breathlessly together.
When she said "Allah" she made the slightest backward mo ve men t
of her: head towards the sky: It was hardly enough to be no ti ced, only
a faint swaying motion, with a look of gleaming confidence in her eye S.
But there was such an unhe si tating intir ma cy in it. that he glanced up at
the sun at once, a. lmost expecting to see evidence of what she said.
She stood absolutely still, fixed in the ga rden like the trees. Her
eye S were unblinking, staring at him with pin-points of shrewd light.
this
The sun was quite gone now. Over everything there was un un canny
ausk! He heard her rej peat the words, "Allah is angry", and she drew
the abba closer round her sh oulders.
He glanced si de ways at Pinkie and saw that she too was looking up
at the sky. For a moment it was quite believable that Allah was there,
showing his anger !
"How long does it last?" Pinkie a sked in a murmur.
He shrugged. No birds were singing. He noticed it for the first
time. She strolled to the parapet and leaned forward on it, staring
into th e bushes under the banana trees. And he yawned.
"I think it's only a few seconds," he replied.
"When was the last eclipse?"
"I don't know---years a go."
He didn't want to speak at all.. It felt qutwe out of place.
His voice sounded jagged and unharmonious.
Rinkie
"She doesn't like yB being out. here," she sai d softly, watch-
ing Abu Kath'm again.


But by now the sun was beginning to co.me back and the weather
revive. The fear seemed to have lei ft Abu Kath'm's face. She had a
softer look, al nd the folds of her skirt were no longer like iron.
The skin round her eye S had lost its lurid, shining qual li ty e
And
L One ould see the weather had cha nged just 'by looking at her.
liC
As the sky cleared, sodid her' face. But he and Pinkie ha d to look
certain,
up at the sun and se it appearing, to be sures Tha t was how they
Ave Aln Kuth'm
rays kne w. h Andwe/e /kne W it without the use of her eyes. She was a part
of et ve: ry th ing else in the garden. Nor did she 'feel' the change in the
sun. She was smp part of it. She was part of the weather.
OnayRonrimanndPrnkisy wa the uma tetachad-thlng hangingalom/to
tMKathnery Itpwes still 'active, pttd insi de her . And just as
everything else in the ga rde n began to ch ange thetbr colourf, so did
she. She was fixed in nature like omvonthe trees, whereas he and
Pinkie were looking on all the time, the ir minds active, far from the
world round thm. The world was 'external' to them. It was S 'round'
them .
Something of the silence lifted, too. He heard a bird S ing ing
alone. There was the faintest breath of wind tl hrough the trees.
And t he light was growing all the time. The desert, s tre tthing far
beyond the ga rden, was bright again, like a huge shimmering sea of
yellow. He heard the hushed thoobbing of the city again. Why d id
it come only now? Perha ps the slight wind brought it.
The 8 ldurs of the garden we re drawing out of the ir sombre,
fixed darkness and taking an separate life again. A child shouted
in the distance. Pinkie strolled bacf indoors, yawning.
Abu Kath'm walked away also, back to her hut. The weigt and
foreboding had lifte d from her. She walked in her usual fussy way,
her skirt singing with its curiously soothing and d raular motion.
To P 737


Her body tumed a little with each step like an elem rt of the air
itself.
He turne'd ba ack to the ho use -and for the rest of the day his mind
kept wandering to her. Really, she'd show him th e aternoon.
Without he r he would just have seen an eclipse---wit th his eyes! And
he realised for the first time how little part of the world he wa S.
whetwas-his-or Pinkis's_brparton ca of the aclipsecomparedwith
hecaf Tnexwera unmove dspectators. Theskyhad no comsetiarwier
themiteertainlyoomldat b Pangsrarar Aby Kath'm talke d about
ke sky
him and Pinkie
MA wit h an air of perfect authority, and
them/look xpm like
unlh Lupelg
madey
children 4 comparisont---trange, thoughtful, brooding
children!
For the m the eclipse was anapientaria event taking place in a
vast, empty zone : the moon moves between the earth and the sun,
causing a partial obs curation of the light. There was nothing in this
to in volve theintfeelings'. It had nothing to do with t he m. The
worl d was everything 'round' them, as if they were foreigner s to it.
And this wasn 't a phi loso phy ar do ctrine on the ir part. It was a
deep
dis ci pline SO profound t ha t it had become simplay the ir way of perceiv-
ing things. And only with h somebody like Abu Kath'm in front of them
peculiat
did they become at all conscious of t his discipline.
Look at the way he'd th ought about things on the porch, qui te
na turally and without question. Abu Kath'm was 'below' him, under
the parapet. There were bananatrees 'behind' her. Pinkie was at
his 'side'. 'Above' them all was the 'sky' (a weather zone, so to
speak), and the 'eclipse' was 'taking place' there, a predicted event.
He was 'standing' on the porch. It was all like a physicist's
survey. But. it was the way he perceived things quite naturally.
Ih kim
He thought while he percei ived; and the two were no longer sep parable X
apait
He was separate from th e th ings round him. They were in a kind of
matkmaktrak


7 C
2 C
mathematical relation to him, al bove, be low, at the side, behind.
The world was like a fixed chart. It was as if a thirker's conscious-
yrow
now
ness had been imprinted a his own so deeply that ALON the re was/no
nsde
other way of" seeing things. But Abu Kath'm was snvokvadfwsth the
oll
processes round hero aAA/tm/tinm This didn't mean she la cked a mind.
She had a quick, shrewd intelligence wh hich sh owed in her eyes. But
she didn't have a system of' thought imprinted a her.
If the eclipse had affected himhe would have said it was nervou S-
ness'due to 'the weather'. It would have been tumed into a scient-
ific type of concept, in which the body was a victim of inf luen ces
from the 'outside'. Compared with Abu Kath'm, he thought about life
all the time instead of actually perceiving and living it e
The comparison induced strange sensations in h im; for a mome nt
pale,
he B uld see hi mself as the Arabs did: hevappeenga a strangely st a tic,)
wi thdrawn creat ureg YmMaromATAS He seemed not really subject to
the processes of life and death, but a spe ctator of them. The fact
was, however, that these pro ce sses did still govern us.- Therefore,
he must have a distorted 8 nscioune ss :
Thatewhing, af ter the eclipse, the re was a deeper sil lence in
the house than usual. Kath'm the Io use-boy made a fire in the sitting
room, for it was still cold in the evenings. The re were no so und s
from outside, only a dog barking in'the distance now and the en.
- Docol
Pinkie was re'ading the loacl newspaper for English phmrAderialdin res-
idents. They'd planned to eat at the Cabala W itl h one fof the branch
managers, but Pinkie had. said she wa s tired and he.'d called it off.
He sat gazing into the fire, thinking about theafternoon. It
was a matter that concerned him very closely, he knww that. Batthe
couldnetseawhyyet
by Kath had talmo/pborgad, Andsheyd


Brought meknowtedgaraphhetatrenrotmhypetukarobenloortr
God--for a moment. or courss 9 :not 'believe in'---that-was already
wrong. That me ant, for us believi ng with the mind. And of'eourse
for the mind the idea of somebody, much less some thing, being in control
of the whole universe was inoonceivab le
The mind had to havea pic-.
ture. And no pi cture eould be offered of th ese things.
Butner feeling Swasquitabayonyonathe minvs Mamaanatennateningy
Am Kath'm
separateanandlimited,imoursensa at Mashen L Ahrel believed in Goa!
Say,
ilaly As we believed in treesi or in our own breathing; These things simply
were for us. And Allah simply was for her. The mind d: idn't enter
into it. His vocabulary, 'believing in' God or 'feeling' God, put the
matter wrong from the start. And he had to think through these VD rds.
Pinkie went up to bed early and he stayed watching th e last embers
of the fire. Only a tal 11 standing lamp was on, casting a dim red glow
over evel rything. The room was long and high with folding doors in one
which
wall UNMM led tothe dining room, and were opened only whe n there we re
guests. Curtains W ere drawn across them now to hide the rather ugly
gla SS panelling, and t hey gave the room a sl hrouded, se cre t look, like
a temple, especially now there was only the red lamp. He half-dozed.
All evening he'd sat wi thout & book. Then he be came aw are of a grow -
ing contentment in himself. He st re tche d out his legs, making a
tis
rustling sound on the rush mat, a nd settled further into tine armchair.
The fire was still hot an d the room glowed with a wonderful subdued
brilliance, the small black designs of t he curtain sta nding out vivid-
ly, like designs on the wall of a mo sque. He heard singing in t he
distance, with the thump of a drum. It was a servant in on of t he con-
sular garde ns, perha ps. The dum-buk ma de smart little raps, exciting
ing
like an endless wail,
and subtle. The song seemed not to be developrd in time, but sta tic,)
His mind was asleep for a moment, in second place, contented. The


glowing room was like an indoor night, its objec ts fixed like stars,
np with that brea thing stillness of trees. It was like having life in
depth inste ad of movement : he was only aware of the present moment ;
but the present mom ent was endless, in depth, the re being no sourd or
movement to recognise time by. This had a strange re. le van ce to his
other though ts. Only his min culd have told him that time was get-
Tala
ting on, that bed was waiting, that Pinkie was already asle ep. But
for the moment there was only the p esent, like eternity captur ed.
Surely the mind always bro ugh t th e shad low of death over an experien ce 9
by announci ing the har izon beyond present tim ? taking us out of the depth
of eternity' ? 21 Abu Kath'm re ally livef inside present time? But we'd
got broken off! We moved at a tag gent all the time!
He felt drawn right into life, sucke d down by the glow of the room
and the distant, W hining song. There was no death for the moment.
The mind pointed out no frontiers.
The song ended, and his mind was roused aga in. He look ed at his
watch and was surpri se d to see it was past midnight. Pinkie was prob-
ably asleep by now. He decided to sleep in his OW n ro om, whi ch he did
whenever he worked late.
Before turning off the light he looked back at th e he arth again,
whe re there we re the last dusty embers. The room was verystill; long
Did
and brilliant. Heuerdenedse Abu Kath'm lived all the time wit h the
tals
Hav
fullne ss of tha moment he'd just md? Was tha t what real life was like ?
itah
Was that why she had endless patbence? Once he kad told her to guard
the house all day while he was away, and she'd taken hi m literally, and
had sat squatting on the doorstep for eigh t hours, until he returned,
without the slightest impatience, Rer ab-lra drawn clese ouer her head.
He closed the door and felt his way along the corrid or to the
stairs; on the first landing there was a double W indow where he AMA


somet ime s stopped to watch Abu Kath'm on the lawn below. The sky wa S
br ight and he could just make out her yellow hut, a d imly sh ining
hump W ith shadowy trees behind it. And beyond, stretching in to vague -
ness, lay the desert, a W hitish mass that seemed to move, beca use it
was hardly distinguishable from th e sky. He stared at it for a few
moment s, and it disappeare d. Then he looked down at the garden again,
a black oblong, and once more it be came visible, like a moving shroud
in the night . There wasn 't: a sound. No dogs were barking. On this
side of the hous e he couldn't he ar the singing. Yet he had no ser ns e
of solitude. He had the impression of a ctually breathing the night ,
the.source of his breath being th e sam stillne SS that lay out side.
He turned round to look at Pinkie's door on the rxt landing and saw
that her ligh t was out. His shoes scraped on the stone s tairs, and
he went up on tiptoe. He didn't want to disturb the silence. It hed
th e same commanding inegrity as during th e eclipse.
He opene d the door of his room carefully and could make out his
sparse objects there---the narrow bed by the right-hand wall, the desk
under the W indow and the rush matting in th e centre of the floor. It
was simple, rather like a monk's cell. He didn't want to switch the
light on but wal ked through th e da rkne SS on to the balcony tha t le d from
his room. A faint breeze came through when he W alked out, touching his
little
face. He could see the waste area below with its/mound s and craters,
and the.path between the palm trees tha t serwd for a road, its sandy
floor shining dimly between the stiff leave 8. A dog barked in the
di stan ce, then it was still again. The palm tree at the edge of the
balc ony t inkl d for a moment , and the breeze made the sound of a dis-
tant wave, 2 ri sing and falling back again. Everything was composed of
shadow, furry and soft; even his hands were unsubstantial liké dust,
hanging at his sides.
He pulled the door cl osed again and went over to his bed, where he


lay down, propping the pillow up behind him and pulling a blanket over
his feet. How paltry Abu Kath'm ma de his past thoughts about 'believ-
ing'int God', in the Sussex days and after! God was for her---it didn't
matter whether you called) God) the sun, or what. For the first time in
his life he'd glimpsed the other sta te of being, for which he'd been
Gy searching since childhood! That was why he'd thought about her all
afternoon. He'd arrited at a turning-point in his life, as far as
thinking went---he was sure of that!
He tréed to remember his earliest thoughts about religion. He'd been
sent to St. Mary's in Abbott's. Roàd every Sunday. What had happene d?
Wha t had his though ts been there? He recked his brains, trying to re-
member. At St. Mary's there were dark mahogany pews and fat yellow
pillars on either side of the chancel; it was quite a hand some church,
re ally. The idea had been to keep him out of mischier more than a ny-
thing. But wha t had happene d in his mind when he'a heard the words
Chri st and God? Had he e ver believed' in God as Abu Ka th'm di d? What
how
had ha ppe: ne d to his re ligi on? And all he could remem berz W as a va gue
pe rplexity.
At first, 'God' had been simple, just a gentle presence 'at the edge
of the roof-tops. The image had been dreamy, in the s tyle d ch ild-
tose
hood. Ahatvadcontieueuedfor the ftrstyararsofturchy But then the
vonfi mmation classes had started, and here, he remembered, the problems
wheu
l.c. had begun, L He was about thirteen paerthatrttde His perplexity hed
begun over Christ, whom he'a never really thought about be fore. Christ,
simple
too, had been samply a genvi figure, like a ma rvellous e lder brother.
In his mother's prayers Christ had never been menti ioned, only God and
peo ple. Now. he heard about Christ in detail for th e first time. He
was raised up by the story, and hé was as quickly flung dow n, into per-
plexity. And since the day of his confi rma tion, wh en a bishop had com


faste g He wager,
to the church and he'd taken his first---and last--- obunamtona)he
hadn't given the matter a delibérate thought. Nobody e. ls e had bothered.
And t he perpléxity had remained.
But it: had remained hidden. Only
now had he hecome aware.of it.
The confi rmation' classes had been held on Sunday afternoons when
th e church was empty. A. group df children sat in the front p W while
a young cle rgyman from another pa rish talked to th em from the chancel
ste ps. At first Granville could hard ly take his eyes off the clergy-
man' 's face; he thought he'd never seen such clear, good eye S in a
seimedis
And he noticed that the young
person: They neve rAshowg fft ce ns sure. *xagxxexaxex**kex*w***Xkadimaxkadimarkxsf
man alwa ays
Birkskt
spoke with a smile when he mentioned Christ. - He sm ile d a
wln
was
ing
lit tle even when
talket about Christ's death and how they didn't ha ve
hep
End
to break his legs to quicken the nga/bece au se he gave up the ghost early,
while the two thieves still s truggled on in the death-throes. He also
told them how a soldier had thurst his spe ar into Christ's side, probably
to make sure he was dead, and how there was a legend that a drop.of the
thmtewound
blood and water, had fallen on to his face and he Mad been cured at once
of an tanrablla eye-disease. Even when he spoke about the blood and
water gushing, out he smile d. in a tender way. He had flushed, healthy
cheeks and soft black hair, and ta lke d in an easy way, his eyes re st-
ing on the children in equality, which struck Granville eve en. then as
wond erful in a grown-up, that he, should be.able to talk with equality
to child ren o
By smiling W hen he told them about the last moments on t he cross
and haw Chris t had called into th e darkness, 'My God, why hast thou
forsaken me ?', he made it all feel safe an deven good: : which was very
strange.
The church itself had : begun to feel a happier placef! Before.,
it had been hopeless and sombre, a place where priests sniffed and -
haw-hawed through the ir vague sermon S, and coffins were laid in the


chancel, and grim, ne rvous couples were ma'rried, while th e trams
SC raj ped and rumbled past outsi de. It was astonishing how the young
elegymen
man could ch an ge it so! The sun seemed to shine in at the tall wi nd -
OWS more, and the stained glass began to glow mysteriously. It bega n
to look quite a lovel ly ch urch, W ith its great cleanbeams an d arches.
corngiomalion
As the classes went on he began to associate the gentle look in
the young man's eye s with what he was talking about, name ly Christ.
tlo And he liste ned more closely. He was determined to be like him if
possible, to have those same good eye 8. He wanted to be like that
when he grew up, wi thout sus pi ci on or reserve. So many people in the
streets outside had small eyes which twi tched from side to side in a
fixed, disbelieving watchfulness. He began to hate the streets at this
time. They W ere tye hard, dus sty, bleak corridors leading nowhere,
grimy and yellow and grey. The trams creake d and cla nged, and over
eve rything lay a silen ce that had nothing gen tle in it at all, no rhythm,
but W as simply a suspension, like a dead face. Even a1 t' thirteen he was
jumpy and nervous, expecting, accidents all the time.. There seemed less
and less to. clingito in his life. The streets offered no thing. Life
consisted of quick, unrelated events which didn't compri se a whole ex-
perience. It was a hard, disjointed dream.
Only in the countryside had he evr heard the real silence, that
had a rhythm in it, like someo m breathing. That was a comfort.
But otherwise the gentleness in pec ople's faces was his only comfort.
When he saw someo'ne 'nice', as Eve, Aunt May's daughter, was 'nice',
wi th her sad, compassionaté look, he had a terrific sense of awe.
And the young cle rgyman was 'nice'. But t his time there was more than
a person. He felt Christ behind it.
The young man talked about Christ int imately, as if. he was close
by, and Granville began to have a sense of Christ actually bei ng the re


on the chancel steps. Bak The comunion rail, the tasselled al tar-
cloth of crimson and silver, the gleeming altar of gold, seemed to be
his home. It was a strange feeling, like d: is covering who these things
be longe d to, for the first time. The church be gan to feel like a
house which the owner had just left, so that his golden presen cel W as
st ill in the air, in the ticking clock and th e armchair.
He learned that confirma tion would give them the right to eat of
Christ's body and drink of his blood, symbolically, at the communion
rail, for 'He that eateth my fle sh, and drinketh of my blood, dwelleth
Lidiohic, really
in me, and I in him.' The meaning of this was only vague for him---
eating flesh and drinking blood---but his mind made a quiet acceptan ce
and he th hought of the communion -as a silent meeting with Christ that was
too.far beyond the clutches of ordi nary life to be examined thoroughly.
Still, it wasn't simple---not like the figure of Christ..
We must alwgys remember, the young man said, that Christ willed
his suffering and foretold everything that W ould ha ppen to him. He
had to show people wha t it meant to forgive and love. People don't
believe words. They' mu st have something to look at. And when they
saw Christ dying above them on the cross they knew as they would never
ha e known otherwise that he meant every word hed/saido WMAMMLRMDLA
dIAREN RC cas na
Here was a man who ha d used himself as a living
demons tration for other people---used his own body! 'Can you ime gine
that?' the young ma n asked. 'Do you W ond er that his example has never
left our minds since?' 'Though ye believe not me, believe the works,'
Christ had said. 'And the bread that I will give is my fle sh, which
I will give for the life of the world.'
Brery-wordhChristugroke-Was-beptiscatonthafuturD-Dy-Hsooruon
Lfixion_soto speak Anathiswaswhasseherth he had intendede Without
Ctnie
his crucifixion/ /majwould simply have been a preache r- "like me", the


said
clergyman added wi th a smile.
But during the last few classes Granville began to feel puzzle-
ment. For *Christx wasn't 'nice' in th e way he'd t hought at firet.
It began to seem strange to him that his own mother and father sh ould
have sent him to church. TAr There-was a great anger in Christ,
often a ga inst mothersa and fathers. "think not that I am come to
send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword,' he said.
'For I am come to set a man at variance agai nst his. father, and t he
daugh ter against her mother, al nd the daughter-in-law against her mo ther-
np. in-law.' Now how was it that his mo the r and father had sent him there, 9
if Christ wanted to put him 'a t variance with them? And how could t he
Kim
his
young cle rgyman tell tm to honour ar nd obey theip mo the r# and fatherf?
There was no mistake about it at all! 'If any man come to me and hate
not his fa ther, and mother, and wi fe, and children, an d bre thren, and
si ste rs, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.' Yet
the cle rgyman always sai d that Christ was 'good'. And his mo the r and
father had sent him to church so that he/wouli be 'godd'. Botrnow Gould
you
Some be good without fodlowi ng, Christ? Apla
could CR follow Christ
How
if dpe loved ahare mothe r and father? Look at the ma n who mad asked
Christ if he might bury his own father before following him.- 'Let the
Jaid,
dead bury the dead , Christ had veplieg
'He that dove th father ar nd
mother more than me is not worthy of me: ' and he that loveth son or
daughter more than me is not worthy of me.'
Did other people hear the same words? Or did thy gloss over
them in some way? Or perhaps they didn't know about them!
+kese
In one of thre classes he asked a question about
But the young
ite
clergyman was vague and seemed not really to understand him. He said
being
something about Christ's calling, beyond et ven his 'neare st and deare st '.
'But how can it be good to hate my mo the r a nd father?"Granville th ou gh t.


And if eve rybody were to.do it to follow Christ, surely the world
couldn 't 8 on, beca use th ere 'd be no families?
bidit
wonied.
But the other children/seempfa avitel wasidreedi And t he clergy-
man'went on ta lking, with the same smile. And gradually he put aside
his doubt. The church. was still there with its gleaming altar and tall
stained windows. It was all soi much bigger than he was. Ara It hed
been alive such a long time . No doubt there were reasons he didn't
understand. It seemed impossible that so many grown-up people, in-
cluding the vicar, could be wrong. Perhaps he didn't understand the
archaic' language of the Bible? Ahd if the bread and W ine of the comm-
union were 'symbolical' for Christ's flesh and blood, why shouldn't
Some
Clnin kadit
Christ's words be symbolical in Versane way? Perhaps hardtinit mean t
real mothers and fathers, and real brothers a nd siste rs.
cu Htare
Only in the marriage at Cana aahebare) a glimpse of a pos si ble
meaning. When Christ's mother reminde d h im th at the re was no' wi ne, ,
implying that he alone had the miraculous power to bring it, Christ
saf d angrily, 'What have I to do with thee?' and 'Mine hour is not ye t
And Granville felt a dim understanding of Christ in this mood.
It was wha t he'd often felt with his own mother, when she tri ed to inter-
fere with him sometimes. But then how could Christ possibly feel the
same as he did? Pro bab. ly t he- words di dn't'mean what he t hought they
did! He took Christ to mean, 'What's it got to do with you?' But
tha t seemed much too familia r! So he accèpted the puzzlement, , and then
put it out of his mind.
And people didn't seem to care. His mother and father didn't
seem to know much about what Christ said. And he had the idea tha t
one didn't go to church after one ceased to be a child. Only old
fogies went.
So the qu stion never meant much to him.
Tre
& bishop confirmed his class, and nmoorniersttonzatien


2.c: The waf er me lted in his mouth with a remarkable swiftness, and he
wondere d where it had been manufactured. He sought a special holy
tas ste in the wine, which he was told had.been blessed; but the sip he
took---the cup was pulled away from him almost at once---was too sma 11
for him to find out. There was a crowded church and an thems sul ng by
choirs from all over London, he had fe athers in his tummy, but all to
a purpose he didn't unders ta nd.
righr
He was sure, now, that the re was somethinglin that first puzzle -
ment. And he wanted to get to the bottom of it. Bappossheroaaahe
stargaruhrtohagngrmmanorsuagetmvonaatrorn-uppa It wasn't
difficult now to imegine that the vicar-had been wrong, a nd the yo ung
clergyman, too.'
He re mem be re d the Bible that lay on show down stairs und er the
silver-pla ted crucifix, belonging to Bei rtha, and he ti ptoed down to
get it. The house was so silent that he could hear the ru st ling of
his clothes as he walked. The Bible was one of those family editions
with the words of Christ printed in red, and genteel paint ings of the
disciples. - It hadn't been moved for nearly two ye ars, and the re was
a faded pla ce on the lace cover underneath. 'Well,' he thought, 'I
ever
wos
litthe
ne ve r ima gined : I'd/use this!' It hadibeen a /symbol of Bertha's stuff-
ine SS Pornm and he'd wanted to get rid of it, but Pinkie had stopped
7 And
him. But now he pi cked it up with the sa me
awe
gingerly
he'd seen in
Kath'm's eye S whenever he tad passe d it.
That night, pulling his desk-lamp closer, he read more or le ss
iu tto,
amaged
haphazardly, URLAL-Do-DogALtadloocisnetmna. He was spprisad at
how SI imple and true-soun di ng th e story of Christ was. Why ha d he
just
neve r been taught it, as a story? He felt theN he'd st umb. led on his
OW n. language again after years of silence, and was suddenly talking!


wen
He be gan to see Christ as a person. ThatRasntifelmportant
(hing, Bafore, heathoughtofChrist
11 supinanaabstpect
elsa
zomaofgoddngasandaiftioulty, Mikesomueh sagsa
mestueatton
This
HeweaastonyMer wvatrnanneegiagiagheninderptaddl Lt was the first
time he'd really read the gospels. Eve n now, as he read, absorbe d
and still, it seemed silly that he should be doing so. He wondered
that he could be really interested in it : He. reali sed tha t he 'd
always .taken the language of the Bible as' Maygtay me aningless.
vague
It all had a kind of symboli cal application---a mand sart of poetry, ,
porbapoyivoat not meaning much! And here he was reading the words
had written it !
actually as if other men were tarkingtanmmestlelstlergn And he
found
ttor
diseowored a story wbich offered no difficulties at all.
A it
How strangand was, the t helsnonavrate been disinherited fp m th is
this
story, in tne great e) poch of education, when, on ce upo n a t ime s for
generation after generation, simple and illiterate people all over the
world had found no difficulty in it? Wha t a lot of effort his 'ed-
ucation' was costing him in life!
He began to think of Christ as intimate ly close to him, and not
wrapped up in divinity. Only for a sh ort time in the confirmation
classes, moved by the young man's smile, had he felt that intimacy
before. Since th hen, his education had taught him that he had no right
Kaara feel
to chcechen /inti ima cy---of all things---with great historical figures!
He was am zed at how clearly he 8 uld see Christ---like somone
in fronto very
stand ing) batore h im,jyouthful, with an extraordinery calm and sweet-
ne SS . He could see him sitting in the temple writing in the sand
bergect
absent-mindedly, with thetremorppooind repose, before the crowd
was fure euorgl k
brought the fallen woman to him, play yfully, to see if hez vantd /ble SS
AAM a whore.
And he could S ee him standing up a nd saying an grily
tha t if anybody in the crowd thought he was clean of sin hi mself he


had the right to judge this woman, but- not otherwxi se . L He could
see h im again, always with th is marvellous repose, lying a the couch
before taking dinne r with the Pharisee, and showing a certa in care to
whate,
the woma n wh O bathed his feet in oil, another Pallon-nomany while the
Pharisee sarcas tically asked him if he minded being a nointed by a sin-
ner? He could see Christ at the well talking to the Samaritan woman
in his leisurely, reflective way, arguing quietly wi th her. That was
ridiculous to most Jewst--to talk to a woma about God Mbbefuret
low
al ttwr!
plecen and to Eyamartungl-omnspatea-ndrdortions
But Christ was always doing that kind af thing. Houreaaluagetatking
aogha
engnistresacttopeoplautrorwerra eonedderedsoworwickeanu
was/the Tomorailthestorios. When somebody touched Christ once
in the crowd, an dhe turned, Granville had the impression that he knew
how he had tured, the exact gesture, annssre vennfrombefore
Aifer Christ stood so clear and fresh among peo ple.
Christ was always talking to people in their lonely state, he
jlals
noticed---not in their importance. He called to men alone in them-
selves, Aornh
carospeorirortotionaan-cisatman-onbteragysy>'Bonbherogpsy>'Boware of men,' he
said, 'for they will deliver you up to the ouncils.'
'When thou prayest
enter into thy cl oset, and wl hen thou hast shut thy door, pray to they
heeded,
Father which is in secret.' No priest was requirad No family was
heeded,
requireds IVrequired Only a man alone in himself. This was what
last
made Christ's teaching aortenactous from one generation to the next,
otker pesple
one
alone
that it depende d not on oommuntty but on each man/withdrawing into
himself, sathateveriethecommunty was dibruptedhietoOodwastuna
toudheds
But t he Jews had said no le SS since Moses---that God was only to
Thav
fasi
be found in secret. Andit had been their strength,/a wars
strengthof the Christians later on, this-gleeming, private strength


Mingleaning decrecy)
whi ch nothing could to uch. It was the silent d ignity that had held
the Jews together 0 tbroughone A invasion aftarerother, Thaymeres
peaple chosembrcodn Moses Marsaida And Christ inherited this eterAl
dignity. The dif ference was tha t he said that every human creature
Not just Hhe- Jewd
gwen
was chosen by God. L The Jewish gift must be extendeato all men!
And,this was the blasphemy in Jewish eyes---to call even the wicked,
ThLs
To call all S them cluild: sen - God wus
bles ssed, even th e low! Thismeant DlesphenygNiDer thastetoas
fsensivr
welle Fer the statewasaTeligiousorganleation t wesaetuadly
goyernedrby High NfNPMeso
And all at once Granville saw t he conne cti on with his first per-
said
plexity as a child!
Christ hatrobollad against thafanlynther (
priests, the Tather, thengovernmentasayang it didn't matter that you
wer e somebody's son or bodther, ar a man as oppos ed to a woman, or a
antcad 0
tals
Jew asagainst a heathen,---the state of your life was wha t 8 un te d:
And if you loved these names instead of God, Lams-2ytholederet insida
gomynbrthadhosoeleltommnana, if you rested on your position
totten ! clirisr put
A al a in
in life, you we re inastate o stmand
et memesyoun
gnepouraelomnars the whole suffocating weight of status ao
Onrlsnputlrisued Againsy kkis trbling fublic lige!
Grawville-rememderadbe ing taught-thatm Christstimeontlybhe
desoendanta OfAaToR eonld be priests. Even te Romanshadaitchall
egadthreserbseocedhessrof the Aaron-Ramily. And he High Priastalone
could panetrate into the mysteriesof Bodo God was so highh in
hip.
Christ's time, that no one da red ever n pronounce his name . Phre/Artifate
Gogrof abtshamwasLonerr hesertrfbestaght the Law, whleh was radn
tgiousas welras practi cal. Therawasa fixad heirarchy ef forship
His
Forei gners and uncircumcised people were exclude d from the me
roy
Goan Women were unclean, amdrmetre excluded from the Passover. God
Phetwasandadatinitereligiousstaterttonigtest-poriticaapouer


He Stali- the lighprian governed
weeralsatranmearestoad. L Tr Hin.
The re fore Christ's teaching was treason as well. He ta lke d
equally to women a nd whores, to forei gners and heathen. Everybody
had an equal power of penetrat ing to God---equal ven to the priest's!
It was a devastating al rgument and in the end took the Jewish God to
almost e e ry race on earth.
Chrtat-azernshowed-asgeotal tendercarafonwomen, Granville
noticed. He raised themto a purity unknown before. In the e nd
Bod
three women stood under the cross, his own mother, 1 Mary the W ifeof
Cleophas, andMary Magdalene, while most of the disciple Mdy fled.
'Didn'the db the same, ultima tely, for every hunan crea ture?' Granv-
ilaaskedhimsedhimsabr. "Reisohimtoan-uhpar t Aaodpartyy
In eve ryone, Christ said, however dirty or wicked ar despised,
there was that mysterious element of ligt and silence where he be-
longed to something that was beyond othe r man and beyond even himself;
e. I
and which couldn't be destroyed by other men. soasitaareves
even
freedom. No "Spec cia 1 credentials had to be shown. You
could/be
sla ve : Eve ryone, the most foolish and igorant person, had this
absolute se lf -re sponsi bility. No W onder the Jews were aghast---
or rather laughed amd mocke d: ShererwerenoslevesfafopCnatrasn
theremere for the obergreatctvilisetionan
Every man had the power to choose between the light and the dark-
ness. He always knew the difference, in himself. He was alone wi th
lc, his own conscie nce! The verdi ct ofthe ME Priest made no dif fference.
y I And.the Law made_no difference, 1f yo ur capns: cience was
activel Only
a man al one in h imself was the judge of whe re the light'of truth lay. .
'He tha t doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light,
that his deeds may be made menifest, that t they are wrought in God.'
ChatwaswhyChristhattacked-the Phariseesso much. Theywere


fun of rscetiopraetices -ons of he seats, Granville temeybersdn
wepe inthe hesit of running the ir faces against the wall whenever
a wmma n came in sight. Underneath that Chris t saw comfort and apathy.
Therocwas no senseleace.
satconsotepe aldrt neke ashows
He didn 't depart from/his sense of the pyrity in other peoplee ven
in,the deeth-agony. . For the people who tore his eloth es offhis
backy golepatagets face
said, Kather, forgiva thems forthey
heounottanthengan
Hitherto in Granville's life the name 'Christ' had meant , more
or less, 'love'. Very we 11, eve rybody agreed with love! Andhe'd
Iat
mever-begnabta togatbeyorethislragugnesse And Christ had be en
talked a bout so many times, after all! Even th e crucifixion seemed
painless now, especially as 'Christ' was too lofty to engage oners yout
sympathies! He had often WO ndered, like th ose who had stood about
the cross and mocked him, 'Why couldn't he save himself, if he was
yon
Jrer
really the son of God?' How coul one feel Christ's pain as enens
own, if Christ was di vine an d therefore started off with an advantag,
over eve ryone else?
veal
And. that was the chief difference now. He saw Christ as
hike Rimselg!
held
on. Before, Orawwillahad never been able to see exactly what had
grifpal
moxicated one generation after another, for nearly two. thousand
uudeotood tr Ite tirv
years,
in the story of Christ! In the Sussex days he'd sean,withan-uneome
fortableperplesttyn that the Christian civilisation had spread a cross
the whole of Italy, and then the whole of Europe and parts of Asia,
plan ti ing a cross in hundreds a nd thousand is of villages, but he hadn't
been a ble to see hov it had happene d that so many pe ople ha d been in-
fluen oed! He'd only seen it as an historical movement. ArdAnetwaln
But hou Ré saw
thevebfefaiffererenenoowa A Haobagootasre Chri st through h imself.
Therefore the crucifixion was real tomhim forthafiesttima
And,
also for the first time, since he could see Christ thr ough his own


experience, he could see how extraordinary he was! Of course,
if you started by saying that Christ was extraordinary and divine,
there was no room for amazement. Only if you Suw ae him as yourselft
could you be amazed.
Christ seemed to tell the story of a man 1 s pain wherever that
man was, whatever language he spoke, whatever epoch he lived in.
He didn't waste a gesture! It was all so beautifully conceived,
his own life, MHIBIdERXaxsian*yxiikexaxstary spread out like a story
which he knew from the beginning.
Opinion didn't touch him. He
went about his death with an absolutely calm deliberateness, foresee-
elouk
ing every stage because he brought it intabeing himself,
And the
story was discovered again in every generation as something fresh
because it was revived in each man's experience, like a flower that
while new had the same head as millions before it.
The word 'God' was easier for Granville. It meant the spell---
what had gone out of our lives! xad At dawn in the Sussex days,
when hejd been on sentry-go, the whole earth had seemed to stir,
and then the word 'God' had seemed suitable.


The truth wasn't supported by the number of men who held itx.
That was Christ! - One man alone could hold the only truth in the
world! I
Granville felta terrific self-vindication! He did have a
place, then, in life, he 'did-have meaning, he did know something
without ploughing through exams and' books and fighting to the top
of the T.I.M. worm-world!
It was a doctrine of terrific courage, it raised the "single
man to a height unknown before! - And this man could be anyone!
His strength in the truth would come from beyond "him, where there
were no numbers or power, but silence. He only had to give up
trying to satisfy that little will in himself, or the will of
other men. Then the stronger will wouldd come through.
This is what Christ did---he actually did it with his own
life! Even when he XaX said he was the son of God he didn't mean
himself with his own little will---which the Jews thought. When
they accused him of blasphemy at his trial he asked them, wasn't
itali
it written in their own scriptures that 'Ye are gods', that all
men were gods? And he was a man! He was any man! All men
were the children of Goa! Therefore his own prayer began, 'Our
father.'
Nobody really saw what he meant, apart from the women round
him, pechaps. The disciples didn't see. You could tell that by
the questions they asked him. ThEXXNEKEXMSENXXAXExprapkets They
thought he was going to offer them something, in life: or they
believed him like children listening to a fairy-tale. When he told Hem
A people 3 tp
> found
that' pastagrrespadtable randimportartppoeplavemncand it more
difficult than #be others to/ geninto-tecran they couldn't believe
beclose
their ears! The priests as well? 'And the disciples were aston-
God,
ished at his words. But Jesus answereth them again, and saith unto
g them, Children, how hard it is for them that trust in riches to
enter the kingdom of God.
And they were astonished out of me asure,
saying among themselves, Who then can be saved? And Jesus looking
upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for
with God all things are possible.'
To P.757


The truth wasn't supported by the number of men who. held itx.
That was Christ! One man alone could hold the only truth in the
world!
Granville felt a terrific self-vindication! He did have a
place, then, in life, he did have meaning, he did know something
without ploughing through exams and books and fighting to the top
of the T.I.M. worm-world!
It was a doctrine of terrific courage, it raised the single
man to a height unknown before! And this man could be anyone!
His strength in the truth would come from beyond him, where there
were no numbers or power, but silence. He only had to give up
trying to satisfy that little will in himself, or the will of
other men. Then the stronger will would come through.
This is what Christ did---he actually did it with his own
life! Even when he XEE said he was the son of God he didn't me an
himself with his own little will---which the Jews thought. When
they accused him of blasphemy at his trial he asked them, wasn't
Ttals it written in their own scriptures that 'Ye are gods', that all
men were gods? And he was a man! He was any man! All men
were the children of God! Therefore his own prayer began, 'Our
father.'
Nobody really saw what he meant, apart from the women round
him, pechaps. The disciples didn't see. You could tell that by
the questions they asked him. TBEXXMEXEXMSERXXAXExpraphEts They
Cals thought he was going to offer them something, in life: or they
believed him like children listening to a fairy-tale. When he told Ham
people 5 top
> found
that pagtagreopaduabke-randimporeanapgeplaweplavumndand it more
difficult than #e others to genintontoteeven they couldn't believe
bec close
their ears! The priests as well?
And the disciples were aston-
o God,
ished at his words. But Jesus answereth them again, and saith unto
1 them, Children, how hard it is for them that trust in riches to
enter the kingdom of God. And they were astonished out of measure,
saying among themselves, Who then can be saved? And Jesus looking
upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with God: for
with God all things are possible.'
To P.757


IHFI
For the disciples he was just a messiah.
That meant the
man who'd bring glory to Israel again, the kingdom of God on earth,
that sort of thing---a fairfy tale. When he told them one day that
he would soon be dead, and seemed not to care, Peter refused to take
him seriously! How could a man who had come to save Israel, get
rid of the foreign troops and so on, want to die of all things, before
he'd taken one step towards it? How could you save the world by
promptly dssappearing from it? No wonder the ones on top laughed!
To1757G)


Frg
Atmayerar a are disciples) ne wa /Messian BuL That aan
meant Soparhtgr the man wh 00
bring glory egain to Israel
Srt S Li
CL. fairy - tole.
A the kingdom of God on earth, asother
hets bef ene imbad promiseds
When he told them oneday tha t hewould soonbe dead,, and seemed not to
cak,
offerrmortdoa mysaiaterca, Peter popldredMhagand refused totake
set
bim seriously! How 8 uld a manwho had come to saw Israel, spad rid
and so on,
X offorei gn troops , want to die of all things, before he'd taken one
stepton rards it? ROW could yoyseve the worz
sappe 1 sng Xcom
RAA
It was the same at the last supper. The y
it Cub He last av all
hintabathtenronnoutaboutuiOmLfiagdeath He told t hem,' 'A little
while, and ye shall not see me . - But AAIA they didn't understar nd; :
'They said therefore, What is this he saith, A little while? We
cannot tell what he saith. Now Jesus knew that they were desirous
to ask him, and said unto him, Do ye enquire 'among yourselves of what
I saiog A lit ttle while ? Verily, verily, I say unto you, That ye
shall weep and lament :
The darkness of th e cross wasn 't what theydexpectedo aralas
Lis
Two of them had asked Christ once whether, on thel day of tpns 'glory',
L thione 1
they could sit one on either si de of
Sah-npenwrtbrncampd
Hat.
erpower And death was such a baf fling answerf to
Christ's magic was that he didn't ask for any satisfactions to
his personal will, not even les adership or dignity. He remained absol-
utely still even when they we re ca lling up to him to save. himself, at
the cro SS.
A the silence totOCeBICALIGotumebdeboeman@raguMaCDOUNETLA
the hoise aj
soamed tara Saring ottonee deeper than midarasterds men's ambitions
and
and vwrtue
has
afAhetir soc iety/and laws. A man hyad to wait for it, alone and still.
oottenkad
perpla
And/to be
hea anddateatedbrether pess xur Ry the good andmiss
TP758.


Maroerorar man Spenta
Itall depended
2 not ontis Tace
nie
reputation. 'Ask, and it sha 1I be g ven you. Seek, and ye shall
gind; knock and it shallbe opened unto you.' Benind everything
Christ did there **was this absolutely ca lmwill. He knew his
crucifizion woyld be a proofand guara ntee of the powers ofs a S ingle
man, and therefore a wonderful consoling exampleto lone ly pe ople
alw ays afterwards As in everything else,ne was perfec tly clear
about this in his words; 'And I will pray the Fat ther, and he sha 11
give you another Conforter, that he may abide wit th yoyfor ever. I
will not leave you comfortless: I will 8 me to you. The Comf orter,
which is the Holy Ghost whom thé father wixi send in my nene,. he sha 11
teachyou all things, and' being all things to your remen brance, wha t-
soever I have sald unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither
let it be afraid. These trings have I spoken unto you, that my joy
might rema in in you, and tha t your joy might be full.'
'Was that why had a sense of joy at Easter SOI me t ime s?' Granville
mondered---swh a light, plentiful feelingoven when they we te talking
about the cross? Was that why the young cle rgyman had smiled? Was -
it because Christ had been so lacking in ambitions tha t y ou couldn't
even cry for him---even grief looked like mouming a personal loss?
And of course this was what had anr noyed Walsh in the Sassex days.
Christ wasn't ambitious enough forhim. He wasn't asoci al man.
He was me anjngless unless he had @ me to do men good'. What Walsh
had meant by good was inthe interests of_men 's happiness, And for
ondermspptasst Tad onlybeornamotborambttions
He remembered reading about the ancient world in the Sussex
days, and finding no theme there tha t had any importance for h im.
Bukxwawx*ringexhagx


But now things began to fall together. He was surprised how much
dead knowledge there was in his mind. The moment it fell into the
new connection it was alive.
The Jews had seen great empires collapse all round them, they
saw that though they were always passed by as an unimportant little
people on the way from Egypt to Persia, they were the only ones to
survive. May survived inasion luasack, anhexation.
Their God had a perfect, irresistible and consistent justice
which. men couldn't buy or change. He wasn't a bull or the sun or
a man in the sky. He was silent, inside every man---every Jew.
And so He survived everything that went on outside. Poanerare
mL - à niaattion.
ppong PhisxeudxwasxthEXRHEXBNIXXETERTAEXERdXBXdxariginxefxatiXwexknEWY
In none of the other great civilisations---Egypt, Greece or
Rome--- was there this intimate link be tween what a man did in the
silence of his thoughts, and the grace maya bestowed on him
from beyond. That beyond'was harmonious, it was one thing, it was
an order---not various little gods quarrelling in the sky and hurling
thunderbolts. The*beyond' meant peace. It was on your side.
That was the relief Christ took all over the world, all over the
broken Roman empire---from the Jews!
And of course we now took it for granted. Every one of us!
The world has a meaming -for us. Nothing is quite haphazard
or accidental in our world!
It is based on laws. And that sense
lige
of laws underne ath, that never changed was the first lesson of the
Jewish religion.
TOP761


wannowiiye NE a moral sya 01 m, thatiss wa eaaduct ourterann
constant atteption to the meaning of wl hat we doand th e meaning of
exents : nund us. It is all eonnecte d. And this we inherited through
Christ. Israel had survived all the grea t er mpires, an d Christ ha d
carried this preci ous d ignity t othe re stof the W orlds It was in
thtepense that Christ hadsgresdthattheJowgorre thebrosampa.opla;
Aalvationtaotthe dews
'How strange,' Granville thought, 'that I should ha ve taken all
these years to arrive at a s imple definition of 'Christian civilisation'!'
Yet it was so simple on t he face of it: And slowly he was beginning
to link together his own life, too. What else had his sense of a
silent order tn life been, in the Sussex days, when he'd begun to take
given ?
wa. lks alone, but wha t the Jews had mentioneda And his sense ofthe re
being a spark in himself, without help from other men? Had he inher-
i ted this expe riel nce from Christ, unawares, as Christ had inherite à it 9
only more vividly, from the Jews? He was be ginning to di scover the
historical connection he'd been after since childhood!
In everybody, 9 Chris t tradh saidm there wa s a secret place beyond all
men . That was JSBAWTINAN the peace he offered pe ople. Every man
had a place where his own infinite integrity layo tratwarprondlaten
tnssinar Thapleawwesroalkoer Gad. acobrvasotire Poating ntD
it forever. Gog was, soto spe ak the state of death in ever ry man
where he was. along and beyond Interfe re nce by othe r men, witha n tural
dignity that came to him from outside, an d which closed his eyesin the
amprrammntnasnct XS OM a1
0 Taz
Moses had promi sed the Jews Mcarthlywewotxnarlaheve
'great and. goodly cities'. It was the one re spe ct in wh ich/God did
t. uteresh.
rewa rd mens aceprdingnorteiroupeatattonau And Christ removed this
dixiples
last Amatibhnle reward. His asleples expe cted him to come mounted on


a 'charger at the head of 'an. army, to remove the Romans. And,
deliberately, he came in mounted on an ass. He did overcome the
Romans. But not in the method of ambition. His story gradually
travelled through the broken-hearted empire, like hope.
The
empire's roads and ship-routes, running across Europe and Asia,
a vast act of ambition, became the roads and ship-routes his story
travelled by. Slowly the meaning of what heza said dawned on
people, as it dawned on the disciples, who made wrote the story
down.
Christ died on a Roman instrument of torture, kept RpVV for
thafonlast criminals. He was laughed at while he was dying, his
death wasn't important enough to be recorded officially. But he
overcame an empire. By giving up ambition he overcame the most
ambitious project that the earth had seen.
aprmngs
To P.762()


andrerseratthemeadofon erma SV4 peemoorrenovel the Romenss
And , deli bei ra tely, he came in mounted/on an ass. He did overcom
the Romans
But not ipthe me thod of ambition. His story gradua lly
tunnng
travelyed through the broken Roma n empire. Its lines of communicationk
a01 acioss
Atia a vast aCV nhtin
La lines 2 cm
4 akon
a / a a3n act
varensetio/beca me karvaonyen adrentrohe-oneds
for his story.
Slealy t he meaning of hisnrds dawned on pe ople,
as it Adl dawned on the disciples, who made a dempleta story of it
for the first timeo NN mbargo Apede
iax
9 ralure, Msass
HA Christ died on a : Romeny centraputsn/ased for the lowest
criminals, Aopengser Y
He was laughe d at while ne
kn kaian
was dying, bag his death wasn't importa nt enough to be recorded serian
givy 3 M
ially. Xeth he ov9 rcame an empire. By redintui shang am bition he
grucame the Aost La C oa tofeatithatlthe Batt
A k a
al kados
'So things can come about from th e silen t wi 11 of ons man,
he thought, 'slowly through the years, working in the darkness unknown
to the mind!' How t he Pharisees must have laugh ed! - He overcom
Rome ? And t he W arld ? A regtme.propbet' like all the others, pptloren
hpah with the same pai raph ernalia of disciples and miracle S to catch
the popular eye and parables and ominous quotations from th e scriptures!
Calling himself 'the son of God'?
'Well, they'd laugh npa the same deg today, , he thought. 'The y
tlals
want to see toer plan for the future of mankind.'
But ordinary peopls went on living as they always had done, in
silence, passively, knowing tha t th ings did change in th e da rkne ss,
like the stirring of ne W roots.
He heard the tinkling of the palm-tree by his balcony. It was
about th e middle of the night now. The breeze made a hushe d S ound
To P.763


outside, touch ing the window, and he glanced up. Be yond the light
of the desk-lamp he could see the window like a square black pic ture.
Though he could se e nothing outsid e he had the same feeling as before,
perhap S because of the silen ce ---that e 1e rything was unsubsta ntial like
dust, a vast shadow, both the room and the nigt outside. The room
andyer vague,
looked fixedi its indi vidual things drawn into one unity by the sil-
end ce e
Whaturas-this-trathChristhad talkedaboutAberastednimself,
Ye tkought.
What did Christ die into? A What lay on the other side of death?
What was that silen t order one became aware of in life? There was
a gap behind Christ! 'Wha t do I mean by God?' The experience was
Bnt
l.c. missing. The word 'God' must have sprung fr rom a human experience.
Ty own
'Can I break through the obstruction of]tne/mind and get near to. that
experience?' he a ske d himself. 'And so come to within a shade of
believing in God my se lf ?' Hitherto, he'd always regarded 'believing
in God 1 wi th distant awe. How ould anybody believe in God? It was
impossible:
Yet all those centuries of men lay behind, refuting him. Wha t
did 'God' ' me an ? Hitheto he'd glided over the word. Well, he'd once
glided over the word - Chri st f
Now let hi im see if he could do just ice
to 'God', too.
He though t for a long time in the silen ce . Then it occurred to
him, 'Consult y our own feelings.A Don't try to conceive all the time,
with your mind. Go into y our real life. What e: xperience have you
tals
had of something utt terly beyond you, for instance' ?' Wouldn't there
be a clue in. that? The word S 'divine presence' came into his mind.
But it was only a phrase. And it had a fofty sound. He was sure the
ibeli
Jews hadn't meant by God wha t you could only get fram an ecstatic rtin4
sxperience.
fre
eiatiions It mus t. hatastsnrontsrin an e xperience wl hich came a nd wen t
qatutiy


quietly, and unawares, even day by day. He had 'a convictia tha t
he'd ove rlooked this e2 xperien ce all his life, beca use it didn't fit/iito
wik
out epoch.
souplogthe allowed concepts of mp/tines
All of a sudden it seemed easy. Look at the way the room had
appeared to him only a few moments ago, as being un substantial like
du st : The silence had seeme d to turn everything into one unity!
He'd stood on t he ba lc ony ar nd felt that eve erything was dust outside,
joined together like one S hadow, including even hi mself. And a t the
window on the landing, overlooking the garden, on his way upstairs,
he'd felt he was ac tually breathing th e stillness outside, and t ha t the
night was part of him! He'd felt no solitude :
Hangua
Eoradet a > a a X NeeoadngoathetebatatageRVIBIUFFDOnteedt
NOEMOORSPORDPONUORA There was a presence all round h im, tha t actually
seemed to breathe : The wind had touched his face whe n he'd gne out
on to the balcony, like a breat h from tha t prese nce 9 so intimate .
And the pre sen ce W as invisible, but always t he re One 8 uld come and
go, and forget it,but it would always be there. It would be there
after he died, and it was there before he came. It included him.
He had come out of it. And the presence was inside him as well.
He was most aware of it when he felt peace ful. It wasa prese nce he
could violate, too.) Howoulaolialatingsomethingirhimalas
For instance, he hadn't wanted to switch the light on, from a sense
that it would viola te the si ilence. So there was harmony in the st ill-
ness. And it was possible to ruin this. If he'd talked or moved
about noisily he would ha ve ruird it: for himself. The stillanss
from
would have become separa te thor him. His though ts WO uld no longer ha've D
followed each other at their own pace, in the ir own order. For his
ilals
though nts seemed ac tua lly to come out of the stillness. They were quite
different from those though ts W hich he had deliberately---at the office,


for instance.. So there was a guide in the st tillness, too, which you
could follow or disregard, at will!
He thought back over'it again, quietly. Surely there---only
pr imitive, a mere be ginning---was the form of 'God'? His sen se of a
pre sen'ce all round him, breathing, surely that was his recognition of
something alive and yet inside him, apart from him and yet the whole of
life? Surely that was a fumbling towards a definition of God', tha t
the'Jews had been the first to make? One God for the whole universe--
surely that was the feeling of things being a 'unity, with a presence
behind it? The presen ce was invisible! It wasn't this tree or this
touch of wind. These we re only manifestations. So God was both in-
visible and intimate. .
And it was a presence that lay before and after one's life, and
continued while one was unaware d it. God was 'eternal'.
The presence included one's own life, too. One seemed toome out
of it, an d in death to be going back into it. This was the féeling of
ha ving been created. God was the 'creator'.
And yet the prese nce wa S inside one as well---it didn't si mply
include one. It was whole inside one. So God was to be foun 'in
secret 1
And if one followed the stillness one was a ware of a ha rmony, in
one's thoughts. That was whe re the Jews had made a moral connection.
You could follow God at your own free wi 11. You could consult Him,
in secret.
You could fo llow His guidance or not. What was this but
Granville's feeling that the. presence wasin and all round him, with a
pace and order of its own? Wha t was it but the idea of 'eternal
talk fo
justice'? Only a man whose consci en ce was free could onawsen
God, or ha e harmony!
God
God didn't take rewards, Moses had said. Be wasn't'a man, or in


th e image of a man, nor mnapebu was He any thing in our sense. He
was 'spirit'. 'Of course, ! thought Granville, 'how a bsurd it.would be
for me to ask the presence all round me to do something for m : 1 For
the presence wasn't something he could see be fore h im, or feel. It
was underneath everything, the sense of there bei ng son thing alive
which wasn't limited to the things you could see and feel, tu/heraltyen
Hough d was in *kemalso.
like t he balcony or the palm-tree,) Howooularzoapbeytarmarnm
repropasntereatel It was pure spirit!
But those words 'pure spirit' hadcome to mean S omething xatwm
lofty, Monatyn like pure idea'. And he'd got to think through th ese
words, and'through the snares of the mind. He couldn't deny tha t
when he stood in the silence he was aware of a force beyond him and yet
WAs tal hame ?
in him! And men had given it a name . Surely 'God' hedthegareetorm
asrhaexpexBerbndgon
For the first t ime he saw a me aning in th rases that had always been
er mpty for him---'God is spirit', 'the Creator', 'the God of peace',
'the God of Gods', 'the just God'. They could all be translated into
Krse
his experience. Only the words had been stripped bare of flesh, an d he
r -j: a
Hem sesl.
had to keepthis ez xperi en ce Ammids
in mind,tmake
To P766a;
Butt C I has, impossibte to keep the experience in mind mitheuta
do n Ixan
word of some sort 1 fenthaught yt The word 'presence r TratAndicatordn
But
pe 1 ren
begen
anded
takk to other pe ople about
'the presence' and expect the m tounderstand! Wa + Kal
I God' had
at heri
to cu au suc Ge
l them
His OWI n experience
1e imse lf -wasn 't big enough to have the
same form as God. He oouldn it really convey the nature. of th A exper-
ience unt ir he got beyond himself as its platform. Or,n other words,
he couldn 't convey the magnitude ofthe being he'acome in onta ct with
unlesshe sh owed itas more than an experience, indeed,as in a way
beyond ak Farparience
ad e pomnytuder that snle Rellblees


But it was impossible for him to keep this experience in mind
WYW without a word of some sort---without using that word
'presence'.
But how could he talk to other people about 'the
presence' and expect them to understand? Was that how the word
God had come into being---to cover all such experiences and make
then one shared concept for everybody? Only we had lost the
empty
experience: only the word remained to us!
And again, that word 'presence', HAfH in covering only:
his own
experience, didn't get beyond him, so that really it couldn't
convey the magnitude of what he'd just come in contact with: he
had to show that it was more tham just a pssing experience, that
it was in a way beyond all experience. He had to convey the idea
that while he'd been
To P.767.


awa re of a whole bei ng---the 'presen ce'---yet it could ne ve r be exper-
ital ienced as a whole. Only a part or moment of it could be et xperieno ced--.
th e darkness on the balcony, a glance from the W indow---and yét this
part always suggeste d the whole. And the word 'presence' alon fai led
to convey this.
He remembered, from Exo du s, tha t before the Afight from Egypt
Moses had told his people the na me of God for the first ti me. It was no
frt Jehovaho
longer 'Lord', meaning simply ma ster, Lnd-dodagerkonynta-Mosesyom
satdurotlmmraarthebordv and appearedurtabbrehammtatgaay
enduntolacrceyogrthername of CoaAimightynoutrayingnaameEHOVARVAELS
waarvidsrtortmo And Jehovah meant 'I am that I am'.
grolytatndslmacrlenargaholestsayinglBerngoduswaianrm
conrsgedmopathan-Epresenoetreridnsuegestedoulnenexperteroanretn
passed, areetips. 'I am that I am' gave the idea of an unswervable
Being
wil 11,)complete/ peen all that there was. It didn't bring in the spectator
as 'presence' did.
*But even then, he thought 9 a word isn't enough in itself. abe
nersedhthewordBaiagpeoplononoran'tunderstend Mim-Anpbetter than W
hensaid praseners
The fact was that he'd stial be alone with his experience howev er
Sitl
But
a ad bean
many word s he used! superkocthackurmechecpeieta 'Jehovah I pas used
logetkir,
Ardl
by men living sertochotamornint-s with the same hope S. They Aam
aemmrAtntranddrog passed it on to the ir children. In this
way it was se parate from each one of them' in himself. Yet it was still
lad
combincd aue
intima te . So it aetlard exactly tha t cemnocoprbtutaumion and intimacy
( Presence 1
pomhind wh ich the thing itself, the Begng, needed. And it di d this
only by heing absorbed into the lives d men. Only bybeing shared
anong men could it be lifted beyond thatinttsersparteanatim towhith
on man elone,maarrsh. Tha t was the power of a word, as Moses saw.


A word, like an idea, had to have a communal sanction before it could
get
BRON strong, elth before it could seem to have the detachment of the
thing it described.
'So,' thought Granville, 'if my word presence - was used by people
now', and it entered in to their lives, an d was pas ssed on to children,
it would take on power; it would carry a hint in its very sound of t he
kind of thing I experien ced when the ward came to my mind.'
And so it was with 'God'. It had to be known and felt from
childhood. And if it wasn't, then knowle dge of 'God' was accidental.
One s tumbled on it here al nd there through life, as he'd just done,
To know 'God' ' you had to see him in the eye S off people round you, and
hear him referred to day after day and conne cted w1 ith the smallest
actions, drawn into the Netg flesh of life, not an idea, avay so that
He always seemed to be at the edge of things and to be watching you.
There' was no difficulty in the knowledge itself, as Granville's exper-
ience of the 'presen ce' ' showed.
But our community ha d no allowan ce for
it. God had slipped out of life.
The word was certainly AMA empty for him. It was A the sa me
who
Awgh as the pagan 'god', a Mmdrteg man in the skyl bbrowtng-tbenbete
Bortsror castint a net round Venus and Mars while they made love;
ridi culous or aesthetic, pap always untrue. The word 'God' 8 uld n't
and
con vey tha t dumb bratt alife 'presence' he'd been aware of.
And this 'presen ce' was all he
Ma-herartgrowupnpia
had:2
gaagmortanothothougna. Phe-prasence' came and went, a mer e lonely
experience. It didn't affect anything. It lacked the wa rm th of
kim
some thing pointed out to on in childhood. Phers ves-mo-plaoaPor
At. Itnesortsie Ae ven as besmit, ntoon The eclipse had
been an event in empty spa cB for h im, lik the click of a machir.


He couldn't help it. He would always see it like that. His
feelings were separate from the event. There were his feelings,
then the weather, then the eclipse, all separate, never in the unity
he was sometimes aware of in life underneath---to be touched so
easily, it always seemed! Abu Kath'm had seen God. But for his
world that was 'mystical', meaning strange and hidden, not belonging
to the light of day or shared by other people.
Now even the word presence' was becoming empty for him. It
was an idea floating in his mind, because he d got used to the word
now. It was private. It had no echoes beyond him. Yes, you had
to see it in other men, S eyes. Alone you weren't enough.
The room looked ordinary again, and the silence outside seemed -
familiar now, an accompaniment to his thoughts, no longer suggestinag
a 'presence'. He began to feel tired. But he was determkned to
get to the ende of his thoughts.
He heard Pinkie cough from next
door in her -sleep. It occurred to him that there'd be.a heavy day
atthe office---some files were coming in from Kirkuk. But a
question persisted in his mind: how had a person like himself come
about, perceiving the sky without anything divine in it, without
sky
kof
'God'? reetuatlyperceivingtea * thata Because it wasn't the
teal
fe sow
truth, It wasn't the turtinaboat-the sky, aontAstergrseopearradd
that
CMASOUSAIVAS mysterious and seemed to breathe.smrunoratdres
He saw the sky as a kind of mathematical concept---yes, but
what did that mean? It meant he saw it as some thing useful to
tal
men: that is, men could me asure it and predict its movements;
The eclipse was a kind of geometrical action for him: an
Object called the moon moved between an Object called the. sun and
amother Object on which he was standing. A dimming of light
resulted, MEESNEEDIEXERIX lasting % many seconds. He saw it
like a surveyor from another universe.
Yet he'hadn't the slight-
est knowledge of surveying or physics! It was simply in his
nature!
Ask any ordinary man and he d give you the same geomxrical
story of what was 'happening' in the eclipse. It wasn't that
this kind of thinking was new or unusual, but that in us it was
more than thinking---it was actually the way we smelt and touched


and saw things!
It was unreligious thinking. But why? Well, it laid down
the nature of the sky as something that could be me asured and
predicted: there was nothing in the sky that couldn't be tackled
by men.s minds; it was only oxygen, light, matter, only objects
in space.
Everything beyond men's minds escaped him!
Yet the world
was full of it: men,s minds were only a slight little tracing
on this huge eternity. Yet head been brought up to say it was
the whole tihing! As a child he'd always imagined there was a
policeman in the sky who controlled everything: not a god but
a man, in a blue uniform, with a truncheon. And at the same
time this created a terrible puzzlement because the policeman
wasn't all that reliable. He had allowed a war to happen, for
instance, which nobody could see the reason fon- afterwards.
What else was that but perceiving the world as if. it had
been made only for men S ambitions? All of a sudden he saw a
(is tindofmind
connecting link-- b came from a terrific act of pride, from
wanting to turn the whole of reality into something you could
i all !
manoeuvre and use, just as if you were the author of theuhoserog
thingh It reminded him of that railway bridge, in Sussex, when
hedgazed down at the gleaming tracks below and realised that
all the facts he'd learned at school were dead facts, because
they illuminated a thing only in so far as it could be used for
some purpose; it was useful to: know about expanding metals if
you were laying those tracks. But it wasn't the whole truth!
DAAAWA I*XMESRXEXEXERXtHexwhmie SYou had to strike w00 the wolld
dead first, in your mind, inonien to see its function, like
something mathematical, ogAA apart from yourself. And instead
of just keeping that as one of our methods of thinking---though
a strange and disquieting one-- --we had let it cloud over our
whole consciousness until there were people like---himself!
people who saw the world naturally like that! He saw it with
all the heart and breath and enormous mystical movement knocked
of itl
Hat
outk Yes, all that invisible movement, all the) presence'
round him, had to be called 'mystical'a little cranky!
And to realise this he'd had to submitiniswholergelhandwish


allow his whole self and will to be engulfed by something huge
and apparently selfless outside him, first in Sussex, when he'd
really seen the country for the first time, and now in Basraht.
tal
'Islam' meant 'surrender': he'd surrendered to some thing both
times, he'd been sucked in by the outer presence---he remembered
that walk along the road to Chichester when he could hardly tell
the difference between his body and what lay all round him in the
massive heat. And wasn't that what Moses had told the tribes in
the desert---to submit? Wasn't that the first law of all real
religion---submit and surrender not to other men but to that tte
presence': listen to it, at night...?
And this me ant forgetting your ambitions. 'You' were
forgotten---only this huge will outside remained, flooding through
you!
Christ had to say it again---he came fifteen hundred years
after Moses. Again there were ambitions in the air---the God of
the Jews was waiting to conquer all the world for Israel. And
awn
Christ began the conquering in his/way, through a total submission
of self that nobody else understood. He Wab seémed to W aver in the
garden, the night before he was taken: no one understood what he
was about to do, he was absolutely alone---on the face of it,
he would just die and not be heard of again; '0, my Pat_her',
he said, 'if it be possible, let this cup pass from me! Never-
theless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.'
ThakxwasxSXTHEXAGIXRI
itals
submissianxstaked As He Prig will ontaide willed !
While people had ambitions in their minds they were cut off
from the truth---that was what Moses and Christ seemed to say!
The little personal will stopped the big outer will from flowing
through them. So both Moses and Christ had to lift God up above
men again---away from their ambitions---from their itch for rewards!
'Is our role now,' Granville thought, 'the same, to lift
the sky up beyond men again?'
That was the meaning of Christ's death: people were shown
that at least one man could give up all his ambitions and go
willingly into death.
That was why the story held, because it was a standing
testimonial from generation to generation of the power of the
human creature.


Christ left no rules fEXMK for us. Only this silence after
his death! But was that also a sign---that we had to look further
and further into the silence until we found our feet? Was this
what history had been doing? 'Is this my interest in history?'
Granville asked himelf. 'To find the traces of that theme?'
The moment the God of Moses was mixed up in ampbitions---the
C Him
moment temples were put upA and a high priest elected, the moment'
RAoty started round it---there was danger. The moment
a sctichy
Christ was caught up in a church, in ambition and office and
competition, there was danger. Their truth was smashed.
Little
personal wills got in the way. ondthatkadhappendd. We had
churches. But not a religious soul in the Christian world!
Nbody could be religious! Nobody had it in him! He hadn't got
it in his nerves, in his mind, in his heart, in his nose or bowels
or belly! All you could do was make a little gesture---strive--
weie
try to fight your way throughl But the churches ane just muck.
wer
tah They axe little reminders of what men used to be. Theyete like
were
the ruins of temples! But maxeXthEX more than that they' Dsel only
Colliy
little clubs. The Christian cantt believe in God. Christ and
hod
cauld
God nave been smashed to pieces. We aan only grub in the ruins
and pick up little morsels of the marvellous coloured stone and
Uonld
try to piece the world together again so that real dawns/rise on
our children's children's children... 1 Veamntellsyou-ton
rey
betieves inGod, though 9 axville, he'sa liar erA100lor
The Christain
broken
- aswinen
was crippled and
and babbling like
C an idiot, and God had almost totally disowned him, the link was
umbilical
only there by the thinnest
cords. Could one of the
idiots suddenly stop grubbing in the dust and garbage and lift
that
y his eyes up to the sky---eyes that shone with self Mherthosads
TU -
in The
even
shy
emorons saw nothing but self
whertewentheyTookgaookemand say
yseecoag Ihelieve iin God?'
Perhaps only the middle ages had been really in the image
of Christ.
Then, ambitions had been really dead for a time.
The old idiot-show of the ancient Roman world, with its endless
armies and its putrid works of art and its sewers and straight
roads, was finished for a time. And so they were 'middle'
ages for us---sthecthe Markngesumhen therola empirelvas


bordopsingnandbofore after the Roman empire, which we understood,
also
and before the renascence in Italy, which we, understood: between
two spectacular worlds, the Roman and our own! Were they called
M. n
'middle' because they were all uncertainty from our point of view?
Was it that we couldn't read ouf own ambitions in them? Nothing
had happened in that time from our point of view! Just as, for
our world now, Abu Kath'm hadn't seen the real eclipse! We looked
in the middle ages for our own plans and charters and personlaities
and continual fretting struggles between little personal wills from
epoch to epoch, and didn't find them. No trade, as in our world,
or very little of it! Bachamestproduced-forretseterand
thaderiltakemeinneighbours. No great landowners with their
armies of slaves, asimthe ancientworag methenoblesin-thevmidele
L.C. ages-were-soldseraphiring-medestly. No ambitious ruling class!
kas Keen,
6y But one great ambitious project there Masal that held everything else
together: the second coming of Christ.
Well, you could see the germ of trouble there, already. People
would wait so long and no longer.
Gradually the old ambitious itch had
started again. The first sign was a revival of trade. Gradually
thetowns became important again. Certain people had grown tired
of waiting!
The 'burghers'---the men of the towns---were the seed
of the new world that came into being. They planned life, they
always had done: they planned the education, the law, the drainage.
Their trade brought movement. They looked ahead. They brought
refinement.
That peculiar under-stillness ofthe middle ages,
that patient waiting mood, came to an end.
TP 775


There were long connecting roads again, new ship routes.
Venice was typical.of the new world, an independent republic based
on trade, not faith! It sent its ships to infidel ports without
a bad conscience.
Then ancient lea arning was revived.
No sign like the cross had
governed the ancient world!
There'a been héroism---fabukous ctories,
not the bitter stories of the saints, always waiting for second life!
Men had seemed to stand their full height in the pagan world---
tragic figures! Men had even populated the sky, as gods!
Happiness had been a reasonable design, even if the gods farted at
you sometimes!
So this renascence was a revival of life as a grand, enjoyable
adventure! There were great voyages of discovery. The nobles
were again cultivated people living in the towns--notYBbidiers
as they d been in the middle ages. Fortunes were made, courts
sprang up everywhere, there were tyrants, strange whirling careers
that went out like a star.
But it wasn't just a repetitions of the ancient world. In a
way, this new world came from Christ.
That was the contradiction!
The will and stature he'd given men by saying they were the children
was
of God, and therefore free, ware precisely the energy behind the
renascence. It looked like a repetition because of its spect-
acular movement, but there was now a different morality from which
people acted, there was - a new dignity, there was the sense of one
order governing everything. The old chaos of the ancient Roman
world wasn't there---no haphazard myths and cults and weird mysteries'.
Theories of an ordered universe started, a universe governed by
laws, and all of life was now searched for its consistent principles
human
and themes, even the body.
And the same thing went on in the church. By the end of the
middle ages the church was as much a vehicle for personal ambition
as the ancient Roman governments had been. The first real challenge
in Gemany'
to this was the
Again this was from Christ. Again,
reformation,
like the renscence, it aimed to lift men up.
git denied that the pope had any mysterious access to God.
Confession ought to be abolished, it said. This meant that the
church wouldn't be able to absolve a man of his sins---even for


money, as.it had, been doing., < Only the man himself could do it,
in his o,wn conscience.. T
Both the renascence and the reformation, without me aning
achieved a kind of secular society in which Christ. and God. were,
separated from life. :
These words fellaway from the'lips-of the
poor, gradually..n Men had. been, lifted up so highr-tas.renescence, (
aind'
made him shine with.intelligence, seem to conquer all of reality,
pda the reformation: made him, a priest to himself--that J!
- nothing
else, beyond. ,them. could. be seen!
This. took away.the church's, .
hold,on people---the. hold d.of fear,and -
interest. , Ittook away the. intimate. hold,, the, U. consoling, Lo
guidance
indittle things.. :
,tn - on ry nrAc
Sis 30,the.svo,movenents. - had the.same
effect. Asociety - y çame, n't
into being that went round, like -
clockeork, serving no.thing but. irA
itself, not referring to anything beyond it. The sky became
like an empty. celling,oyerttrurjust,spacerzroblivion. -
Euxxkifexhadh :
DRESDEXEKRBIIEY la rC n , - , t y
14 : But people's, behaviour wasn't, the same as. : in.ancient (
times. i.
There was.nothing like..the greed and chaos.of the Li. old empire, in
its last, years.. : >Christ i seemed .La to,have.entered - life,but, .
Soanonymous- su
lyncin peoples behaviourno -
I There was.a,newk kind L' .of social ordery se
There nwere fewer, 9 and.fewer, glavoswnfewer,serfo-g S
Women L wereno L
longer, servants. : uThat. breath -
of freedom I/L from Christ.had itu
come,into iI
life. There.was the.ideasof the 1 dutiful.citizens more C and, more,
especially in,the north, where thef reformation Je had happened.
Every man was more and, more responsible forhimself. si But Christ i
was less andiless recogoised as the.author: . Society was 1 'Christian', JA.d
butothe,namgo@hrist - begancto -fall Luaway.oi 3.r61 uroal 4
itct
Men chosertheir i town.lives.. intDemocraoy's-demooy's--demosokratin, r
the 12.
power-of mén, Hbove,everything elsesr. t i - tuo C-l
t - 1.1, - Lr Hgr.
.00 a.ch
t And so 1.see:the,eclipse -as, described doby men,' he.said 1
to. rs
himself, 'in a universe spanned by men's me: asurements and calcul-
ations. I see it only inside men's capacities. And everything
a man's mind secapes me! I have no words for it. Only
beyond
when I look into Abu Kath'm's eyes do I see it; and realise how
little open to the real world I am!'


money, as it had been doing. Only the man himself could do it,
in his own conscience. E
Both the renascence and the reformation, without meaning to,
achieved a kind of secular society in which Christ and God were
separated from life.
These words fell away from the lips of the
poor, gradually. Men had been lifted up so high---the renascence
and
made him shine with intelligencen seem to conquer all of reality,
pdq the reformation made him a priest to himself---that nothing
else beyond them could be seen!
This took away the church's hold on people---the hold of fear and
interest. It took away the intimate hold, the consoling guidance
in little things.
So the two movements had the same effect. A society came
into being that went round like clockwork, serving nothing but
itself, not referring to anything beyond it.
The sky became
like an empty ceiling overit---just space---oblivion.
ButxiifexhadnkEXbEEEMEXEhEBtIEX
But people's behaviour wasn't the same as in ancient times.
There was nothing like the greed and chaos of the old empire, in
its last years. Christ seemed to have entered life,but anonymous-
ly, in people S behaviour.
There was a new kind of social order.
There were fewer and fewer slaves, fewer serfs.
Women were no
longer servants. That breath of freedom from Christ had come into
life.
There was the idea of the dutiful citizen, more and more,
especially in the north, where thef reformation had happened.
Every man was more and more responsible for himself. But Christ
was less and less recognised as the author. Society was 'Christian',
but the name Christ began to fall away.
Men chose their own lives. 'Democracy'---demos-kratia, the
power of men, above everything else.
I And so I see the eclipse as described by men,' he said to
himself, 'in a universe spanned by men's me asurements and calcul-
ations. I see it only inside men's capacities. And everything
beyond a man's mind secapes me! I have no words for it. Only
when I look into Abu Kath'm's eyes do I see it; and realise how
little open to the real world I am!'


'If I withdraw from some thing and watch, A he asked himself,
'what is the activity uppermost in me? Surely the brain?
And so,
naturally, if I'm in withdrawal from things---from people---even
from myself---my uppermost activity is in the brain: I see things
from the brain, thet sky like an empty proposition!
'This is perhaps what I noticed first in Abu Kath'm, that she
isn't in withdrawal.'
He remembered how once he'd said to her jokingly one morning,
"You're getting fat!", and she'd looked down at herCself, at her
flowing robes, with such a funny expression, so mixed and puzzled:
she really never had thought about herself before, in that way, it
seemed; she hadn't thought about her body, aarelteshreanareted
fromthesesesnorhets The division of'mind' from 'body' didn't
exist for her. That was his distinction!
That was the Christian
world!
Really his remark tore her out of God's world, where she was hevres
AREREYA quite distinct from everything round her, andjsuddenly
pitched her into a men's world, where she was a 'person', where
she stood alone, surteying her own body from above.
She never could at tain to a personality' in our sense.
She never could survey the world and herself as if she had really
arranged it all, planning it as she wênt along! She had sub-
mit tted, she was submitted, in all her being, she could be nothing
lat
else. She was blind. She had no plans for the day, for the next
hour----the will of Allah created her rhythm.
She felt it was unlucky if someone asked after the health
of her children. She made a quick little prayer to ward off
did
the evil eye. All the common people of Basrah warerdake that.
All the ancient Mediterranean peoples, the Greeks included, ted Rad
done :E
beemtitathatonce, too. One mustn't pry too closely into
life. There was a spell that mustn't be broken.
Too much
attention shouldn't be drawn to men, Indeed, the mind altogether
was unlucky.


The dawn bega. to come through, an ever so faint blueness at
the corner of the sky, making the rush carpet and the door to the
balcony softly clear.
And almost to the moment there was the sound
of birds. Their singing seemed to be inside the air, waking with
it, in no particular place. How restful the twéttering was, with
all the time of the universe at its disposal!
The birds actually
seemed to wake with the sky. And men were non-existent. How
lovely freedom was!
Horror of the mind was in him, too---from Abbott's Road. That
was why Abu Kath'm had stirred so much thought in him. It was
really a horror of men---a horror of them dominating everything,
shutting out the light. pavaratteTIBIEOLAngne
His thoughts came drowsily, hardly connected any more: dim
but with a peaceful clarity underneath, hardly words. any more,
disjointed and brief.
In Abbott's Road, too, life had been blind, like Abu Kath'm.
'They'---the absent power---had controlled everything. 'They' came
and collected the rent. 'They' made wars. 'They' made you work.
Movement always came from outside.
Outig Outside was the will of
men---invisible men who arranged the schedule: not the will of
Allah.
Even then the intimate little fabric of life was hardly touched---
the winding of the clock, pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, the walk in
the park on Sunday afternoons. It was woven together again at once.
To P.781()


Ay -
à AV
e dawr Abega Froeome through an ever S aint-blymese at
the corner ofthe sky, making the rush ca rpet and t he door to the balcory
softly clar. Ang/almost to the mome nt there was the sound of birds.
Their singing se eme d to be inside the air, waking with it/in no part-
Xcular place. How restful the twittering/was, with all the time of,
the universe as its disposaly The bards actually seemed to wake with
the sky. And mem we re non-existent. How lovély freedom was!
Horror of t he mind was innim, too---Prom Abbott's Road. That
was why Abu Kath'm had stirred so much thought in him, Hehaerecngridsa
goormeglsaper It was really ehorror of men - -a horror of them
domina ting e veryth ing.
lgpe Xad leea etinsfike Alu Kallu's,
In Abbott 1 s Road, too, one had hadno plans. L 'They 1---the absént
Kad
poyer- controlled everythi ing. 'Theyy came and collected the pént.
wass. They' made Yom wrrke.
alway
AThey' made efhashop government. Movement came from outsideg innars
sikmafe
npfe
opstadkeeorhiger nwages Even th a therlittle fabric/was hardly
touche d---the wi nding of t he clock, pan cake s on Shrove Tue sday 1 the
wasspirtre parkon E0pfs)-aftamooag It was-wo-ves together age: n
Onces
Of urse, there wasn't Abu Kath'm's stateliness in
Abbott's
Road, world. Nobody walked liks her. Tha t had gne out. Life had
a troublesome edge. There were chill things: at the end of life was
oblivion, like the grey sk ky on a bad morning, et 9 rnally. Nobody
expla ained it. Suddenly there might be a cream-coloured ambula nce
in the street. Or blind S migh t be pulled down. There was a sen se
of disaster. Jeath war mexplaned. Just R trigetful oddit
And there was no slow awakening to the world like the birds.
A hard routine had been fixed on every day. One couldn't say whe re
cneselg
it came from, and one didn't do it for /awvgfosnAntororuta. It wa S
yon
Becanse there wus lsttig else,
just there, a Herking motion ong had to jank ratherepact-tromoms.
To R.782.


kore,
Life wasn't na tul ral, The face grew fixed, too, wi th set lips and
unmoving eye S. The words became clipped. One's walk was jerky, too.
But e ven then, despite the plan that was fixed by somebody else,
the little fabric was kept. . People held stiffly away from aach other.
Their Dines wure.
Key
Opevg-IYOMNAS arranged avavtwvad by me n one didn't see. But still the
fabric was untouche d.
And Christ and God had gone into this fabric, it seémed. The
church was just a building in Abbott's Road, but there was a decncy
between people, and a quiet belief. The Christian di ignity was there.
But the word 'Chri st 1 itself was only a swear-word.
He-rommberedongMondey aftarnoen jahiseanlychildagod, whennbe
masnsitting orhis mothe 5 -
Iet
I a lothesaut on
d ing
the line . He |had/ga zeed downatthe narr 9W ga rde ns, whe re she ets were
was limple a veycatre
bil llowing in the sunshine, and
te /impression/of a peaceful
sypelsyme
centre in life
It was/ aifficultto explai no But it came/from his
ughiellaus
kat, santnigh
mother. Lt was th e/ eeling of/there being one,the A me mylife tant) includ-
ed the su nshine, the silen cs, the wind making th 9 sheets billow, and te
Iwo Y0 kem,
tbamselvaso gazing beyond each othep but joined toge ther. -
seally
People in Abbott's Road weren't able to concei ve_ Christ and Godo
open ly as they'd once do ne in the villages. Beyond the roof-tops was
oblivion. No questions/were asked,
There was only a plan of wor k
hare bus
made by men. That had to be fylfilled. One had no othermeaning.
80 one coulgn't lift up one's head to the sky, or to Christ or
God, as one had in the yillage s.] Opé no longer had the right.
Thére
was only the plan of/work. But even then a glow was kej pt.
The plans always came from above. Of course---thosg movemen ts
of/history hora read ab out, the revival of commerce , th e re na sce: noe,
the reformation, the industrial pevolution, mmanglatobla the: y were all
fhom-aboven Ihof-maswbythoty were only books 0 go bynething


He remembered one Monday afternoon in his early childhood,
when he was sitting on his mother's knee, after she.d hung the
clothes out on the line. He remembered gazing down at the narrow
gardens where sheets were billowing in the sunshine, and having the
impression that this was a glimpse of the very centre of life,
which was a place of peace. It was difficult to explain.
But it seemed to come from his mother, to be passed on to him like
speech. It was the sense of there being one marvellous theme
that ran through all life and included the sunshine, the silence,
the wind making the sheets billow, and the two of them sitting
there and gazing far beyond each other, while posoa joried Ipalter,
Beyond the rodf-tops in Abbott's Road there was oblivion.
No questions were asked.
There was only a, plan of work made by
mens That had to be fulfilled.
There was no other meaning.
So you couldn't lift up your head to the sky, or to Christ or
God. You no longer had the right. There was only the plan of
work. But even then a glow was kept.
The plans always came from above. Of course---those move-
ments of history he'd just been thinking about, the revival of
commerce, the renascence, the reformation, the industrial revolution,
they were all from above! That was why there were only books to
go by---nothing was passed from mouth to mouth about them.
Tol.783


passexaron mouth to mouth Andforall boknw-thelbookamghht be
fong!] Most people had simply sta yedwhere the: ywe re, until-the wind
kiay from above blew too hard.
Hera aske d bimself ifalife without ambitions was poss sible.
Yet he'd known the answer already! hES-Aphmss astopeolenysd
baod Yat
had
hrough aks to Kindoutv
Somet ime S po plé/ W orke d in fields, sometimes in cities, sometim S
for one man, some tim S f or sew.ral, sometime S for th e state ---in the
name of God,in the nam of huma nity - But it was only a W ind tha t
passed. Life remained substantially the same, with the same pe ace.
Othe rwise who would have done the work? You can't work running
round all th time.
His father loved the dawn. Every morning he went round the tiny
ga rden, just a fter the light came : Even the houses of Abbott's Road
looked natural at dawn, like hills.
And at King George's dock his father could keep his dream. tna
HAAWANWarRwfytadt mad Thes couldn 't take away the vast river glgaming
in the ea rly light, a nd the sound of fog-horns!
Unless a man had a light in his eyes---of som thing beyond all
men---he wa S hor ri ble! - AsredraSAONRuaLLMGNE
'How horri ble to grow up among burghers!' he thought. Wha t suff-
ering th at must befor the children: He remembered something lovely
from before the War: it was whe n he'd seen the old Queen pass in her
carriag and a woman next to him had said to her child, lifting him up,
over. the heads of the crowd, "There she is, du ck! Look, t here's the
Queen!" And the boy had gazed before. him, his mou th open, absolutely
rapt, gazing, it seemed, into everything fabulous tha t the re was in the
wor ld! It was lovely how a dream could be passed on like that!
He felt satisfied now - His life had - joined together. That wa S


why he 'd se t out on these though ats, perhaps---to join his life to-
gether. He could face men bet ter now, he t hought . He had his own
world.
A clock struck in the distance, but he couldn't make out the
dathe yatickes.
numberk He felt sleepy for the first time, and bega n to nod. Would
a godly earth come back again? he wondered drowsily. As he the ought
this he opene d his eye S again and looked across a t the window, and sa W
a long curling leaf of the palm-tree si lhouetted a ga inst the sky like
a finger, poinlig yfwards.


Book 111
Chapter*.
People started calling at the house again, and a group even gegan
to form, with the house as its centre. Glenning, the publicity-mant,
was almost a daily visitor now. Bome of the other faces he'd seen
that first evening re-appeared; there was the young girl Dick Pollocke
had been talking to; her name was Lucy, and she always came tethe
heuee-with a girl-friend nick-named 'Ginger'. The two of them sat
in the music-room together, long-haired and quiet, sometimes with a
book, somtimes just sitting in silence.
And he himself came and went
casually.
It was quite pleasant.
The young man called "erald with
the agreeable smile also came sometimes: the plastics-firm he worked
for was not many yards from the TIM place, and often he and Pollocke
walked over together.
He-saw-howabeurd ne'd been
reeuse + imeelf of having frightened
her guests away; equally absurd, he began tothink, might be his sus-
picions about ner. However, Grove was the one person who didn't tome
cealed
to the house. But he saw no signs in people's faces of hidden know-
ledge; they were friendlyto him in exactly the same easy fashion as
they were to Pinkier He grew ashamed ofhis outburst with herwhen he 'd
pushed the coffee-pot off the table; he decidedto be quieter in fut-
che
ure, and to remember that, while hehad time to brood all day, Pinkte
was hard at work in Wembley. But also it occurred to him-that perhaps


their/isitors, didn't see anything amiss in her having an affair.
Nor, he noticed, did the name 'Grovey figure in any gf their conversat-
ions. On the other hand, they might not feel the need to mention him.
Hedne heard-Hanni use the name? Orhed been stoveys
were
For some time there hadbecr repeated /phone-calls in the day
which came to nothing when he answered them.
He would pick up the re-
ceiver and say "Hullo", then there would be silence, followed by a sl-
ight click at the other end. It got on his nerves and the idea be-
came fixed in his mind that it was Grove trying to get through to Pink-
ie, though why Grove didn't know she worked in Wembley he couldn't ex-
plain.
One day he shouted into the silent Aphone, trembling, "Stop it,
you bloody fool, stop it!" He remembered afterwards how his voice had
echoed up the well of the stairs in the empty house, like someone else's
Fround and gagged.
voice, rasping and strange; it sounded like someone stranded, zer
mch-alone,
He heard nothing more of the offer of the Beirut office, which
Glenning had told him as more or less a certainty. Clearly it wouldn't
happen before he went back again.
In a way that was a relief: he
would be in thetoffice again with Mohammed at his desk on the other side
of the room, with the fans whirring and sunlight streaming between the
shutters; it was quite a happy image, and it seemed to him that he
could actually hear the silence of that office, with its special tone,
as if the sunlight was pressing on the roofs outside, like a huge brass
weight that came down. harder and harder as the day went on; and behind
the silence there was always the cacophony of car-hobters from the
main street, in the distance. He ought to be getting his ticket back
and wondered whether to shorten his leave by a week and take a boat all
the way instead of flying: the voyage would calm him again. He not-
iced that he already assumed Pinkie wouldn't be coming. But he told
tkal
himself she would follow him after a month or so.


Yethevas-ealm enough, really
Only there-wae-a tussle ofnerrea
going-onineide-him that stopped him-eleeping attimes, it-went on in
an-undertone, almost pleaeurable.
Pinkie came and went from the office.
Several weeks gua passed without a single new event. But though he
thought of going to a travel-bureau and getting his ticket it didn't
seem quite serious. He couldn't imagine going back. Usually if some-
thing was certain to happen he could feel it in some way, and imagine the
circumstances.
Sometimes several of them went together to a new café in/Commerdial
Road where there were wicker-baskets on the walls for flowers, and a
fisher's net draped across the ceiling in a chic manner. Pinkie was
subdued as he'd never seen her before, but still with the intact look
that aroused his curiosity.
She gave way to all his suggestions.
They went shopping together, and otherwase she seemed quite content to
stay in. He put it down to their getting a good many visitors.
The
door downstairs was open most of the day, as she liked it. He took
walks by Wapping docks and the Tower, and went to concerts quite frequ-
ently.
Or he would stroll down to the Shoreditch library and get out a
few travel books. The house was tidy again and the mild weather held.
He began to wonder how he would leave this light, clean life, with the
pleasurable undertone of me enace, in so short a time. He-began to-remem-
ber-howeheerful
at een-twe years hefore, with people coming.
got
and going all day, as they were doing now. Perhaps Basrah had, hinin .
a dark frame of mind, making him forget their former life together, how
good it had been sometimes. And he Aad arrived, that first evening,
with his dark Basrah-self, expecting all sorts of_doom! He must learn
that perhape - ige wasless dramatic-trerer
There was a lot of coffee-drinking in the kitchen, and he enjoyed
it in a mild way, especially the long hours talking to Hanni sometimes,
when she felt in a confidential mood. But it was a vacuum. Theme-


alotofplessantry. but Onderneath, it was all frightful.
Yet Orets
his
face mustn't acknowledge this.
Nor must onels talk.
Hexwas the same
as the others, keeping his real self in reserve: it was the polite
thing to doû atenalse
He asked Pinkie one evening, "I feel frightened sometimes---is
wus
n.p. everything all right?" Her coming and going wore so mechanical!
She made a customary stiff hlink of her eyes, with a loose gaze for
a moment; and she said, "What do you mean, Pip?", in the same surpr-
ised and slightly breathless tone as when he'd asked his questton about
Har
'affairs' the first evening. He gave it up.
One had to be sure of
hip.
one's facts.
Gonfronting ner -
4hese faete-weuld-b tike issuing
minutes to someone in a government office.
'Facts' meant what could
be vefified objectively by quoting sight, sound, report- -rather on a
scientific level. Otherwise, if he spoke of possibilities
and
only,
silent fears,and all the timid hopes that passed through himind
unattended, she---the government official-y-could look brank and aény
knowledge.
That was/how intimacy fared in this world!


Hanni got furious at one of Dick's escapades. Cranvillediscoverediseovered,
with-admiration, what-the fellow's-seeret-life-was like Was there a - way-
out-here-for-himeelf? But he hadn't the initiativet Hannighad come to
stay the night with Pinkie, aather than go back to Hampton Court, and she'd
rung up Dick at the office to say 80: "Oh, I'm sorry about' that, darling,' #
Pich
he said over the Aphone,"go to bed early and get a night's rest. Your
eyes are beginning to show the strain." The three of them, Pinkie, Hanni
and Granville, were sitting in the kitchen drinking wine after dinner
when she suddenly laid down her glass and said, "I'm going to Hampton
Court, and I think I'm going to find something interesting when I get doi wn
therel They laughed and told her not to be a fool, but she got her hand-
bag at once and left the house.' And next evening she called in and told
them what sheid found. She walked into the flat, she said, and found it
in darkness but knew he was theré because she could smell the Turkish
was seducing
cogareetes he smoked when he) )wantedja woman. She pushed open the door
of the front room and switched on the light, and there was Dick with a
stunning and 'Juno-esque' girl, sitting on a sofa in front of the 'view',
with the window open at the bottom.' He'd just undone her blouse and
638 Rer shoulders
showing.
had slipped off her petticoas-straps)so that her breasts were barerl He
was just about to bend down and kiss one of her nipples when she put the
light on, she said.' The girl quite calmly pulled her straps up again
and closed her blouse, and said, hardly turning round, "What unexpected
guést have we got?" Dick looked terrified and said, "It's my wife!
doe Won't you meet?" Be got up and was just about to make the introductiohs--
Meditnba
Hanni said she was glad to find his fly-buttons/
at any rate---
loward Hem
shouted al
when she walked/pooprd)in a fury and satd to the girl, "Get out of my
fele get Fup
flat at once!" The girl o with a haughty expression---she really was
Ker
magnificent, and Hanni felt a little twinge of admiration for Pipok---and
Yes, of Coure
said in a casual way, mobpareyouin such a-hurey?) I expect you want


a little word with your husband, don'tbyou?" After she'd gone Hanni
began more or less chasing him round the flat. She filled a huge flower-
bowl with water and calmly tipped the lot over his head whennbedhehduaght
Arehorerumpaed Rewas/abeoluteiy drenahed, And while he was trying
started
to wipe himself off she bogan slapping him round the face at a furious
rate. As he said afterwards, she was really hitting the girl---tAptnds
which
whatpeeltystungbevr and her/accepted the blows on this basis, seeing
made kem seem lighter!
re He looked blue next day, and had a slight
cut by his upper lip. By five o'clock in the morning they'd talked them-
selves out and then had the 'most enormous screw' ever. Hanni said it
was wonderful dealing with a man after he'd been caught in flagrante delectis
---you could kick him, pour water over him and freally go to town' as you
Hen ym Cmld teally 'mille I him
never could otherwise; L For several days afterwards she was mute and
narrow-eyed, and would answer none of Dick's questions. He gave her
m aguif cint
flowers and took her to the theatre, but she couldn't forget howthe girl
heen,
had apokentorberd
Granville thought he felt a glow of admiration for Dick.
AXEXITIEAaruostiyitwasiowasony SHe tôld himself that
Dick was asserting the only freedom left in. life. The spell.
of the flesh! That was the only thing left! So he went to
the office' and found Dick just coming out of a board meeting.
"What a wonderful fellow you are!"he said with the frivolous,
sparkling'glance which was. nowstaken for granted bwteen them,
andwhich he really thought idiotic. And then, while, Dick
was_smiling back at him, with the same little sparkle, he
realised that he didn't know why he d come to the office, that
he-hadn't wanted to, that he didn't belong here, that he didn't
know what had happened.to-his life, that he was whirling round
giddily in other people's lives which they had
made!
he promptly made up a reason for coming---he wanted to look
up the contracts department (ah, yesl---another little twinkle-- a
after more money, eh?) and adashed out of ther building."


find
Wly didhr Notpra c umman
STund
she
e.c. /Loyalty to Pinkiet And Binkie was probably with Grove, at this minute)
Kogec
But he refused this/at onceo withond/babtte Yet she probably was l
But suppose she wasn't? He faltered again. And/his resolution failed
him, which it didn't do in Dick. He didn't have Dick's pluck to enter
own
the mystery and risk everything with his/hands and his own life. He was
always hanging back in thought! Riaklemoradad
Meorhint
raseparattor aamerabout si
achieyek and themhe would change
Vho
hialficl He told Dick that Hanni had'spilled the beans, and how she 'd
dsecribed thegirl as Junoesque. And Dick smiled, then told him what a
beating he'd taken
"Still," he added,"I felt as fit as afiddle next
day- Itwes rather like a-massage followed by a coldshower."
One
AAANA Dick gave lim
evenngy
a one of his little speeches about sex.' "You know, I'm
quite a,methodical person, but by God there's no method as far as sex is
concerned, is there? You can't book it in advance, can you? I'd say
Ata really wanted sex about, well, once a week, not more---I mean the
ale
caper!
real MaCoy, not titillation and/that sertof-thing Not often for a
thriving male, is it? But I bet Don Juan didn't do much better, for all
his escapades!" He added, "One of our clients from South America had
some sort of aphrodisiac powder, from a root or something, which he said
made you red-hot. We had him down to Hampton Court to stay, then I came
back one night and found he'd been putting the stuff in Hanni's teaf"
Granville laughed. "What happened?"
"Well, of course, I told him to leave the house and never darken
my towels again!"
As time went on Pinkie became more. and more matter-of-fact.
seemed to be the result of working at the office. She was tired when
inlin ale
she came back,and anything too personal, any/discussion of their life,
seemed
parhap
togetherywasdistantrifnot)absurd for her(because it was outside the
working schedule afvthenday He tried to summon up wlpcourage to ask
didlt
about Grove but 1
wey 4 couldnit for fear of getting an honest answer. :


Nothing that wasntt about a clear practical matter, such as who would gét
tommorrow's shopping in, was admissible.' The office sidé made
rest
the
setttad
l.c. of life seem soft. I Her reditions with othër people were waiting for her,)
at the/office; she had to make no effort for them, and they, were enough
aud
to fill the day,-she had had enough of people(by the time she got home)and
aud
didn't want more exposition er-mere argument from Granyille. And-He, on
cher Rand,
the whele, had passed the day alone, and waited for her with a certain
excitement. She didn't have to be a vidid person for her relationships
at the offices and so her eyes looked dimmer than he'd seen them, before,
and all her extravagance séemed to have goné. She was unaware of this.
He Aost faith in his_thoughts. To think he'd once had the feeling
of a mi sston! What/was he doing for other people? What was he doing to
alleviate anybody, else's suffering? He sat alone An a roomi Without
béing a teacher or official or priest or anything of that kind, he expected
the world to/be changed, tod. a *
that Ehe other three were at work all day. He saw them in the evening
Aad
L. h.b. when they were a little jaded. L It made him feel ineffectual. But,what were
lals they doing to change the world?) Althought ho-aelred-himse
1s- -question
itmade difference, L 3 Why did he have to accuse himself so much? He
told himself/he was home on leave--it would soon be up---but the sense
of being ineffectual whenever he wént into his room abided.' At thé office,
kan Lsw
where he'd be doing no more for the world in/his sense, his conscience
woyld be clear. He could see it in Pinkie. Her conscience was clear,
was
indemhids C C
bought out/ each day, afresh, when she wentto-the
offieed He made her breakfast ewag as elwayey morhing, and usually prepared dinner
Cry husiers
when she came back at night. She was EstEa kept out/onfFridays until
Fnday
midnight or so. She said thid was the night when the difference depart-
ments at Nigelts firm got together, first in a committee-meeting and then
Buk
l.c. over dinners He*phoned her once during this committee-meeting, in the
and
early part of the evening, Xt there was no reply; Abda she said afterwards


adding
that this was because the secretaries had gone home,
Shecadded that
asa matter of fact she'd see n the light flickering on the operator's
But he didiv helieve W.
switchboard as she passedo tintwas-probadlyvatent One week-end she
went off to Nigel's house in Wiltshire XxX*XEXXDEKXENI and came back look-
pefore
ing pale and more tired than aben/-sherurenta He dared not ask her why this
har
was so because it might indicate that he suspected/of not actually going,
spending tro days in bed with
bengina
but etaying 1 town ith Grove! Grovet Was mere an B lese/
Howfor
anescapade.
rell talk-together-beeame more and more official.
waen she tahel
It occurred to him qutte often/that ske-seunded-when sire-talleed-as
voice
if she'd been listening to someone elsesand, being impressionable, had
this
absorbed tie voice as her own. He tried to divine what sort of person
this was.' He thought it was a small person---there was an unusual note
of envy and bitterness in her sométimes. It wasn't the voice she'd had
all these years. And secondly it seemed to him that she was absorbing
midd'le-class arguments about life. This was perhaps where ther matter-
of-fact tone came from. He wasn 't alone with her any longer; there was
this third person. She was now in the habit of getting up suddenly during
a conversation and changing the subject, whereas before she'd always stuck
at a thing and not let her mind interfere. She now seemed to have learned
a social manner of avoiding dangerous and cantinuous themes.' One evening
she said in a crisp way that didn't belong to her, "After all, there's
more in life than thinking out one's personal problems, you know!m He
realised 1et littk he'dasseciated-hor WL
middle-elasses hefored
Bub-now she was beginning to use the vocabulary he'd first recognised in
Sussex. It was peculiar to hear her say how 'sensitivet somebody was,
and shostunned him by saying just before they went to bed one evening that
she found his 'philosophy' interesting. His mouth fell open and he put
out his hand slightly as if to catch hold of her in her disgukse as
yeal
- a L in
another person, but in a second she was the/Pinkie vartd Zalways-enonme
SAC
again. ashosentont to pab a2 thecafé in the CommersialBoad


she usually wore tight stacks anda provocative hair-style now, as if to
tell him that she belonged to another group and had her freedom.' But,
again, thése wete trifling or tenuous things, and he was barred from men-
tioning
tutatig them.
al be put dowIr to
imagination.
He found he could get one quite well if he read the newspaper every
during He day
morning, saw two or three peopleland made sure that there was at least one
from
befoe Hal
l'o #em
event ipx the day/hé could talk/about. This made the obligatory outward
tolk
conversation possible. Real communioation was out of the question: Dick
was the only one who did it,with his girls. He'd found a way of doing
I work and i-ce
it inside the system/all round them---and thats off to-him', thought Gran-
villes They couldn't make their own lives any more: they could only make
new actions. The job at the office, their newspapers, the hurried sound
in the streets, drew them all further and further into the system, and the
only satisfactory thing to do was to lean on the systém and forego all
thought and self-responsibility." There were laws, and one wasn't likely
to break them. One could leave everything to the outside world. . and never
communicate one's real self to other people; there was a comfort in this;
the cycle of happinessand pain, the natural rise and fall of life, didn't
any more a
seem to applyx/ There was a numbed but safe consistency, No one was
e in control oj kis lige any more.
sufficiently alone to give-guidance an
Ter
talo
He always thought he was about to get inside Dick and Hanni, to a
true intimacy, but it never happened. He-never-andersteed what their
thoughts-were. Unreasonably, he felt they knew What his theughts werat
He could see Pinkie: he could feel her existence. But they were closed
to him as perhaps no other people had been in his life. Their silence
always felt like a withholding of something that could or should be said
and was actually sn their minds.' He had a constant sense of suppression
in their company, and of mental surveillance, with remarks released by
policy, after strict sensarship. Inthogroup they were sometimes nick-


arop
named 'the poltergeists' for this reason.
When he had a quiet talk yith Hanni the deadlock was broken, for
a time.
She got several afternoons off and came to the house.
They walked in Kensington Gardens and sometimes bathed in the Lido.
He was quite glad to be with her, as if to convince her that he had no
unusual feelings towards Pinkie and that his life was going along
smoothly.
He wanted her to have no fixed conclusions about him.
each time they wa. lked together it was like a bid for freedom,
pagertefrom a pre,conceived judgement on her part.
It always seemed
that a subject was being avoided: was it Pinkie?
But their tone was
intimate.
They laughed and talked quite gaily, yet he was nervous
all the time. He had the impression that his life was wearing down
slowly. Why couldn't he speak to her clearly about what he feared?
Beacuse he didn't want to show himself in weakness. And why didn't
he want toshow himself in weakness? Beaause whether he liked it or
not suffering wa's weakness in the society they nad made between the
four of them. Aleeshame-wee-ee-atteched - beingalone.
He might ge
offandfindaanether giri, then speak int imat tet
nr her abeut Pink
that rould


requirement-of public formand-action
But-now-he-was-alone-wasalone, and could
be-seon-as-purely a Vietif
He certainly-wished to hide that from Dick,
whe-fled from situetions in thi ch-p peeple-were alone in their grief. When
weuk
Hanni ygs down with 'flu Aetadoena Dick stayed in the Hampton Court
flat as little as possible, and only made a feeble effort at nursing hero
He would look at her and say quite candidly, "I can't
Remesend Mothe A
railway
understand how I ever made love to youg/stixgixtr / You look like a/porter! -
armara
It was always pleasant at the Lido. There were some lovely days.
He ed-agreet yearnig for something new tc happen, an escapa de like
an eprimisré
his life
Dick's, perheps, and also he had the ENNing sense that xumoathingrwould
tals
change
*xasaaxhpprn socne The hot sunlight that drenched everything gave him
Baorah
this confidence. He talked to Hanni about Mesul at some lefngth, but
whenever it seemed possible that he would launch into one of his speeches--
when he leaned forward slightly and began glaring in front of him---she
would repeat, "Mm, mm," in a frantic way, nodding all the time, as if to
tell him that she knew everything he was going to say and So he needn't
lim
ing AS ir seemed;
say it. She had a horror of/being bored byhim; A and anything that was
p-rac clical
the slightest departure from plait end simpte statements of fact carred
this
tis
a threato -
But there was a pleasure in
him: it was
thisfor
nice to choose little statements carefully, rather in Dick's candid style,
like, "I think Glenning comes round to us for what he misses in his own
home, don't you?" And then she would tell him a little anecdote about
Glenning---how he once left his wife in a waiting-room at Norwich falhrey
Lar
station and only remembered/when he stepped off the train at Liverpool
Etenkigt
Street! They goton-well, she said
wifewas so stupid that
VW ell ne wanted
do was
rave
1 es
a * absolutely te control
over
and that was an added reason why Glenning got away whenever-he
eould.
wae ne D ur en
ruet
e out e was too
much of a gentlenan to make an-approaeh, He did-wonderful vaudeville-.


BAa1a) 367
Glenning's wife was so stupid that all she wanted was to
have babies, she said. She and Glenning were always - on the
job', it seemed---for instance, they would dress each other in
impeccable outdoor clothes and then during a deliberately
formal conversation undress each other again little by little,
until they were on the bed togetber. His wife would ask him
questions about the office like ki a secretary. "How are
woollens doing these days?" she would ask. "Oh, not too bad!"
he would say as he slipped off her skirt, "A two-percent rise
this week!"
Hanni would go from one anecdote to another in her chanting
voice, chuckling now and then.
"Dick was at it last night,"
she would say, "and every time he pushed I did a loud fart!
He: said it was like conducting a Sousa march!"
But he had the impression that talking like this hurt her
as well. She hadn't a natural, flowing ribaldry. She
flickered her eyelids in a pained way.
She would complain about Dick in a monontonous voice,
tight-lipped and brooding; underne ath, she seemed concerned
about him, in an irritated, maternal way. Sometimes it seemed
that she was talking about Pinkie as well, while mentioning only
Dick's name: she would turn to him as if he knew


what she meant already, through Pinkie. They began to share a grievance.
Dick: and Pinkie had what they called the 'blind' quality, of pursuing their
own pleasures Whatever happened; and stepping across other people as if
they weren't there; they didn't notice small details; they'd both been
in uuo ttar
spoiled in childhood in one way, and yet not spéiled--deprived of some-
felk
thinsyronAbasthon Fhey didn't, know what it was like to be someone
prihares,
Lonnr else! But this left them/with an. uncomfortable feeling that they them-
selves were only more ethical because they were inactive, and that the other
mote
two had the pluckptorsabisfaphetficenl Inpulses
mettogt
7 fola
hared
It rendered them spectators of the other
two, which wasn't flattering to the pride.
panicky
Tals
Behind Hanni's Apmpotisongifimy mmts whenhe Maderany departurelfrumn
Striodlfacte there was always the implication that one day---not now,
because this wasn't the time or occasion---she would reveal all the
thoughts and facts and values on which she based her silent appraisal
of things and her pre-knowledge of what he was going to say: but as with
Dick the time never came; it was never the occasion! Yet he always
believéd she had thé power to tell him. And he concluded that what he
tor he
was about to say had no interest, and curbed himself. So; despite the
growing intimacy between them, he felt the same edge of stiffness as always
frontier
before; there was always the tremulous ertge where they doubted each other
and had to rehearse their statements, and force their faces into a smile.
Rer
Much was due to a fear Ahebad of him; oprepepea/tatotoan Pinkie said
she didn't like the way. he glared at her sometimes.
fie-told-himself that
she-andDick-were his friends, but the-hours with them-weren't * + enough
At-last he was silont with te: unless he had semething grimly faetual to
Hanns
and attar deadly
sayo Shel gave the impressian of, dark)
mes
pr calm, something held
very deeply inside her, timidly from the world but also obstinate. Yet
she always answered him anxiously, whatever he asked her. I She was always
trying to oblige; but there was still this locked reserve in her. Moe
and Mot, he was silent witt her unless Ye lad spmetking grimly faclual t say.


Dut he preferred it to being alone---his nerves played such
tricks on him. One afternoon, in the silent house, an unxacccount-
able terror caught hold of him. It was about a quarter to four and
he'd just finished eating. He got up to carry the dirty plates to
the sink---there was the swish of a passing bus in the distance, and
an aeroplane throbbed overhead. He ran water into the bowl and slipped
the plates in. But he didn't wash up, only turned away absently,
his hand still on the water-tap.
Then this unbearable nervous tremor started in him. He held his
breath, listening for the sound of the downstairs door. But nothing
came. His stomach actually seemed to quake and quiver, sending out
shafts of horror all RXEEXhIMX through him, and a foeboding darkness
approached him, like the slow, hot breeze he had feit that same after-
noon in the street below, flowing past him with a solemn, ominous
movement.
The silence had become grim and hollow, like the silence
round a dead person. He moved a foot, and the boards creaked under
the linoleum as if only a dead wind had stirred them, nothing human.
He'd begun to think about Pinkie: he realised this---it wasn't
XEXKX a thought so much as the shadow of herself that had passed over
him! She must have done or said something against him at that moment--
twnety miles away, close by, it didn't matter! He believed in these
ghostly connections between people. He saw her hand sliding gently
down the face of---. But the picture faded.
Yet perhaps he had
itcls the impression---or had he planted the impression?---of a young man's
face, pale and smailing while Pinkie's hand made its cruelly suggestive,
delicious, stroking motion!
Yes, she was always out these days! A hot.dread spread over him.
He ran downstairs to the bedroom and flL ung open the wardrobe door.
Her best coat was gone! Her best coat! Her best summer coat!
But what did that mean? Nothing! Her shoes, then---her shoes---!
He tore out all the he aped shoes in a frenzy---her best shoes, where
were they? Or her handigad handbag---her black handbag, for the
evenings---that would prove somet thing! He kicked the door closed
again, crushing the frail shoes and" piles/of old xiga stockings and
silk scarves together, and rushed next door. There! But no, Etka handing
wasn't in its usual place, on the bookshelf, close to the piano,
close to his precious gramophone---: Yes, she
had wanted to look
elegant this afternoon!
TOP.368


He stood in the middle of the room panting and staring down at
ghe carpet. He felt a giddy trembling so violent that his legs hardly
seemed able to support him any more.
The door opened suddenly and Hanni was standing in the doorway,
calm and still. He turned round with a start, gaping at her.
"Whatever. the matter, Pip?" she asked.
He smiled. His heart was still beating fast. She looked round
the room slowly.
"Is anything wrong?"
She came further into the room and at that moment he raised his
hand, unawares, to KISXAAXE touch his nose. She saw it trembling ever
so slightly. The light from the street shone up into her eyes as she.
turned towards the window, making them seem darkethan they were, a
deep, mottled colour, nearly an absolute black. Not a sound came from
the street.
"No," he murmured. "Why?" Then he. added at once, to make
talk,"Have you just come?"
He stood with his legs astride, not knowing what to do with his
hands until she spoke again.
"What about some coffee?" she said.
She turned to go upstairs and gave him a quick, searching look.
His trembling ceased and the colour came back to his face. As he
her
followed,u up the stairs awkwardly he felt much like a child, hanging
his head.
She glanced out of the kitchen window, at the roofs near the
river.
"It's a wonderful day," she said.
"Have you been out?"
"Just down the road, that S all."
She turned to look at him, slowly, still seeming to wonder.
"Shall we go to the Lido, Pip?"
They left right away, not troubling
about the coffee.
lo P.369


hav
a snolden chongs cams uwer tim :
a M theNadongra afternoon, after they'd been swimming,) he was aware
of the sunlight over the lake in front of them as a blinding yellow flash
across the sky spread out to infinity, and including in one moment all his
R.C. life; It was a revelation of stupefying hope, in which he felt his whole
future contained in goodness,and resolved! All the bad things of his pre-
P' sent life would go. But even now, at this moment, he was
For the
free!
first time since his return he had ân excited sense of the city round him,
and a sense that it didn't matter what his life was or what happened at
home, because of all the other activities that were open to him every day,
as one member lost in a mass of others, with nout a name as far as suffering
went. He kicked out his leg involuntarily, dripping with water, in a
happy spasm of freedom, already celebrating the future, and he looked at
nelieved
Hanni with a happy smile.' He-was-ne longer the wietim-of-events: Hie nOw
hed-the-knack af
it wasnit
re ride over
one, or
ratt M
che silenee; that wasnit the
cityss
One ac
eE and choose from-the array-of ehanees
it put-before rone: Ee would do something! He didn't know what yet, but
all
he would do something to change his life, Let him spendithe money he
The wr thoce
Arcady a tomiglit
had, for instance---he could take/ them/ / ae to a club. There-wasa - little
Rad passed.
lese-then Cortni ght left forhim-toact
How slowly the city had re-
asserted its hold on himi Of course, he was a Londoner---why hadn 't he
realised that before? The spirit had gone away from him!' He could gp
out into the streets as he'd always done in the past, and lose himself,
as if life was eternal and he was walking up and down the span of eternal
time, looking in at the lighted shop windows. He made no specific pooposal
of action to himself; something would turn up; the club-idea was only
Buet
A.c. momentary, a suggestion. L He was quite certain that,now he was in a fit
mood, his life would change.' He dragged Hanni into the water again,whoop-
ing and laughing, and they splashed together under the diving board. She
Basrah
blinked at him, delighted and wondering. He'd shaken Mesud off! He'd


found himselff And after two or three swims up and down the enclosure
they went in again, puffing hard, and 'threw themselves down on the grass,
where the trees were.
"The water seeme to do you good!" Hanni panted.
3 He got a sudden dazzling impression of her, as someone he did know after
all. The long grass was extrordinarily vivid against the slight darkness
of her skin.
It all looked so strange under the trees, in the middle of
a city, with people's white skin against the grass; in the shade of tall
tfees, with the bright light draining through the leaves in speckles, and
here and there a negro, stark black, with gloving white eyes and teeth.
And there were sunshades, red and yellow, with prams and also blankets
spread out. "Are you ever ashamed of being lonely?" he asked her suden-
ly, gazing at her in a very direct way, but too fresh from the water to
care. As she dried herself, panting, she looked up, first with the slight-
est blink, as if reservation would take hold of her again and chill every-
Snch
thing, and said, "Yes, sometimeslt It gave him/a perfeet sense of relief
simbly
to ask an honest question, not/a prepared question in an honestvstyle.
Inthat moment everything seemed humbug that people talked, a nervous humbug
thatihas imposed by the city: She didn't move for a little time: For
a moment he thought she was going to take her little reply back by * saying
something clever or faceti@as, but as if she knew what he expected of her---
she had such - a gift for that---she went on drying herself quietly, with
some little grief in her eyes as she looked down at the grass, lowering
her hèad to rub the towel against her neck? He felt lazy and lay down,
suddanly
looking up at the trees. And she seemed torbe) relieved to be out of his
scrutiny. She'd said to Pinkie at the training-school, years before, that
GreniTIe was the sort of person who tried to pin you on to. a board'for
his collection of butterflies? Pollocke had said that was absurd. Unly
5 Bub
she'd
Honni-thought-46. And he wondered now if in a silent manner theytd
passed beyond that mistrust. The sun was still.shining on the wat ter in
a great yellowness, flung lavishly over the trees and bushes on the other


side of the lake, and he became happy again at the thought of the dusty,
hot streets that began at the edge of the park, and the cafés that would
be filling with people about this time, the first taxis of the eveningz
-rush that would turn the corner at Queen's Gate, the nusty smell of beer
thett dark interiors that séemed to
as the pubs opened, and/shuxkxkaxtoxxalaxkxxxxxsxtkkfwai tar for the evening
to come preperly and/dusk to falil He thought of these things in qui ck
succession, in an ecstatic mood anointed in this yellowness, a magnificent,
dazzling splash that extended to the outermost spaces of reality in a vast
sunset. How strange that he hadn't - felt properly in the city until nowf'
All those painful little thoughts at the house would be gone. He would
be able to stand his full height. That was what they meant when they
said told Pip'---a gay and reckless sort of person, not this little think-
ing insect!
"Why did you ask that?" Hanni said.'
"I don't know!"
The words were out of his mouth before he knew where he was.' He
was about to go on, to say that he deduced the sort of life she led from
the one he led.' He wanted to break the silence that had hung over his
life since his return---talk about all the intimate fears that had
been playing at his mind, and the misery he'd sunk into, and the fact tha t
6l he saw nothing before him in the future, not at least as far as Pinkie
went; and how he'd felt the weight of an accusation on him after his
return, that he'd sent awgy all Pinkie's friends from the house, and
helect
that/he represented a shadow over her life, and how thankful he'd-been that
a group had re-formedf, even though it was without Grove. And'Grovo--
But he couldn't do it: He let the moment pass.' And she blinked, record-
ing everything So minutely with her face as she always did, as if she'd
hes
felt the breath of his revelations pass over them and then die away again
caslo
before they/turne to speech. So they were back again in deadlock!
Yet she sèemed satisfied with his "I don't know!" and his laugh afterwards,


that sounded hollow to himself. And they were too tired and hungry from
the bathing to want to talk any more. The moment had passeds
People were beginning to pack up their things and leave. The still-
ness, that had muffled everybody's voice and turned what they said into a
whisper, was broken now. The traffic from Knightsbridge sounded like a
wind in the distance, level and unchanging, represénting the city's pre-
paration for evening. The other side of the lake looked like a coast-
line very far away. Perhaps he endowed her with more strength than she
perhaps
had, and also /she feared his expectations of
Perhaps
were al3
her!
they
stil
doing that to each othert But/he couldn't bring himself to speak. She
6ax
picked up. the cloth4bag she td brought with her and they walked across the
park towards the road. He was aware of her as a kind of little sentinel
at his side, always armed, smooth, brown and slim, her eyebrows meeting in
apunolobngbopsmt
on aogh A
the middle like a frontier across her face, a black, negative linett The
tufted grass stretched away before them, and the trees clustered together,
beginning to contain the first shadows of the evening.' He looked back
- as they plodded across the sand of Rotten Row, at the sky, for a last
glimpse; dusk was just stirring, like a vast shroud of dust touched with


red getting closer and closer to the earth. It fell so lightly, little
by little, that it might be a breath of air, given substance, almost mak-
ing a stir that could be heard. Their shoes made a quiet swishing noise
in the grass, much like the countryside, except for the level roar of
traffic that drew near, When théy got back he bought a dozen bottles of
wine and rang up Dick to tell him to come over for a little party. Dick
was quite pleased---"I see Pip's getting back into his old form," he mur-
added-thal
igssin
mired, but/he couldn't manage it,5as he was having dinner with 1an important
contact on the distaff side's Ina lower voice he asked, "Is Hanni there?"
and when Granville said yes he added, "Tell her I'm giving a talk on free
trade at the local Y.M.C.A." Y.M.C.A. meant 'You're My Choice All right'---
so Hanni told hims afterwards. It, was Dick's private language and indic-
petass fLe me m's canges Eim wnnt a Hampka Const, A Jaid
ated that he would be taking a girl out/but wouldn't be unfaithful to hers
She didn't seem annoyed, and they drank a tumbler of wine together. There
was quite a jolly evening after Pinkie came home. They made a punch,
combining the wine with brandy and lemon juice, and Glenning called in
Ang and Ginger 5 ne
grew ila
after theatre-time with a few others. / I It' bocame/a party.' There were
the usual records, including the one that had always stirred him called
'The Creole Shake': And Dick came in after all at about midnight with a
sorry expression: the girl got a slap-up dinner out of him, he said, and
then went straight home afterwards, almost without looking at him again.
Hanni was delighted, and Dick danced with her again and again, not even
pausing when there was no music, his body tight against hers and his head
lowered on to her shoulders, so that he seemed to be whispering Mttle
messages in her earo all the-time
Thus, Granville gave his first party since his return,on his àwn
initiative." This made a great difference to Pinkie---that he 'd done it
himself, anexpectadly. It-wasalways ehe-whe-had
+ the rra anging
he-wasusually-reluctanti "anather day If he would-say, and then whenthe
didt
timet ohmo-he-worald-onjoy it, or seem to.
She gave him a kiss on the


neck exeotly similar to the first she'd ever given him.' He-couid-keep
her---ho-couid-pet-their-marriege-beck on am ever keed ifhe-wentedtot
Look how gay and affectionate she-was-when hedid something-off his oum
batt wity did-het tstally prefer dojng.nothing? Because chomust find
her own level, he told-himself; and_because that level wasnit hisi But-
from-tonig
that tan't matter. YHetd found his feet again! Lifewas
rals back to normalt Of course he'd been a jolly person two years Befme! ago That
was what they meant by 'Pip'! It was like coming back home to himself
thar
after a long absence.' And the other three looked wonderful this evening,
so clear and cheerful: how ungrateful he'd been to neglect them! The
nightmares were. finished. What did it matter, all this absurd calculation
glorines
as to who was being loyal to whom? He had a wenderfttl sensation of being
alone and free and also happy, an extraordinary combination; he even felt
close to Dick's dandyism! That would need practice. For the first time
1 Barahl
al all,
since his return Meeulseemed not to have been his own mexperience, And iti
in Kensington Gardens Walshwald hane
had all happened through a yellow flash across the sky/that would-bel called
a mysticallo experieneed
Dutin Hheparts
He got tipsy and sat talking wi th Hanni again. Dick had gone into
Some )
the bedroom where Maif the others were, sitting in candaalight, with the
gas-fire on. There was a grèat din and bustle - =
and the air was
think with smoke, though all the windows were open. Pinkie was at the
Aphone and he had a stirring of his old fears, but they were gone when she
returned to the room looking 84pt as gay as before. The street was quite
its
still outside, and their noise echoed acrossa He wondered if there'd be
a complaint from the neighbours,but there wasn't. Hanni was confidential;
as always at a party, and she asked him again what his question had meant
that afternoon. "Why did you suddenly ask me that?" she said: They sat
on the divan while people pushed past their legs, trying to dancés It
kis
wasn't a trie confidence between them.' He perceived thet- through his
clouded brain. It was Dick's style---this cool probing, not hers.


But he joined in the game. And, as before, he tried to lay himself
bare,
"I was deducing something from myself," he said.
What---that you're ashamed?"
Asain Le nord," wwe mt 2 hi mmth like a eflex- aclum.
"No, not" 2"I mean being lonelyi"
She puffed at her cigarette slowly, her eyes narrowed. : "In what
"I suppose as we all are!"
Bad Again his spirit had failed him, or rather the spirit simply
wasn't there, while she noved hardly a muscle, gazing straight before her?
What had he meant that afternoon? He hadn't an ideat
He hadn't a thought
in his head! How could he begin to talk about all those complicated little
puzzles of intimacy? Where would he begin? He hadntt Dick's gifti
She nodded after his last remark, her eyes almost closed againstthe smoke
of her cigarette in their characteristic way.
"Yes, we're all rather lonely, I suppose," she said, finishing off
a conversation that had contained' nothing.
auld have replied to Hkis
He l lhad mer A e I but a clear thought refused to come into
play tefuorf
his head. With drinks inside him he was only fit to dance or ama
but_talking was out of the-question 9He
a whirl of self-conscious-
with
was/in
Hanri:
ness. He tried againg why shouldn't he mention Grove now? Why not ask
what Pinkie did on Friday evenings? Why not talk about how he yearned to
Tab war te Ames stge Ke Xmld lean
make love to Pinkie sometimes and she yawned in his face?/ The words were
helped l:
theref But he couldn't. His mouth was fixed. The drinks sabrabboe
tiim.
as-a paralysisk He whirled round in his thoughts, and couldn't escape
them.' Thank God his leave was ending soon, at any ratel Suddenly he
Hanni,
had a sharp sense of regret, that he had indeed laid himself bare to
has
hamal
in the short sentence he'd uttered, and that she had himg caughy, and that
he hadn't done justice/himself in those few words, and so had madé things
doubly worse! Oh, why had he talked? A flush began to rise up his


felt as f
nec k. He was caught, caughtt It wae-like l his limbs and insides
were
being transfixed and held still,without the flow of blood through them .
The longer the silence lasted between them the more he accused himself!
And-like most self-accusation its verdictWas that hefd fallen Lohort of
Djcle Piistis himsug?
an Amage of himself.' Whak was this image? Who had made 167/ Really
Me realised muddeoly
he carried it before him in his mind all the time. If oniy he could
break through iti
Where did
the relationship between-the
hem come rom?
a - = twot
E as sn nt
Hermi ste
owed
'Pip' was jolly;
he was a sunny sort of person; that was) the imaget Arrd It wouldn't do for
him to show himself jéalous, glowering, lonely, torn as perhaps hetd never
iv io mld -epeak te image
urae
been before in his life;) The 'orang-utang' was just a joke; it was the
Ih Rep L hay
lacyf
AP. joliy fellow making facesty And, of course, laying himself bare would
break this ynage,6o, But /how had the image started? And bhy did hé, who
was the ever-moving base of the image, cling to it like a raft? Was
Hanni an image, for him? Was
Dick? Wère all four of them
vitt
Kue
fankie?
imagés, and the lonely/voice mas locked deep inside them and never, nown?
He knew nothing about themi What did Hanni and Dick think, what did
Pinkie do, when she was put of his sight? What did he know about his oun
wife? What did any/ of them know about him? Nothing! He never told
them! And, for some reason, in their world, things had to be told:
Dick cid rell Ri kougla, Cnk withy
in their world silence was absénce of speech, not stillness. Their
lives were at a standstill -all four of themi Here he was thinking about
the stylé an which life should be lived: relationships and imagest
Life might be a role for which they'd been cast, and they in a perpetual r
discussion' about what style of acting was best, while the world went/on
and/ they got no younger. None of them was connected with his work?
The office went on in the day, and the evening was a different territory
altogether, He'd been the same in the few welks hetd had at the London
Barah,
office, /before they went to Mosut. They wiped the work off them as best
foo detibesale a style : 1A the >tyle chid Ge go d 1,
leaving them Gare h each
Lot ruuking all te tnll


they could when they got in at nightr Pinkie had now got into the habit
of/ taking bath when she came in, and turning the water onbefore sheld
Crhar haditbeenki srbyt
aal
even taken off her coat. But)
A - 11 Moeul.
The work went on into the éveningk--it flowed on: he went out with Mohamm-
A ties
ed to theMesopatamia Hotel, and some oEthe other clerks might joiny them?
What was the difference? The work was anatmosphere it was conneçted
with ports and treks across the desert and daily flights between, Beirut
and Cairo. The day wasntt strictly divided up but flowed, iike the s till-
n.p- Happily for his feelings Hanni went on talking, but about Dicks
Rortid
she Said,
At once the whirl of his thoughts ceased. Dick, appal
was
fright-
ened og going mad. Gra_nville felt hè understood this very well, at the
moment! Yes, Dick-must-have-beenin na RITE P whiri many-times, try
ing to find
ma a
what elsewas his flippant talk but trying lay
sit
an-image? - She said she was often worried about him. Dick woudd/still
for hours in the most uncanny way, without doing anything, or he would
wit his head Yuus hied iin his crllar,
gét up and prowl round the room
me asually shg/sattor/eauf
onaathing à Ein
bhesowas-semething 1 him-hewaated to xur away from/ SHe'd told her once
lhad *e chanco d Ang
oln
that mew-end-then if he could jt jump out of hisy body into somebody else's
d take ik
he'd eocsog/with ple asure, and risk being ugly or lame for the rest of his
Hean
life! He hated the passing of time, she said. The moment never came when
he felt réally himself and enjoyed it; well, there were moments, perhaps
a day, a wonderful surjmer s day, but it didn't last; and thé passing of
maant a
time maalikothe perpetual loss of opportunities. She seemed to under-
stand him very well, talking softly, muth as if she/was Aapkingabpyt
herself? The emptiness all round us appalled him, she said. Some-
times he couldn't see how human beings had managed to fill the earth up
Enough
with objects suffictentily to make it look tempting." Of course he was
frightened of getting old; that followed.> Thaemptinerstouldget/adld
OH/simmprelartduntototea That was why he had affairs and was always think-


about women. He had a 'thing' about breasts; he told her that whorhe
ade him feel
foating
hefelt he was/on the face of eternity. It was much more that
sort of thing, she said, than tha actual kissing and the actual women that
interested him. He always said ed he enjoyed sleeping with her much
better than with anybody else; and that it was getting better and better
with time. But there was always this other quest, which had to do with
niafearapadarrooucad his vanity. Tet vanity wasn't the right word;
vain.
totelly-witheut-venity.
But he had to be refassured, and she couldn't
was/
;Tal do it on her own; no one woman would do it. She had asked him the previous
feet empty,
day why, if he nagfrightemodos Cemptiness! he didn't give up the Hampton
Court place, which couldn't be emptier. Why didn't they move into London,
where neither of them had ever lived? And he said he couldn't bear the
idea of being classified' as he would be if he lived in London,
merors
RopPLeCArROPeTtlachpntekinaotasdtrlttronelsuains if he lived
in the City. he'd be twéll, nondescript'; Chelsea was 'arty-bohemia';
Kensington was faded genteel'; Notting Hill Gate was 'plain squalid';
Westminster---that was the one district he wouldn't mind living in, "and
the one place," Hanni added, "where the rents are fabulous, of course!s
(How-auh more ntimate poreen she
nar
ifo Lo Lead
side,
drowsy thought/as he lay back on the divanat her stan sweating slightly-
in the breéze dar
from the windows behind them, while the clattering
mysiç ceased for amoment. Suppose he was the cause of the deadlock
between the four of them? Well, he made lis conrtibutions no doubt.'
as mg pae suilz
And that thought made him content : he wasn tt
F foreign
tohin IU was
L gh as eE as theirs.
The party ended at dawn, and there were the four of them left, sit-
tise
ting over breakfast in the kitchen as a grey, cloudy sky began to appear
outside, like a new presence stealing through the window and changing
all the furniture with soft touches. Dick jumped up and gave a ridiculous
account of how Pinkie ate. She had an acute dislike of being watched


over her food, beeause she took such eliel
* and-weenafraidoke # g
appoargreedy Herfirsafen mouthfulg/wouadi beltentativewkan-ehe-wae
tasting-semethingngrandtherewould
Tghtfrowon benfaceas if sha
werelistening 8e the foodin ( some way Dick watched her deliberately,
until she laid down her knife and fork slowly and murmured, "Look here,
Pollocke, attend to your own bloody rations or I'11 stosh-yourround-the
gnin
chopscam take that supercilious anite off your face!n At once he jumped
up and gave a kind of speechi "Every morsel is weighed up and rolled about
the mouth," he cried, "every taste-bud is on the qui vivehs with quick,
exploring movements of the mandibles she opens jever new layers of taste for
the ens lavedfARDA-UVVAR salival juicest Then, with a last salute,
the dignitaries of the mouth lining the route in panoply of office, she
flings it down to the cellars of the stomach where restive bohemians lie
in wait over candlelight, reeking with yesterdays garlict" His beard
wagged up and down in the most comical way, and he didn't pause for a
moment, as if he'd rehearsed it. He orice told Granville that at school
beculiar
he'd been famous for this sort of thing. He had a wondevful burlesque
vigour and extravagance in which #44 his coolness disappeared.
Lyfe was easier in the next few days. He went to the café more oftem,
and didn't feel obliged to leave' when he'd drained his cup, but hung on
reading or talking to people. Or he walked in Kensington Gardens.) At
Lest
bet
life roundhimg Hetd gone back to his old


areseaoopa
lifef or so he told himself. But he couldn't recollect what his old
been
life had been! Auculdtreetolleoc-abontongn He'd/more in less in
harmony with Pinkiet--that was one thing he remembered. But still there'd
EE been something feverish underneath---always. He was rarely in his
room now. His day had quite a routine. He read the paper over break-
fast, after Pinkie had gone, and then went down to the bedroom to make
the bed and write letters or read; then he went out for a coffee.' He
happened to look at himself in the mirror more closely than usual one
morning and noticed that the skin round his eyes was very pale, and that
tkar
his cheeks had lost their colour. He no longer had the weathered look.
In the music-room he happened to pick up a medical encyclopedia of
Pinkie's that was lying on the coffee-table.
This was the book that the
young man with. the ginger beard, at the time of her first studio-party,
had seduced her witho solsterdroliim Ginger-Beard had opened it at
with il
the venereal sections whiek we diagrams and lurid illustrations of the
sexual parts, and he'd discussed it all withbher so unambiguously that
the
the act itself, when it came, seemed only ANXEXPEYIRNTTRMENEXBY demonstration
dead
of an hypothesis-AR4ATA a And the pages fell open naturally at these
Gramille
sections now. The first thing he saw was a description under the word
SYPHILIS. The tertiary stage was particularly frightful. It had the
effect of blindness or madness, and' could be inherited; the child of
someone in the tertiary stage might be born blind." Morafi/Betvhveghed
just
Stare
It sounded,like the conschousnesa he, and the other three had fallen into 3
The effect of blindness, and it could be inheritedf And it was infectious
at all its stages, incubatory, primary; secondary and tértiary. The last
was incurable! It sounded quite like old Dicki Incurable! They were
blind, and nealy r mad: mute ahd blind! Mad and mute and lind!
He remembered something about Dick: it was the nature of his'anger;
as blalsk's hadit:
one couldn't call it real anger. It didn't come out properlyjk When
he'd got furious with Hanni and Pinkie a few weeks before, just after his


promotion to the South American office, RAruMekIagVApY he only went
had
white round his lips, and his voice cracked.) AcTemindedGranvilleof
SIE
Walsha Thone was h't an anger that suffused all his body and made him
Rcalthy
flush, in a gmne fiows Ifnthat Chad-heen-so he mi ght have been-vielent;
Misnanger-wasaviolenceheld-back. The anger didn't spemto do him good
He had no voice to be angry with---he physically couldn't raise his voices)
* seeme ed !
even
Etseemed? He was rational in his
saseemedgasan-inherited
flesho
condition 5 The anger was physically prevented, as if the necessary vocal
chords were missing: He could become steely, his eyes glassy and his lips
pale, or else indignant in a plaintive manner that was nearer his gentle
natures But the anger was always checked in a pre-conscious manner; the
itwas
check was already there, in his flesh;a conflict and distortion already
accepted by the flesh, and written * into his body; eAta/speeteh so that it
had become
a white-hot. flame, destructive,
licking
with a dangerous xazanwedge; that flashed through him and then abated,
usually, in silence; this was what ta ngert was for him. - The mi ddle
part of the body constricted and pulled' itself in; it didn't asctn
Granviller exparid, with an evén. greater flow of ease than before. As.
in Walsh, there was nothing righteous ar handsome about the anger. It
lah really did border on hysteria---if it had come out it would have been
hysteria! Ardortthadtorborawoidedmrrethapaheabben-taughorbentaugharthath
And Granville was' beginning to feel the same thing in
3 himself,-as a shadow, perhaps through the remorse he felt after
anger. : There would be a spurt- of sourness inside him, really-like -
a gland spraying akind of- acid round his, guts---he remembered- it at
the Lido,'in the moment when- Hanni had seemed about to -disregard
his question." a This sourness seemed to him yellow. He'd never
known it before. Was this-the first organic sign of what Dick
had learned as a child, in his glands and tisaues?


ly avoid showsof anger so as to bespared the femorse. Had/that process
opcurred in Dick and Walsh, in childhood,so deep that they werentt aware
sdduv
Ikair
pernaps
Radbéee
had
of ft7 Anger didn't happenelin the parents; it wa/outlawed; there WerS
Gees
opliy/fouthiratet---s chair mightbe broken, adoor slammed, crockery
smashed, becausé the true nature of the body would havé its will some times
What-a-menstro ous world - inheritt,
Matek He kedli
Gransridihe-had altmnintoinlled State ofiife, going tothoreare
hip. and walking AnKensington Gardensy inwhich de looked back at some of his
own 'outbursts' with mild astonishment." Would the same consciousness grow
untic
was
in him, tedy-sethat by the end of his life it sould-be-eelled tertiary
surgace
as well? until it had formed in his tissues, without obrlens manifestat-
tirsc
ionsai-for the/bright-red, open chancres of syphilis disappaared early?
In this. respect he and Pênkie were distinct, at present, from Hanni
Re Poikie
and Dick. When
Ie blew a: valve they really let themeelves go--
Pinkie screamed at the top of her voice; a their blood flowed better
was
afterwards.
Hanni XEEMUC the same as Dick, though pergaps only on the
surface; $ shey hoon, aight be slowy * succumbing to the new eonaciousnessy
l.c. - thiough the sare nedium ofremorse. Only a very slight, dangerous flush
mounted her cheeks, and her eyes showed a glinting, relentless light. He
had the feeling that if Dick had tried to behave like Pinkie and really
let himself go, some frightful neanness.and spitefulness vould have been
the result, and this he couldn't afford to let happen' The same might
be truë of Hanni; though she was too hidden a creature for one to be sure.'
Tals But Pinkie, at any time in her anger, could be stopped: She didn't have
tat
the gleam of relentlessnèss or #p blind refusal of life. In Dick anger
other
meant the severance of connection with/péople, but in her it meant off4 a
warmer connectionjanddepepandennege she was showing her connection.
sberhated Oranvillato be angry, when he'stormedup and donn the roon.
She wept and was frighteneds Kseened ton ix
she expected tha kind.
Heu offoutcome Kromhim in anger thatnshe would have got from the tertiaryi


And a smile brough t her round at.once. Nursing a grievance,
scheming to avenge it, were unknown to her. Hanni's angers, on
the other hand, lurked as wounded afterthoughts. Pinkie said
that Hanni had a genius for creating 'undercurrents': people would
some times quarrel in her company for no re ason.
So they all inherited blindness and madness, one way or
another.
Would it go on, the legions of disease spreading all
over 'the world through education, until everyone was tertiary?
Blind and mad---the whole world! They were planning huge schools
in England; it would happen in Africam Russia, in Asia and China!
The senses would go mad!
Yet he didn't feel this would happen. The middle-class
road was at the end!. The spirochete of education wouldn't take!
The body would be too stout and resistant.


resjatant/or/iARerbapar At the end of these half-feverish re -
nif
flections he began to feel a ridiculous hope, like standing before an
immense golden plain zytethognetahelakpenyinnisodiaristnistomy
on a hot day, with hardly a movement in the air, in a silence that
came out of the earth, like the future being laid before him in one
flat
visible reality: a plain that stretched placid and minterrapted as
far as he could see! It had something to do with his own life, with
the hope he'd begun to entertain in the last few days, and with the
yellow flash across the skya at He hido.
When Pinkie asked him, "Arem't you getting your ticket back?",
it was quite a shock.
"Yes, I must see to that!"
But
He'd begun to think that reality had changed.
E how could she
bear him to go alone? He refused to tot up how many days he had
left.
He bought four tickets for a performance of Hamlet' he'd read
about, with a new actor named de Cloud, which the papers said was a
pseudonym and should be pronoanced 'de Clue'.
They were for the foll-
owing week, and he had the illusion that it would help conçeal the
reality4wwthat he had five days left and had made no planspottonthe
athets
Her brokter-Nigal-cne ever fordinner one eveningand they set
up a table with candles in the pusic-room. Nigel looked worried and
kept moring his knee Thythmically under the table. There was someth-
ing outlandishin the ménage for him, perhaps. It reminded Granville
ofa lunch-date he and Pinkie had had with her uncle, Lord Maimbury,
when the same thing had happened: Maimbury's knee hadkept moving
under-the tablefas ifhe was distressed. Nigel was a little greyer
than before. Dick wandered in with Hanni when they wereat the dess-
iendlnis
ert, and they all sathaving a drink.
The fimnedlines of the-ménage
was rather exaggerated, for
To P. 385(ay


Suppose he had children? What living sense could he pass
on to them? His father had given him a living sense---but what
had he got? Education had withered it away! He felt panic-stricken,
wanting to strike out the years.
The garden in Abbott's Road had breathed for his father.
Like a great beast with its paws tucked up, purring!
But not
for the son! Let him try to make that garden breathe---let the
son try! No! It was only a garden among others for him. One---
on that precious little map of life his school had given him!
The trees were group-trees, the leaves and bushes group leaves
and bushes! Types, universals---not the breathing presence ntself!
Not the only garden in the world:
So he couldn't pass it on. He could only pass on admoni tions
about life, and advice.
Children remembered your being, the way
you looked into. the garden at dawn, sipping your hot cup of tea...
Not your advice.
He thought this with an absolutely sunken spirit, his head
down, quite motionless, his breath almost gone.
Pinkie's brother Nigel came over for dinner one evening and
they set up a table in the music-room with candles. HE Nigel looked
worried and kept moving his knee rhythmically under the table.
He seemed to feel out of place. Dick wandered in with Hanni
and they all sat having a drink. The four of them made gay
conversation for Nigel's benefit, exaggerating the closeness between
them, but this only seemed to make him feel excluded. He looked
robust, wit th massive shoulders and a bald, weather-beaten brow,
with wisps of blond hair, his face still soft and young, his eyes
with the usual blazing and selfless curiosity. But this. wasn't
his circle. He gazed
To.P.386


ferofe
çloseness
Nigel they exaggérated the OXARESS and' ogertement-uniting the four
of them,
presenee, and only succeeded in
making-
was
himfeel excluded? He/still-immon veryrobustwlooking, with massive
shoulders and a bald, reather-byeaten brow, with whisps of blond hairt
his face still soft and young, hiseyes with the old blazing curiosity
andselfiessmeus Dx them
Batlthis(skmlymasnt hiscirale. He gazed
at Dick, blinking. He tapped his foot, his eyes strained, and left early"
said
Pinkie/he was yory tired these days and had such a lot of work on his hands.
He'd found his wife couldn't have children and this was a great blow to
him, or so she thought---she'd heard it from one of her sisters. She and
Nigel hadn't ragged each other 'as they susually did when they were together;
a*? they only did it in the country, when they felt really at home: But
id Gein
there was) the intimate glow of respect in her eyes when she looked at him
Il had made Hes
over dinner: Waenanoy were together Ehey laoked 90 warm and glowing,
as thex sat lolling at the tablegl
givingan-impressionof bigness and thrivings healthy Sleshy t mede the
msuic-room look too small.'
Granville was troubled afterwards, wondering what was wrong with the
le- ak- ease -
house to make the man feel so outrofplace He couldn't see things clear-
had been
ly any more, and so he couldn't tell what hadnbeen Nigel's private wopry A
had had.
and what hadbeanthe effect off the housey Nigel sent a polite little
letter two days later from Wiltshire thanking them for an 'unusualt
had
evening. The music-room had looked fabulous: all its colours/stood
Nigal
out vividly against each other, like a tropical garden lit up.' Did Pre
mean that? Granville would spend two or three hours in this room in
the evening Bemebimes when there was no one in the house, simply absorbing
its brightness and variety: it was beinning to fill up with voices
Ray
Rutete now SHAY theyla had people in night after night; AppA sometimes he
enjoyed it better sitting there and remembering them in sidence than
actually being with them. The house wasn't weird for him as it had been
the first evening.
To P.388


Pheremoenonseling steediness-abont Dick thatattractedpeopie
forardshim, ebyebaygirlen It wathereffect ofbisselk-suffioer
tency. AHedidnltreedother people either that was the case ot his
styTe-was somprastisedand intelligent that neoner sould penetrate-it.
Agage andageineravitITew-him talking to a & - ra - IT the easy, pat
Psent-andrattentrattentivaumry heddonewith Lacy on the fisat-eyening. At
the café sometimes he would watch Dick talking easily with the waitress-
es, leaning back, his eyes light; the melted to him because no polite
was
talk 1 * H
Len were asked of them.
He was simple and modest,
dic. undaunted bthe-presene of strangers--estirred onrather They
didn't have to make a showo and thisvelievedthem
Pinkie said one
day that girls invariably felt that old Dick had a right to take them to/
bed, because he was 'so friendly about it'; he got down to.what they
were underneath, whereas other men would insist on looking at the 'nice'
side of a woman, where she made her 'pact with convention'." I Hisrquist
andsimple mannereliciteda weman's-bsuety he-treatedanexolusire
relation, the-wortd-sse-an enwyingspectatog-- that Was-hib-euggeation.
He left a woman free, so that she didn't feel seduced: he was simply A
studying the matter from the pleasure-principle point of view; their
interests might be identical sothatcespect---why not find out? The
Ax e ciod
first few words were already like kissesg theymadey kissing Neas
seemles
lep
Slv uade Joig lo
Ced
a ho
thm
: the
liday
kling
anonymous
gire
thav women
Dick
ackrowledped
Kr Aiking self
feu 2
Wat tkese wey,
Kad desies
CA A d
ATT


Granville began to perceive something in Hanni---that she liked
to be thought busy and in demand. She liked to appear suddenly
in evening dress saying she'd just been to a first-night, or that
she was about to go to 'the most wonderful party'. Sometimes she
seemed to enjoy making Pinkie feel left out, which wasn't difficult.
"Really?" Pinkie would reply, her mouth drawn down in a sorry way, 9
"I'd have given anything to go to a party tonight!" Yet she may
have been to one the night before.
The parties she wasn't invited
to were always the best ones, and Hanni was aware of her weakness.
But there were also times when Pinkie was invited out and Hanni
wasn't, and then she took her revenge, sometimes by asking her round
for a drink 'beforehand'---by saying - beforehand" she aroused-HannI's
curiosity. It was a grim feminine game. But slowly they were
forming an alliance---"If you can't beat 'em, befriend 'em---"
Pinkie told him one day---"is a.sound feminine principle!" They
would scheme to get each other invited out, and keep a strict
balance-sheet to see that not too much credit was given on one side.


ypakisrg
apetreachother Aviteoryne
A51 Ae /
If Granville met someone unusual he found he hurried home to tell
Pinkie
her, with the same triumph. : that Hanni showed when she was called to the
ly. A angar.
telephone; Pinkie would question him closely, gazing down with a slight
compression of her - brow as if chetes trying to choose in her mind whether
to accept or reject what he said. She was like an exa miner in the
social mysteries--- she could recognise something false at once.' Her
fundamental question was, "How did you meet them?" Everything hinged on
that.. And it always turned out that he'd met them through. some perfect-
ly ordinary circumstance---attthe office when he was with Dick; or sitting
in the café with Glenning or Ginger"; it was always through someone they
Inls both knew well---confined to the little group of people she knew he knew:
amall m 8 rude
It made him feel iike a child, offering her things thed-rouldn't * preee
hen
He might-have met-the-most-fabulous person-on earth (from the
tering world Pinkie imaginedoutside their circle---it was always outside
but it
their circld) tkough would always-have been shown that he'ddone so in
9 the most ordinary way; it would have beena chance-contact, andbrief,
because in himseif he hadn 't patsit position---he could never belong per-
manently to glittering folk; he hadn't the personal wherewithal to keep
up with them. He gad ty
but that was in-himselft there was nothing-
social-about
She list ened to himsqueamishly, and when she'd broken
his story down to its ordinary elements she showed both relief and disappoint
relied
ment - H-seemed chat re was ret ieved that no fabulous event had taken
place without her, and gat disappointed that. she wouldn't find the key to
He taenlous
Ard
aheus
it through him. The most spperb dew) contact, inarybasey avenwhat
renflic
came-through Hanior Glenningt always turned out to be a man in the end
not very different from other man!; She had a_primordial snobbery, not
Sscial
bwards Nouaier P5
a Re Imely
towards a lower /class but be the human
trinsnenos Some-
times when she came in and found him sitting in the bedroom alone, huddled
lveo
up in an armchair X it might bex wit thout a book, gazing in front of him7


she made a little gasp and hurried aways Hanni was different.
hilp,
therhad a touchor the more isNal-snobbesy.
Sut ne rad
intimabe-powo-me as well, Swhen he was alone she would come in and
talk to him, curling up on the floor, smoking slowly, with movements
that were at once rigid and graceful. Her dream of the fabulous
Sne and Piakie
social event had more simple vanity than Pinkie'sg the to -
them
eagerly discussed new contacts with each other, shutting themselves
up in the kitchen. He- was présent at some of these investigations.
They were harsh and clinical, laying the other person bare, until
a humourous caricature emerged.
It was like clever journalism.
There was no hint of other person's living presence, only his actions
and phrases and the farcical situations he got himself into. All
men were a little funny. Pinkie was always describing them as
'pompoust. Shotold himonee>thathe Was pearfully maseutine,
inferrineaamugged strie tness a Something orasiing-em overwholming
gace wienheta asked herif shed Pound a certain man inBasreh
only
attractive she said quickly, "Not
like queers really.
This didnetcoincide ith A observations,-bub-he-atseptedita
He began to be careful not to show himself too much, in case
the others took him for granted. He left the house sometimes when
he knew that she and Hanni were coming in together, so that he could
teturn an hour later and give the impression that he'd been away all
day. Howas annoyed with himself. Why couldn't he>stay in his -
chairand le tae 1l
ld pese aim
and live inhimself,
in humtlity, accepting thofrail, lonely flesh, not actin pride all
the time, seeing himself from the outside? Buthe coudan't) In
Basrah he 'd done it, and he'd seen other mén do it. But the art had
continuous
gone! There wasn't enough life inhim. He couldnit get back tohisT
To P. 392


He waited for parties and evenings-out fot the deadlock of
life to be broken; the affection between the four of them welled
up in a crowd of people. This was really how their friendship
was kept going: it went from one public event to the next!
There was always the exciting dressing-up beforehand, when Hanni
would arrive from the office with a little attache-case full of her
things and take a bath.and then start dressing in one of the rooms
downstairs, with the gas-fire on. The house would feel warm,
and a scent of bath-salts would float into the rooms. Sometimes
he would have a drink with her while she pored over her toenails,
claipping them and painting them, always talking in her quiet voice,
that had such powerful intimacy and steadiness in it, through tight
lips, as if her face were a rock. Pinkie would also come down, and
they would sit onthe floor by the gas-fire, safe in the knowledge
that they would be going out as a.group, already gay, and so needn't
feel nervous of the crowd later. "We always go to good parties,"
Pinkie said once, "because even when they're tad Lse ma ke the l
gond! Theg wer 'yod peyle la ininfe,
At a party Dick would 'go off', keeping to the side-rooms if there
were amy, until he'd found a girl. Pinkie would get extravagant
and dance. recklessly, Hanni would drink quietly at the beginning and
dance with style, then go wild at the end of the evening, though never
with absolute abandon.
Each party was a marvellous landscape with
new races of people, and they would catch each other's eyes across
this expanse and wave or wink with an intimacy they could never really
get alone. In a crowd they were always a family, but free and exciting,
gloriously unknown to each other. Dick would slip over to him and
confide something, usually about one of the girls: "I say, you see
that one with the bald head and the twitch, don't you? I've been
trying to shake her off all evening! I thought of giving her your
address!" Then he might make his loud, dusty-sounding laugh, like
Huh!
But the following day it was always the same as before, with
thoughts withheld and the conversation stylised and disjointed.
It wasn't that they held things back really-- --the more intimate
the talk, the better: but there had to be a special tone. You
couldn't show fear or misigiving.
The other person might get


ashamed of you. People who came to the house found them hard
and offhand---those who weren't hard and offhand themselves.
Hanni told him why Pinkie had got so. peeved with Dick a few
weeks before, about him always 'keeping things under his hat'.
"She wanted Dick to do some thing for Grove at the office," she
said quietly. "And he refused."
The name steuatered was like a blow,smack in the middle of
his face! She spoke steadily---she even said 'Grove' without
blinking an eyelid. And he tried to stop the hot trembling that
seized every part of his- body like a sudden wind. At the same
time he knew she was helping him, in a strange way. She was putting
out a hand to him but---!
Pinkie had wanted Dick to recommend Grove's firm in some way,
she went on, and Dick had refused---of course! (a smile, here)---
out of principle! Beaause Dick just didn't believe the firm was
a good one.
What was Grove's firm? He daren't ask her! He sat theure
smiling and he even found himself asking, "Now which one was Grove?"
His heart was beating at an enormous rate, and he tried to
prevent his eyes staring out of his head in a telltale way. The
trembling had concentrated itself in his middle, and for some
minutes he didn't hear a word she. said.
Ah, Grove worked in an advertising firm---he heard that! Here
he jumped in---and chamged the talk at once with something idiotic
about how public-relations was getting a racket these days. He
But
didn't know what he was saying. And she refused to be badged. She
went on to say, with the same quiet voice, like a nurse, that Grove
worked mostly in the evenings, ge tting round the clubs, and that his
only free evening was Firday.
Friday! He almost feàl off his chair and went deathly pale,
his lips dry and puffy.
GP316


Friday evenings! He remembered Pinkie's face when she'd told
him about the light on the operator's switchboard, she'd blinked
quickly. Had she blinked? It was all so ghostly, this
putting together of memories!
And again he made a quick
remark to cover up, though in a terribly Ansteady voice.
He spent the rest of the day trembling, his insides surging
up and down, his face flushed, and when Pinkie came in he
Houldn't talk to her.
But she was used to his by now and put
it down to his thinking out * some problem'. Gradually over
the next few days he got back to normal, with the new information
absorbed into the rest of him, to replenish the hidden nerve-
war.
He also thought he remembered Hanni saying---but it only
came to his consciousness now---that Pinkie's uncle, Lord
Maimbury, was giving Grove some: help---offering to draw him
in as a subsidiary of his own firm, perhaps? Or was that
dreaming? Of course!
But yet the words were clear before
him---out of the shadow# of his unheard conversation with Hanni.
A letter came from Mohammed. 'My darling Mr Granville,'
it said, 'a woman was murder in the souk yesterday, she has
beeen in my house, my dear, how are you, Mr Tomlinson from Port
of Beirut made inspect your office, I give him good tip for the
Races outside 7-2, we sweat, my darling, I am your brother, give
my humble satisfactions to Mrs Granville, I love you too much,
Yours faithfully, Mohammed Hadawi.' He smiled, but it was
remote; he didn't trouble to show itto Pinkie. A woman was
quite often KHXX murdered in the area of the souk, because
that was where the brothels were, along a tiny alleyway guarded
by the police. He'd seen Mohammed's signature many times before
but it struck him with no familiarity now. The words stuck
in his mind---'Mr Tomlinson made inspect your office'.


Chapter!
TAA suddenly
l war
tridlencd,
ehp
occurred to him that this inspection of his
was
aIt)
office
unusual.k
Why had it taken place?. Did it usually happen when someone was on leave?
was going t
h.p. He asked Dick and he didn't know.' If it was true that hefe-be/getting the
Beirut office it seemed funny that Tomlinson, about to be displaced, should
be allowed to inspect his. Or perhaps Komlinson was being sent to a
different theatre of operations altogether? But he'd been in the Middle
East ever since the war and was quite an authority: it seemed unlikely'
Basral,
Or perhaps they were thinking of sending him to Mooul as an exchange with
Granville, But he couldn't'imagine Tomlinson tolerating that---it would
be a severe reduction of rank; hefd met him once or twice and he seemed
a capable-enough person, tall, spectacled, rather brisk and aharp: Also
hehad an Arab wife, from Cairo---not a Christian Arab, either; it hepped
b matters with some of the sheikhs. He thought of writing to Mohammed about
it and asking him what Tomlinson had said. What files had he looked at?
Did he have the proper authority? Bit it occurred to him that he didn't
Talo need authority, since the Beirut office looked after the whole of the Middle
Rod
East and it was only Tomlinson's kindliness and tact that Jallowed him to
W as
assume otherwise. He becane troubled.
Perhaps they knew---at the London
Baxal
office---what was in his mind about going back to Mosul: its unreality
for him, and so forth.
Perhaps they knew he hadn't booked his passage
yet. But how absurdi How on earth could they know? He wrote two or


drafts of a latter to Mohammed, sitting in the bedroom almost a whole
day to compose it. Then he screwed it up. Of course it was usual for an
unsupervised office to be inspected! He wondered at the unsureness of his
wex
thoughts. Buahran Inspectionem/even a matter of courtesy.' Tomlinson
Baah
was the nearest English reppesentative to Mosti; Mdhemight-hawe been
asked by the London office to fly over-and see how things were doing und er
wen,
Mohammed; At he might have done it on his own bat, aathanatural thing"
hip. And Dick confirmed this the same evening. He said it was always done:
The dark thoughts left Granville and he couldn't imagine how he'd succumbed
to them so easily!
He realised next day, in the afternoon, that he hadn't Aphoned his
parents since his return, and that, too, was like waking up from a dream
What-hed-he-beendoing? CHe always rang them a few hours after he got
back from a visit somewhere---even a visit of a few days inside England?
And now, after two years---! - Pheylived just round the_correrguot more
than three miles away.
Wheb
doing, then? How could he
neglect them like this? But the griod had passed like a few bours,
ina strange disordered paralysis, sometimes ecstatic, sometimes grim,
going up and down likea frightfet dream: He hadremembered them, again
and again, he 'd even been on the point of 'phoning them---his hand had
actyally been on the receiver once or twice. But then he 'd told himself
that the time wasn't ripe, that he wasnittfit to speak to them yetf He
would speak to them when he could bring Abbottts Road clearly to mind,
and imagine all the circumstances there with relish.' Then he'd be able
totalk to them properly: otherwise he'd be a stranger to them, he
wouldnitbe able togivethen hisfallattention ras their son Itwas
hadiv
hecamr
astrange ides. I But he couldnt Aphone them, he told hi mself, whtbe <
his life was bound and strung down with ropes---in distress---blind.
Now, however, the time had come . He could see before him better.' The
optimism that had filled him at the Lido was still there. And he saw in


the future, appearing gradually from the dimness, a face---someone he
hadn't yet met---thrilling, and of a light, dazzling mystery he couldn't
describe. He couldn't make out : the exact features: but every now and then
the face, quite alone, in space, yould come before him, distant and yet.
clear, and gaze at him calmly, with a suggestion of sweetness, though there
wasn't precisely an expression at all; the face was alwaysstill, it never
turned aside or looked at anything else; it was even perhaps guarding and
watching over him. He had the impression of dark eypas hair - and dark,,
steady eyes, but he wasn't sure if this was an image that had come from his
sense of her steadiness or not; for it was a woman. He stood in the
music-room thinking about her, this face that gazed at him steadily and
with such calm and sweetness, so small and clearly defined, with no
ambiguities, andjalmspt stretched out his hand---yet there was no one.
The sunlight poured through. the window on to the carpet; the house was
empty and there was the hushed sound of traffic in the distance; nothing
ialo had happened in his life---he had no more friends than beforefhoumore
aativitiasy
day was still more or bess > Awaritingy for events, filled
with rituals, like coffee at elevetn and lunch alone in thekitchen over
the F - ret a
ng-newspapers, md then tea in the
hddroom over books which gave the day its form.
Nothing sa à happenede
he, was in as great an emptiness as before, the rooms and the silence of
rat asthonthe
the house were the same;
fact; leave was a
amendanet
lrut he had this sense of fullness---and events preparing themselves! how
astorlchtngkE-wee tohavea change of moodi Theearth laysqutenlythere
the time, itdidn't change: our bodies remained alone-w-we lugged
them from one place to another, always prisoners inthem. One moment we
were empty and deprived of future, and then An the next the worldwas full
wete
and warm, we were excited at everything, thoughwe Nd boen doing oxaetly
soe
the Same thing-/beforst
In this mood he hurried down. the stairs to the second floor and picked


up the wwppphone before he could think about it too much, and slowly he
dialled his parents' number. Nearlyiseverweeles mtara@apcatma.bonk
And
lc. ACterarabsenerofticoyearst - Aat-was
And As the number
rang he had a picture of Abbott's Road for the first time since his réturn,
vivid- and quite still, as if the houses were painted, and all at once it
Aese year
seemed impossible to him that he'd managed to live all thietime without
Abbott's Roads What a comfort it would be to go theret He imagined the
glowing dark cloth on the tableg
with the thick pile, btotmon
daapredy and the soft light that came in from the garden, di stilled by the
trees and the bushes and wooden fences, and the glittering green-houses,
wi th the elm-trees that always made a louig whispering sound when the wind
bent their branches a little. A white cloth would be laid over the thick
one about this time, for teaxt, and-the bowl of flowers in the middle,
on a lace doily, would be removed to the sideboard.' There would be the
hushed
clink of cups and saucers; and the/ sàwing sound as his mother cut the
breadf in perfect and equal slices; bhe clock would tick on the mantel-
hav
piece and make its modest little chimesA) CE E always quavered in the
silence for a moment afterwards4w4at every quartern while the kettle
begàn
to hiss in the scullery outside: It was a real placel There was no
ym werent
self down there all the time---only consciousness: paéda-self-usamntt K.
stranded in an area of flèsh and bone, but one hour flowed into the next,
You
teau
beyond onehs body, lost and unwatchful! Yet he'd/frightfully
lonely down there somtimes---more strànded than elsewhere---so dmeadfally
cut off, in a desért of slate and stone, So: silent and melancholy: that
-was what he feared.' moct He remembered the deserted years when he was
at high school---when sometimes helhad to pinch his skin- to prove to himself
es-ho was en-the Jearthgand not a pure, floating spirit, never talking,
with no one to talk- to, without future, lost in a boundless universe!
Andalse there-had-beon the-daysatter he and-Kit-had separatedybefere
hewent into the army, : 1t the seme ghost laidon thema These had-been


Hol
pexreblongulfon NYeti Abbott's Road yentrengandio alway ereame-backmith
ite/wdrmnessagay A boveyeatmany gukteuyoural & s L - a Lere
was cut
off---but what from? Fromthe world helived in nOW
Butyumorelthatt
simtptt-was-aut-otc-essentialag, from a life-giving root.' Iohadn'tonx
been Ihis changelathighsehooh thathbaddetaohred nim from the-streats,
There had-been something-mag-megativetolilein themy Yet his childhood still
lay there, from very long ago, intact. Therewasalways thisgreat will
Arpe
atwork in AbbottlsRoad) meking aneuy grotesque,hatd-countrysidoout-of
streets and grimy walls. / - At one moment it was a bleak and melancholy prison
for him, offering no thoughts, no friends, no future for him at all---only
its silence of a world cut off; and then, another moment; it was the only,
place-with an inti mate glowfo
Hy safe place he knew! Whet
everthialatterdiment camexhe-caught his breath-eshow had
managed
live without it all this time? And that was followedby the other moment,
of bleakness, when he saw enly the hard, interminable streets and the slate
roofs, empty and stilxs How he yearned to be there at this momenti
He would go upstairs to his old room and lie down, peacefully, with the
gardens outsiderif the old nightmares didn't seize. him; he always had to
guard against a sort of panic there: One day it might leave him. At
any rate he
could talk without thinking there, sitting downstairswith
his mother and father, t
a levtke Clock
could
Eicredinitinsilence Hke tho-coutryside a
the iny r dens
One)
doun'
didit
rhadtta let one s thoughts flow/there.
E 1 did He /have to pull his face
mps into agreeable expressions. He realised how automatic his control of
facial expressions had become over the years, since heleft Abbottts Road,
When Pinkie walked up the stairs he nearly always tried to undo any frown
there might be on his face, and raise his eyebrows a little, lift the
corners of his mouth in the suggestion of a smile, in case she gave him a I
sharp look and asked, "What's the matter with you this evening?" fepaha
thersauerwith Hanni andickn Nedouttthayliathesalundert bis sharp


Barah
reveasnnsa Their faces never found their true repose. Moeul had been a
wonderful holiday for him in this respect: every face lay in its tme oun
repose,, stern and glaring, not having reached a consciousness of its apm
i hers
effectf--its importance as a counter in public relations.
His mother came to the Aphone and answered in a. soft voice, touched
with enquiry, as if from a great distance. The enquiry was slightly
worried. "Who's that?"
"It's Philip!"
"Philip? Well, s'help me Godf" Her voice was animated at once, and
as always she said 'sthelp-ne-Gord', in one word. "When. did you get back?"
ago
"Oh, some time now---God knows what I've been doing efer since---it
feels like a few minutes!"
"I wondered when you were going to sphone. I said to dad this after-
noon, I said, he must be home nowt Well, s'help me Godt Talk of the
devil, eh? Well, how've you been keeping?"
"Oh, all right! How are things wi th you?"
"Well, dad's had a bit of a cold but apart from that things haven tt
been too bads" She always had a superstpitious reserve against saying
otter
things had gone very well: he imagined her at thejend, sarbertptionen
tals
plump and slightly flushed in her cheeks, with eyes a little pinched with
worrys Her voice was always soft and passive-sdonding over the Sphone,
and she seemed to be gazing at things. from a safe vantage-point,
coolly and remotely, in a place ghere she wasn't likely to be noticed, and
with a certain sadness, as if an enormous pageant was passing her byd
"Is Bad still getting out in the
gardem?"
"Oh, yes, trust him!" She paused a moment, waiting for him to speak?
There was always this effort at first, to reach the other 8 world. The
language was so different.
Then slowly he would begin to feel at ease :
he would feel all the struggles in his mind, its sharp girders and struts,
falling, while he laid himself open with a pained, unwilling relief.


Rorhy_mdo-himr feelthe chasm in his Lifemorse afterwarde, buasthasa
mparsueen She spoke again: "Howts Pinkie doing, all right?"
"Oh, yes; she's finel She's going out to work again now, you know. ff
"Go on, is she really? What, in the same job?"
"Yes, she thought she'd had enough of sitting round doing nôthing." - n
"Did she?" his mother asked. "Why---" she chuckled, "did she do a
lot of that out there, then?"
"Well, there was plenty of work, on e way and another, but we had
somebody to do the cleaning and everything. F
"Yes, I remember you saying in a letter you had plenty of help in
the house. So shets gone back to the office, has she? Some people don't
know when theytre lucky, do they?" she added with a laugh.'
"Have you been sleeping all right?" he asked.. chruneand-alerpony
ana
yhereap-hisTatheg wentoff the momentkisheadtouchedthepillowoeoMAEOTso
femtly-legond-haditi ad he hada deafening snoras
"Oh, the same as usual---I've never been famous for sleeping, have I?"
He could imagine her smiling at this moment, with a quick intelligent
glance after it. "I drink a glass of stout last thing at night---the doctor
said it might do me some good, but it doesn tt seem to make any differencelm
She paused. "Pinkie came back with you, did she?"
Kese
That was one of her divining questions: thoy were mostly rhetorical,
because for some reason she knew the truth already.
His voice faltered, and he hoped it wasn't noticed. "No, she came
beforehand."
"Oh, yes? I expect she had. the house to get ready and all that sort
of thing, did she?"
"Yes, there were dust-covers all over the furniture, and she had to
air the sheets and everything!" He said the first words that came into
his head, quite panic-stricken for a moment.
"Did she, really? I thought you let the place out!"


foh
"No, we gave the key to Pinkie's brother, don't you remember? And
he used it when he wanted to?" He felt an' impatience familiar from his
childhood of not being ynderstood quickly enough---as the two worlds in
which herd lived had grown further apart. Mostofathad gone nounBut
sometimeantbcamabachintohianicarendhignethermoulduakerdittte
ataramteheyweretesamesoniicta
"Oh, yes," she said, "that's right", in the slightly hurried way she
she fele
sohe
alyane had when thereld-bean a gulf of this kind. "I remember now. " Then
she added in a more direct voice, some of its pleasantry gone, "I would've
liked young Pinkie to come over for dad's birthday. Ke gave him ever such
a nice partyln
"Good God, was it his bfrhtday?" Cayee!
"Yes---oh, go on, I tell you once a year and you never rememberdfi
I think we'd drop through the floor if we ever got a birthday-card from
you, let alone a presenoal Weld fade out!"
"I'l1 try and remember next year!" he said with a laugh.) Pirthdegs
wergralong-etandingjoko-botheen thempanatherfamily-lagenda his sister
formonsh-erelt_andsa-puneruouta.dumps-montiol/Furshorcermtkor
why dida
thoyopeasaaytartalsnrt-colce La year always seemed such a frightfully
short timef ?
"Yes," she replied, "try is about all you will do, I expect---but as
to sending us a simple card, well, as I said to dad the other day, itts
ever
never happened yet and there's no reason to think it/willi athe-fubure,
eithort"
"Whents your birthday, then?" he asked with another laugh, but abashed.
September
"Well, if you promise to keep it a secret it's axky/15th--"
"But that's quite soon!"
"Bon't you worry about that, old son, it's long enough for you to
then
forget all about it and / swear black's white I never told you!"
"Well, was it a nice party?"


She chuckled. "Well, thanks for your interest!" Then she was
serious again. "Oh, it was really nice, Philip! You know, I think
people really enjoyed themselves. It isn't often ycu can say that, is it?"
She seemed to narrow her eyes thoughtfully, and a strange sophistication
came over her, of an inherited kind, with nothing deliberate about it.
"Of course, you can never really. tell, can you, when yougre running round
wi th sandwiches and cups of tea and that sort of thing, looking after every-
body? We had ever such a lovely cake---I went round to Hemmings and
ordered it the week before. I thought, well, they're just as good as
making it yourself, and you don't have all that bother with getting all the
ingredients and mixing and all that nuisance. I don't mind doing it at
Christmas time but what with getting the drink in as well and, you know,
little presents for dad, I thought, oh, blow it, I'll go down to Hemmings
and see if I can get one t0 order! And, you'd be surprised, that cake
was one of the best I've éver tasted. It was lovelyi Well, people came
up to me and said, this is a lovely cake you've made, Mrs Granville---SO
it just shows you,doesntt it? Sometimes you take a chance and they let
you down, then at others you strike lucky!" She laughed softly. "They
kept on asking what I'd put in it and all that sort of thing. of course,
(ds I never said anything. I thought, well, if you want to think it, think
it---Itm not saying anything! I thought, I'm the only one who knows: whe re
I got it, so why worry?"
"You haven't got a bit left for me, have you?"
"Well, I saved a couple of pieces for you and Pinkie, not that yo u
dserve it, thought!"
"How old was dad---sixty-four this time?"
"Sixtyfive. I thought, oh well, wegil give the poor old bugger a
party!"
"Did he enjoy it?"
"Did het Trust himi He got soused and couldn't roll his'r's as


usuall I think he had a better time than anybody else I* Well, he never
Tal was slow at having a good time, was he?"
"What about you, when's your sixty-fifth coming up, is it next time ?"
more Yorun
"Oh, don't say that, sont I've got two/years/yet: But I don't
suppose anybody'll give me a party. Some people wondered why we made such
a fuss about him being sixty-five, but I thought, well, we didn't do any-
thing when he was sixty, or when I was sirty for that matter, so why not?
I think you need a good party now and then, don't you? It sort of lcosens
you up!"
"I'm sixty-three in September. It makes you think, doesntt it?
Time doesn't stand still!"
"I always think of you as about sixty all the time---both of you!"
"Well, I wish we could stay there, old son, but we cantt, can we?
It's all right when you're young, but when you get to our ripe old age
the years start running like little rabbits. It doesn't seem two years
since you and Pinkie went out there, does it?" She paused. "Well,,
Philip, how do things suit you out there?"
"Oh, quite well!"
"Is the work interesting?"
"I expect you've had some interesting experiences all round, haven't
sut
"Lots, yes. It's a very nice atnosipare/thare-rou know, in the
"Is it really? Well, that_s the main thing, isn't it, if you've
got nice people round you in your work?"
"Yes. I've got a very good assistant. I don't know what I'd do
without him!"
"Go on! He's a real good worker, is he?"


"Yes. He's an Arab."
"Is he really? Well, that's really lucky, isn't it? You can never
tell what sort of person you're going to get, can you, especially if youtre
Jourdelf
a foreigner,"
"No. I might have got a completely dishonest person, and not knowing
might
the language it/puldprobanly have taken me alcont a year to find out,
suppose he was fiddling the accounts or something like that!"
"That s right! Then you'd have to take the buck back yourself,
wouldn't you?"
"And there S another thing, when you
away and leave the office
gopng
you do know. you're leaving it in good hands, don't you?"
"Oh, I could go off for three montis and not worry---well, it'll be
two months when I get backthis time!"
"Well, I bet there's not many people in business who can say that,
afraid
np. is there, especially abroad like that?" He was &afraid she would ask
when his leave would be over. ÇIn a week or so2--he couldn't bear to say
iti But she said nothing.
"He saved me from a riot once," he went on, talking about Mohammed.'
"Go on, did he, really? What, were you in the middle of it orsome-
thing?"
"Well, I was in a hotel, and they were throwing bricks through the
window."
"And he walked right through it all and took me out to his car, and
they didn't say a wordy"
"Didn't they, really? Well, it just shows you, deosn't it?. Good-
ness gracious met I dare say they had a respect for him, didn't they,
and thmought, well, any friend of his is a friend of mine, sort of thing?"
"Yes, that, RS right.' Anyway, they didn't try and throw any bricks at
mef"


"Still, it's a nasty experience, isn't it? Do they get real wild,
"Oh, yes, they scream and cry when their blood's up---you know, when
there's a'real riot."
"No, do they, really?"
"I saw a young chap with tears pouring down his face---he was shouting
about the government or something! - You ought to have seen him!"
"Go ont They get So worked up they don't know what they're doing
any more, I suppose?"
"That' s right!"
"I expect you felt damned lucky to get out of it alive, didn't you?
A jolly good thing this Arab was decent, wasnteit? Did he know you were
there, then, or did he come in by accident?"
"No, he knew I was there because I left the office about an hour
before to see a client, and I told him where I was going. So when I didn't
turn up he put two and two together."
"Well, s'help me Godi There aren't many like him, are there?"
"Nol Of course, everybody knows when there s going to be a riot.
Usually, anyway. They always go on round the colleges."
"Do they, really? What, the students?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Oh, and this time they thought they'd have a go at one of the
hotels, did they? I don't knowt of course, it would be just when you're
in there, wouldn't it?"
"Well, mostby English and American people stay there, so they thought
it was a good place to throw bricks at, I suppose."
"Why, ' did they want to get hasty with the English, fatambrtistaridy then?
doie
I suppose if the truth was tild they got so frantic they didnit know what
they wanted to dof"
"Well, it's little wonder they riot, really, considering the way


they're treated,"
"Why, aren't they treated right, then?"
"Well, most of the people are half-starved. And you ought to see
the money the rich ones throw away!"
"Go oni It's pure greed, is it? Well, those people deserve what
they get, don't they? And I supposé they think you're in with them, do
they?" Toanogathedogisnan heracand0u
teally.
"Yes. But I don't think they'd touch a foreigner; It's funny,
isn't it? They'll set on their own policeman, but I bet if I walked out
into the street they might jéer at me, but they wouldn't hurt me."
"Go on? Rbeylvegot spme Respote/Tauprosed I expect they think,
well, he might be bad, but he's not as bad as our loti And from the sound
of it they're not far short of the truth, are they?"
"Nol You ought to see how some of the rich ones behave. Sometimes
they won't let the poor have a doctor, even if they know they're dying:
They say they don't want the doctor to get his hands dirty!"
"Not Well, that's just wicked, isn tt it? I don't know, some people
are the limit, aren't they? Fancy thati Not letting a man have a doctor
if he's dying!" And she added, "Oh, well they'll get their reward. They
don't do things in this country that they ised to do, do they? The people
saw to that. We don't stand for things like we did in the old days.
Well, they say you can take a horse to the water but you can't make him
drink, don't they?"
There was. a bustle at the other end, and she said with a laugh,
"Watch out for it, Philip---it's just come in from the garden! Old
Noséy!"
"Yes!" There was some murmuring at the other end, and he heard his
ln a joking lay,
lals
mother sayfin jek ng wey, "Qll right, don't push, you'll get therel


Here S your dad, hold on a minute, Philip!"
She moved away from the Aphone and he heard her shout playfully,
"Why the hell don't you wash your hands when you come in from the garden?
Look what yougre doing to that lphone!"
His father answered in an elated way, between his teeth, "Go on,
you're always on the grouse!" Then he bellowed into the fphone, "Hullo,
Philip! How's things?"
"Oh, all right! How are.you keeping?"
"Not too badi Mustn't grumble! Your mother's always on at me,
of coursel She never gives the old man, a minute S peace!" He heard
his mother say in her rich way, in the background, "Yes, that's right!",
and laugh. His father went on, "Well, when are we going to see you,
"Some time this week, I thought. I'll fix something up with mum."
WThatgs right. How's Pinkie, all right?"
"She's fine! I was telling mum, shets gone back to the office."
"Has she really? What S the matter with her, dopy? Does she like
work or something?"
"She seems to, doesn't she? Are you still getting out in the garden?"
"Oh, yés! I've just been doing some watering down in the green-house?
Couldn't get down there last week, I had a bit of a colal
His mother again said something in the background---"Oh, go on,
don't make such a damned fuss abcut a snuffle! Anybody'd think you had
pneumonia the way you carry onf"
says
"Hear what she 1 Hie Philip? She leads me a hell of a dancet
Anyway, I just brought in some nice chrysanths, and the gladioli came out
nice this year. Tell Pinkie I've got some nice bulbs for her to take."
"Oh, goodi"
"Well, how are things over there, son? Are you doing all right ?"
"Not too bad. I've just been telling mum, the work's very interest-


Hll
"Oh, well, that s the main . thing, isn't it? How does Pinkie keep.
out there, all right?"
"That s godd? We'd like to see you." And he added politely, as
if hetd made a blunder, "Both of you." Granville could imagine him with
rather a puzzlèd expression, blinking, trying to see things properly:
His mother was always talking al bout his blunders of tact? - And often, as
in this case, there hadnT been one.
gEs
"I expect it gets nice and hot out there, doesn 't it?" his father
aske ed.
"Yes, it certainly doest
The sweat pours down your back in the
summer.
It's iike leaning against a wet towel all the timet"
"Go on, is it really?"
"There aS nothing you can do except sit downstairs in a kind of
cellar all day, and even there it's badlingI"
"God love old Ireland!" his father exclaimed softlya Iyaslika
pa.enogohep mercod alasordlord) untteret inthe (same Saftly
rerordoeg
astonished way/ Nrmade/Trelanc sound a &
courbrynon - ome easen
atr
huge and a
kg jusciousgreenTiend stretobingascag/oslthe
AAATALAA
> - "I expect it gets you down sometimes, doesn't it?" XAM1F009/193A94
"Yes!" Then he said, "I hear they gave- you a good birthday party?"
"That's right! I got as tight as a fiddler's bitch, so they told
mel We didn't half have a lovely timel Quite a crowd there was, toof
Kum got a beautiful cake down the road---"
His mother said something, and his father laughed---"She don't like
it when I tell the truthi Mustn't tell the truth, oh nol - You're supposed
know
to say she made the cake when you damned-well/ she didn'tl Love old
Ireland, you ought to have heard the lies about that caket Your dad


H12
nearly put his foot in it, though! She had to give me a kick in the shins!"
He added, "Still, she put the icing on. That s all she could do for the
poor old bug.' They get lazy in their old age, son."
"That)s right!"
"Well, mum wants to talk to you again. So we'll be seeing you
shortly, then?"
"Yes, that s right, I'll fix it up with mum."
"Good boyi Cheerio, thent. Give my love to Pinkief"
"I willi See you soon!"
knit When his mother came to the *phone she said softly, "He's a
proper gas-bag, that man, isn't he? And he's never got anything to say!"
She chukcled, WExcept when he can put his foot in it. You ought to have
him
heard/leading off about this cake at the party, telling everybody where
I got it, I could have killed himt And there was I keeping quiet about ittt
istill, he gotenough tor axinkythat'sshe main thing, isnitit?"
"Well, he hadhis fair share i son, you can takeit from mes I don't
only needs a sip 12 sometking
know, it does Thttake anytting to make him Ap soppy! I think if hetd
had ginger wine he' mkd havebeen the samel"
"Oh, he's still thorsaue like that, is he?"
"Oh, yes! Still, hets not pangh a drinker, I'l] say that s Not
compared Somoftheg. 4 C He likes his pint now and then but he never
goes down the road any more on Sundayts like he used to---you know, not
unless theress a crowd of us and it's Christmas-time or something!"
"Do you still go down the Co-op?"
"Oh, yes, we still have a social cnce a week."
"Where do they hold it now?"
"Oh, up at Tatlin Broadway, or down the road in the parish hall
sometimes. Do you remember when we used tohave down at your school?"
He temembered Kow
"Yes!" iis was - tie shhool-thet, - ad been-bombed, The buffet would
be laidout in one of the class-rooms, and his mother sometimes had charge


K ligfu
of the katering. He' conid remember the tall jugs of lemonade on the
teacher8s desk, and the rows of. ham sandwiches. He used to swing on
the bars in the dark cloak-room while the dance was going on, or creep
into the top clags-room where his own desk was, wondering, at the mystery
of being there alone when there were/no lessons, in half-darkness, sole
Shangp
inhabitant of this Montepoorpitete territory with its crayon drawings
orthewand and maps and rows of desks, and the blackbooard with sums all
F Cotdl;
over it, and the windows that pulled down with a skoxa/ it made him a kind
of owner---he could pick up the books po-biapoachertsdosk, and touch the
class-lists, that-Nerepimed-bobined-bobindito When they got home, about eleven,
Soml
Ause
his mother would unwrap pm-oc-shcsa.poupberor sausagésy and they would
sizzle
isxxte with tomatoes in the scullery for the next half-hour, while his
father put his slippers. on and the çioth was laid, and his mother totted up
the takings for he evening in her caterihg-book. He remembered his.
elation.
shudders of taakto on Saturday afternoons when they were sitting in the
cinema at Tatlin Broadway,
when
thought, "Itis Social-night tonight!",
in childhbed;
in the darkness. How extraordinary those shudders were, like bajng touched
from-beyond life; then, they died outo aCtér-childhoody andnever camer
againo
She. added
AWell, when are we going to see you?" ps-wbhor-askedh
"Why don't you come over for tea first of all, and then we'll make
a date to come over and see you. What about that?"
gov
"It's all7 right by me. o What's Pinkie going to say about it?"
tix Smathiis
"Oh, she asked me to meke-en-arvengemens with you."
then his mother said in
They arranged a day for the next week, ENUXEHRXEONXREexxaktexXXX*XXYXXRXEYAIX
a quiet voice, "I suppose I ought to have given Pinkie a ring about
dad's party, didn't I?"
agam
It was in her wondering voicef when-sheWastrying terfindont some-
thingbut Trasattclear herselfwat it wasy Perhaps she knew-moret than
hedidi Therewas some-regret-in her voice


But/herd t61dher nothing,
Perhaps sheld rung up before he got back and
been ansyered by man's yoice,
Or perhaps-her_cimpie powers of divination
wére enough, without the full factss
"Yes, you should have done," he replied, with the sense of surrender-
ing a secret: "Shegd have loved it.* Su wa Lese a mon h hefore he !"
nom so she was-tkere sone time before you gotbacky wasahe?"
"Oh, yess she came back about a month before,"
There was a slight pause, then his mother said, "What a silly I was,
then, I ought to have *phoned up, didn't I?" She spoke slowly, as if to
herself. And she added, "Well, give her my love when she comes in, won't
you? Andtell her Hahaveliked to-haar-fram-Tbrn? Shall I bring what's
left of the cake over when W6 come?"
"Ch, yes, would you?"
"All right; then.
It'll make the old man think he's having another
birthday party, wontt it?"
aid PR -
they augh et
th S the
Pigista
ConvepasEsonendsa, He walked a wayfrom
different
the pphone in a new spirit.
- Aiecomont Everything lookedt--the walls
by the staircase, the carpet with a strip of sunlight falling acrossit,
the colgurs of the music-room, so sharp and variedi He was-astonished
that all the darkness could leave him in this way, after a few moments on
the *phoned -had mede
ferenee He felt clean and
disburdened, and the thoughts were nolonger crossing and fighting in his
sense
head. Foorythingin-his-bady was functioning ight andhe hadthe SAME
of health and a flewofgood life through him, without Anterraption-op
confliati Hewent upstairs 2 the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea,
tonkin
itali contented, quitelosty gazing befire him: Herd reallx talked to someonel
merhapsthat was thé differencet
She had
There was a quiet-regard between his parents and Pinkie.
Thene > wans
nothing smallabout her---that was what impressed them most. She was
scatter-brained and untidy, not very good about the-house, and_perhaps she


Then they said goodbye. As he walked away from the
phone he had a sudden warm, tingling. image of the Abbott's
Road school on Saturday evenings, at the Socials. He could
remember the tall jugs of lemonade on the teacher's desk,
and the rows of ham sandwiches. He used. to swing on the bars
in the dark claakroom while the dance was going on, or creep
into the top classroom where his own desk was, silent and
dark and mysterious, with crayon drawings clustered on the
wall, and strange white signs on the blackboard, and maps and
rows of untenanted desks, and windows that pulled down with
a cord and made a clang. When they got home, about eleven,
his mother would unwrap some sausages and these would sizzle
with tomatoes in the scullery for the next half-hour, while
his father put his slippers on and the cloth was laid, and
his mother totted up the takings for the evening in her
catering book. He rememberd his shudders of elation on
Saturday afternoons when they were sitting in the cinema at
Tatlin Broadway---when he thought to himself,"It's Social
night tonight;", in the darkness. How extraordinary those
shudders were, im childhood; then they died out!
He felt clean and disburdened, and thoughts were no
longer crossing and fighting in his he ad. He went upstairs
and made himself a cup of tea, contented, gazing before him.


Once his mother had told him that Pinkie reminded
her of aunt May, in the lavish, golden style she had, in
her slapdash generosity. There was something in their
voices, too, that was similar---not the tone exactly, but
a richness that couldn't be described, as if it came from
past generations, like a song with.a great ancient depth in
it; they had sing-song voices, floating up and down, far
beyond people.
Niametherbelievedin tke Aigher wonld' muchas her
had doné once. They were all delicate, fastidious, happy
peopde up there; they never knew trouble or anything prob-
lonatic in life! She was always astonishéd if she he ard
of a rich pérson having ahandicap of some kind---say, a
paralysis. Therewasa, timidly hopeful dream that money
cured éverything. In the higher world there were rich
people wit th cars and servants, and aristocrats, and 'top
society'. It was all intact. Pinkie, by virtue of her
connections-, -wasn't her uncle a lord?rvrwas already included
in that polite, smooth, deathless world for her. All
Pinkie had to do, surély, was to ask, and one of these lords,
living it up in the clubs of London, taking flights all over
the world, with butlers, footmen, maids, tenants and obedient
flunkies everywhere, would hand some thing out---"Give the girl 4
a thousand A year and tell/her to keep the change!" When
he spoke about Nigel's house in Wiltshire she saw a palace
where he also was treated like a lord: "Hére, boy, take
Mr Gfanville's trunk and give him thirty pounds from my çash-
bos to see him through the afternoony Send over/lord Muck
and tell him to come to tea taxmeefxmyxbratheX*iR******x
because my brother-in-law's herel"-- - (pronounced heah!).
The laboyr party, to keep its old platform, encour aged the
idea that the old status guo was intact, and the faet that
a different world had come into being with no rank in the old
sersewasninowlengeonty-eronongtheyoung.
When Pinkie came back that evening he told he'd phoned
his parents. And she said non-committally, "Oh, good!"
To 419


attinon. Before, all the time they'd been in Basrah, she'd been tremulous-
ly aware of people; therehadunearlyalwaysubeenaflashrof-oxcited iife
seemed
tis
liy Amberintheevening. But now she was flat. Agatind It struck him that, A
Stahs * must be the office,) Har-liferequicod NO efforti there-wasoasonlythe
work. But, on the other hand, she looked more peaceful than before, pbdt
less sentitive to every little change in the outside world; his glances
and moods were of less importance to her. Shensededthisrest from-con
stantlyoomparing herself withotherpeoploand feeling bare toliferas
she had in Basrah,and fromalways Coeling-wrong,-from-yearning ta besome-
+ be
where else all the time, orf semebedy elee, Sheneeded-te-betaken for
granted again, as shewas at theoffice, andtohavethe Seeurity-orthe
same faces every days Sohe waswilling to-leep_quiets she gave-him his
freedom, tosr
Their
in a1 newway:
tegete
wilt
His sex was disorderedg it had something to do with their life, appa
this city---not with either of them in themselves.) lerwasmore- - Lua ha
extensionenofmasturbationthamanoutwardacts Atrdidntt
ght dowa
tahiscentrerof-beingy butremainedon-the surfaces In an orgasm he rarely
had the sensation of releasing everything---only the surface-e-evacuation
required by the friction of sex, not a spasm of his whole being. ) Hawas
aware of this by contrast with the times when they had-moved-togetherand
achieveda olitax shet-mede thenbele ) of their being Shuddered In Basrah
it had beén better. Sex had been more distinct from the sentiments and
courtesies of life than here; it had a rawyaebera quality, like the hard
desert
sun on the miles of
outside, static and unyielding. But #ere,
C A
PLRE
although the air buzzed with sex, and there were preparatory comings and
had teen
goings all the time, and escapades, some hidden damagey wwe)done, and the
flow of life in this respect, as in all others, was interrupted. Just
as there was a great system outside in the streets, throbbing and moving
all the time, so a system took hold of one's sex; athoktmsshutoshtae
sex was no longér the intimate glimpse into darkness and mystery, the only


one vouchsafed in life; one wasn't engulfed---it was a civic ejac-
ulation! They hardly cried out in the orgasm; the sound was more like
the rush of breath from exhaustion, a kind of CO ugh, as if they were
being wracked,at one remove from the real thing.
In the evening after he'd Aphoned his parents they sat togetherf
for a change, and no one called.
The house was pleasantly quiet and
he was glad to have her alone with him, sitting opposite him at the
hearth, reading the par per. A car would pass in the street outside,
hushed, making the roadway crackle slightly, or someone would walk by
with quiek steps in the silence of the evening, while Pinkie rustled
her paper, her legs stretched out.
He sat there gazing before him,
watching the dusk grow, quite at peace.
It rarelg happened these days
that someone didn't call.
They made coffee as they'd always done in
Basrah, sitting in the kitchen to drink it. They hardly talked to each
other.
Their going to bed was always a comfort.
It always cancelled
out what had happened during the day. A peculiar intimacy they could
never capture during the day flowed back into them.
She was more or
how,
less a stranger to him, he couldn't read the thoughts in her face, but
he crooked his leg over hers in the same way every night, and put his
arm round her waist, in a dumb, blind, automatic way, while she crooked
her legs up too, and all reserve left her; then they sunk into sleep,
joined together in a strange, black, dusty region where there was no
touch or noise.
It made them both calm at once, as if their bodies
were independent of themselves, and only their minds made the terrible
interruptions.
The performance of 'Hamlet' to which he invited Hanni and Dick
produced a first-class row between the four of them. A peculiar cold-
ness came over Dick during the first act and he began criticising every-
thing in a crisp, academic way that annoyed the others.
His voice


broke slightly as he talked, with - suppressed irritation.
Hanni said
he was often like this when he was given a treat: he reacted 'agin'.
But Pinkie said afterwards that there'd been some friction between them
because it was one of Dick's 'evenings-out' periods, when he had the
right not to return to Hampton Court if he didn't want to, and the in-
vitaticn had cut across this. - At first he'd told Hanni over the Aphone,
1) Tut
"I'm sorry and all that but I just cah't Kumexktang comel; Hanni ahad
she'd
insisted, Marevery because Granville was going away so soon, and herd
taken his wallet put of his jacket in the morning, leaving him with
just enough money to get to the office.


TRG)
agier woik
Then. she'd met. him at-the-offtee and dragged him along to the theatre.
Sat
There was a glittering upstairs-foyer where they stant talking;
kerow
that was where *) started. And it didn't explode into anything direct,
much less loud, but went on all evening in an underground way, as if they
were all talking about something much more intimate thàn a theatre-perform-
ance, though they couldn't name it or even talk about it directly; there
had to be a surface-language for it. None of them had kEREX eaten and
that made the atmosphere worse. Pinkie had a strained, pale. face, and
Hanni's lips were tight-closed. Pinkie enjoyed the performance and said
so: there was plènty of scenert, she said, and plenty of odd poises off,
instead of all the barebones productions you were dished
up withnowadays,
Ake
with a bit orfowisted iron representing a throne and a trill OR a clarinet'
for the forest of Arden. * The actor de Cloud wasn't up to much, she said,
but you could hear what he said and he had a respect for the verse, which
was also rare these days.' She said it in a rather rasping way, clatter-
ing out her words, her chin lifted with a show of self-confidence, and
perhaps this annoyed Dick. She knew tHamlet' more or less by heart, and
nmpospar
said shetd read it, like most of the other tragediessa score or so times
before shé was sixteen: Shakespeare and animals had been her childhood
passions. Dick also fancied himself on Shakespeare, from a more.academic
angle.' And he challenged her. -
"I don't think he S got a respect for the verse at
he said:
"Oh, and what---?" Pinkie began.'
Dick cut her s hort with a brief, devastating glance, his lips
making a strange little shiver before he spoke, "It's not what I think, ittar
llr It's what I can Brove."
That started it. It wasn't at all like Dick to say this sort of
thing, and the others at once assumed, by bheway they bohavedy that he
was looking for a row without lorying mich about the prâtekt3 Pinkie
Talo made a grim, uhsteady guffaw, and cried, "Really!"
To P422


fod - A
Granville's temper was up because of the tone Dick had taken.'
He didn't think de Cloud was as bad as all that, he said---there was nothing
clever or fancy about him, anyway. à This was in the interval and the bell
went before Dick could say any more. They walked back to their seats in
the circle in a grim file---more or less in the order of their indignation,
Dick first, his lips white, then Pinkie, her head lowered in the prowling
was
ton
way she had whên she DEHAK on the defensive, and Granville followed by Hanni,
who was the calmest of them all.' The moment the curtain went down at the
end of the play Pinkie turned round to Dick as if there 1d been no interrupt-
ton in what they'd said and asked in a loud voice, "Well, what have you
got on your mind, if you can put it in a decent way; that is?" It was in
what Dick-semetimescalled her 'patrician' tone, when she gazed at a point
to one side of the other person or at his foot, her lips pouting* Dick
sat looking firm but not a little scared: for a moment they were like
two children with a lovable power of intimacy as they sat side by side,
their faces small and refined, their eyes cith the same light-blue trans=
parency, flickering and sensitive, terribly aware of every little change
danai
Corausille
in the other person.
could have stopped the
al aug monent
- He Akars
quarrel by saying something pleasant, byt they left
alone
in the field. There was a grim intimacy between Dick and Pinkie that was
baffling---which was perhaps why they didn't interfere. They stuck at
tako each other as if settling another score.' The rest of the audience trickled
out of the circle, leaving them sitting alone, until the hoi use-lights went
down and an usher aske d them to go. The usher spoke withaut ceremony and
this nettled Pinkie further. She was about to answer back and cause a
scene when Dick said quietly, "Now, then, take it easy!"
Hamlel sag
Dick said hetd heard/ 'enseamedt as a word of two syllables when it
has feen)
should
and also 'precedent' had been pronounced the modern way,
have/threef;
beou
also
whereas the emphasis should be on: the middle syllable. He disliked the
way de Cloud emphasised 'master' in 'master the devilt in Hamlet,s third


speech from the end. The argument went on at home in Chaworth Road, in
the music-room; Hanni and Dick came back by habit---the argument gripped
them all together so much that parting was unthikkable. No one mentioned
that the last train to Hampton Court had gone. It was quite usual now
for them to stay the night, together ot alone.
"I mean," Dick said, "look at the way that fellow talked to the
players, flinging his arms aboutt He did everything he was telling them
rls not to dot". Then he added, "It just didn't come off!"
And Pinkie would brush/aside everything he said like a flyd He was
Kolo amazed at her confidence. "It came off for me all right!" she: cried:"
"1Come off'1 What do you think he was trying to do---sell
ups
you something?"
rotta
Ehis yas/the impression-Dick-gaye,
that syoxything
had been done on the stage to catch his interest or praise in some way:
itwas alx gestures and signs, which he criticised, His tone was the same
as when he talked about himself judiciously. He was watohing from afar,
his leg crooked, an absent expression onhis face. asif hetd deliberately
kinseep
te mind
shorn i of asl feelingi to leave 1t free for cool observation. And he
talked softly, keeping his voice dowwith an effort; and yet the effort
INES
was llsa part of Vhischaractery seeming nataral and Spontaneo ts ta hine
Pinkie was mocking him, really. She sat there smiling, though defensively,
nP. with a little flickering of her eyes, her chin moving up and down. She
gazed across the room at him with narrowed, disbelieving eyes, as if every-
thing he said was a cheap and obvious little ruse. The atmosphere got
worse and worse. The more she cracked the pegrformance up the more Dick
loy picked on a little error of text---if it was an error, for no one could
remembern exactly what had gone on.' He spoke crisply, holding back,
quite still in his chair, gazing across at the open window where Pinkie
and Granville were si tting together on the divan. And Hanni spakedn
muohthe-samerstyles though she dieagreed-wgth him. Her-diparhardly movad,
ardherreytewereficedassho talked, Pandutaoemedastfsherwas-ffakang
To.P.725


pha.nma.estort/anconlcdrdudiotuanobogrrasdon_bhougr.stmunmnto
marasoteriothe would say without the slightest note of interest da
bervoicenlikasomeononaisagerermennt-effieffsoeputting-owrelstatement,
Sur thought Hamlet's soliloquy at. the graveyard was well-done, didn't you?"
le -
or "The decor for the play-within-the-play was clever, don't you think so?"
nip. Pinkte Bava the impreasion-that-sbeldactumilyenjoyed the plays in her-
self, - and so. çould lean back on the Aivan and talk as casually as she wanted,
because ali she had to do was to remember what her feelings had been; she
didntt choose hef words as Dick and Hanni did, they Had a natural and flowing
lonld
sound, and one/tell exactly from-them what her state of heart had been
duringthe performance. Put Dick and Hapni conveyed nosense of themselyes;
jt was impossible to say what it would have felt like to be them during
the performance. Their wordsdidn't convey the feeling of the theatre as
Pankie's did, or what it had been like to watch the vivid, glowing lights
she
of the stage from the darkness e When Pinkie talked one could imagine
being at the play again, and actually being inside it---inside the actions
and story, asif they'd been one's own life. When she said-THamlet? it
seemed that she was talking about a real person; and the quarrel between
Hamlet and his mother seemed close and intimate fo hero et
It was clearly her at the play, talking from what her own feelings had been
without feference to opinions or what other people might expedt of her;
what she said about the play was a description of herself. So she was
perfectly at ease, and leaned back watching Dick as he chose his words,
chuckling. Both he and Hanni gave the Ampression of a kindof objective
mechanism that had seen the play- remaining still while the performance
mot
tired to work its charms on themo - i tin
vess They
might be judging a performance for public' and official purposes-- - say, for
which nyein lro selecled la represen e
a possible subsidised performance, 9 thet uld-hev a A comprise the most
expertftalent in the country; a matter to be judged fairly, without
prejudice. Theré was even l feeling of vocation behind it. They were
To P.433


Underneaththe argument-there-wag somethingsmplacableinvolvingall
b ofthems Hanlet WaS only theroccasionv All the
unresolved elements
angument)
ouly
in their friendship welled up in the sitenoe ptokobs But indicated/in
walking
sor
a tone of voice or abittoaly hostile. glance, like ghostsbetween them.'
The silence was full of things that hadn't been said in the last few weeks,
with the strange comings and goings in the house.' What did Dick know about
Pinkie's doings, on Friday evenings for instance? Phatquestionocaurved
RoGranvillo, SWhy was there this intimate struggle of hatred between Dick
and Pinkie? What went on in. Hanni's mind? What did she do on the nights
ral Dick went out---did she have lovers as well? What did she know about Pinkie
which she didn't passon to Granville? What did Pinkie know about Hanni
which she didn't pass on to Dick? What sort of friend was Dick---this
in his middle---
Hata occurred to him like a stab sfxacutfn K
to tell him nothing, never to
put out his hand to help---to see the marriage going down before his eyes---
to see him falling fron blindness to blindness---knowing what Pinkie was
doing---seeing what he was hiding from himself---but what was Pinkie doing?
A.p, All these thoughts jostled about and fought in his brain while the talk
went on about Hamlet. Were the others doing the same? Did they all accuse
each other of something; but the presence of a third person made it imposs-
ible for them to say it? Was Hanni against Dick in her dry little arguments
about Hamlet because of the evening he 'd had with the Junoesque girl?
What was the pattern underneath? When would he know? Sometimes he felt
that Dick could havé thrown a knife at him, sitting on the other side of
w A
the hearth, his lips pale; his ofn eyes, glaring at Dick, might have said
the same!: It reminded him of the time in"Hampton Court gardens, when
there Infad been a stormy silence in the sky and all the leaves had been
had
beeu
still: they-were all/gripped together witir the same uncanny enmity that
lais was beyond any one of them. Whose purposes were they serving? How did
these moods arise? What was the plan underneath?
Te P.H36


own personality as of no account, yet giving the lines his own life,
with a peculiar intimacy. One could follow what he did and said in a
special' çlarity: there was only the flow, of his thoughts and round these
thè çhanging scenes-fthis was the play and all the talktaive personalities
who strutited on and off the stage made no difference to it. - Hamlet had no
staleness like the others, no hysteria or pride pushing at him, but a
delicate appreciation of his effect on the audience, and even a sense af
co-operation with them, so that he and they watched the spectacle of Hamlet's
developing plan of açtion together: He showed that he had real powers of
thought, which had grown in their own time and not been forced by the proud
will or quickened by the need to cut a social figure. . There was an entranc-
ing simplicity about his style of speech. Thé others either tried to turn
the versé into prose by making it sound colloquial and day-to-day, or they
u 9 ta linas :
sang it to suggest the beeubiful-wordet in both cases they made it seem
remote from real feelings.' But Hamlet came through as the clean element 9
the quietness and reflection in the play, underneath/his own declamations,
and as the mainspring of the action and violences
Granvillesaidnething Aimthevargumenty butwaited for an Ventranees
They all trooped upstairs and had a bit of supper, with cocoa; and tempers
were better after that. Dick smiled across at Pinkie, his eyes fluttering,
and said, "Well, I think you win on points.
mear 36 -
knaos
out in the seeond TO und,
Hemeane bat
caughther out en pointef
Jaid
paa tkak
blou Qadt
textror rather memory she uot ted de'cloud
aaving saidsomething-which
hen
performance.
krp Biskshowed had been cut out-of the AREEORTTAKEX
n hep kitchen a
Grenville
let go Into speech_which Hanni seemed to have been fearing for sometime;
csheld nudged Dickonce or twieeand suggested ney go tobed, Abuthe sat-on,
Which-Nas unusual for hime Granville'stheme-was that Diek and Hanni
kadnit-been presentrat the play twith theirown livest: he didntt add
that he-thought Pinkie had done so. It was-a_strange statement, coming
out of the blue in thatway, andDick raised his eyebrows and winked at


Outside there was a flat, empty silence as if the streets had been
fixed there for centuries, growing naturally, and couldn't be disturbed,
ratspon,
but were waiting for something unspecified, tensely, hushed, not allow-
ing even the sound of a bird. Not a car passed in the distance;
there was the sound of a tr ain once, slowing down at a station.
And
across the sky there were flashes, probably from the trains.
Granville's part in the discussion was to attack Dick---or rather,
that was how it was taken. He compared Dick's way of arguing wilth
Pinkie's, and leaned forward across the kitchen-table talking indignant-
ly, his chin thrust forward and his eyes staring out of his head uxgen*X
expehion,
with an urgent Bernt, seeming to appeal to Dick at the same time as
scolding him.
"Pinkie talks because she loves the play and she's live in it and
she's taken Hamlet seriously and she's frightened by it and it moves
her and makes her think about her own life and her own struggles!"
he cried. "But when you say 'old Bill Shakespeare' and young
Hathaway's husband' and all thet sort of things you make him sound
small and weak' and limited as if all he did was sit down and think
up clever little plots for people like you to: come and sniff at!
Whereas what he did was wait for God to move him and pass through
him, and Pinkie knows this! She knows the wonder of God in a
person! All youseem to see in Hamlet is a text and a story, and so -
you make the play' seem dead---look at the way you talk about it when
you' say 'that graveyard stuff' and 'the getithee-hence gambit'!
You make it seem impossible that a man wrote it with his whole life
hotig
Trym,
and so there's somettring sacred in it you don't believe in men, that's
why, you don't respect them, you don't see anything sarred in them!
That.s how Hanni talks, too---she isn't interested in the play much,
ilils
I don't see why she should be but apparently she does, she seems to
think we'll put her down as a fool if she doesn't say something!
But when Pinkie talks about Shakespeare you feel he's somebody
fabulous, not fabulous in a social way but just in himself, like
when she said, 'He must have been such a sweet men!' But that,s too
soft for you, isn't it, you think you've got to be cleverer than that,
itals
you've got to say something clever and hard that shows how your brain's
been working!"
He spoke in a rush, without noticing the changes in Dick's face.


He paused at the end, waiting for Dick to take him up and challengé
him. But he didn't. There was just silence. Dick looked up at
him with apeculiar smile, his eyes flickering in a more uncertain
way than usual, and murmured, before getting up to go to bed, "Well,
thanks a lot!"
Granville sat there with his mouth open as they trooped out of
the room---the words seemed to have poured out of his mouth without
his knowing, and he tried to recollect what they had been. He went
downstairs nathavevbedragn behind Pinkie like someone not quite respon-
sible for himself.
To P.458 -


CHAPTERA
weak
The following Thursday he'd just come back from a walk and was stand-
ing in his room. alone, beginning to think that his optimism and hopes were
unfounded and that the yelllow flash in the sky had meant nothing---that
he may as well return at once to Basrah, without waiting for his leave to
end-f, when there was à knock on the door and Dick put his head round the
corner. It was late in the afternoon and he must. have come stra ight from
work. They were silent for a moment and Dick smiled.
"Hullo, old sporti I've been looking for you everywhere. But you'd
broken camp!"
"I've been out for a walk."
Dick
He) came in and closed the door. He was in one of his neat, sparkling
moods when he walked with rather tripping steps and there was a special
brightness and flickering scrutiny in his eyes. He said he was getting
off early the next afternoon and wanted to introduce Granville to a few of
his friends. Granville asked, "Who?", with hts nouth open. Dick replied
in an ambiguous way---they were friends he kept to himself, he said, since
a part of one's life had to be "unineystigated', didn't Grenville agree?
Gauille
agreeing
And he said, "Oh, yes, I dol" quickly, and thought to himself that *kinking
-lrut
ilali was as far as he éver got: A Dick actually did something.
le had - - worid
at the propesal.
alreadyt Granville's heart tumed over with excitement,. This was his
release---the cause of the yellow flashi


"The operations marked top secret, captain," Dick said.
"Oh, yes, of coursel"
They were to meet at a place called The Marquis a few hundred yards
from Covent Garden,the Kingsway side, at four osclock the next , day.. He was
to go in as if he owned the place and ask for Mr Pollocke; theni he'd prob-
ably be shown downstairs.
It wasn't fa brothel or anything boring like
that,* Dick added. Granville listened in a rapt way, gazing at him with
admiratian.
"It's a farewell gife)"
"Thank youi"
Jou
"Rather like an Arab showing/ his wives, I suppose: blaod-brotherhood
Dick
and all that caper, , " nel said with a breathless laugh. He added before he
hop: went; "Don't forget---top secret!" The brief visit felt staged, in Dick's
once
manner. He could hardly believe it had taken place, when the house was
silent again and the door downstairs had closed.. How absurdi A place
called The Marquis! But this time the exaggeration had come from someone
else and he had to believe/ He had the sensation of being swept along
and only seeing his life vaguely, as something that happened beyond him, in
a ghostly fashion, while he tried to find a theme in it. nickUnad'6remrly
AR a
assimed that herd be leaving thafollonina
pinee-he-wee-due-back
e ffise-on-Wednesday-morning. Aheymmmtnthinkhouesuflyingilaincer
scas
hethadntabooked re/passage---inthattasa ne wauldthaneehadtolleayeayelalteady:
ar He
kp Pinkie had asked him again when he was leaving and hel/said, "Well, to-get
proper
thererin time, of course", as if it was all in hand. She asked then,
"Are you flying?" and he said quickly, "Yes!" She seemed satisfied and
went about quietly, it seemed to him with a new resolution. He remembered
the face that had appeared to him a few days before, clear, gazing at him
with dark eyes, quite alone, surrounded by nothing---by white clouds, per-
haps: suppose it was coming to him now? He was somexcited that evening


his
that he put on the scratched record Creole Shake' five or six times.
Pinkie came in and he tightened his hold on himself and helped with the
dinner in a matter-of-fact way. Then there was another piece of news.
Dick rang up from Hampton Court and said that: 'in't the excitement of the
chaset he'd forgotten to tell him that he'd heard at the office that moming
Ganilley
His
that helwas going to be asked to put in a report about Basrah.. Arattillers
dismay
heart did another turn, - this time with dssmay* at the words 'put in a report',
which sounded ménacing to him. But Dick went on to say that they were
réforganising the Middle East network under Nevinson and they wanted his ideas
on how it should be done. In other wotds, it was most flattering, and
Granville said, "Well, I hope it's truel" Dick had got it from his own
teats
secretary, who, he said, fapart from having a. splendid
pair
apples
had sharp ears as well!
Next day he woke veg early and got up at once, an hour or more before
the alarm usually went off. The first milk-d delivery hadn't passed and
there wasn't the usual dull roar of traffic in the distance, on the other
side of the roofs. He heard sparrows chirping in the gables, and the rough 1
inkalited
(little squawk of a starling. It felt as if the city wasn't ocempiad any
more. Pinkie was lying half on her stomach, quite asleep, her arm hanging
gown towards the floor, almost touchingt They always kept the curtains
C losed at night because of the light from the stre et-lamp opposite, and
as usual it took him some time to see where his clothes were. They threw
them in a heap on two chairs when they went to bed, and sometimes on the
olways
floor'. His clothes were/in a frightful state. He was never in time
for the laundry and usually he had to wash,out his shirts himself. He
needed new socks and underwaer. Most of hid good stuff was in Basrah
and all he had for today was his trppical suit, which might be a bit chilly.
tac doy,
As he dressed he decided to wash out his shirts in-the-mommingy hoping
that he had a clean one in his drawer. He watched her in the dimness:
she always seemed to be listening to something when she slept, quite still,


so. childish and wholesome. He went to the door and made sure, as he did
bch
every. day, by automatic habit tiow, that the latth clicked. home when he closed
it. The music-room looked harsh because the curtains had been. left open
and a cold wind was coming from the top of the window. There was no. sun
today. and it was quite cold. He glanced down the street where nothing
stirred. It had a fixed and
look: the steps
to each
morttifed A
leading up
house were deadly symmetrical, and the ramshackle cars still had their tiny
parking lights on; the pavements seemed to sparkle dully in the raw air.
He: shivered and rubbed his hands together. As he went into the lavatory he
reminded himself that in a few hours' time held be looking into Dick's
'uninvestigated' world. All of a sudden it was too much for him. He
wouldn't be able to do itt He had an overhelming sense of naasea. The
world was too much---he couldn't go through with itf Soon the buses would
be goingby every few minutes in the distance and the shop-shutters would
ake
go up in,Commercial Road. People would begin walking by outside, and
the ramshackle cars would leave their places with a grind. Windows would
open and mops would appear, shaking the dust off. The world would get
tired in a few minutes. Again the sense of total unworthiness afflicted
him---he was unfit to be seen by other people, even to the pores of his
skin---it was an unworthiness right down in his aiving tissue; it bred in
him and exuded from him like a vapour! The thought of going out was unbear-
able. But at the same time there was warmth and excitement, growing.
It was a grim combination of expectation and fright.
He sat over breakfast for an hour, then took a cup of tea down to
Pinkie. He lit the gas-fire and sat over, waiting for her to stir in
the darkness. He enjoyed the. morhing silence---it was like a last refuge
from the day before him, like a farewell to himself, all his intimacy.
She roused herself and whispered drowsily, "Thank you", and began sipping
her tea; it was a pleasant sound. Everything could be trusted at this
agter kkat He
hour; thoh untruths started and one S own eyes weren't a sage guide any
1 A


more, as the world came awake. He must be at The Marquid at four o'clock;
haol
there were lots of dust-bins outside the door, Dick/said, and it was ina
rp. kind of back-lane. Pinkie went to work with a beltless rèd overcoat
trailing from her shoulders and a little rouge on her lips. It was Friday,
a fact which entered his already excited state axd as .an additional disturb-
anced There. was a light-blue scarf round her neck, light for cool summer
weather, trahsparent, like the vague blue of hér eyes. He put it out of
his mind: he would try to keep to the city-identity he'd discovered at the
Lido with Hanni. He would reject sugfering, feeling chill but neverthless
strong* Just before she went she glanced at him, atill sleepy, and then
turned as she usually did to look for her bag. It was on the floor of the
music-room, by the. chair where she'd sat the previous evening, and as she
bent down to pick 'it up her coat looked like a cloak for a moment : she had
or trsA)Spmeone aud geutle
the look of anwone-cot/dominant) /from the past. He wanted to cry out;
*Stay here today---don't let me go out!' But she'd already gone to the door,
after giving him the usual little peck on his cheek, that was like an intimate
voice in his ear, regretful and sisterly, as a sister's kiss might be before
sbanentrofetaboumarotedd a lohg joumey.
"I don't think I'll be back for dinner," she said.
He heard her close the door downstairs, then he strolled into the
bathroom. There was powder pn the wash-basin, and a few towels were crump-
led damply together on the side of the bath. The rubber mat was dark with
stains and mud. The house wasn't very well looked after these days.
Pinkie was at work all dày and then there were the usual visitors in the
eveningt; they left a pile of washing-up behind them. The younger girls"
like Ginger didn't seem to know how to handle a dish-cloth or a broom.
Her-friend Lucy said that she 'd always thought an egg fried in its own
juice, until Pinkie showed her youx needed fat: "Of course," Glanning
said one day, "I believe that sort of cow isn't even good for the bedl"


Por.
n. b. He got down to washing his shirts in the bath, and threw in a- pulloveras
goud measure.
mhe
nolho L After thet he did the towels and the rubber mat, scrubbing at 1/ with
a floor-brush. He quite enjoyed it. Then he went back into the bedroom,
leaving it all to dry. Pinkie's wardrobe door was open, with a scark lying
outside: He picked this up and put it in one' of her drawers, then tried
to closé the wardrobe. Some old high-heeled shoes were in the way, and he
had to heap everything up inside to get the door home. He then tried to
rth:
LyptT at
write a letter to Mohammed, asking how things were going n the office
and telling him to gét the files in order for the report he would have to
make, but he was too excited and couldn't settle to it. The morning passed
nib.
in-this way, and he wandered from room to room, quite as if it was a last
visit. There was a troubled and yet ecstatic feeling at thè pit of his
stomach. For a time he gazed out of the windowy leaning on his deski
The sound of the traffic seemed to indicatetremendous preparations outside,
elways,
and as always the cliamx never came: He was too excited to
xDIorats)
eat much lunch but made himself some eggs with toast, and drank two or three
cups of tea. Afterwards he started to change. And suddenly he realised
there were ho clean shirts. His drawer was more or less empty. He'd
washed the only two presentable ones: E What a fooll There weré two white
ones screwed up intp a bail at the bottom of the clothes-basket in the
bathroom, but it. was too late to bring them to lifes par @n the other
hand one of them wasn't too dirty, and he rushed upstairs to get it ironed.
fals
It would take him quite half-an-hour to reach town, another fifteen minutes
to find the place, perhaps ; and there was little more than an hour. He
waited for the iron to get hot, and in the meantime rushed down downstairs
again to have a look at his tropical jacket, It would be decidedly cold,
but there was nothing else for it. The excitement was growing in him all
the time." What the devil's the matter wi th you?' he, thought. *Are
you going back to childhood?' It reminded him of the Abbottts Road days,
in the time of the so-called gi ddy fits. He was all at aixes and sevens 9


the skin of his face prickled nervouslys sagd he was sweating. The
jàcket felt extraordinarily light as he put it over his shoulders. But
it would help him later, perhaps: it would make him feel more of a visitor
more datached.
than he was---just off back to the Middle East; awaysa arpomasranas
This jacket was badly creased where he'd flung it down some evenings
before, and he decided to give it a touch of the iron. He had a horrified
And
sessation that he would miss Dick. The release---I MA Dick wouldn't
repeat his offer; he would book his passage back: Death! The. shirt
couldntt be rushed, though he did only the collar and part of the front,
and the cuffs. It wasn't likely that they'd ask him to take off his jackett
When he got it on it was a sight. There were crinkles everywhere. But
when he slipped the jacket on as well it wasntt too bad.). PJackeames
Eo jacket,
stintord. YHe needed a damp cloth for thie) afraid that without it he 'd
matarisl apetaspoedk
give thel clotifa polished look. But he didn't have time. He'd risk it.
The e ffect wasn't too bad. At any rate, the creases couldn't be seen any
longer.. There was a dirty spot above one of the pockets and'he was just
about to open the drawer of his desk to get out the little bottle of petrol
for cleaning stains when he realised that the bottle he had in mind was in
his desk in Basrah, and He ahcon dashed out of the house, There was quite
lut
long walk to the bus-stop, hat if the traffic wasn't bad he'd get through
in less than twenty minutes, on thé bus. He ran to the end of the road
tau ran
and remembered with horror that he'd left the iron on, and hehadntoge
all the way back. It would haved been quite risky/leaving it on, despite
the asbestos under the iron; Hanni had done it at Hampton Court once and
had refumed
uroning Aroard
caneback to find all thejmd black,) just ready to burst into flames.
lals Well, hetd certainly be late now! Dick would probably be gone. He
wouldn't get there before half-past four. Hw was gratified that, because
of the runningt his jacket was none too light; it helped him get to the
bus-stop faster! Sweat was pouring out of his arm-pits, and there was
a dark stain on each side of his jacket which reminded him of the dog-days


in Basrah. He liked travelling by bus, and felt calm the moment he got
oni He must learn how to conquer the city; this was his thought as he
settled into his seat.
The Marquis was in a sombre place. A back-alley gave on to a bombed
site where there were deep ceélars open to the sky like an excavation,
and on the other side were the grim backs of buildings, dark and tall,
patiasd
with windows of different shapes, some of them paotote up with cardboard.'
The. lane was cobbled, with ruts and pools of water. And there was a vague
painted sign, The Marquis, in front of an iron door like the backstage door
Jicka had sentimed
of a. theatre, withjdust-bind/piled high with refuse, theshids toppling offo
He pustied this door open and couldn't see anything insides
Nor. was there as sound. The throbbing of the traffic in the distance
ceased. He realised that he was standing immdeiately in front of a thick
curtain and that this was blocking his view. He pushed it aside, making
it rattle from the brass hoops above, and saw before him a dimly-lit,
shoddily elegant and plush little bar with deep armchairs and = : round)
tables. There didn't appear to be any windows, only a great fan in the
ceiling which reminded him of the. Mesopotamia hotel---the small bar where
journalists used to meet. Behind the bar itself, among bottles and shining
gadss mirrors, there was a pale, tired-looking girl reading a picture-maguet
-magazine, quite rapt in it, so much so that she didn't look up when he
came in.
"Good afternoon," he said.
She looked up slowly. Her pallor was extraordinary; it seèmed to
enter her fingertips and her eyes, like a total state of being. Yet she
Haseoer, agter
2.C. was pretty, and her smile was gracious and kindly.
But when she 1d said
E vvt
"Good afternoon" in reply she looked back slowly at her maggzine again
and went on reading.' He waited, and then slowly she looked up again,
this time wi th her eyebrows raised in a questioning way.
"Yes?" she asked.


f66
"Is Mr Pollocke here?"
la fe emaragine more
"Yes, they're all downstairs." And she returned/at once, thoughr
with the same slow motion,ae-bofore, imbued with her strange total palloro
so-hor-magazine, He pushed through another curtain which repsumably led
downstairs and saw a flight of wooden steps with a russet light at the
bottom, and from there came the murmur of voices. At once a drum started,
making him dump, and he saw the edge of a chequered table-cloth, then a
stone pillar, like that in a Roman temple but more slender. What ong earth
enlered
had he come into? He walked down and eeme-into a kind of restaurant with
a dance-floor; some-kind-of rehearsal was taking place; there was a small
dark
band, and mostly ealoured girls in tights or beach trousers, and a tall,ynmy
Anlr
Cnamille
derk-man with long hands directing them all. He looked round for Dick
and found him at a corner table with a muscular-looking dark girl, who was
holding his hand. Dick turned round quite casually and said to him, "Oh,
Pip, come and join us, they're getting ready for a hair- dance, believe it
or not!m He sat down and Dick didn't trouble to introduce him to the
muscular-làoking girl, nor did she pay àny attention to him. "There's
a girl who whirls her head round at a terrific rate," Dick went on. "It's
really marvellous."
"Do you always come here?" Granville asked. It was like seeing into
the back of Dick,s mind, into the darkness and mystery. He was intrigued
and spell-bound,
"Oh, quite often, when I can get the afternoon off."
hol
"But it's like Basrah,o somewhere in London!" There was even angther
ceiling,
Rstel
fan in the roofi daprecisely the same shape as those in the Mesopotamiak
Most
Andtwe of the girls were Arab---Morrocan or Algerian. The dimness of
everything, the heat and loudness were the same.' "It's like one of the
cabarets in Basrah!" he added.
"Yes, I thought it'd take you back." Dick was quietly proud, and
gave him a gleaming look sideways, keeping hold of the girlgs hand.


n. 2 Granville began to feel at home and stretched out his legs. There was
no light where they were sitting but a strong yellow glow from the stage.
There were arguments going on between the tall young man and oneeg the
Moroccan girls, while the others changed or cambed their hair or practised
steps. He gazed at them. He still couldn't properly believe/and kept
turning and glancing at Dick, to make sure it was him.
Dick spoke to him in a quiet voice, without looking at him, "You think
I'm a rum bird, don't you? Is that what you're thinking?"
He was at a loss for a reply, then said, "Well, you certainly lead your
own life!"
"Don't you believe in that?"
"Oh, yes, absolutely!" He said this in a piping voice, and one of
the girls by the stage peered into the darkness to see who it was for a moment
"What about a drink?" Dick asked, still without' looking, at him.' There
was a waiter in a white jacket whom he called over with "Joet", Apparently,
heldbeen in the-e0r - ar -the-band and Granville now saw that there was
a tiny lighted bar similar to the one upstairs.' Out of an absurd desire to
give himself the impression that he was in Basrah---without the pain of being
when He wailer camc,
separatedfrom Pinkie---he asked for araki though he never touched the stuff
in Basmh
xben-hewasaotually-out there. To his surprise they had it, and the other
two, Dick and the muscular-looking girl, followed suit: He heard Dick
explaining to her that his friend was 'from Basrah', and she leaned forward
to glance at him in the dimness for a moment, then leaned back again.
When the drinks came Dick said he liked the pepperminty taste and touched
glasses with him---"Well, old sport,
to a good trip, and be careful
heroge
how you go in the old casbah!"
The Shair-dances was extraordinary. It was done by a thin wraith of
a girl, dark and quite small, with masses of black hair let down to her
waist. Being almost naked as well, with a flimsy brassiere and knickers
defenceless
of frilled black silk, she had a starved and fefansiye look. Her should-


ers were sharp like 1see knucles, and she hunched them as if the ab
cold. "Jesus " he heard the muscular-looking girl murmur to Dick, "why.
don't she get some flesh on her bones?" She spoke with a cockney accent,
in the mild, tender, soft-voiced way that often went with it in a woman o
The Iong-haired girl AVso walked in a hunched way, as if sho-wes EXKK
scurrying away from something, but the moment she danced it was different.
got
Most ofthe noise was made by the drums,which XEXE faster and faster;
a negro bent over them, sweat pouring down from the top of his head, which
was bald and strangely wrinkled, and he gave the impression of trying to
beat the life out of something, with a dead, fixed look in his eyes, his
teeth gritted toge ther. There. was a pianist also, trying to make himself
heard. - The girl daneèd alone at first, her hips revolving and her arms held
out stiffly, rather like the gypsy women he'd seen when a sheikh gave a
party. The idea, apparently, was that the young Hampprntattpm Arab, with
th Ri
an odd grinning expression afthe face, very taut and hard-skinned, should
gradually bring her to life, or wake her from sleep, for her eyes were
closed as she danced. Her revolving became faster as he weated his way
round her, staring into her face with a fixed grinning look tha seemed
to be natural to him, and she began stamping her feet as if under his spell.
There was sométhing of the faun about him, with the cloven hoof except that
Could see
he was : harder, without soft movements; Granville felt-beyonda-doube that
tke
jin him-
ho-was Arab -
was in the fixity' of his movements, and the
newf-it
shining
darkness of his eyes, flicerking but not really changing. The girl stamped
and pushed her head back, her hands pressed down at her side now and her
body taut. There was a mounting violence from the drum, and the whole room
seemed to shake with it, but then the. girl began to droop and grow limp,
subsiding until shetd gone down on her knees. The real hair-dance started
here. Her hair fell round her face and shoulders in dense strands, while
the young man, continued to weave round her, glaring into her face, his
back bent, So that he seemed to be trying to fly in an ungainly way every


F6B
H69
time he took a little leap round her.' As he did this her head began to
revolve, at first. slowly; her neck seemed extraordinarily flexible, and
her head turned quicker and quicker until her hair was flying round like
a fan, quite datembodied. from her, it seemed, not even recognisable'as hair,
but simply a dark shadow whirling round at the top 7o her head at a terrific
rate. One caught a glimpse of the whites of her eyes every time her head
went back, but otherwise her face was a dark blur; only her eyes flashed
like a quick disc; white and staring, every second or So. The drum was
so loud that the floow was trembling, and the drummer had become so frantic
that it'was impossible to. see what more he could do to satisfy himself except
fling the sticks in the air and break up the drum up with his hands. But
he persisted with the sticks, delicately, too, as one could see if one looked
at his hands closely as they/quivered and fluttered over the drums; he shot
at oi
his arm out and contracted it. with tremendous speed, and he made the rhythm
seem composed of many contradictory rhythms inside it, jaggedly opposed to
each other but making up a unity; like sudden claps of thunder, dominated
his
by the delicate thrusts of
F arms 'and his still, bent. body that was
like. a rock behind 61 the movement. The drum-beats stumbled over each
other wi th sharp crashes, and stopped, then, after a moment of dead silence,
started again in a headlong way, like heavy things tumbling down one after
n.b the other. It was ampossible. to imagine after a time how the axis under-
neath the whirling shadow of hair could be some one's head, and there was
something horrible in this, because it seemed that at any minute her head
might fly off. like a ball. She was quite another person. Ihe defenceless
look had disappéared. She seemed to be asserting something in her own
life, with a tremdndous ferocity, driving her head round with the same
relentlessness as there was in the drummer, so that her body seemed only
the vehicle of a maddened will. She made the young man weaving round her
look much the lesser creature, and even thesense of hardness and fixity in
him hed disappeared; he was soft at. her side. When the dance came to


an end she jumped up and flounced off the floor as if shetd won a personal
battle with them all, then she stood wiping herself down with, a towel at the
edge of the stage, gazing into the darkness with a pouting, resentful express-
ion. Slowly the naked and helpless look grew on her again, and once more
one could see how the bones of her shoulders were like little knuckles, pain-
fully sharp, and her crouching manner returned. Underneath, still, was
an awkward power of survival, that showed in her walk as she. kicked out her
legs, hurrying along, slightly crouched, her eyes squinting a little with
apprehension.
"Well, how did you like it?" Dick whispered. He nodded enthusiasticall-
y,' without speaking. "I've seen it before," Dick added. He said that
most of them were Morrocan, from Spanish Morroco, and the drummer was a
Nubian.
Apparently, he took drugs. The pianist was also Negro, but he
came from Nigeria or the Goad Coast, Dick didn't know which." The drummerts
skin was terribly wizened for a young man's, and behind his brown colour-
ing there was something ashen-grey, especially in his lips, which were cracke
like parched earth and perpetually open; his eyes; when he looked up drowsil;
now and then, were yellow and bloodshot. The pianist/got up from his
stool, stretching, a rather clerklyf2aoktng young man with glasses and
Beanville heard him murmur to the drummer as he gazed down at his drowsy
figure, "You kind of sleepy, man?" But the drummer made no. reply, and the
pianist. laughed easily. There was a lot of arguing among the girls, and
voices were raised now the band had stopped. "Hey, you better watch your
feet---i" Then there would be clapping laughter. "Your feet ECAMR
swell up
twice their size when you dancel What you got in tem;
springs?" Dick said that the girl who'd done the hair dance was called
Joy Celeste; that wasn't her real name, and nobody seemed to know what her
real name was. "Theytre a mixed bunch---students, all sorts," he said.
He thought the hair-girl's real name was Makboula. But one must never use
it: she flared up or cried, or something.' She had a room off the Strand


and appeared not to live with anyone, but she was always talking about
'dad', though dad' had never appeared: She'd been born in Cairo and brought
Tangiers,
up in kigknes "and as you know," Dick added, "dancing over therefs like
street-walking over here."
"Is she Muslim or Christian?" Granville asked, for rio reason that he
could see:
Dick burst out laughing. "Don't be academic!"
The muscular-looking girl leaned forward. "What was that word you
used?" she aski ed.'
tt Dich said at mcl.
Masady
"Epidemic, II was talking about your syphilis" 2whereupon she knocked
him playfully on the hand. He turned to Granville again, "This is Alice.
Have you met?" They nodded to each other. "She never touchés ien, do
you, Alice? Because shets got a snake. It makes up for everything.'
Isn't that true, Alice?" She nodded and smiled. Her legs were muscular
and short, thrust out under her in a tom-boy fashion, and she had a pugnacious
easé of manner, combined with the softness of voice he'd noticed already,
wi th a laughing, casual look in her eyes. She had short hair. like a boy's,
and full, round cheeks with a slight flush of health.
"Is that true?" Granville asked in his clergyman's piping voice,
leaning forward. "Have you got a snake?"
"Yes, that s rightf"
He was no wiser, and turned to: Dick for help. "Has she?" he asked..
"Yes, - she winds itnround her neck at the night-clubs, makes it dance
and all that caper, kisses it and touches it up and xin runs it between her
legs. They love itit
"It comes when I call it," the girl said. afySidney, Sidneyt' And it
comes right up and starts climbing!"
"That's right!" Dick cried with a laugh. "You ought to sée the show,
Pip: There's a wonderful lot of hanky-panky!"
Alice was born in London, Dick went, "the son of a fish-monger";


crying,
she laughed and - hit at his hand again, thon-said, "You're always taking
the miket"
Later they all assembled upstairs, and the pale girl behind the bar,
whom Dick called Joyce, came to life from her magazine.' She poured ths drinki
slowly and carefully, biting her lower lipp with the concentration, and
the glasses
# lifted thren on to the' bar with great attention, careful not to spill a
drop. Dick was on speaking terms with her, too.. He told Granville when
doun
one
they were sitting/that shegot through a magazine a day and let everybody
know when she was a bit tipsy at the end of the evening that she was wai ting
skem
hib. for hér Romeo', Joy Celeste came over to join, and there was a tremor of
fear in Granville as he stood up to shake hands with her. Shaking hande
wasn't the thing to do, it seemed, and she took no notice, only sat down
at his side, looking up at hin with slightly frightened surprised "What
did he stand up for?". she asked Dick. Branville was still hovering above
ket
wletts
hem in an equivocal state, beginning to wonder A what poise he'd managed
to: keep so far would break down; but Dick said, "Hets been like that for
years, old gir1! He gets up and sits down every few minutes. It's a
joint in his arse. It formed just like that, from nowhere, and the doctors
couldntt do anything for him! He gets up to avoid it aqueaking---thatfe
when it's not going through a farting phase; he has to stay at home then.
rasojel
Take no notice, he'll come down again soon/" The girls laughed and,
laughing as well, he sat down again, recovered from the giddy embarrassment
into which he'd fallen without them seeing. "Test No. 1', he thought,
finitttation by fire and water!t And having got through the first momen t
he felt easy. "Now let me get you all a drink," he said. It was like
passing safely through a barrier into a fresh world. He sat back in his
chair, beaming at them" And again it was arak. The hair-girl looked
surprised when he suggested it. He told her herd been in Basrah, and she
looked more cheerful; it gave them something to talk about, and the other
two drew their chairs together, to whisper and peck at each other. A cheeks'.


He noticed she had wide-set, very black eyes, deep in her head;, and her
cheek-bones were high and prominent. She leaned forward when she talked. to
wikk
him,a strained, squinting look herd/eppt as if she was trying. to see. some-
thing on the table more clearly. She'd plaited her hair up, which. gave
her a more starved and staring look than ' before. She bègan. talking about
her 'dad', as Dick had told him, and how they'd come from the Hejaz, and
dad
what a fine man kp was, a trader who knew every port along the coasts of
Africa. She said mothert had adored him and had always said that he put
finer clothes on her back than any other man shetd known. or heard tell of.
She talked in a light voice, her eyes gquinted, gazing at the table fixedly,
like someone reading from a fairy-tale. She seemed to be both remembering
it and also telling the story for the first time? He congratuzlted her on
her dance, and she said that it was all right, only the drummer annoyed her:
The rhythm wasn't quite right, she said. With an oddly meek expression,
her shoulders more bowed than before, so that she seemed ever smaller and
frailer, with her bony, sallow face and anxious eyes, like those of a
befone
starved child, ' she added that twenty years age he, the drummer, would have
been serving at her table, being a Nubian, and fitting the little shoes on
my feet'; "dad' had always taught her that if you gave those people an inch
they took a mile: But as she drank the arak she became more cheerful, and
unbent her shoulders a little" She smiled and told' him that the pianist,
qho was a medical student; was in love with her, and always followed her
home to her place at night, after they'd finished at the club. He didn't
ThL do it in the hope of going in with her, but to protect her, because it was
always about three in the morning by the time they came off the stage?
And he never spoke to her; wasn't that wonderful? Granville asked why/the
prianix didn't speak if they- were in the same dancing troupe together and saw each
other every day. She said in a little voice, "It's pure love, I suppose!"
He couldn't tell if she was joking or not. The moment she said it she
pushed her glass across to Dick and said, "That milk appeals to me. The -


same again, please!" When she'd been supplied again he began talking
he a-ked,
about the desert. Did she know the feeling in the morningsJespecially in
the spring when the air was brilliantly clear and cool, and all the buildings
Hefeeling
shone like coral, at least in the district where he lived,/of having a
great thriving power in her legs' when she walked, and a feeling of readiness
m C cmflercly bungled way,
for the day. She blinked, ànd he thought that perhaps a trace of a smile
passed her lips. But she continued bent over the table, her arms on the
sides of her chair, gazing before her. The arak was working on himgne
"Do you know what I mean?" he crbed, flinging his arms out
that
h l
Zesav
the other girl, sitting with Dick, flinched for a moment. "When walking
along is a terrific sensuous enjoyment? When you feel you're really spring-
ing forward! All your body relishes the movement, doesn't it?" Dick and
one or two people at the bar looked across at himes "I've never known that
before," he' went on, "not such perfection of activity! When you're free,
in your bodyl It was like walking into a new sort of world every day,
all sparkling and clear, and yet being perfectly safe---you know what I
mean, without the risk of the journey, and feeling lonely and strange in a
place, but every day that marvellous novelty, of your senses, I mean you
felt it at the tips of your gingers, and breathed it in, and had it in
your toes as you walked along! The sky never seemed a long way away there
One
as it does in England, at least on a cloudy day. L* could imagine that sky
spreading over the desert outside the city---do you see what I mean? I
could see the edge of the desert from my balcony---oh, wonderfull I used
Ohend
to gaze 4n at it for bours sometimes in the morning when I didn't go to the
office, if it was spring and the heat wasn't too bad, and it used to shimmer
ke added trestleidly.
out there. Have you ever been to Basrah?" L I She uttered a quiet,"No,"
Aip.
and took a long sip of her drink. He sat backand breathed in happily,
hips
while she poked about in her bag for something and at length pulled out
a nail-file and began doing her nails. "Yes," he said, "you feel quite
unknown to yourself there. For the first time in my life I felt I was


actually living in the sky---" "Where?" she said, screwing up her face?
"I mean in.the silence all round the earth, not snatching at it and
going
nervously to and fro from men.to the silence and back again, as I'd done
before! Every day I felt I almost touched something-golden- --Sparkling!"
She pointed to his glass. "I think you'd better go easy on that," she.
ughed ud
arak,
murmured.
ey elt drank another glaest and
- that no no longer
riticiom, Dick was waving his arms about, calling,
looking
h - P - "More snakes!" In a.
odd-leoling little group, bumping into each other,
moforgys
Ris
they went off to Soho. It was colder now and he felt the thinness of the
tropical jacket.) Mhatcorturtes-awayfrrom-thab afternoon hewasmowl
He put his arm' round the hair-girl's shoulder,
along. The muscular-
swining
looking girl at Dicke side was steady and quiets asalitomightst
How marvellous it all was, to/actually bon with people, bog to be lost, to
have no careful thoughts and no suspicirionst The hair-girl walkèd with
jerky little steps at his side like someone in an endless distraught argument
Kes
with a voice inside/that was never revealed to other people. She had the
tronk - a bafom
wy ek
same way of gazing bafere herk only now at the pavement,
they Telked along
They went to an underground place called the Gare St Lazare which
Dick knew, approached by a narrow, unlit cerridor and then a tooden staircase.
-thol
It seemed/only members were allowed in, and Dick wasn't a member as he'd
thought? The hair-girl pushed forward to a little grill by the entrance,
from where they could hear a screeching bandy and the sound of talk.
A young man was sitting in the darkness behind the grill with a heavy, pale
face and dark eyebrows, and his expression was one of final and unapproach-
He and the hoir-gine
able boredom; his eyes didn't. alter by a flicker as he talked:. Theymew
R nety
each other, apparently. She hadn't paid her subscription. It was only
five shillings, so Dick paid iti - She pointed out Granville to the young
man behind the grill and said, "Hets just come from Basrah!" 'He showed
trom
not the slightest interest, only nodded while counting out the change for
a pound note. He put down a ten-shilling note, then counted out the rest


in silver and coppers, putting them in neat little piles.' The hair-
girl leaned towards the grill and said in a complaining voice,
"Thatgs
fuckin'
right, give him all your small changet" And the young man's face, slightly
sweating; became animated far the first time: "He gave me a notet Every-
body's giving me notes tonight!" Then he returned to his former deadness
neat
of éxpression and pushed the money, in three little piles on top of the ten-
shlling note, caréfully under the grill; giving it a last reminiscent look
h. F
as if he'd actually created theme Inside there was bedlam, at least for the
first few yards. A saxophonist was standing on the platform, his, head
way
back and sweat pouring down from his chin in the most grotesque fachion,
making a high-pitched wailing note while everyone este in the band leaned
or lolled in a drugged state and clusters of people round the platform made
suooning movements and raised their eyebrows as the notes went higher and
when
part Ike plaform
higher. A Joy Celeste walked/by the saxophonist did a miraculously quick
his
bow and blew a raspberry after her through the instrument, then swung up
again and went on with the high swooning notes. She took no. notice and
walked jerkily through the crowd on the dancing floor to where the tab les
were. One or two people tapped her on the shoulder in a familiar way, but
she seares took/notice of then He wondered that so many people knew her---
fals she was so frail and scurrying as if she only knew how to avoid contact;
gmile
yet they were familiar with her, in a kihdly way, and seemedfto expect that
she should take no notice of them. He saw that the dark walls all round
were painted with signs like 'Baggage', Wanted on Voyaget and *Réservét,
and in huge white letters there were the words INFORMATION and DEFENSE DE
PISSER: They ate what the place could offer, eggs and sausages, and sat
on drowsily recovering from the arak.' There was a night-club called The
Daybreak where both the girls had to dance after midnight, and the hair-
girl said she had to hurry home and see 'dadt beforehand. Dick and Granville
got back to Chaworth Road about midnight and found no one at home. A
tremor of fear threatened to pass through him on. account of Pinkie, that


she hadn't come back, but he quickly chécked himself as they half-stumbled
AStr all, he had his 7 wn tige ho .
up to the kitchen for a last cup of coffee. Ardhewas also toohappyed
They sat in silence on either side of the table, gaaing before them; he
felt that all his limbs had expanded and that a glow had come into him;
how could he ever have felt unworthy? They were the same limbs as before,
ily
yet they breathed properly now: Dick slipped off to bed, and Pinkie came
in just before one o'clock.
She was in an unusually direct and brazen mood. She asked him with
darkening eyes and a slight smile, looking at the ground, when they'd last
had sex, and he replied in an obedient way, like a boy, "Oh; about a week
ago, I think"; and he laughed, expecting her to do the same-to cover her
own embarrassment at such a question. But her face didn't change: Instead,
she walked in to the bedroom, her red coat still on, trailing behind her
like a cloak, her eyes strangely levelk with a menacing light in them,
and said, throwing down her bracelet on his desk, "Well, what about some,
and undrersed slowly, lowening aa strof. so tav aus treasts suddeuly showed in the dimnen,
now?" She didn't switch the light
And after they'd got into bed
a shinig, aud Ler
urare lare aad
heay
hips
roued
she took sex from him in a silent, unabashed, bisiness-like way he'd never
known in her before. It excpted and overpowered him msh as if he'd been
a boy in puberty. She had a mild ait of assault. Also he could smell the
strangeness on her. He knew, for the first time, with his body, as a quite
silent eonsciousness, that she'd been on a bed with somebody else, Also
there was an. undue wetness, and he had the swift bodily impression that he
soncong else's,
was mixing his orgasm with amstherfomg perhaps with two or three. ) aha
wesvexhausted-oneugs te take nimwithour feart perhaps; not evern enmest
nesaoriis partwould have discouragod-ker. It was a new form of sex for
them. It marked a new path, with. different excitements. Usually he would
murmur endearments to her which always seemed unduly lofty to him afterwards,
Kad seemed k
but which nevertheless soouete excitelher. This time he didn't, and in
the silencé between them a certain hard relish formed that had never existed
before. There was also a suggestion of pain for him---something that bowed


fun sitore
him down. But ioffered the chance that every-act"betweon them-would
be excitingfrom nowong evenif there wasn't lova or-asteetion-batween a
them, itwould-be a silent aety-Pequiring no partieipation orfeeling.
l. e And-bhat-wasa relief. There would be this silent directness---nothing
each
voluptuous or aba. ndoned, Mt beth of them in sather isolated state, ful-
filling their needs. Yet it wasn't like the former separateness that was
more or less an advanced masturbation: the silence now joined their needs
trom
together, and they were at one remove more from themselves than/each other.
It was a glimpse of future things:
one
The aftermath of sex was increasingly/of total inner collapse for him.
The world was grim and heavy---almost touching the sanses, its presence
final and devastating, so that nothing light seemed possible any more.
There was only darkness. The silence was a death-sijence, This happened
more. and more. It was like ejaculating his torn heart each time, a little
more of it, so that he was horribly deprived, and felt given over to enemies,
who wre
un-named and in frightful proliferating hordes, his body abandoned
utterly
to them.'
Ah, Re had his owh lige how ! Itis wn secret! D
hup.
Hehad hisown seoret now. He-falt-better protected: he'd entered
arothor-WoNd-she knew nothing about. S *Let everything deteriorate,' he
thought again, as he'd done the first evening, when hed/stood by the window
histace
Zes,
2ic. feeling the breeze touch tim like an intimate breath. Mystery would come
back into their lives, with danger, its friend.) But-wasstpossiblen he
asked himsetf that-ha-would ever sleep with another woman? Heand-Pinkie
had shared the same bedso Iongthat the touch of sex had come to meanfor
Yet
Nals hiu-hertoroh. k End The thought of somebody else's flesh was a blasphemy
against hersi It stirred in him the old compassion towards her. Since
shasarthegtahoanumatnmatriadeehaantartddchisd/adothoywortane/VnBlt Now the
familiar prison of touch and smell was going to be broken, he knew it.
His certainty, though only his brain aseerted it, brought down on him an
uncontrollabde nervousness as if his organs inside were collapsing. Only


fe usnal
in sleep was he close to her. Habit closedl 4 shroud over themo They were
A799 together for a moment when they woke up each marning, in the first
kegoe
2 thae day -
unguarded drowsiness, bir the awkwardness and reserve startadaathewarld
atiirede
The image of the hair-girl kept occurring to his mind. He was content
to sit for two or three mornings in his rook simply remembering the events
Agas.
of that eveningko He put together everything Dick had said, the laughter,
ac The Marpuis
the shape of the bar in the dimness of the russet lights, the harch white wall
of the Gare St. Lazare. He wentover it 'again and again. He'd ascertained
the hair-girlgs address, from Dick. Her face became a constant factor in
his mind, motionless and perhaps not quite alive. He remembered her deep
eyegsockets, like shadowy discs, and her high cheek-bones; and how her hair
had gone round like a fan. He couldn't tell if he was bringing her to mind
deliberatelyyor whether she was really an influence on him. It was pleas-
ant enough to have someone to think about. Pinkie couldn't see his though ts:
Was te hair-gire',
Itsquitaridiculous buthe-pub-himself the questionpteorpar/face the
Rad
him? t
one that
Jay
ls been appearing to' melsince that arternoon antheriddort But 2
Celeste didit
as the imagd had,
L she wasnit gaz3pe at himk And she was surrounded by many people---shadows--
vague movements; he couldn't tell precisely! She was gazing at a point
ac He
before her;/ table,porhape, her eyes screwed. up. He remembered, her talk
about 'dad'. He imagined 'dad' tall for some reason, with a tiny, bald,
wizened head like the top of one of those wooden nails found in antique
furniture. 'Dadt lumbered slowly about the place wi th bheavy feet but said
little; and he always had his hands in his pockets.'
The weather became downeast and more chilly, so that fires were
necessary, and a frightening political crtsis broke, involving, of all areas,
the Middle East. It concerned Rubath, a small and wealthy shiegkhdom
living on 1bs oil-dividends. A plot against the sheikh's life had been
dythraed
ungicovered, and foreign agents were said to be at the bottom of it. That
was the first news; in ominous tones.' Then twenty foreigners were expelled


from the country; and among these was an attche of the Russian legation.
It was a rash move for a tiny sheikhdom. Moscow at once sent a threatening
not te, accusing the sheikh of being in the hands of western influencest and
of making libellous charges. There was a real set-to, and extra editions
huppn of the evéning papers came out. Evetn year sinde Ahelwansheralabeema
mapnutnensteasa British troops were requested by the
nip
sheikhy from the Aden protectorate. That was the cause ofa further out-
cry; the sheikhdom was pprposeante inBritaings pocket, and the English
Yaide-de-camph of the sheikh was supposed to be the political mind behind
the expulsions: The sheikh came out with a statement that a Russian spy-
hadbeen
ring had been uncovered, and that a communist shadow-cabinet was/ready;
also some high-ranking officers in the army were involved, but they were
nationalists and not in the communist camp; it seemed that everybody was
against the sheikh. emasnnexatiye wickedruter, - bub-he-wouldn't
share hisumoneya Schoolsand the baginning-of atniversity nad gona up
SPL
Rubath, yith a hospital and paved roads, but the villages 1 wers sette
MAACAAA
sinks of malaria and aem
America was keeping out. of it, not
wanting to be identified **x*****ting with 'colonial' policies. Theremnas
h * nplttoubleninBascahy masyupathetiodemonsbrationslonanykinda He read
the papers anxiously, and peoplé started arguing about the pros and cons.
Mar
Glenning said4the British would be fools to send any troops, but the danger
was that. the Russians would then step in and put up a skadon puppet govern-
ment there. Every headline was about the crisis. Pinkie asked him if
he'd booked his air-passage back, and, not to tell her a lie, he said,
"Why? You getting worried about my safety?" with a smile. And she gave
laken
him a glance as if hetd just/a manly devil-may-care attitude---the kind of
look she might have given her brother Bigel.
There was a loud argument one evening in the kitchen between Pinkie
and Dick which he thought at first was political, but it was about a money
transattion. Apparently, they'd shared expenses for the party Pinkie


had given the evening before Granville's
a back He was amazed
arrivald
troth
how hardy and resistant they/were, intheirgrletance
sach-other, They
cl okur
RarkatucktethpBeand weathered a te insults quite) calmly.' Dick
had wanted the party mainly Arotdbny to get to know the girl called Lucy,
Ginger, as friend; her nickname in the group, Granville now learned, was
'Linger-Longer',
Linger-Longer was unwilling to go out with Dick alone,
hecausl he was
ouned
but she looked on Pinkie as respectable, being/married and owning a house.
Brt
Dicke
And the only way k could persuade Pinkie to have 'school-girls' at a party
ofbéra was to suggest helping with the money; shel/insisted on fifty-fifty.
nip. "An expensive way of finding out," said Dick, "that the girl, nice enough in
had #e wholc king tuilt-in cenol wos really a Ransuextst colonel !"
other ways, wesroallyantransveatéstroolonel-withrhair-down-hiaubackte
He added to Pinkie, "But I've always been a good loser. Name your price."
"You know bloody well what that party cost, you mean bastard!" Pinkie
said,
apied
"Well, " Hanni put in quietly, chuckling, "it was a bit ambiguous---"
"Why?" Pankie looked crestfallen at her interference. Then they
with Prikie waking oret *e Sum ' pape. SRA
went into the arithmetic of itsh Pinkie thaggivendiffferent figureson-two
obcâsions,1t seemedn At the end of the sum there was more bitterness.
tresiners! il
"Oh, all right, forget-t the whole bloody bransaation!" Pinkie cried,
throwing down her pencil.
"It's perfectly simple'y Hanni said, "he pays you half of that." And
she pointed to the sum.
"But thatgs only half the boose, and we had food and Christ knows wha t
else, apart from the breakage-- She gave Dick a hard glance. "Yes,
Mr Pollocke, the breakageng
"But"I only agreed to pay half the boose," Dick replied. And he
stuck to
Herhal laidit down that he was enly going topay halfthe
aid
itp
boosefand Pinkie had put her seal on the transaction by not complaining
bagag
to o late!
hip. before- --it was nowftwo months acterwadenthesarga Pinkie lost and Dick
paid the sum; and the bad feeling passed over slowly. But it led Pinkie


to accuse Hanni of 'stirring up an atmospheret, 4 She said that Dick would
have paid up like a lamb if she hadntt been tat him'. Hanni denied this,
smiling quietly. And Pinkie went on to say that it was about time Hanni
left her 'village' and came out in western civilisation for a. change, where
people spoke their minds. Hanni went mute and didn't appear at the house
for two or three days. This gave Dick a chance to renew his. attentions to
Linger-Longer, because. she appeared only at the house, with "Ginger', never
Dick
arm
at the clubs or even at the caféin Commercial Road.
sat on the edge of
her chair in the music-room, talking to her softly, and one could see that
tis ingluence.,
slowly she was taking a new attitude towards herself, under the powerofhis
16 Ike house
an a remee,
really curled
words She came/looking tidier/e with her hair agsutktgas)Aone instead
just do one
- - A iin
of being/beld t E gethey - a ribbon? Then Pinkie and Hanni appeared one
day, brought together again by one of those silent feminine miracles---they'd
met somewhere in town by accident. This was followed by new confidences
call the house
between them, inevitably, and Hanni heard what had been going on)between
Dick and Linger-Longer. But she only laughed. Dick had managed to get
the girl out, after all; they were to go to the theatre together.
British troops were sent to Rubath after all, and Moscow sent ansther
prensus
note, more restrained than the one to the sheikh, to. London. The headline
this time was Sheikh Digging In'; there would be an international Ashow-
downt, the papers said; the time had come to put a stop to Russian encraach-
mentsy by means of 'technical advisérs's into the Middle East. It looked
bad. The sheikh was confined to his palace, with his bodyguard. But
there was still no sign of sympathetic trouble in Basrah or anywhere near
There was now every reason why. he should prolong his leave. His
life had just begun to construct itself on an exciting basis; also in
deference to his parents he ought to stay---he really couldn't dash off
without going over to see them at least once, and there wouldn't be time
if he did go back; and he must know something definite about Pinkie,


which he didn*t.yet; and there was this crisis---it wouldn*t. be very
comfortablesitting in Basrah while it lasted, even though there were no
extra
students in the city. He could ask for/leave on compassionate grounds.
smile
He thought with a baugh that he couldn't very well go alotig to Mevinson and
say, I think my wife's sleeping with somebody else. Will you give me
hp. another two weeks to make sure?' But that day something quite remarkable
Tals happened---for him, mystical. After this, he thought; how could xté doubt
that we lived in a kind of sky, with all sorts of strange happenings we, knpw
cmldie
nothing about going on round us, with an order behind them we eentt foresee?
It was a letter marked 1Expresst AmMaemalone from Nevinson confirming
what Dick had said. They wanted a. report from him on the Basrah office,
in view of the reconstruction of the Middle Eastern facilities that would
be taking place over the next five years. It had occurred to themy the
letter went on, that the files in- London would be more usefud to him than
those in Basrah, and therefore they had decided to ask him to prolong his
leave, which would count as normal duty from the time of the éxpiry of his
official leave, for another month, in order to preppre it! They had taken
this décision with the crisis in mind as well: they had information that
Basal
British personnel might be asked to leave XI soon as a precaution, in any
cases They would let him know further, but the extra month would give him
a breathing space, and it was hoped that by then the crisis would have blown
over. If the situation permitted, Tomlinson of the Port of Beirut would
fly over and see how things were in the Basrah office. A secretary would
be put at Granville's disposal in London, also a shall office in the Middle
East department for a week, during which time he might like to go through
the files. Would he care to drop in to arrange the disposal of these
files? He would be. expected to 'give full reint to any suggestions for
changes which might be in his mind; and meanwhile they didn't believe he REE
néed suffer any anxiety about his office in Basrah, it could quite well run
on its own steam for a few weeks, especially as this was the time of the


worst heat; *Steam is probably the ri ght word for itif Nevinson wrote.
Grànville, was thrilled with the chatty tone. What a compliment; te
mhad
wapt He make a report---and suggest changes! It might even be true, he
now thought, that he was going to get the Beirut office, as Glenning lad
said. The lètter ended hoping that this didn't interfere. with his plans
as tgeial
and repeating that the month wouldn*t count
leaves E
He went out
and bought a bottle of wine at once, and drank it one sitting, alone in
the house. Then he Aphoned Dick and told him everything.' It made him souny
really in charge of his own life; he could talk with a level voice about how
he.was going to stay on in Iondon, and with the same level voice later he
might suggest to Dick another evening at the Marquis. He now had the offici-
al stamp to take a holiday he'd meant to take in any caset He told Pinkie
when she came in, and she looked at him with a new air of bedief, as if she
now knew why hetd been circumpsect about his passage back; she asked him
what sort of mari Nevinson was in a tone that suggested a special, mary porf-
te wwo S *am,
essional relation between hob,tm E
"What about the air ticket back,"
she asked, "you can get that changed, can't you?" She had a more penetrat-
fnges
ing look as if trying to find out whether he'd actually done it; she was
quite still for a moment, her eyes set on him. "Oh, that'll be easy enough!"
he said, and turned away.
There was also a money-probelm which was now solved. The parties
with
and casual evenings at the house had .cost quite a lot, even though Pinkie
C earning as well. They rarely got through an evening Kow without buy-
ing a bottle or two of wine. But now he'd be able to go along to the
office and ask foran advance on the month, instead of waiting to collect it
at the bank in Basrah; what plans had he had for monéy, supposing his pix
leave had expired and he' id simply stayed on? He didn't know. Providence
had extended a helping hand.. Also he'd be getting his overseas allowance
too;
in the normal way---that would pay for a drop of 'overseas wine',/he thought.'
Yes, a very nice time was about to be had by our little clerki


CHAPTER1
He wrote to Mohammed asking him what the feeling was like in Basrah,
and whether he thought there'd be rioting. He wondered what information
alornl te prinble witkdrawal ) Bnhin persmnel
Nevinson had got hold of,k The papèrs said that the sheikh's English Nasanon-.
some papers called him *Rubath's public relations officerl---was isthepramte
etployefrthortho-shebthytandhadhbeen ow-thellast-twentyyeersptheywere
and tke katter
close personal friends and the sheikh/never took an important step wihtout
sheikh's
adhsyianng him. He was theymind: Den 2 N
sheikht his name was John
Creed,
think
and an editorial said that it was strange to neflect that pathapsi/onal/mhn
whornaanltherposibtosittomof a private tutor---this was how he'd got to know
the sheikh, teaching him English---had precipitated the world into a major
crisis, and that this could at any time become a war, tougntt/thel Britndh
gorébimentribehtaioehartep/withcaitadasalcarcnbaproiddedsn Journalists Wad tried
to get statements out of Mr Creed but unsuccessfully. He stayed in the palace
with the sheikh. Nobodyknemwherenthe-loyalties ofthevarmy lay: some
peoplasmid-that mostrofficerswere-behind-thesheikhy and some said-that if
thebwonfaetions unitedy thepationlistrofficers rand-thesommmistsoutside
Darumegonuamdnsendd outy One paper said that there was 'mounting
American féeling' against Mr Creedo apparentiyneldtaken-omtheasppeets
oflanGeorgealrmihister, t was hin OR
independences A
London paper had a cartoon with an Englishman dressed up as an Arab looking
out of a palace-window on to rows of guards with fixed bayonets, and underneath


were the words, 'The Sheikh of Rubath de-Creed a state of emergency.
Cases.of champagge had been seen going. into the palace and a paper asked how
far, since strict Muslims were forbidden liquor, this was tin the interests of
the sheikh's religious Creed.' 1 (Some people said mat Creed had been converted
to Islam.)
Then some of the rebel-officers were executed at the sheikh's orders
after a perfunctory trial. The papers argued about whether Creed was behind
Bnin
this, and some of them said that the/government should be pressed to
exercise more influence dn the sheikh, since they had put troops in the area,
halp
because
and to/get Ureed out. But that was impossible since Rubath was an independ-
ent state, and Creed was in the sheikh's private emplgy. People also suspect-
ed that the government was behind Creed in a subtle way; and that Creed had
been against the executions and after hours of argument with the sheikh had
got the concession of perçuntory trails, so that at least the public-relations
a eittle
side. would be covered.
There was small/rioting all over the country, but
the British troops held aloof and left discipline to the local police and 6
AAA loyal elements in the army. An illegal newspaper was started by a rebel
becaude a C
faction in Rubath and surprised everybody by its first issue, whbeh/ -
was moder-
Toneo
ate anchsobert there-were-no-wild-denctationsr Ttelearlybelonged to
the arny-factiongofoffioerat bhere were also Lawyersand dutgesinvolved,
said
insofar as thecountry hadanyo The editor oarahe-pen. pepar was euppesed
to be a doctor, one of the best surgeons in the country. This put Russia
on the side of the angels, and America tried to join the angels quickly, with
a statement of 'horror' at the executions. The British were left holding
the baby, and the clamour from Moscow grew now that the chance of. a war with
America was less. There was a demonstration outside the British Embassy
in Moscow. The illegal newspaper in Rubath called for a parliament,
#bos
Tals univessal suffrage and the right of habeas
it used the terms of
corpus;
Arotds
English liberalism, not the tewns crodrtiy shared between Russia and America
'freedom*, ant- colonialiim! h
d H 'democracy', **XEEXEAXEk*Vhanancightsty *ireedant Utpdependencevandi


à NEotiontaras
Jaid
fegle
was
and-ljusticet
gest U ea one papergsaid, that Creed might-hare-been
this,
0. behind that too. There was another note from Moscow Mhichended mohwhat
staondea like an ultimatum. It said that measures might have to be taken to
this
protect democratic elements in Rubath; whieh the papers said, was a threat to
from
start a long war there by means of 'volunteers' armecby Russia, which vould
turn the whole of the Middle East upside-down, andthreatenthe oil-interastat
-fieldog
this, tha 'threat to the oi1f suddenly brought England and America closer
thon-kem
together, and there was a joint note) /that Rubath would have to be protected.
rall
Granville began to hope that itoudd/peter out tehbvaty with Russia not
Amenca
wa nting to risk a war with America, and the-other side not wanting to risk
was how
sne
theirloil. It had-botled-dowm to a moral question, R1 paper said, as to
whether the revolt in the army was a sincere movement of reform, as the illeg-
al newspaper suggested itkas, or something provoked by Russian agentso Rltr
responsibiapoepleirmbathhhad-beanttsayingthat(he
sofetthe, Itnsaidg satenkaxamdxprinfessiowalxpraptexhastxhawnxesatngxts
shet khrefaset to regogniss
kandanxeromxRabat
any-refomepartyortoolerate apolitical move-
ment of any kind, and that British elements, inteuding the Rritishlegation,
The Bniish
Sotial
u >m a
had never rezognésed the possibility of change and had clung to the sheikh)
asthe Onlyserious power inthecountryprmorey they had snubbed and pooh-
the
poahed/1iberal-mindedm people, somerof whom hadgat beipreducation,and
a A 3
d.c. theirpolities, from thebondon School of Economicsy L This had left the
best part of the country's talent well outside the area of government 0
(voot A cara
authority, nurs inga grievance because bboy aaren
ate a grown-up
ytaran
People
pooples They had virtually been forced into the rebel-camp, if not forced
ice
to take Russian advàte and perhaps Russian money and arms. . How big a part
Mr Creed had played in that nobody knew. His silence, the paper addedmtr
the journalists really seemed to hate his silence more than anything else)
abdutrhimsa-was fast becoming an insult; but perhaps he was busy' with the
WF cases of champagne that had arrived.
V iilés bope Abatlieloglalatl
starte
hr petet - it cameto Inothing - becaist Russia suddenly began massing troops
usual
along ber Persian border. It looked as if there was going to be theyfeinting


Dofrm Cnirs,
and marionette-play, with troop-movements and the recall of ministers from
paacd
holidayo that/had/become feniliarsincatkeendlofithe Wati London looked
different. - There was a cold wind and the skies were darker, giving the
streets a frightfully bleak look. . The newspapers were coming out in extra
editions, sometimes with avfew lines of mediocre news dressed up in sensation-
al headlines. There were piles of them all over the kitchen.
Either Gran-
ville brought one in or Dick or Glenning did. It felt as if the inside of
life had been taken out, leaving ondyva shelli. Little things like getting
wobish
Poal
up in the morning and making a cup of teas) thatthadlbeenapleasure and Leveny
defor
felt
stemad-Isportanth XK looked hollow and irrelevant; there was always this
greater thing going on outside, like a vast #otal sheet held up against the
sky, #AR keeping out the light. Yet the whole thing was being played out
in the mind: Nothing altered. Everybody went to the Same work every day
alo and.did the 'same things. Nothing looked different. Yet the thing was
going on, it was mounting, in its ghostly fashion.
Hanni had to work overftime---the Middle East section, she said, was
working round the clock. She brought her things to the house and stayed
in the bedroom downstairs; sometimes she came in after midnight, sallow
add exhausted. She said there was à real possibility of war; everybody was
worried and they were thinking of calling up the emergency reserve. Gran-
ville wondered whether he was one of these, and tried to imagine what it
in He army
would be like goang_Auto-uriform again. Hepoaldrbelsteadioralhanthewes
yaga
pot
inshospldays,
Nar/pethaps not/ss
There might be a relief Nh
itrforchin, discovering the open air again; withthat familiar Jearning Aott
pegoe ahd-bome/wbich since awas lover fultialed,butanteeestatie light
rodnarlvergthings and the closeness of death that put life in the proper
place along the span of space and time, not in the usual false light of civic
its
adcarh so that it got back ghe mystery, sronst/hats/hadbetoteloue 1
epbchsh
Howstrangenttwould-be tofeelthe rough khakt onhis legs again, and to
touchthe bubt of cifle, warm-where thw woad was and acy-cold-on-the hetal


Rattt fL
He couldn't believe it would happen, and yet he could; everyone
seemed in a doped state, believing nothing and everything. Hanni daid that
the door of 104 Downing Street opened and closed dozens of times an hour,
with méssengers running in and out: - She knew for a fact that rejinforcements
had been sent to the Middle East,' but it was hush-hush; they were embarking
at SouthHampton now for Malta and Cyprus. In a way, she said, she was enjoy-
it.U
iin Hei Ace
ing/ There were endless cups of tea, and, suecybody_was agredable/and-belped
2.C. sachather_ont. People joked all the time. Therewere peopler she wasysago
speaking Ea far the-first bime-after-yaare in the same-offiesarand there
thereoo
were all sorts of little surprises about peoplegs characgers; it-eeemed-to
Aapupeola Ah
d.e. a bring orybedy out A man she'd thought stiff like a piece of clockwork had
suk
oha
wusie elway ing
brought an a bottle of whisky in-the evening and/flirted with the secretafies.
A Hanhi tuself out. Scon,,
He was taking hor outontthe-wekk-endy This was the first intimation, for
sks
Granville, that she entertained thoughts of going out with/men. Dick smiled
when she told him, and christened the man 1Joe Clockwork'.
There were long political arguments in the kitchen, which the women
sat through in silence, looking pale, the life ddrained out of them. Irrit-
ation started between Dick and Granville again: they always seemed to be on
opposite sides. When the argument got rough Pinkie would put her hands up
to her ears and say, i "Why can't you argue without shouting, for God's sake ?"
This was addressed particularly to Glenning and Wranville. The young man
Gerald
mand Aes crcning
to He amy:
called Loutnd with the pleasant face, came/and said he was voluntepring:
laEr
it would 'make a break', he said. Butl he found one couldn't volunteer/for
five years in the
a crisis, and kaxeoxkinttxfase army would have been a longer break than he
was looking for, He began coming round -every evening, and drank as he'd
in his eife,
never done betogaa/ As quickly, however, he stopped and. was once more the
Camet. ke hase
pleasant young man who ealledpound once a week or. so: and he said his
apart fon 3 iunig aincey a 'scare',
his
threat to volunteer,had got him a rise at the plastics-firm.
crisis
For Dick the sitmatfonin-Rubath was clear. The sheikh was an unjust
and backward ruler; the rational thing to do was to remove hims


he-nse-preventing the-development of his ewn country and tying t down-to.
anfareign influense, namely, Britain. He was therefore-ansthiborical ana-
said
ehroniege "But what about the Russians?" Granville asked. Dick replied
without hesitation, "If' the Russians get the upper hand, good luck, to them.
But I doubt if they will". Bohna-theirareirargumentargmmenta-there was areluctsnce all
the time: they both hated talking out it; the words were hard, without
colour little grey pellets; bas it all f outof their mouths like ash.
They were victins. They would both much rather have talked. about something
wikeace nkw
else, and agréed, but this had a relentless hold on them, and they stuck at
gaohrother-withr a grimness that seemed-to-tome fromoutside thembothy
Piek said that perhaps destiny required the Russians there, in the Middle
in Rubracth have ed
"ast; - it was doubtful if the reform movement /could/exist, or the illegal
newspaper been published, without Russian kxtep help.. apechapeny/o
added, Rassian-sympathy was renougnlu Itwasakind of historisal naterialist
argument supported by ideals: history would dispose of the sheikh---it was
only A mattér of time---and the ideal which justified his disposal was
that orcivilised goyernment; therefore British troops should get. out to
Zeave history ta take Htsdnevbaabie coursethere. "But suppose it produces
k p. less civilised government?" Granville asked him. "It couldn't," Dick
y replied. "At least, another government wouldn't cut off people,s hands for
p. stealing.
"It might," said Granville. "I don't thinkso," said Dick.
added thalhe
He didn't believe the Russians were behind the revolt, He laddeal but he did
believe MAA the Pritish were behind Creed. He said he based this on the
fact that the Middle East had been an area of British influence for more than
a century, and that Russia had always been keptx out. But sometimes in
zones of infauence people fought for a just government, and this was what
they were doing in Rubath. Granville's aaswer was that it had nothing to
do with justice or, indeed, with any ideals. "What is itm then?" Dick
asked him.
e as Baffhed for a reply Hensaid ke didnit know enough
about what was geing on; but ibwas quite possible that army-men in-charge


H91
govexnment wouldbe Justas bad as tha sheikhe
hilt
"I'm surprised to see you supporting nationalists and military men," n
k reb ljed
he addeds "Where does that fit in with- civilised government?" Rerwga
satabareconcitadwith-Bicka d previouslargimenttthatit sdn*tvmatter-if
tholubtidhatook Oxertheren
"I didn't say I believed in nationalism. I don't necessarily say
said.
people ought to govern themselves," Dick replhede "All I say is that they
wn should be governed as they want to be governed."
Ttwasarsubtleargaenty butGrawillaguickly-brasheditasiide.
"The people aren't involved at all!" he said. "Where do they come in?"
"Ultimately they're involved."
"They're all sitting quietly in their villages, half-starvedi Don't
you believe iti It's never the people who start these movémentst"
Saitwent on,one sometines-more-eubeubtle-thantheother, then-vice-vérsa:
own
ip, This last remarkpat Granville ortolaclearer-conception-or-his/positioni
this
a decided to take g/as the opening theme of his réport for T.I.M., for
which he'd been casting around in his mind. A middle-class was coming into
existence in the Middle East---doctors, lawyers, teachers, army-men, civil
lic - servants;
swas the Nost important po Htical factor- payrtsntelpotarg
and they-were-exere-excluded om a V
en like the sheikhof
HeNigonce
lal Rubathyisho had noneof the qualities tby which they themselves-had advancedf
Thesituation-had nething-to-do with ideaks) the political slogans were the
same as those which accompanièd the rise of any middle-class---in thertase
resoyn
a tundred
A14 Rubath they were the same as in England duringthe firet-three decadesof
yers Afonn ago,
bhe-ninbecenth-odnbury, The 'people' had nothing to do with it. The
leaders of the riots were students usually, and they were supported by the
officer-class. The 'peoplet were attracted to middle-class politics by the
Tal was all.
promise of a higher living standardo Althoughyhe said,st-was_possible
Mals bhatithia wouldgo dewn forat time-under-middle-elabs governmenby whish
soaato d
tac
soneentrate h + a armsand a strong-police-force.
Thathad happened


abwayn
AMEnghends phemesery anong the "peoplet was, Prightful - in the'ffrst
This had
fifty years or so of middle-class governmen t. The same_happened in-Russia,
when themiddled-Tass inherited power through commanism. - There was first
the_bitter struggle to put up the factories and produce goods for lowprices;
then ther new organised lifebegan to show returns. He noted this down, for
go on to say that this was_an
the first paragraph of the reportx he would Sapxxfkmrxtiutxsommthiongonmuk
feot for
campany-in he Middle
P. Important
anytrading
East toknows He
see
whal
this
didn't quite lenow yet howhewoudd-make the connection)between/tbe new
whom
and T.lM;
middle-class, of shich- puidbgthy Mohammed was one.
stapped B think-about
onginon
tM but' it had resolved some of the confusions in his mind. He didn't
Aonenery offer it to Dick-as an argumen to For one thing, he didn't want
them all to cry in a chorus,"Oh, for God's sakel
That word 'middle-class'!
Can 't: you give it a. rest?" And for another thing he didn't want the idea
exploded; he wanted to make it stronger first. So he argued with Dick
without bringing up his main reserve.
Dick said that England's day was over as far as the 'big political
plums' werdconcerned, and that this would make England.a nicer place to live
in. The big imperialists these days, he added, were the Americans; they
discomgot
would cash in from our diseartifrwe in the Middle East, and they were the
other cause of it---apart from Russia---in any. case. Glenning said to this
that the last thing America was was an empire. "Whatis it, thene" Dick
Sen * l
asked. "natbitade to Europe,l Glenning replied witi
E dded
le said
- that America had a temporary porlttkpa hold on the western world because
of the collpase of so many countries in the war---Amtricalrtcadictleaubackard
bandodrout-tberoney Panddeyeloped the Anyentions-thancame from-abroedqand
Amenca
d.c. 80 fortha But that wouldn't lastfo = wouldntt ass beoanse-ehe had no
serious aspirations abroadf and
LE - se because she was too busy 'trying
being!
to produce a new type of human enoatunet, America waspmorat pant - :
not A poli ttieal
Rickehuckledrhe-wae always gertal when-Glenhang
talked, the urbaner tone eppealed to him---Sleaning-never spoke withvenom


o atroganaes
The arguments
more and more abstract between
got
the three
men until Hanni and Pinkie put a stop to it with the biggest party they'd ever
had in the house. There was dancing; and much else; in every room, and it
went on until dawn Saturday morning, with couples sleeping in each other's
arms in the corridor outside the music-roog.
Hanni discovered that ali the time she'd been sleeping at Chaworth
Road Dick had been entertaining Linger-Longer down at Hampton Court: he
hinger-honges
tar'd been
confirmed that she couldn't even cook an egg; he said
(some tripe in
rédhosni
she* asked him'y
the kitchen and sho hought /it was a foam-rubber seat for the car', not that
he had à car.
right," he'd told her, "I'm partial to foam-rubber
"Thatks
seats. Ford turns out a very tasty one, I/goessell with mashed potatoes
and Bruseel sprouts!m Believe it or,not, he said, she was the daughtér of
He proletanat
working-people: she'd told him that until she was fifteen she 'd thought tea
came straight out of the tap and only had to be boiled up. "How her mum
drom Rer
managed to hide herftom the facts of the kitchen)I don't know," he said.
"What about the other facts of life?" Hanni asked in a dry voice.
"How does she manage with those?"
Dick
He hesitated, giving her a long, twinkling look, and replied, "With a
amldit
few more evening-classes she shoulant be too bad."
Pinkie said afterwards that Dick had fewer escapades than he claimed
credit for: he only liked the atmosphere. Linger-Longer wouldn't dream of
letting a man touch her, she said. But Dick told him the opposite, in
confirdence. He said she'd taught him a few tricks; anyway: "Women always
get other women wrong in that respect, old sport."
Unexpectedly, Creed came into the news again. He had the hotel-room
of an English journalist searched and his telegrams andftarbon-copies of his
te police
articles photographed. He even authorised /to use his name when they forced
their way in. It was a very Middle Eastern thing to happeny and not/ikely
2.0 ta be understoodintherestiof theworldy There was an outcry at once---
the freëdom of the press had been violated! Then the public-relations


shich
office' of Rubath, asitnhad cemeto be-knawnsince-thererisis Dbega ananeit
pullished
wasset-up at the oslace-and-really meant M Creed-pansvesded tak/the text.
which a asked
of MKE telegram from the journalist's newspaper kad agkre for violent stories
wherever possible, and if they had a sex-element so much the better. fAnythé
odded,
ing with blood in it,' the telegram said. There_had-been small riets-recent-
lynalwayaiin-the-capital-aethey-were me demenstratione-With-scuffling and
Aod
sometinesashot fireda BatttheyuwetesSpreadings peoplesatd-theyNere
D being Stagedbyonepoliticahinteresterother.
Creede then
put out basz
phModricerenty that he would talk to the press in the palace omaspeatabed
day but he would read a prepared text and not answer questions. Everybody
wondered what this meant. Would he say something to tip the balance of the
crisis? Perhaps he.would offer terms to the rebels or announce his own
resignation---it was known that he was now an embarrassment to the British
But
were
government. The-taycamen-gnd the first reports werenttvery interesting.
The morning paper said that Creed had provided the 'unsolicited information'
that journalists had arrived in Rubath from all over the world by air and
that they had 'more or less taken over' the only two hotels in the country,
the Rubath National and the Tigris.
fAfter this courgaeous sally into
certain
common knowledge", the paper said, he ldfgh then told the conference that
thel
puk ly
eye-witness accounts nut out bythe journalistr whose roem had been sexached
la had been
Yat of
werenttinffaeteye-witness accounts at 1 but had been written in the/
de igois Heteli
bar
telepheney a mumber of-telephones-had been install-
gdin-the-hotely and in any case, Creed-said, the accounts, eye-witnessop
h.f not, wers untrue. Most of the papers said no more than this, but Dick came
in with the wholetext of Creed s speech. No wonder the papers were furious!
Attacks on Creed had alzeady startedp apratrssult Creed had reahlytetbin
Itat so-called
self goe He said/the/ eye-witness accounts had grown out of a scrap between
a policeman and a native due to a donkey in the middle of the main street,
and this had been buitt up into a major riot.' A crowd had gathered, sha
some of the police had thought it was political and fired some shots in the


Creed
alwayp
air; ard this in turn had excited the crowd. He said the news was being
built up in this way. The *IKOn bar E the Rubath National, Melsardg held most
30 called
of thetynuld-be respectable correspondents, who usually call themselves, I
tad
think, Diplomatic Correspondents', while the Tigris herboured the tebloids--
the two bars were doing better business than at any time in the 1gst twénty
years, since I, in fact, advised the sheikh to put. them up." The chief of
hot e 5 Hese u eist had beeu preseut al
police had reported to him that tnot-onesingle oceabion-ien-there-had
beon a demonstration or skirmish Mpaeag in any part of the countryo
hhadalghiterface been Reeny Fhatiwas ameasure of the truth-ofthose Jeye
V Creaid said,
witnessaecountst Anyway, beadded, these demonstrationspchskoskngontggmty
took place too suddenly to allow tmerfon correspondents, slowed-down by the
pints of boose, Authendy to get to their cars and drive ten, twanty and some-
times fifty miles. Mostof these Tbey
e said, hednita thoughtin
theit heaesiftheir despabches-vore anything to
by, andnat-only-this
but they had nomoral cnpern-for-the country,
They didntbeven
have an interest in1o 'They come out here with their priggibha degenerate
loody
littie faces,* he said, and think they can size the situation up in a couple
evlu
of minutes when they can't even talk the DLDOST language and have
never/set
songsyn
foot Inthercauntxy,
in 844A Middle East oountryz before! They
think they can tell me how the place should be run when they hadven't got
a serious bloody thought in their heads, when they can't hardly read a book,
and when they're never alone! They haven't been trainedfor anything, they
live on a lot of bloody tittle-tattle, and they're the poeple forming
polihis
fopinionf, as it's called, all over the worldi No wonder governnent
every-
where-has turned-inte)a cheap and nasty puhlic-relations racket. And if
I'd laid on my public-relatdnhs properly and handed you boose free of charge,
you'd have all been eating out of my hand by now, the whole bloody lot of
yoult The paper said Creed had stumbled into the vernacular---*cantt
hardly read a bookl---perhaps because. his education at. Oxford had been
selige
"curtailed'; this was a polite paper, and its personal attacks had to be)
It meank tkal Creed had leen Seuk down th ho mo sexnality


'And all those right-thinking ptergymenend poeple in England," Creed had
continued, hodontt lAkebheshetkh ofabathyas whilevary puroadall
>0 in tact
tot
flooly
thaty are the dupes of a set of drunken, poubekorted wash-outs--
he cried when there were interruptions, 'even if you're T. not all druhk you
should be, to sluice out the rotten thoughts in your brainsi This crisis
Week
would have die down a mnki ago if it hadn't been for you lot! Trorsytaretion
Yna Rubath is the same as theistwzationin any Middle East country, no worse
and a good deal better than some, and evetything'd be all right here if you
people hadn't settled on us like a lot of bloody blowflies, to make money
wittout
out of us, and tetheronrerorverertt boobies all over the world to take your dirt
y.u umldi wable to do it!
seriously And I can tell you how most of you get your riews, too, in case
the rest of the world doesn't know---! He said that nearly all the news
u hative
came from Rbath (reporterss, that meant natives of Rubatha over thé nphone.
pesosally
Some
ese repoxtersyhe sald,inewtheleadérsof the rebel movoment/
end pertd côme cofuseful arpangement for which they ere pai
U feed
the foreif gn presswith steries-every day even 1f
y time a stone goes through somebody S window theress a story,' he said,
'and you're all sitting in the bars slopping the whisky down your gullets
waiting for the stuff to come inn. What a moral lifel And you've got the
guts to hand out morality in your daily newspapers! I'd like to see any pge
itals of you XRpH spend à week in this palace---I mean off-season, when we haventt
the pleasure of entertaining riff-faff from all over the world---without going
I I
off your bhendg nuts from boredom and loneliness: Well, I've stuck it for
twenty years and I've enjoyedx it. I respect these people, and I admire
ratrie
the sheikh.' Well,' he went on, 'I'l1 tell you aboutthese/reporteras. There
was one little skirmish last week that was prettily staged by the interested
parties and the story all about it got through/the Tigris bar before it
actually hapapened. Thesé Rubath reporters are an even more illiterate
and unscupulous lot than you! They Are the sons of doctors and lawyers
who wanted their children to inherit a better World---well, they did, they


got their better world, they've lined their pockets out of the misery of
the people. And I cân tell you these boys know no more about the lives of
ordinary people in this country than tyou errant knights of the Tigris bar
do! Two of them have got, ebacqurvelant Inbatnged to balcalloduthogenoral
CL school certificateg which any bloody fool could pass at the age of fifteen,
anleastin my day, though-what the Rideor-today arencapable of Idontoknow,
kasie -
ine
especiallyifthey'reyour kids, And one of them hasgot he
Cambridge
celtiticate. 4 know, because I taught zhem myselfi You may have noticed
ital that their mistakes in grammar are the same as mine: Well, some of you might
have noticed---the diplomatic correspondents; the others, I suppose, Aphone
Henselves
dun A papes,
their stuff across to save/thel shame of putting tkexatiff it EET WOTES
Mgsba
MWVErK un
anrenlingrayew/ Mheu
SThose reporters,
I repeat, are lay-abouts and raggamuffins, and I should be very surprised if
any of them had a thought beyond this eveninggs sex! Creed ended by saying
that the receipts of the two hotel bars were unparalleled, and that since he
had shares in these hotels himself he wouldn't come off too badlyt He was
thinking of setting up a fund for the religious conversion of journalists
éverywhere to Islam. There ware interruptions all the way through. his
speech, but he showed no awareness of this and spoke through a microphone 3
with a' stout bodyguard standing in front of him. The laughter was some-
times upraorious, and at the end some of the journalists H gang 'For he's
a jolly good fellow!, When he'd finishéd talking he
and without
got/abruptiy
another glance at them strode through the beads of a doorway and was lost to
sight.
It didn't command thebheadlines. Creed was a minor figure now, 0 that
helori
y Dick read the speech out, swinging in his chair,
and everyone enjoyed it immensely. It was the first real human voice of the
crisis, breaking through the bleak, metallic shéet of the daily news that hid
the light. Pinkie and Hanni were thrilled by it, and laughed and clapped thei
hands. The papers treated it like a music-hall jokefenthelaolooroner


couldneeuhat angood-naturedpeersom hhe Rasceallyp-theynsaidyumelidyuimalittle
twinkle-intis eyessn Orced-was-di-scredited,and-mobolypaid-humanytur
ther attention asaserious-element in-the-ortsis. A few papers published
amused biographical notes about him. with a malicious undertones belwesa
bomosexual, bhed been-sent-down Krom Oxford
forpraetices-wbichpluckkilyfor
Seoe besso Kenesead
he parents
the hoys-concerned, EdT brought LHE
Law-eourts,
end e was now a Muslim. He was teetotaler and he spoke fluent Arabic---but
in the way thense things were mentioned they didn't seem virtues. Apparent-
had
ly, msta )sent a note along to 'one of themmost sombre diplomatic correspend-
ents', as he called him, in the Rubath National, after the press-conference,
saying that in view of the money they were putting into his pockets via the
hotel-bars, would they take into consdderation as well that he had shares in
some of the local brothels, and perhaps patronise them under a police-escort
which he would be gladcto provide? This wasn't reported in the papers;
Dick brought ii in, having got it from somebody in the Middle East
depart-
Creed
ment. Journalists had nick-named ktm 'the queen of Rubath', he said.
A letter came from Mohammed. He said there had been a few quiet
arrests in the last few days and that there were more police ta) the streets
Seen
than he'd ever nemembered before. Rhe communists were biding theirtime;
Ye added.
they were plentiful and armed. One day they would strike,k There was a
heavy police-guard outside the Mesopotamia and also the British consulate.
But otherwise nothing had changed. He went to the garden of the Mesopotamia
as. usual in the evening, and sat swinging in one of the hammocks; 'I miss
Yad K Basroh
l.c. you too much, my dear,' he added; A man and his son/came/from a village
a hundred miles away, on foot, and found P daughter of theirfamily working in
out
ned Yad made her walk almng
ome-oc-tbe/brotheld. and to wipe anay the di shonour they
He /
her
Heu gusen
railway track leading towards home and followed behind,
her little
giving)
with daggens cll the way,
cuts in her back until she collapsed and died. He said everyone was talk-
ing about Rubath and Mr Creed in the cafés. The Arab saying, tAll English-
men are spies' was repeated everywhere. There was no doubt that Mr Creed


was.a spy for the Fritish. 'I thank God you do not come back. It is too
safe." He meant 'unsafet; this was a peculiar error he always made, ompitt-
ing the negative prefixes. He said that at the trials of the rebel-officers in
Rubath the defense-lawyer had been in the pay of the public présecutor, and
that they were both lovers'of Mr Creed. The last time Mghammed was in
Rubath he lost 'two month at poker'; he always measured money by his monthly
wage, at least when he talked to Granville, calling thirty pounds 'one month',
sixty pounds 'two month' and so forth. "My dear," he would say, "I think
one
I spend à month on one outsider this afternoon. I have one good tip!m
There were fluent attacks on the government at meetings held in London.
Oné of the labour party leaders asked what had happened to the plans set
forth by the so-called Home Office in Rubath five years ago---plans for the
building of at least fifteen schools and another hospital, for the establish-
that had
ment of a doctor in every village wickk a population of over five hundred
people, and the irrigation of large areas of the desert to relieve the
appalling high disease and mortality rate in the ruaal districts: What had
happened to the money set aside for this purpose from the vast oil profits
made by the sheikh? He had evidence that nothing whatsoever had been done!
It was little wonder, he said, that some army officers were after the shiekh's
bloodl Were the British government prepared not simply to stand by and
watch it but actively condone it, and/support with arms the murder of men
had Eeer
whose only crime was a sense of social justice such as was accepted every-
where in Europe as elementary and unchallengeable? Was Britain going back
instead of forward? And in whose name? In the name of the British people,
who had not less than a hundred years before fought for all these rights
was
that bhre-poeple-ef Rubath were now claiming, and won them? What mandate
had'the British government for its conduct?
Granville'
Dick showed him this speech, but be)saidnothlnganbake shrugging it off.
off, He was getting theurepotationy since hecouldnt-bring-his-real
attitude to lightin the-midstof so many-elogans and so-muehrbelky for


The Youe annoyed. him. ik wus h -
slick indignalion ym sead howabays, 500.
supporting bhe status zuo whereyer itwas, But-herefused to talk-in-the
terms that by nowhad become accepted, more or Xess, whenever a group formed
în the kitchen. The sheikh was attacked, then Creed, then the Eritish
government: there was anestablished order of commendable opinion now.
seep
He félt if he joinedin it would be/ a signof weak characfer in him: he
would be repeating something_for gpoup-appreval sohewas silent even when
in *e kitchen argument,
te agreed with whatwas said. He stuck to his guns, glowering silently.
'Ginger' asked him why he took such a pukka sahib attitude. He felt lonely
and misunderstood: his skin prickled Ge
as if he was under imminent
physical attack, and he couldn't look at the others calmly wheh politics came
up. Therevas an ambiguitsonhisaida,heknewr - Nhe hadnttlthencalmofr
Tal sertainty
He kept repeatéing EE that it wasn't a matter of morals at
all; it was just a matter of one group fighting another. But morality
Cone ina
did sometimes entera The police fired on children one dayo tuelrarot
touchinglanyorthem, Weredid Granville stand in that? Hemasnearly
overwhelmed by the rightness and decency of their attitudest but still he
"said that it wasn't the/issue. . He was pretty sure, in himself, that the
exécuted rebel-offiters had been moderate men, as the papers had/said;
he knew that doctors were deliberately kept out of the villages by the sheikh
even when péople were dying, =
a even when a child-was dying, and that
the doctors who disbbyed were called up to policeheadquarters andtold bjr
a bull-necked, Aliterate police chief who had never known ajust thought in
his life that they were *communistst and were in dangerof being gaoled.
pople
He knew, what Dick said repeatedly, that there were English/out there in
the Middle East, in the embassies and oil-companies, who belonged to---or
identified themselves with---a specialand small class that had lost its
position in England and found thelife out there advantageous for keeping up
the old styles; ) thoy-wore
Dick sa
they had made a complete muck-up/pf our relations with-the
Arabs since the war. Granville had met some of these people, Dick hadn't.


50l
Autretillne didnit speak- Heknew whatDick-meant-but horefusedta nod
hishead, becausaofbhisfeelingofgroup-approval behind. He Woulanttsey
ohingeninordertoba commendeds
kitthen 1
In nearly all the)discussions England was in the wrong. Thetporal
RENN rapexnbet
positiantoror/Mmerioaorlyaasiaweo - tfokly
bad 916
Wasnuathe
Hatnaeninirtherahradng/passdonn And he took this for granted---it
dad seem natural that England should always be in thw wrong. 3 Pephape-that
the
wasntherebisleeeling L orambi
Erelwas ancertainVeinortalk
asbe
irwhich
samor/EnkIantuvad they mame
atanworthystatooflaffeirss
En wa I 'agplancnent
tz meant different things at different times---sometimes it meant bad weath-
er, at others war-time restrictions which were still lingering on, sometimes
bad colonial policies, at others stiffness of charactero pertitalatayof
thensextal charactere
te conduet-of-the-polieer Butalreys
alv
at *
el there was
static descriptive term, pejorative, atitomatically
so, as if everybody would naturally understand the inference, 1 England 1 :
* e AEAA
Hefd become so used to it that'when Linger-Longer and Ginger talked
ake this inte criss
during-therorisis)hevorisis)he found it natural gena/qutremumetter-or_couredrtield
donsafair Amounboftbhimsalf inhis time, as he knew--untilh holastarted
to live abroad and feel nostalgia for the country, and until hefd come to
feel that perhaps 'Englandt wasn't something that could be taken for granted
said
but was as active and changing as what Mohammed talked about when he tsed
thewords fArabmationelt m' He'd/railed and attacked in that vein before
he left England. Yet, at the same time hetd kept a sense of England: he 'd
told himself, in silence s that he was only talking about the violation of
England s image, not the true England wip he loved; only the corruption
of England, not hér being, which was in him and couldn't be taken away:
h.p Did Linger-Longer and Giner feel-the same, in silence? And he now found,
to his surprise, that undernéath his confusion and sense of ambiguityin this
crisis lay aconcern for England. It/felt shameful, even. He might be
laughedat. What a disoovery---to feel concerned for Englandi An English-


maptool But what was goiug to happen if Englaud was frittered away
like this all the time ? What would happen to their little group in the
kitchen, aud the language they talked? It was almost like a change of
cousciousiess in him! - He was awed at himself, with puzzlement and
kis
shame, at this new position. Tergeemedontafthe qestiorthat any
serious ardDhenghtfulpersonshould feelcohesenfor Enghandi One
Semerkins
didn't defend Eugland! Defend EUAL impregnable!le/mstianosanteben
The inference was that she could, doonaitar-nersertwell-enenghaandoon
could
lamithataad endless criticism. But how loug weuld that go on for?
How much frittering away would she be able to bear, in her heart, from
her owil people? Hanni said one day that Eugland had been the 'fairy-
land' of her childhood, when she was living in Kurdistan, aud Pinkie
replied that she couldu't uuderstand how auybody could possibly regard
England as a fairyland, with a laugh! But Hanni replied that it still
was partly for her, especially when she walked round the streets of Lon
don alone, or stayed in the country.
"Oh," Pinkie said to this as if
it waz quite a different subject, "the coutry's lovely."
Bastah bhadbeeerslearto in he firettime thathewas
an Englishmans in his goodness as well ashis errors, whe therhe liked
it or lot. It was quite a discovers. Ashe walked through the strée-
tshe was an Englishman, recoguisableas such.
Itwasn't a matterof supporting Foreiga Office policies in Ru-
bath, he said to Pinkie one evening in the kitchen wheii they were alone.
But what was going to happen if England was always wrong, and her right-
ness always a duty incumbent upon her that neednrt be mentioned? Why
was the name 'England 1 only mentioned when there was an unworthy state
of affairs? It had solong been-under attack by the livelyand intell--
igent that it was LOW a conventional affectation. But how much-more
there
eouldbe ered
pire had withered away by common assenty/


With so much eaten away abroad, how much of this tiny
idland could be eaten away from inside as well? It wasn't
a metter of politics. It was a matter of touching the heart
and soul again, and listening, to find out what they were.
'England' was a convenient whipping-post for rising people at
home and abroad, and thisxemingidedRAXEAXERXBXdXfRRIifestingt/ththe
country which now controlled the western world, America.
It even produced a little reflex of shame to have a sense of
concern.
The castigation was now common speech. It was a kind
of easy journalese---even Linger-Linger and Lucy went in fot
it. It was fancy-dress thinking, and went well with wine and


made seem BV
flirting in the kitchen and staying up late. The talk pasalnape Casitf
separate
all
gho 3 cus
being Englàsh was something akffexenk from what they/were. Ginger claimed A
Irish.mhapstra anything foreign added a bit of colour! Foreignerst44ths
was theinferenceco-had the right to propose themselves to other people RsO
torspeakgin-theit natiohelitys as Arabs, as Frenchmen, as Cypriots or Chin-
esl.
ese Theghad a certain exeiting flow im their blood from nationality.
This flow O bloodwas separato from power nd por
ca guae e istinet Erem
the situation that existed/in their gountries; it wasn't an outward form at
lut C ot i L Englia -
all pmw, poutics, torm
all, When Linger-Longer said tingiisk ta French boyt it had a special ring:
The word AFrenchr was enough to evoke it. Buddha was exciting. Islam was
Rad
exciting. He/noticed how everyonels interest quickened when he talked about
Basrah or the long trip he and Pinkie had take en to Krudistan, 5 veryone-ereept
Hanni
ver wanted
-see-hen tome
foreign had aglow
But
d.c. emere
bering world-lay outside Englend. Being English' didn't
eeem-te-mean the samen aacbeingarErenchmanoraraba
didait-kave the strange
fl0wof-blood, Te ver present, brooding conseiousness that had grownout
Kad
2 in the bitehen
of thepast. Hefbegan to wonder, listening to some of the conversations,
how everit had been possible to get Englishmen to fight foreigners in two
Did
leel te hue
world wars. But - a aen a k
aght everybody-in the world might feel-the
same about themselves! Eenning thod
et Tmtany ta
for
some years
bat none
rtC
t tve themselves
for- H Gerna
knew that in Mohammed there was a certain
distaste towards self in itsArab connection
e and
bwo-of the
Tended t6
clerks/gloriffed Granville in his Englishness-- 6 Wi th political reservations.
knd Hanni had dreamed abaut England - ne > Childhood
So- ibwespossible-
forpeopleta find Englishmen exciting-inthe-samewayt What was going to
happen to the world Atien if all sense of place, if the heart and soul of
legv
the birth-place was cing to die in people, and a dream of 'abroad' substit-
wos/ovangyrtincaptabant In that case no place would have a real
heart after a time; you wouldn't be able to visit anywhere in the world


ant
l wus a place !
ancberabla to say geminelynthatit-had TY orag Chersotersebe about
or any special intimacy, a - beyond you and yet of a distant, stir-
fing-fascination. There would only be abstract social relations in the
end; there would only be agreeable manners. and shared gexeat general ideas,
with the intimate heart burning and smarting inside, forlorn, never allowed
full speech in ease the required agreeable manners---the democracy---were
disturbed,
That was the penaltyof destroying the sense of_place and count-
A ts
ry. It had all got confuséd in the nineteenth conturyt-ymationatim, 2 and
an empty patriotism that was only thehard will driving for advant-
ages; : it had got confused with pride. It had got eaught up with wars;
Iral
Chensense ofy being, passive and timate, simply there like a tree, hed gorje.
glefs Asag AAgORAg
np. Being English in Pinkie's sense,' when she said it in a certain/ tone,meant
it meant
teing 'pompous' or 'stiff', i
à n comnactionwitth posornAvithythe
hard-driving class that had once managed affairs.' When she was intimate
Yuls and gay she nevervthought of calling herself English: she appargently had
no nationality then. But her laughter was English; her light eyes and her
way of listening, her face quite open to anything that might be said, in
deference, seeming unsure of herself; and her sureness underneath, that made
her pout her lips and look 'patrician' as Dick said; and her fair skin, her
long easy stride: these were
Bnglish!. He could tell now what Mohammed
and the clerks meant when they called her 'the English flower'. And the
independence of heart when everybody leaned fowward in the kitchen arguing
and shouting was English as well; why did they want to deny it? What
fuv
deeper did we have in us FaT
o place, which meant country? We could
/ Lo do the silliest things, with apparently no meaning at all, but place endowed
them with meaning! in Basrah he and Pinkis-hathorderei hot-cross burs
specially from a bakéryon Godd Friday, for twoyears runningrand had eaten
themhot with early morning tea, though- they were hideous li ttle objects,
pellets of white dough that sat on theirstomachsjai fterwardsy leut the smell
e-the-sinnamon, and the taste of thecurrantsy the dark cross over the bun,


had ayercitement fromtheir childhoods-for ther-Dhat-mado.thevocasiorthovoccastonme
the whole house--glow; what else was that but the excitement of place,
baptised and endowed? Whatelse wasthe nostalgia inhim when he went into
the bounsryside, thaurestalgla forthe past, batragense of the heactkaring
beemlost somewhere?) Pinkie and Dick and Ginger would all stick out a mile,
as English people (anywhere abroad. d Then surely they
saand
them-
hadto
Cul selves; in their Englishness, at some point? That would be logical if they
believed in Arabs doing so.
ie wasn'tt
tbet-a-mawuellonsddisooverpt Buthe conlan't explain this
any of Bher
dadkdiacinssion that went en rabout Rubath. It remained the Souree ofhis
discontentment and silenee.
Me o dd
Hewevery le dE askDick
ar "Does England mean anything to you,
really?"
"How do you mean?" Dick looked at him closely, wi th flicerAing eyes.
"In connection with Rubath and all that, do you mean?"
Dick was abrupt, turning away from him. "I wouldn't live in any other
country in the world, I can tell you that much. Listen---" Hè turned back
to him with an ususual sternness. "Itts you who're always off and about,
Well, daw your ow cA clusima
isn't it? II tell you, I'd never be able to stick Basrah like you./ What
do you want me to do, wear the Union Jack round my shirt-cuff?".
He felt contrite. Whp ad
etteehed
much Emportanee
Slrely
antipmaistn bisoun-trapf Her 1a Sasdthat thismemory of plaeewas
silentand passive, a state ofbeing, but he looket for itinpeeplelstalk
justthe samteh Itwas justasstrong-i DiCk as
Timi But still his
argument persisted in silence. We'd got to connect it all up with our ideas
again, this sense of our country. We couldn't go on picking away at the
fabric without knowing what we were picking away at. Tet, Wetd got to avoid
the power-talk of the past; we must'nt "believet in England, as if it was
side our veins.
separate from us ; we'd got to find out what it was, in) B A We couldn n't


just leave it to expand or wither away. We had to know. cergatelhitn
anentask-in-thoughta Wej had to find out where our civilisation had come
from. We couldn't leave it to flow through us, hoping for the best.
did;
And he didn't know where it came from any more than Dick appeared-tot he
took it for granted in the same way; he thoyefppe left it untended. Mord
kevsepeetof.
gatnta Joonwhefewe eame fromy Bverythsng-bad-betomerse confused Per-
hapause-kad-tho-task-oc'undoing the-nheteonthrcenturm-as)_non thatit
hadhereated,firedand firm, the throbbingngroptimistichewworld. We had
to look into it again, and recover our selves; see what we had lost;
ahat Juuncys
Mey
we had to know khy-the-jourey had been undertaken and where i had led us.
à ime
d Arr pasge
Itwagthofixst/hetahadorthoughtorrehat Aetbal Lfor weeki
Burprised athimsele Life had becomese-bo-bapsy-tarvyrhisnerves bedn -
ren
bgood/enenolghfer
He-would have- - a -
- -thoughty
The
usual netuous
whon. he
allowedt
- S crisis was a respite from the topay-turvy) )life;
thinking was permis ssible---everybody was doing a little bit of it, and the
in te Roude,
usual raw air of uncontained desires, the strange comings and goings, the
oblique look in Pinkie S eye, the hint of Grove in the
background---'Grove',
'Grove', it was a special hollow, doomed sound for him---were abated for
a while.
It focussed his interest and he even got down to writing the first
pages of his report. He outlined the idea of a new class having come into
being in the Middle East, without using the word 'class'. The more education
Ye urole,
there was, the better the standard of living for 'professional' people, a uol
tiots
the more chance there was of deamonstrattonse The students did most of the
shouting; they were the ones who in a short time would also be 'professional'
tige
people; they demonstrated because they felt that their future WOTR offered
breeadp
no place for their ideass dedg-tbafonrmateor the Tavyergotfhoe
Now
An theravas/fendalim. LA trading company had to identify itself with them
lry
lis
Better;
in some way. It could start with-better treatment of its)Arab employees L
l .c. than-had-been-the-cese-s0-farr He then went on to compare Mohammed I's salary


J at hia uum,
with hat
-Ruglishman
cante position Inmesthyder
Natarean He made a table, comparing the wages of clerks in England,
taken from civil service statistics, and the wages of clerks working
4 for thernillooupanies/and TIM as an average. He thought it NM3 quite
clevere The table had a AppA professional look.
He also said that thefArabs would have thainaineteeutheestury
heirl ninelionlt Century )
They/naa to go through dats-fivot This would cut across religion;
the Koran would no longer be readg aarthadbeertntbeloldayar And
It would cut across mat/mighabeoalsed Ke 'divine privilege' thasa
hadhound the villager ta the otd type of sheikh, hewevermisgfe h - 8 Ai
life.
Any uncongcious tigo--the villager to the sheikh, the son to the
father, everyone to the Prophet-z-would be undermingd by professional
people so that the *conscious society of the ninetegnth century, shorn
of 'aivine privilege' a might be coustructed, This meant parliamentary
bills gr the equiralent, sewage, , irrigation, town-planning, education
psdnational kealth schemes, asdso ferth. Nothing could prevent it;
and so a trading company might as well help it. The nineteenth cen-
tury' meant an administered 'plan of life', that is, life stemming from
conscious' acts of mind, not from conditions that were padsed on and in-
herited blindlyo asdittle planredasfamtly-ly-sfe But he strucky all
tAAA out.
It sounded MAAA opportunistic. And it looked mystical
after the tables of wages. Also who was he to be helping the 'nine-
teenth century?? To hell with it!
He put the report aside.


So9
Chapter. e
The crisis was like war being declared for a few days; everybods 's
thoughts were mobilised.
The books he'd got out of the library were
unread, and he no longer thought of going to a concert.
He read the
papers from cover to cover.
'Opiniont came in from all over the world,
like a collective, headfless creature.
There was public opinion, milit-
ary opinian, Arab opinion, official opinion, opouar opinion (which was-
bgpuls
n't quite public opinion), and informed opinion.
It seemed to be a way
of describing what a few people, or perhaps only one person, had said,
without naming him; so that the style had an iufallible ring as if an


all-scens cye had uniHeniv, with
everysrere.
/special access to all the thoughts people hady Since, partly because of
the clamour of the press ovevyuhare for immediate news, the real negotiat-
ing between the governments was going on in secret, by telegram and over the
getting
brphone, there was little tp report, enrtt the language was béeeming exmptier
gatting
and emptier, Apli the sound and style of all-seeing authority was baaoming
h. P more and more shaky. Glenning said that he'd heard from somebody high-up
in the foreign office that America had given a warning to Moscow, secretly,
that it they were seriously prepared to fight i the Middle East;athebeuty
just
arslz and thus any further developments anholerisid would/be 'publicity-
stuff', because Russia didn't want a war. The 'publicity-stuff' could take e
several forms. For instance, Moscow might demand that British troops be
withdrawn from Rubath, if she got the notion that America was pressing for
it as well; then it would look as if the presence of Russian troops on
the Persian border had frightened Britain cff, textke which vould be phopsta
(pulliclyde
valuable sethe Russians, eapublictty among the gullible-Toadersofnews-
perorsralhoverthe workd, Glenning was-now sceptical towards the press,
after Creed's speech; he said it had opened his eyes,-especially as none of
the papers had really answered what Creed had said.' Still, newspapers were
the only source of thformation; they collected opinion from all over the
He adeled
migec
world. Glenning said that baAras also boustblorthps the British would hang
on in Rubath to save their faces; sifd they might already have made an agree-
ment with the Americans to this effect. The press, he said, had cooked theis
thirough theit headline mania;
goose' since the wara, -internationat-politics was - goingta become moreand
mereamatterofseoret-negatiationyand government statements everywhere
Lblic
tete
atisa laudadle
selalions wauldie more and more publicity hand-outse Sarhef
Becaue S He press, he said, a 3 werument cauld do ay wickedn ness
gst
luc
There was a rumour -that America wouldn't support England in a show-
down. There ad been a statement from Washington questioning the desirab-
ility of the sheikh of Rubath retaihing Creed as his advisor; this was
interpreted as a warning to England that she must go it alone. Again
Russia renewed her pressure: ; there was a second demonstration outside the


British Embassy in Moscow. There was a possibility of England being
Saundul
isalatedi
The papers were alarmed. Suppose America and Russia came together
with a mutual agreement on the Middle East? No, that was out of the question,
one newspaperks 'informed opiniont said; but another newspapergs 'informed
opiniont said the opposite. What 'public opinion' and 'popular opiniont
thought now didn't matter; it was a question of surbival! There was. an
increasing demandt for the withdrawal of British troops from Rubath.
There were statements from politicians all over the world to that effect.
There were sobie statements, indignant statements, wsle and considered
pairicsans
statements, and statesman-like atatements. Some/ made them to win an dhinr
C: Aods election; some to keep their Oppositions quiet; some to courtiArab
opinion', ar avaliable opinion anywhere; and some because nearly everybody
else was doing it. Some were dragged into it at the last minute, by a
'public outcry' at their silenceo) duringthe Crisle-there were eonstant
toutorfestfrom allover the world. Andone of-thestatements was made by
Aan
a leader in theeast whe had just reluctantlyquelled a riotwith fifty dead,
over a dozenof them-children, and threeor fourkundred wounded,
There was a second American statement questioning whether the sheikh
wasn't in a sufficiently strong position not to need foreign help in his
here
country; bhere were two negatives, which made the sense ambiguous at first
sight, but the papers interpreted it as another warning to England to get
out of Rubath and suffer the loss of face as well. Glenning stuck to his
line that it was publicity-stuff: America wanted to keep up its publicity
colonial
as an anti-colonial power in case it got into/trouble of its own, ofa
OHTAE nature, for instancef in the Panama fnx canalo actumllyterro
peated, Chexto-ummpAussiato-Kheploutofthe Middle Easto
Englishmen had to be careful where they walked in Arab cities, the
papers said. There was no case of violence but one or two people had been
surrounded and jeered at. He wondered, with a timid feeling, whether
Mohammed would greet him as a friend again.
Politics filled the air;


wse M
for the time being eyery English facestas abroad Has vulnerable wit th
politics! He was glad he hadn't gone, by the grace of God.' He remembered
seeing one of his own clerks in the riot outside the Mesopotamia hotel from
which Mohammed had rescued him, and how this man who had taken tea with him
face
only the morning before had scowled and stared into his gyes as he passed
eyes
with
Groanlle'.
with black, blind/swimming zhtrhatred, thatrwas almost like desire; H
Seusation was a an imul aie, a
i A
re being possessed mometarily by another creature, in its claws, about
Lis
to be eaten---there was a breath of horror and fear through the body but at
the same time a passive, paralysed fascination that made the body soft, in
obedience to the bleak sightless ness in the preying beasts eyes. And the
following day they again had tea together, and the man appeared not even to
Re tkngec.
remember the incident. CTo hell with itt'l He'd stay in his own col untry.
Howasn't going to beputontherack-and-crueif
Aeweemer t ithout
knowt
country * e'a-eome- into for ther peopla's actions
another
popel
imed He wasn't going to go out there to provide his clerks with another
No, no ! He'd go a ege 9 Ris own.
face tox XE work off their hatred on! L He found himself getting indignant
Nett
even with Mohammed, and had to remind himself that Mohammed hadn't(said a
6n He snljecl.
h.p. wordk It also rakhled with him that he couldn't go to Dick with a clear
argument which would give all the pros and cons of the matter. Where did
lic. he stand? Was he for or against British troops remaining in Rubath? Was
Aaakh
he for or against the sheikh of Rubath? Wehl/hewasnagarinsep bengupposed-vo
ffom-what ha knew about it- from What he'dseen inthe papers--Trom ther
hsstorical nature of the sttation, thatis, the realshift of power,what
Well,
AlstoryidenandedrBut Yes or no? It couldn't be stated so simply! All
ANV
right---as a concession, yes: against; if the press was interested one
fali
could have put it out to the press---yes; against! Very well, then, since
/1 you are against what about the British troops in Rubath? Now the British
trodps---! Yes or no. But it couldn't be treated so simply! So it went
poprgen
on, hammering all day. It showed Thowittle lentimate Aife dE
naa
f eo
abreat th fromthe govermentsof the-world
Changeda They werohollow


Pheplanoutside-waB-total and absolutes During these days-therewas
nothing ersey
Said lo
thal helord
His
He complasned-so Dickjabont jall the "moral indignation?
"Don't you think moral indignation, As justified," Dick asked him, "when
people are shot without trial and that sort of thing?"
"Yes, but-- The number of times he'd said yes-but in the last few
days! "This reform movement isn't to get axk rid of one set of people
goudl
w because they're wicked and put in another set because theytre/nott" Dick
Crramille
was silent. "Why," he went on in a lighter voice, "do you think it is?"
'Yes'; there it was. And all he could say was 'no*!
A friend of Pinkie's called Elizabeth Bewley-Patton Aphoned her up
and told.her that she 'd heard thet this might turn into a 'big show'. Her
husband was high-up in the Admiralty.
"It looks as if you won't ever be going back to Basrah," Pinkie said
to him.
He noticed she said 'you' again. "Oh, I don't know," he replied.'
"It'll probably blow over!"
In the middle of all this his parents came over. It was
relief. They were the first sane voices he'd heard -for days. Slowly
as they sat there he was brought back to a sense of place, anchored again,
He criss
with intimate thoughts. It was all distant for themk what the world
dislant.
outside Abbott's Field had always beenk Helthoughteg thabeck-rogm
Flagajnwit
aic erevn lo
here
powL fAlowere stoody the SPEndowNonLA-ho-open atcther
LAA A
bottemand he
their
ence, breathing, with
the sound ofa cat jumping to thetop of a fence now and-then, orthe running
of water from a pipe, or someone calling quietly, -or a train passing in the
distance asif high in the air, , hurtling along on smooth steel. He broughtr
So as
his_mind ta bear om € 1 deltberatelyt to-become still again, come dowmand


Key
51H
aspress
rest Krom the voidof politics. The moment
came into the doorway down-
stairs he felt a new flush of life. He'd asked Pinkie to get off early
from the office, and she was upstairs getting the tea. Also Hanni, > to his
A4040 relum
surprise, said she se a come, and gateek) to the office fer the evening.
Hewes touched by this: she had an unsatisfieddesise for
settinga
Pinkiensaidi lifewithDickwas like sitting ima dentistsewaiting-rooha
They
garents stood there smiling at him, the street behind them, and he
was aware at once that his usual life in the house was in a certain rhythm,
rumbed
slow and halting, in a deed silence, and that theirs was quick, with the throb
of life in it and a silence as well, but silence full of change and motion.
There was a sense of bustle, but of life, not of the heavy will or mind forcing
important
the pace; it was the exciting rustle of a dress before a party, not the /
and power;
sound of
of statust it was the rustle of intimate life, as in
childgood. For a moment he felt like a child as he stood there greeting
them, as if caught up in their arms again, his breath taken away.
He bent down to kiss his mother as she stepped into the dark hall,aand
hes chaclas Husnad,
she murmured with a smile,) "Come on, about time we saw a bit of each other,
isn't it? What've you been up to all this time?"
He shook hands with his father, who said quietly, "Nice to see you again,
son." Theyhadnlachanged. It Was extraordimarybo-heartheik voiees
thesr Veices,
nip. agaim There was a richness in themy) lulling and enchanting, that at once
him,
moon
embraced/
making room for all the tiny unspoken things in
a creature, the hidden follies and scrapes, and brought the world down to
alicé
glances and the warm flow between people, to the actual moment/between them.'
it was to be
How exciting thuxkhaaghtxmf having tealxaat The kettle would make its special
little whistle when it boiled, and the etectric fire would glow in the hearth,
telaurdordara and the carpet in the dusic-room, the deep armchairs
and the divan, the little coffee-table and the long curtains would suddenly
appear extraordinarily luxurious and comfortable, as he'd never seen them


S15
before. There was a glow inside things ,just as there was in Abbott's
Road. It wasn't that they made tea-time important by flurry; but ptppplf
the Yop im) pottan co
darhepon
that any moment between people was/ itmpartantlatdelaidogedtingd Usually when
there was tea in the music-room it felt:as if a time-limit had been set..on the
proceedings and that at any minute people would be up and off, back to the
had been
routine of life from which this/was/a brieff and by inference illusoryp
departure. Or someone would be clever and amusing: that would give tea its
wmld
given
meaning! Or someone important waxte called and thereoeasion was invested
NAM a special, spurious social glow, that passed muster in the middle-class
world for the glow of life. But it was never exciting in this way, for it-
self, without any reference beyond theactual moment to what people's status
was outside, or to their cleverness of talk, or even to the talk whatever it
was : the talk flowed from the moment, asjsilences did, too; it was the glow
of the moment itself that counted!
His father still had his keen and yet dreamy gaze. His mother was a
little greyer; perhaps; that was all. She gazed at him for a moment with
shrewd, dark eyes, and then they all started PRAMA upstairs.'
"Well, son, how are you keeping?" came his father's voice, with its
from
keen, inquisitive edge, behind him.
"OH, all right, thanks! Are you all right?"
"Not too bad!" his father cried. Then he added. in a tone that meant
a leg-pull,"Bit too much work in the house, that s all!"
"Go on, I like to hear you talk," his mother said, taking up the tone
in an acknowledged, ritual manner. "Anybody'd think he was a poor, hard-
done-by creature, wouldn't they, Philip?" Granville laughed, She puffed
V at the first landing and leaned on the bannister for a moment. "Blimey, you've
got some stairs here, havent you?"
"You're getting old, t hat's your trouble!" his father said, coming
Fls
level with her. "Here, give us your arm!"
"Now wait a minute, don't go so fast---what's the matter?"


His father pulled at her arm jokingly, and winked at him. "Have to
help the old lady sometimes!"
and
His mother had plump cheeks/a little line at the corner of her mouth
as if from setting her chin in a determined way; her eyes were tired but
her old, divingng look was still there. Whisps of grey hair came over her
brow: His father had put on his Sunday best, with a trilby hat over his eyes,
and black, polished shoes.
"Pinkie at home' ?" came his fathoris voice again Aron/bebigt
This
- time there was the smallest hesitation in his tone.
"Oh, yeal She's upstairs getting the tea ready."
"That s right. We could just
a cup of tea. 'How she's keep-
adflan
ing, all right?"
"Oh, yes, she's fine!"
"Keep her in order, do you?" his father asked with the suggestion of
a laugh.
"I try tol"
"That's righti They needx it,son, you take it from mel"
"Oh, listen to that," his mother said, glancing at him as they struggled
up the stairs, "quite the little tyrant, isn't he?t
"Well, who's the boss, then?" his father asked.
"I know who does the housework, that's all I kmowls She smiled at
Fole
Grànville. "Of course, they don't think that's real work!"
"Who doesxkk the washing-up, then?"
"All right, all right, just because you do a bit of washing-up once in
a while!"
He gaped in an sxegoratad way.
"Once in a while? Cord---I" Hato/doaMAysutemyl he prorounced
IG2A4 "I like thatl Every dinner-time, you meanf" his father added,
just as Pinkie came down to meet them, full ) smiles.
She stretched her hand out to his father first.' "Hullo, there!"
"Hullo, my duck, how are you?"


Shs
almeo
Pinkie looked tall and robust, towering above them as/chey/apevypa
His father grasped hold of her with a hearty movement, almost pulling her
over, and gave her a smacking kiss on her lips. Her eyes lost their vague-
ness for a moment, blazing slightly #
from the quick, overwhelming
contact.
"How are you, my girl," his father+repeated, gazing into her eyes,
"all right?"
"Fine, thanks! Are you all right?"
"Oh, not so dusty! Getting old, you know, that's all!"
Then Pinkie kissed his mother and said, "Hullo, Mrs Granville, how are
There was a quiet confidence between them.
"All right, thanks, dear. You look weàl1"/"How do you like it out
there?"
"Oh, it's lovely," Pinkie said in a mild voice. "Sun all the time I"
"From what Philip was saying there's"bit/too much of it at times,
isn't there?W
"Well, it gets unbearable about this time of year. Last year it
was ghastly!"
kow
"Was it, really? Still, you both look well/it, anywar!"
They walked into the musi c-room.
"Well, this hasn't changed," his father murmured, eyeing everything.
"I expect you're glad to be back in a: way, aren't you, Philip?"
"Oh, yes 1 It's nice to be back in these rooms again, I'd almo st
forgotten what they looked like!"
"That's right, you do, don't you, when you've been away all that time ?"
Pinkie told them about the report he'd been given to do, and the
extra leave.
His father laughed70 "Cord, I bet you're sorry, aren 't you, son?
Another month's leave?"


"Yes, it was quite a surprise f"
"Take it easy while you can," his father said. "Thatgs my motto!"
And when they were seated he went on, "And what does the old country look like
after two years?" He smiled across at Pinkie. "Not so. dusty, eh?"
smiled,fso.
"Not'too bad!" She laughed. "I could do with more of it!"
"Of course you could!"
"It's funny," his mother said, "you can have all the comforts in the
world, can't you, but if it's not in your own country it's never the same 1
really, is it?"
"Hark at who's talking!" his father cried. "What doyou know about it?
You've never been abroad, have you?"
"No, but---" She glanced across to Pinkie. "Itts obvious, isn't it?
It's never going to be the same if it isn't your own country, is it?"
"Well, it isn't for me," Pinkie replied. "I don't think you really
relax if you're abroad all the time."
"That S right." She turned to. his father. "See, clever dick?
You don't know evertthing!"
He laughed. "No, nor do you!"
His mother put her hand-bag down by the side of her chair, near her
as She alway clid waen a a visiv
lying
ATAAA 8f Ted
left
/ It looked so comfortable sitting there: it
loek-ofen
foot, k
rakim, toh childhood anstialion.
exciting visit about t K She bent down and opened the clasp, then felt
ghe alwais cavied
and deftey
with ito
inside for a tiny frilled handkerchief, nethutehshe wiped her lipsf
ghe'd ayroatiaa
ak me time,
He remembered abahed/always aarried a little bag of cachous) in the shape of
tiny hearts and stars, coloured bright red and yellow and blue, to suck 6 ent
Saas W P At FA aptepaluamneranrora
Grey
Fisi
Chey didrtseegrobauseelpsorsper
"Well," she said, settling herself again after shé 'd put the Ppinia
handkercheif back, "wetve been having some funny weather lately, haven't we?
Sunny one minute and cloudy the next. Talk about August! It's more like
Decemher, ish't it?"
usus
again
"Yes," Pinkie replied, "we staredd patting Atrese fires prhy last wee k."


"So did wel" his father sàid, crooking one leg over the other, his
head back.' - "I said to mum,: Exsatiy come ous I said, let's get that fire
alight, it's chilly in hére." He added with reminiscent surprise, "And it
was, too."
"Then we didn't have any wood to start it," his mother murmured, look-
ing at Pinkie again confidentially. "Well, you don't think of it in the
middle of summer, do you? Still, we got it alight somehow, with some old
scraps"
"Of course," his father said, "at one time we used to light it regular
in the summer to get the water hot, didn't we' ?"
4 gup There was a paust.
"What do you mean, at one time? Ahybody'd think it was twenty years ago
to hear you talk!" his mther cried.
Pinkie chuckled, hearing the familiar approach of ân argument between
them.
"Well, how long ago was, it, then?" his father asked,. a determined and
tet baffled expression on his face.
wud
"How long do you think it ts?" she asked quietly in return:
"Oh, about five years, I should think," he replied, winking at Pinkie
because he was really doubtful about this.
"Five years?" She shifted in her seat. "You must be crackers!"
Tals
"Well, it's four. Young Philip was home, I know that!m
"What, when we had the heater put in?"
"Dontt talk rot, for Christis sake!"
"Well, didn't he come down and say they'd put the wrong switch on
or something---?"
xex "Oh, no." He ldoked lamé and added in a soft voice, "That was
young Will, wasn't it?" This was ' Granville's eldest brother.
taln
His mother shook her head and chuckled, turning to Pinkie: "I don't


know---this mani I've never known anybody get his dates and years mixed
up like him! Anyway," she added, looking across at him again, "he didn't say
anything about the switch being wrong, he said they ought to put it outside
the bathroom door instead of inside, so we could switch the water on without
going in every time, and it's safer."
"Yes, wéll," his father said, going headlong into the argument again,
"that s more than three years ago, I bet!"
"What?" She leaned forward, to deliver her thrust slowly. "That was
last year, soppy date!"
"Last year? Will wasn't home last year!"
"What do you mean, Will wasn't home?"
"What I say't"
Pinkie was enjoying herself thoroughly.
"When was Will home, then?" his mother asked in her quiet tone again.'
"Will?" He sounded as if the name hadn't been ittered before. He
looked sheepish for a moment, pausing. Then he murmured, "Two years ago,
wasn't it?"
"Two years! It was last year!"
"Don't talk rot!"
She shifted in her seat again, beyond her patience. "It was last year,
I tell youf"
"Last: year? I can remember that heater over the bath two Christmasses
ago, anywayt What are you talking about, last year?"
"You can remehber what?"
"That heater over the bath the Christmas beforex last!"
"Oh, you can, can you?" She winked at Pinkie. "Well, you're a
even manufactured two years
marvellous man, because that héater wasn't amyharaxmeaxxkkaxhawgextwuxgmars
ago. Inxfretytit only came out last year.8"
it 'What?"" She imitated his 'bark', as she always called it: "Just


think it outt"
- Theré was a pause. And then, as always at the end of one of their argum-
ents, - his father said quietly, his eyes raised in puzzlement, "Oh, yes, that's
right. Will got honle on my' birthday, didn't he? I was sixty-four, wasn't
"And when was that?"
"Last year."
"The bell's rung at last!" she said with a laugh. "He always gets there
in the end, even if you do have to drag him!"
Granville was always thé official tea-maker of the house, and as he was
going upstairs to make it, Pinkie having prepared all the other things, his
olwoyp
mother said in thetone of protective intimacy she had used when he was a child,
P "Make it nice and strong, won't you, duck?" Hanni came later and
helped,
witk a plate
moving round the room helping-syenpone-te cakes, smiling and listening attent-
ively to éverything his parents said, but saying little herself. It seemed
a nostalgic pleasure for her. She made extra sandwiches and cut the crust off
So that they looked most professional, and she arranged them round the plate
on a paparn doily in a little design. Pinkie let her more or less take over.
Granville put two heaped teaspoongfulls of sugar in his own tea and his
mother at once exclaimed, "Good God Almighty! The way. you pile it int
You're drinking toffee, my dear!" She turned to Pinkie: "You ought to have
seen what I sused to spend on sugar when these boys were kidst Talkar about
sweet tooths!"
ounselves
"Yes, we've never taken much of the stufy, have we?" his father said
quietly. "Never more than half a teaspoon. I
"No, it's funny. You'd think they'd take after you, wouldn't you?"
Pinkie nodded and murmured, "Yes", in her bored way, very slowly, her.
only
eyes gazing into the distance. It was becoming a strain for her. He/hoped
she nropald last out: she could be so rude sometimes, getting up and going off
to paint her lips or something, in her room. Nomerweresealistic insuch


She always refused to make a false effort. And, indeed,
this room where they were sitting was_made for raw desires,
and cleverness, and. ar guments on long summer evenings, and
- secret, unfaithful tha re agnisy and bottles of wine on the coffee
table, leaving the same round stain each time, and sombre
thousgtEnat were too reflective for Abbott's Road.' 'But the
strain wasm't. in' Hanni. She sat there curled on the-floor at
the foot of the divan, perfectly at home, like a child.
His mother made a comfortable sigh after her first few sips Ma and
said to him, "Mm, this is a lovely cup of tea, son."
"Yes," his father said, smacking his lips deliberately, "nice cup of teal"
Pinkie told them that Hanni had been been born not far from Basrah, but
Hanni didn't enlarge on it and from there they went on to the crisis. The
hod
crisisi He'd forgotten ieenstonce. And now/houhemphiit-rbalkedaboat
Aain it seemed to have lost its sting. Hecouldattsewherefthadary
molofpeafor/Mimy
"It looks as if they want to damned-well start another war, doesn't
it?" his mother said.
"What do you think, Philip?" his father asked. "Do you think there '11
be any trouble?"
"No, I don't think so. These things usually blow over, don't they?"
"Well, I always say they make these damned crises to keep the people
on their toes," his mother murmured. Then she asked in a higher, more open
tone, "Doesn't that affect you going back, Philip?"
"I haven't heard anything yet," he said. "I shouldn't think so."
"Well, you don't want to go out there and get mixed up in one of those
riots again; do you, Pinkie?"


"I suppose it's the old story, isn't it?" his father said. "Keeping the
people down, then wondering why there as trouble."
"That's right."
Row
"They cané keep their wars as far as I'm concerned, anyway," his mother
murmured.
"They certainly can! One's enough for mel" Pinkie cried, waking up.
"Well, we've been through two, and as far as I can see they didn't being
anybody any good, either of them."
"No, we don't want any more of that lark in a hurry," his father said.
"Cord 'blige me," he added reminiscently, gazing at the floor, "those raids we
used to get!"
with a laugl, chargins Kertone.
"Go on," his mother cried/ "what do you know about it? You were asleep
all the timet"
"Asleep?" his father asked with a smile. "I don't know what you mean,
dear. You know the trouble I have sleeping!"
Hrmgh
"Yes, that' s right! The way he used to snore
them raids," she
dvring
went on to Pinkie. "I used to shake him---'Come on, wake up, there's some-
thing coming down on top of ustt I used to get scared out of my wits. Not
himi He used to waka up all dopey and say,' 'What's the matter? Why the
hell don't you let me sleep?!"
"Well, a man needs his sleep, doesn't he, Pinkie?"
"Not like you sleep!" his mother cried. "Talk about snorel"
"That's right, she uséd to wàke me up in the middle of the night wh en
was
we wone down the cellar and say, 'Stop snoring! I can't hear the bombsi"
irali
"Oh, I did use to get frightened! I used to listen to the whistles
and think, 'I wonder if that onegs for ust' And there was he snoring all the
time I"
"Well, whatss the use of worrying, that's what I say."
"I used to say in the morning, That was a terrible raid last night,
and he 'd say, Whay raid, I didn't hear anythingiy


Thr/esoribedlhdunal thewindossthat/bsen/Dldwloaspandltheytorbatsheyndbad
toukickthffoughhgutbre a theway dowmthe road to da the abepping,Umen
P. thetiringroekets Mere colingonen He felt a pleasant drowsiness as their
voices went on quietly, so protective, as in childhood, taking over from each
other smoothly. The street outside, bareand bleak in the chill wind, was
Nopy remote from them, and the low, dazzling-grey sky. His father's shoes
reminded him of the heavy boots that the men had once worn, carefully laced-
in Kase Aays,
a Hissoon
l.c. up and polished; The silence had always thoobbed chemi as it was doing/now.
hos
All the sounds outside hady an intimate Xmmad tone, as if they belonged to
the warm, - enclosed room and weren't foreign and impartial as they usually
were. He imagined leaning over the table in Abbott's Road reading about the
crisis: putecem remoteavertheceh the heavy, black headlines
would seem to. dsecribe an angry state of affairs over the roof-tops and far
away, like something in the sky; the sky was of such importance there---it
the
brought so much from the outside world; there were/storms, the flashes from
the trains passing in the distance, the voices over the radio reading the
news---the bombers that had come in the war, the searchlights, the flaming
aircraft that sometimes floated down in the night making a thebondy howling
halr
sound that turned the sky into a kind of domed neem where there was no
ouer
1 a visic?
distance. Why hadn't he gone Hawver to Abbott's Roadt He had/moment of
panic. He'd left it too latel There was only a month left. He ought to
be going down there more and more. Supposing his parents died, he'd never
be able to go there again; his roots would disappear; the tiny house: would
go to someone else! He had the sense of trying to snatch at somethingo
butTtwasvague,what hewas trying to snatch. He was trying to snatch some-
thing across the division in his life. When will I get my life straight?'
he asked himself.
There was this inertia that càouded his will, clouded
his heart! F Where had he been since he left their world? Théy sat there
gaptup unaware of any change in him, W/sermedy He saxxgaxtng answerxed
atheir questions andnodded, feeling ponderous and slow compared with them;


how quick their world wast
Downstaits, when they were going,his mother turned to him and
"What
said,
a nice girl that Hanni is, isntt she?" He nodded, and then they kissed good-
bye. He'd be coming over to see them, in the next week, or perhaps the week
after. And Pinkie? It depended on her job. Sheid only just managed to get
hesaid
toth
that afternoon offf he invented this quite freelyo But perhaps they'd/come
all
over on a Saturday, when she was free. They'ought/to go out somewhere,
perhaps for the day. And they waved from the street.
CmGood bye, son!"
Th. uoral skyhm was fack ggain.
Upstairs there was renewed movement. Pinkie was in the bathroom
getting ready to go out, and Hanni was making herself some sandwiches to
eat at the office later onthat evening. They were calling out to each other
between the two floors, talking about the man now nicknamed 1Joe Clockwork'
whom Hanni had been out with the previous Saturday. He heard her say ti*t
"Clockuorh
with a spluttering laugh that be had large ears, and Pinkie also. laughed3
a They
agter He gries Werlude 2 his pavens;
Eveyone seemed in charge of themselves again;) there was more crackle,i the hon
He returned to it relucaantly, wi th fatigue.
Eres
ane Be-o-mich
1e other Sert01
DS ung uerted oM NEGA A
Eoutes and
Testinabions. - Was-Wise- A oeasent-or seftt 20 = LOE HOW
hads he taken
re journey
umdd
thought of his parents arriving back bome, perhaps at this moment. Theyta)
open the front door and bustle inside; probably his mother would say, "I'm
austher
wneld
dying for a cup of tea, aren't you?" Theyta/lay the cloth perhaps, take
off their shoes and then open the little box by the fireplace where their
slippers were kept. There would be a whist-drive later on, or a dance at
Tatlin Broadway. Soon they'd be starting to get dressed, washing first,
the
with a dim light in the scullery, then pulling out drawers and opening/ward-
robe in the bedroom upstairs, the thought of a crowded and smoky hall before
Pinkie and Hanni were going out to gether. It was Tuesday, and so, he


5a6
AAPAY thought, Pinkie should have no ambiguous appointments ahead of her. A Shee
said she was meeting someone in the firm totcheck up on something', and shesd
ny. be back for dinner. The evening paper only made areference to Russian manoev-
had
res on the Persian border whickeveryone lexpected in any case. The atmosphere
foul
from
of politics drifted back like a slow, breath ArAaratoog the street. Pinkie
and Hanni left the house and everything was quiet. His parents' presence
was still in the room. The sounds outside were sad---people's quick steps
and a car brushing past. When it began to get dark he took a record from
the pile on the floor, behind one of the armchairs. They were dusty and
scratched, and some of them, including his precious Schubert impromptus,
ken,
were broklen. He stared at the black,' shiny fragments and was surprised to be
feeling no shock or regret. What did it matter? They were dead objectsk
without intimacy or touch. They fitted the ghost-life he was leading: men
kim
playing instruments, but unseen, at another time and place; borne to OE by
ingenuity, voices coming from nowhere while the intimaté heart lay still,
receiving it, alone and at one remove, staring into space, inert dike a bundle
of nerves and guts that had been discarded in the movement of history!
h b. He found 'Fidelio', and happily all the records were intact. He put on the
beginning of the second act and from the moment of the first.r note everything
Cegan to
changed. Musict, He hadn't put on a real record since his return. It
floode et through him and opened all his fibres and the channels of his being:
Tears flooded to his eyes. The notes seemed never to have been made on the
2. C earthi nevar co have-boon-made. And he seemed never in his life before to
have heard pure sounds! There was also/perfect, solemn rightness in the
tort *am
notes as well, as if there couldn't be another arrangement/and the order had
been made before life started. He waited for the prisoner in the dungeon
Tals to begin his Welch dunkel hier!'
And then it began, breaking out in the L
mosty marvellous and unbearably beseeching way from the other notes.
was in a state of collpase and torpd subservience, yet strong as well, the
tears pouring down his cheeks in a - at rush aslhis face had nothing to do


with their activity; but at the same time, again, there was the order under-
ofit all.
pain
fergie
neath, the total rightness, The music entered suffaring with nerrikhe firm-
ness and insight. He could feel the man leaning forward in the dark, as in
a performance he'd seen at the Graz opera house a few weeks after the war Kad
Kadbeen
ended, when heqtravelled down to Austria, when everything EEB crushed and
burdened in war and di staste; and this same voice had climbed out of the
darkness with the same beseeching distrens, crying for freedom! This freedom
in Hesmg
was like a lover; /there was frightenéd, tender sensuous yearning for it,
for the touch of her dress, for a glance if that was all she could afford.
And Beethoven himself seemed to be leaning forward aswell, through this man,
Ris
inside his voice, almost touching the listener with a calm hand on the kneé,
in such intimacy, from the otier side of life, comforting and yet always show-
ing you the darkness unflinchingly, so that even in the darkness of the prison
there was order! The music poured over him and through all his fibres---
What have I been doing all this time?t he thought! *Where has my life been?1
1 your
For music always did this as well: : it took the strands of his silent life
and drew them together, seeing if they. would go together, trying for the
You
harmony and putting pan on the path again: How could he have gone so long
without this purity? Even at the concerts he hadn't caught this moment:
you,
it was always a moment---music was never a static thing lying before one,
Mewerthe same,
L but a moment sal/conjunction, caught, gone! But this was where his life
tls belonged---to this puritys He meant to keep iti He refused to let it
gol If only he could keep it, the harmony he had in his hands now ! Life
y was so dry and full of ashges! He couldn't keep it. It died away.. It
was only a moment. The end of the song came, when the prisoner imagined
being free and seeing Leonora again, crying Leonoral' Leonorat in a
mounting beseeching voice like a sexual cry; and all of a sudden Granville
had the sense that the music was the light, was in itself the flash across
the sky, not sound anynloriger but a being that had an endless existence
and could only be glimpsed. The record ended. A record! It was only


hpi a recordi The sounds outside came back. He was calm. He didn 't trouble
to dry the tears on his face but let them- roll down into his mouth and dry
slowly, making his skin smart. They were so dispassionate from him, like
rain on his cheeks, that he had thé impression that Beethoven had shed them
Beotkoven had
his
6 his Shoulders
L for him, an/siapohalps hetd taken on Grenville's
and shown where
in it
A suffering, A
the order and strength lay, and thehrightness. It didn' t seem wrong to suffer
Talo
This made him calm. He felt in the thick of life; suffering was movement
through it! It must have cost Beethoven such pain, he thought. This calm
he had now was Beethovengs gift to him; as pure as gift from Christ. It
was like coming to terms with his life in its wredthedness; -
there was an orde
vts
here, he could feel the message of it and receive certainty again. He didn't
care if Pinkie came back early or not; but,as if in reply to his state of
did come
strengéhi,she,
back, with oysters and wine, early, as a treat, she said.
A caue)
She talked about his parents, and how they always made her feel good?
The news next day' was that there had been more rioting in Rubath, axd
this time close to the British garrison, and several people had been killed---
uucertan
it was ambi-guons whether by police-bullets or British ones. The British
headquarters there denied that troops had taken part, but all Arab spokesmen
scorned this. The papers talked about an 'outcry' from all over Asia.
Thobastery leader who was knownas the tmarof peacel made-anothex state-
ment.' It looked as if England had fewer and fewer friends. There was a big
set-to in the kitchen in the evening when everybody assembled. Glenning
said he was sure British troops hadn't taken part, and Dick and the others
were against him. One of the girls said there was to be a demonstration
the following Sunday at Trafalgar Square and everybody ought to turn out.
Volunteers were being asked t to carry banners, and she said there was to
be a collection for an Arab refugee fund.
Glenning laughed and said it was
jtal the first time he'd heard one of her crowd getting interested in politics.
It turned out that the jazz-club she belonged/had a few people in the labour
Kas
movement, among them REE ao
boyfriend. He was getting all the girls


along. Pinkie asked Dick if he'd known that Linger-Longer had a boyfriend,
and he replied with a genial glance across the table at her that he'd not
only known it but got a kick out of it. Hanni hadn't come in at this time,
talk A
so he could be freelyo Glenning said that this crisis was breaking up harmon-
ious families everywhere: men were walking out on their wives_: Dick nodded
almml ab te Mizehad
and said with a perfectly straight face, that a woman he'd hea_rd/of-wed/said
to her husband, "I forgot to put a pinch of bicarbonate in the rhubarb," and
helinterepreted her as saying, "We've got to dig a trench and fight it out in
had
lea
Rubath," and" walked out on her at once! There was also the/member of the
Ked private secretary Somet seasbain ceremony would involt
royal family who'd askedja) tandscknsooctsitng what) katabochsanocedasinchmsingoatbutay/and
was told,
kexsaidy "Shaking hands all day and standing, mtm", which she heard as,' "The
sheikh intends to stay at Sandringham," and a suite was prepared at once e
all is
Ke added,
Dick rattled the out without any hesitation. A preacher in Hyde Park,
had
xka started saying, t"I know intimately, and in my youth I was even seduced
by, the shaken creed---" he was going to say 'of materialism', ,but the crowd
soap
taken him to say
hauled him down from the sopp-box at once, having kxaxixt**exsxkerxexemXeXEXt
XX 'the sheikh and Creed.'
Dick was in a good mood and said that whenever he lifted a glass to his
lips he always had a fellow feeling for Creed. He thought of him---prob-
ably tan old sentimentalist'---festering in that palace and calling the sheikh
'darling' at breakfast. "Such a noisy call-to-prayer this morning, darling--
does it really have to be so loud?" He'd heard that they both itad spy-holes
called 'Les Voyeurs' in the walls of their bedrooms which gave a view of the
main guest-room, where they put anybody *choice'.
Creed would say, "A choice
article coming out from England this week---used to be at school with him---
savar
enough was/enough for that one---just up your street, eh, cheeky-sheek?"
And the sheikh was probably ta nice enough old boy.' However, Dick added,
if hadit Gees
is he ves-nieby principle'against capital gprsopporak punishment rany
kod
RIn* he would have both the sheikh and Creed tried by an international court-
of-law and executed if found guilty. This was an astonishing statement


comis so Somn gres so msic-Rallac,
1 Rad
/and Pinkie gave him one of her disbelieving guffaws. Dick /talked coolly,
without unpleasantness.
"I don't believe in executions," he murmured, "but these. boys, pleasant
as they might be, have incurred the wrath of mankind all right."
sain
Therowasthis/apbiyatence
what
reeg ih most at the talk
di >er
that evening: the moral discrimination went on separately from the humank
It didn't seem to be relevant to the moral issue what/a man wasin himself.
Ginger
ger, who'd formed an intimate hatredof the sheikh as if she td known
him many years, didntt object to Dick's jokes about him, or to his saying
that e was probably a iniee enough
boye
vour ees
porh
aave hem DU
cked The headlines that morning had created a sensation,
nip.
everyuherer One paper had a single word in massive type, MASSACRE, and
underneath in smaller letters, 'British troops involved?" An anglican min-
ister was to broadcast, calling for the abdication of the sheikh. The even-
chained
ing papers said that a middle-aged man jrad chaaned himself to the railings
f th
outside the Rubatb legation in Queen Anne's Gate.
Granville was silent most of the time. It was decided that everyone
except Glenning, himself and Pinkie would go to the demonstration on Sunday.
said ke culdut go because)
He said he might go as a spectator. Clenning/endalhe had his reputation to
watch; if that went his 'whole cardboard fabric of selft would go, and * et
would be the end of the best little P.R.0. in the City.' Pinkie murmured
with a pout, "I wouldn't dream of risking being run down by a police-horse,
GIRAy
on my one quiet day in the weekf" Bersouldiseacthe sympathy, BIE Whichmight
I/srerh
evenbe celted passion, in Lihcer-bonger eyes asshe lked
Lean-
ing forward, her face pale and long with light, joking, tom-boyish eyes that
had a peculiar dignity in them as well; she was going to collect for the
heuss Juikcbit tam gug evenig
Arab refugee fund, She was never quite
of a wraith always i;
therebabit
woaplly
tle
- about to b
- E of something else, butyshe abwag stayedk
itals
igei ong er
ratest, in thesama chair e She I seemed nevervto be quite sitting in her
lu Ne xhe - -
euen when She wa Talkms.
ital,
chair, or tolbe quite in the conversationa But when she cried, "It's


-aferng o e manacre!
absolutely bloody disgraceful1"/she was definite for a moment, quickened
vognaat
with this/passion, that made èven her eyes pointed and dark. Usually her
rather Meadily
gaze floated over objects, ne ver touching themp thereas Pinkie gazed, into
hinger-hojarla
the distance, her Lgaze was always moving. She glanced at Granville for
support and he nodded. Arwbatlwasshelfeeltoga He looked across the
room at where the morning paper lay and saw the word again, MASSACRE. But
he felt nothing: What. had she derived from this word? Herlpassion came
fromnto Ho-only-nodded when she spoke, sayingsnothingi andhe tept bis
silenee all evening, Glenning also was-reticent. Otherwsie there was
great elamougabut What did she feel? He found himself staring at her,
lais s
trying to find out. And he kept consulting himself for/feeling, but there
alao
was none. There wasja picture in the paper that-hadheemradio-dovervicom
Rulatk
Ruhath showing a scuffle in the, streets; but it evoked nothing in him;
it showed a bundle lying in the roadway, someone dead or wounded, and the rest
was a blur of smoke from Haa tear-gas. Napity cane to hin rom Bhislittle
squareof blask dots eompxri isnga radioephotograph. Whatdidshe feal,then
Ahd-the-others?
Btekxcaxxaui
Dick was quietly vehement, as if he could see the scene
before him. Granville tried to imagine the scene and thus stimulate himself
to feeling; but he couldn't. He felt inadequate, compared with the others.
Perhaps the war had killed pity in him; this thought went thoough his head.'
It was in keeping with the 'orang-utang' image not to feel pity: He tapped
himself continually, So to speak, for a change of emotion; but there was none?
feel
He was dead of 6Beling. He began to admire Linger-Longer CO mpared with
himself: here was a girl who came to the house several times a week and
sat about like a piece of furniture; more or less discounted, apparently
how
ikai Kake
without a thought in her head, and/she was paking a far better show)in the
matter of conscience! It made the world feel safer, that there were people
in a rewspaper
who could be stirred to kindness by a few words); it meant that if there was
wm ld
trouble consciences like theirs/came alive and put a stop to itt She even
seemed to gather beauty into her face with her passion; the light, vague


53a
floated
dignity in her eyes cane to rest. Hanni came in and was clearly bored by
it all, and got herself some supper; moving round behind the others silently,
edging past their chairs; - he took confidence from her presence; the head-
1oE haue
lines hedn't appeared/to/changel/her,either.
Tali
Glenning said that éven if British troops had taken part it didn't meah
anything: it wasn't official policy; troops, he said, were always young
boys', a fact we always lost sight of, and of course they wanted to hit back
stop
11 when they were. hit and sometimes the politcians couldn't hold bhem? The others
answered that the 'boyst oughtn't to be there at all; nobody was blaming them
in any case; the official policy was wrong for having sent them therel.
Gerald was the only dissentient voice; from the beginning he'd been with.
the sheikh, or at least against Russian encroachments in the Middle East;
he said it ought to be fought out now - because it would have to be fought out
anyway; the whole thing was a test of strength between our secret service and
the Russian. Hemeant y Mourthatloftbonesternmorld, But it transpired
he. didntt mean secret service sommach as active political agents; he said it
depended how much appeal' they had for people, what they promised them and so
forth; and it was a question whether the Russians were promising them more,
te Arabs
or whether they were more at.home with us.' He wasn't scorned by the others
so much as blandly disregarded. Linger-Longer laughed. Geriald had a
'classy' accent and she relegated everything he said Anto the harmless region
sahibs
Silal of history, where 'blimps', 'pukka sahbhss and 'jingost talkedo Wwastru
KA sAel * ra
eggr-radossarynto-Tiaton to im
e didntt intend Whathe aaidseriously
Gerald
She laughed with genuine enjoyment, which made kim blink and draw back ever
so. slightlyg. and she gave himgoodenatured glancesas ifhe was providingn
gand
l.c. another eomic interkude like Biokts. The moment. he finished speaking she
talked about something else, in the manner of bringing the conversation back
ARAAR to a serious theme: The sheikh and Creed,meent fer-her-what-shefelt
btrey-wore,maturall enoughy and since-they were grotesque figures for her,
Cucawably
lives, cud
with # possibly comic, but not/serious, existénoe, she heard Gerald t/tha


> as a Voice in the. sane gevtegue choru.)
spsel
same
- they bulesque mannery as talking about something-fuhny-with a letraighty
Saces When he said that the sheikh was repponsible for tone of the best
programmes of social legislation in the Middle East' she ducked her head for-
laughter,
ward and spluttered with senuine-kodoynent, and then imitated his accent with
L a mock-solemn face---iseeowshaul lugisleéshun!"
almal
Dick briskly quoted some figures whsoh-involved the number of malaria
cases actually treated in Rubath and the number estimated to exist---about a
ninsth of one percent were à
treated--- and the earning power of the average
peasant which was less in a week than that ef a. London clerk in an hour.
Granville came in #E briskly with the argument that in this case money wasn't
used much in the villages of Rubath and the peasants out there didn't wear
bowler hats to work and take the underground; Ab4 that the figures for Rub-
ath were still probably better than those for most other Middle Estern states,
including those with nationalista governments elected by 'the people' and all
that. This started the old recurrent anger between them, a hot flame like
a sudderi intimate sign, recognised simultaneously:
"That doesn't justify itf" Dick cfied.
"But why don't you talk about all the other states as well?"
"What, all the time?"
"Itm talking about a state of affairst That8s the state I'm talking
about!"
"Anyway---" Granville's anger made him flush. "What exactly are
you getting so het-up about?t What's all the emotion for?"
Dick's mouth opened with surprise. It was certainly an odd question
Ha ad
ttals coming from Granville: unprecedented, in fact! Daohtcafordelsaidrehal
beablle
ae/Obviously Zikedta thinkornmself-aswhotesaler in Teelings, while
gyerybody else in-the-worldwasa rétailerer amall entrepreneurk Andhere
was the lorang-utang! sitting there as cool -as you-likeasking-what the
remotiont wasforn


"Do you really mean to say," Dick asked him, "that you don't know what
wetre getting het-up about?"
Dick's gaze made him feel ashamed, and he faltered. "Well, I don't,
really: I'm not saying you're wrongs I'm asking. What is'it, exactly?"
There was a pause during which everyone at the table was still."
"Well,". : said Dick, "it's because people have been killed."
"But people are always being killed."
"Yes, but this has come to our .notice. It represents one set of human
beings being cruel to another set, in the most cynical way. It's the most
frightfully cynical cruelty: Don't you think that's something to get het-
up about?"
He was flushed and pouting again. "Nol"
"No?" Their voices were quiet; they nearly all joined in with Dick.
"No?" And Dick put up his hand in a helpless, resigned gesture, letting it
fall. again limply, leaving it. to the others to form their judgements.>
("Dontt you, really?" Dick-eeked him
Granville noticed in his eyes,
too, a gleaming compassion, soft and yet direct, light-blue; and again he
was aware of shame. But he was fixed into an attitude now and. he wouldn*t
badge, in much the same way as Dick had been in the Hamlet di scussion, pou-
voking hostility with deliberate, self-hurtful defiance"
"Oh, well, Pip, if I didn't know you I'd say you were pretty far gone
But I do know you and I know what you've just said isn't truel-
Granville. was pleased and flattered but in the interests of pride kept
the pout and frown.on his face; they would have to stay there for the time
being, may4 until he could make a decent withdrawal.
The discussion passed away from him and he was left to his own thoughts.
He was disposed to believe that this state of compassion in Dick was the
own
equivalent of his/forang-utang' condition: how much worthier it was then,
blind
itnh to have this mercy in one instead of the/rush of feeling he was àcquainted
with in himself! He looked at Dick again. There ie was 3847 a genuine


pity like a light in his face! And confronted by this Granville had the
same kind of recoil Dick had had in the Hamlet discussion when confronted by
Pinkiels
his passion. Which of their passions would lead to a more ordered world?
which would lead to the greater quietness? He was inclined to say Dick's.
There was a staady line in it; there was no Aanger of anyone getting hurt.
But-whatiwas the-tifference between theirpassione? At firsk henanted
to say that there wasn't any, in form anyway; they both felt strongly about
something, that was all. But still he was/ sure that their feelings had come
about in differentways; a difference might lie there. His pwr passion had
started during the performance of_Hamlet, and Dick S had started from reading
ahewspaper. Dick's actual Xife hadn't changed; ne hadn't been moved to
pity, by anything happening before his eyes. There had only béen the words
whereas in his ow, case, at the performance
of a newspapér, / RyxxkeXMRxXItinsatisfkmdoxitkhckhix
of Hamlet, there
had béen people 6 But he wasnit satisfied with this: Surely the newspaper
was for Dick the same as the performance was for him, simply a platform for
the imagination? At Hamlet Granville had begun to intertwine the themes of
his/own lifewith those of the play, and by means of the newspaper Dick had
arrived at the theme of violence. The passion was the same; Dick's concern
mnaengrors Chambisn
But there was a snag here. Every day there were reports of violence
in the paper. Why didntt Dick feel pity every day? He couldn't possibly
make x
do so! Didn't that peinttothe spurious a neureofnistity His pity yas
a poor mental thingi Birt stwasatt spariouep-this could be seen-from-kis
eyess Where was its sssential Seaturpothent Where didit differ from the
believed
pityhe might feel? He realisod that Dick was feeling pity not for the death
and wounding of people whoever they were, as poeple but for them as certain
tkus 1 Dick
people; For bhis-seasen he didntt expend his pity every day, on all the
rikin
riots, frontier-skirmishes and, sometimes, revolutions that happened every-
where. The Russians had suppressed riots, afger all; as a matter of fact
drisgte tine he A Diskhad bemnl
theyladone sen EXL
T S
training-sehoal
ToP537


msmindd didntseekttoorder-ox branemte-in-any way afberwardsy In Dick
it had the efféct of bringing the mind into instantearveyingbnd re-organising
activity, a by long discipline. He thought that in Dick this mind-activity
protected him against the ravages of feeling; but this didn't make the feél-
Ckalk
ing any less; the mind only came in and did its Ammediate work, which was
perhaps unkown to Dick himself, being so automatic; - the mind pulled him back
from the hot areas of feeling so that the event outside him, say an accident, 9 4
At once became a dead, physical scene in detachment from him; the feelings
were still there, a hot mass, but the mind contained them and pulled them
back from the scene, so that a special mental felation_was set up in which
therelwera his fealingenside and the-woridwhore the Daecidontlms taking
But how Cmld Hal be ?
ance
place routsidel Withthe mindrefusing tobe-relaxmed.) Granville had/noticed
Sxactly
pyble how, during a quarrel with Hanni, Dick Halt trembled in precisely the same
hmselg
had given
way as he sometimes did with Pinkie; it/ gave) him a wonderfully sweet sensé of
epy
nply
equality in the flesh. Heyrealisednow how much he'd always taken for grant-
itals ed that Dick's feelings were weaker than his. D-RiokWaB-right, perhaperche
didesa-trimselftae-aashoellsal
eel lings Ath Dick a mild enbrepreheur:
tkem?
But how could there be such a gulf between peeple? There were slow people
XES
and quick people, as there were fat and thin. RuExkMEXeXXEXMBIKRXOXXOXXDeXXXaX
amantikyxtnxkhuxtnkaXEERMEEmxexmaxtkexftsshy But they were of one flesy.!
They were the same in theirkidneys, their hearts and limbs: how wasrit
tals poestble-thitrthay colg/ta foreigners to each other in their feelings?
Especially two people like him and Dick, from the same country, the same
city? It was the same with 'intellgience', the word that had been ringing
in his ears since the Sussex days, one of the cardinal middle-class virtues:
who
) tose
4.c. Who did he know that wasntt intelligent? Who)sitting round the table,could
he say was Yunvintelligent"? Not one of them! They were all quick people;
they understood everything that was put to them. Gerald and Glenning were
'honours ment from Oxford. Who did he know in the world who wasn't intell-
itals
igent? He couldn't think of one for the moment; not even from the past!


Everyone in Sussex had been intelligent, including the djor's wife. Walsh
kadtes
had been intelligent; what he'dlacked from Granilla's pointofiow WEB
jur.premarretrespne more than mental powers. Intelligence was a universal
Couldu't huk of
quality of the middle-class, it seemed; he mouldnistthhokkof one person, now
or in the past, who lacked it! People like Abu Kath'm were intelaigent in
another way; one might call it intelligence of the heart; a littae bit of
he same c
education and they'd be anong the others. Where did people differ, then?
Where did he differ from Dick? Hehasinelineditoeynow - VI the tinld
Thewilis are-diffetent we want a achieve different thin
- - LLX
Dick had been filled with in childhood was different from his; it was a will
of the mind, whereas Granville's was one of thebody, thenerves, somewh ere in
was
kl hinsegp
his middle, not, least of all, above in the brain. But Dick bad an equal
iin
hod
/passion, and Jequal powers An everything. There was only-this difference of
the will, where they/were both free; perhaps he would find outone day that
ji chitdhood
Dick's freedom had been taken from him, prodyeing a disloeated and automatic
will, whereas his ownhad remained-thefeeelandorganie energy which X mind
waslporerl@ss to containr One could see a passion of steely mental obstinacy
in Dick, as when heta punished Hanni dysteraticely for violating one/of his
evengings-out: hethroaleulatedthaat three evenings of loneliness for her at
Hampton Court would effect the right degree of contrition, and so he'd stayed
lis kind of will
away for three evenings: This was thewil alhedbeentaughty it worked
was
through the mind; but for Granville this behaviour WOE save been-impossible;
he would have had a sense of ptally betraying his e past and his whole
breathing organism, in deliberate self-mutilation; his will would have worked
in a different way, towards trying to persuade Hanni by words until she was
filled with his conviction like a breath in her! He remembered a
strange
incident at training-school when Dick had come almost running to him on a
Saturday morning and said, "By God, you know, that Hanni is a marvellous
girlt Do you know what she said to me this morning when we were in bed
together? She said, 'If you ever did something I really hated I'd be capable


of gdang away/and putting you out of my mind and never thinking of you again
2 as long as I lived!" A
Ànd Dick had added, "Dontt you think that's terrific?"
As on many other occasions Granville simply gaped at him. It didn't sound
like Hanni at all, even from the little he knew of her: In those days, when
she and Dick were getting to know each other, she bardly opened her mouth and
sat rigid in her chair like a frightened child all the time, her eyes wide witl
Yaks panic: She was so clearly trying to show herself worthy of Dick's world,
where such merciless statements were admired!> Hatasked Dick what Meliked
inwatsherdsaidnand helreplisd - that itwas proof of hoA-ctaraoterfot himg
artmasculine sort of Acharacteryotwouldn'texpeottoo Hanni did have a Isteely
willyof kind,
But-itwasntinhernsoftness to say thisi Howcould
lratrause
Narprek take her as sinceren How couldhe heve-dore
wa anyone, notonly
hefn There was such an odd artificiality of judgement in
sometimes; as
if the mind had to work alone, unsupported by the sound testimony of the
heart.' That incident was a good example: it showed Dick's will at work,
producing a mental world which Hanni was frightened into joining. Pothensa
ththoserganlydays, shethoughtrthat-thiswas the wayone behaved in-England
xnaffains of thehearti
pAuhicrtsnilrconsistfasericsoe clear Mentaldecisionsion Pinkie
said that. Dick's work was steadily changing his character and that he went to
the office every morning saying to himself, "I shall give this client five
tkav
minutes, the other twenty," and, except for the Brazilian client who took
his choes off to rest his feet and /took Dick quietly through his album of
Yhe
nude photographs conformed to it. Bravillawas the opposttern Hewas
atonte
rmed by and ther personts presenca, as much ashe tried
Sohe
to cultivate Dick's orderliness; he often foundhimself saddled with a client
lroo
in the Basrah office for two hours or more, with a caparet to followat the
dedicalesl
were
end of theday and endless drinks/to brotherhood. Other people repregent-
ed at imestobhble drug enveloping the powers of his_mind, remoying from him-
all motives except that of being as agreeable as possiblefor as long as the


Aporsonvishedy and a a ing la Sileht-polity-towardathisporgon would have
seemed the utmost domoourtesy it was a rule wirteh held been brought up on
in Abbottis Road, and he was surprised to find that it wasn't a cardinal rule
of mddlerchass coursesk
well
And SAAAO
kad alway treen
Granville was A I surprised at MMarRexiing training-school to see how well haDich
Lnan
ordered every day, with a little reading, a visit to town, a letter to Hanni,
a drink and a brief chat in the bar,. then bed, to fall asleep as soon as his
in Dick
head touched the pillow. There was a marvellous intactness thewe that Gran-
ville enviedo andrgombo-wasinclined to saynthat thisintaotnessp-which
gove the impression of harmony, wasdue tothe-coastant-supveying-and order-
Prels
YAA
had A
83 ing activityof T tkomindy Granvillefon the other hand) faoated through the
day as if time was a kind of raft and he ship-wrecked on it; he tried to
imitate Dick but it lasted half a day at most, after which his mind relapsed
Cttle
into its humming state, as/personal as the wind through the trees. Dick
Shile Ka
seemed to be in such good control of the flow of time, and-Granville was ashame
-d of himself for letting life roll by so inconsequentially. It was alse in
the way Dick played darts in the bar sometimes: he watched the dart-board
with cool, delicately glittering eyes for a moment, and then his palex hand
camé slowly forward, curving slightly over the level of his head, and send
the dart in a AA6MA soft but also bsasdand direct flight to the board. To
darts and chess he brought a elean, methodical, softly devout concentration.
He would sit over his chess-baord with his elbows on his knees and his head
bowed, quite still, and now and then he would rub his chin with the tips of
the
his fingers, moving them softly through kis) light hairs of his beard, without
moving his eyes at all, in a deep, interior concentration which, it see med,no
Rim
one could disturb.
One of Granville's first memories of Diek was in the
library of the training-schnol sitting by the fire, writing a letter.
Granvil
-le had just come in from a long walk, it being the welk-end, and was still
in his overcoat, his cheeks red and smarting from the wind outside. There
was no one else kn the room and he was just about to talk when the silence,


seeming to emanate from Dick as he sat there with his legs crossed and his
head bowed, drew him in and stopped his words. It. also made him feel sheep-
ish and redungdant, Dick looked up very slowly, aard without. surprise and said
in a light. murmur, "Oh, hullo, botsun," and then went on writing at once.
hod
Grenville hadfansense of Dickis body asmoke than usually aware of itself,in
content menta andself-ralishg awas
have this sense again many V rtihes as
negot toknow Dick betterniowasar.remarkable A ofharmony, he theught,
Dick's
whiehhardly talMed-with-the rest f teneture. His'eyes were steady,
inclined. with a genial expression on to the paper before him, and his lips
were closed easily together, while he wrote Without pause in a cléar,
Dick *
effottless, scholarly hand, quite unaffected by Granville's arrival: Dick
had
hod
theri made a full stop on the page and paused, looking up, and there/seemed
l.c. a chance of speech; But after a few seconds he looked down again and began
writing in the same way as before, in perfectly straight lines, again without
Seeme e ls Ka Sx acty Saas "ick
pausing; and for Granville,at that moment,1s44ting
- was
letters-eeemed the most desirable thing on earth) tebe doing. But at the
same time Dick's harmony wasn't an inclusive thing; it didn't ERRE infect
als
E Gromville -
CraniTle/with harmony as well, by a flow of spirit across the room; on the
contrary,it made him feel redundant and useless, and also upon his dignity,
Lawing N
since once having entered the room he had to make a show of/comteg in for a
purpose, whereas his purpose had been to talk to Dick. He was inclined to
believe now that this was a supérb mental harmony in Dick, and perhaps a state
Jick
into which E could induce himself He
at will; but it wasntt a
total harmony of self which infected other people by its presence 5 it wasn't
the harmony of a comfortable andx* mano am As always it stirred Granville
conying
clean and
to admiration as/new kind of consciousness E which made = feel LOtE
safe, at least for the moment, because it refused to fall the victim of
hidden feelings, and seemed to be making life as it went along. Here,
perhaps, was that differense hewas leoking-forin-their-willst Diektswas
sely/
bent-on-making ma
the euthor-oflifer Granvilhe's-om deciphering-whst


SH2
he found. This was the difference betwéen their days: Granville was always
in'a state of wondering what the day would unfold nexty while Dick took hisin
hapd and Taid out capefully with a elassic cal deference whioh Kada frennare
paeruntidy and owkward, Clear, sunny days always seemed specially so in
Dick S presence ; they suited his coolness; he was a
visitor on the earth,
choosing all the sights and dounds, strolling in the golden air; everything
he touched, a book or a clean handkerchief, had this deft, vivid appearance
as if it wasn't joined to reality but. séparated by his consciousness into
his own
an object called on to the earth by will.
Waen-Cranville said
thinkt he was stating ni posit tionas a wholen
gaver the ampreesion whenhe Said
person, asyall
Dick, on the other hand,
comp
1 a & dagx
thisf a reflecting mind E t work, in eodl separ tion ven fron himself
K *H axa XXXENXREXXZ
anea KAEX REXGANEEEgtastanKOMEX *XHEEX T tgd
He eeemed
t be seleeting MS thoughts rom an
Whi Granville We
62 mere gent
A 2ou Cion e Ais
This was clear in Dick's attitude
to Creed. In his natural capacities he liked him; but rational principles
made Creed his enemy and he was prepared to punish him in total detachment.'
Suchan-ambivalonce wowld bave been impossibleia Granvillet This MERK
difference was perhaps due to theif upbringing. In Granville's life ideas
had
were the means by which he/altered himself and produced
gong
away from_Abbott's Roady without them he would have gone-inte
his father S dockyard and his world would havebeen quite foéeign to his
ktxx?a 4 uxrfaxatoeigoxt
present one;
what he was living nowwas the product. of his ideas. But
Dick wouldhave lived in the same kind of house and met the same kind of
people whatever his ideas: there was no further place to go to beyond the
aglerall!
middle-class K Thus, Dick's ideas weren't essential to him from thevearliest
age as the moving power of. hip life, the cogs and levers of his progress;
in Granville they were, and wheh $ for instance, he got to Sussex at the
Aa Experience
beginning of the war that was at once a fresh source of thought for him---
in the comparison between the countryside and his former life---and th results
this thought, noving slowly-An-him likea germ, in Silence, chengedhia
To.P543(a)


543(aj
Ideas weren't the moving power of Dick's life, the cogs
and levers of his progress. In Granville they were: thought
moved slowly through him like a germ, in silence, changed his
life---this had happened in Sussex and it had just happened in
Basrah---there were continual revolutions in his life that came
from thought. In Basrah germs of thought had started unawares,
without him inviting them or trying to provoke them, and they
continued naturally where his thoughts in Sussex had left off,


Alhs inturn changed hie Ifelartertereso Erat
thetwax
an mnag e
hekept before himself a-meaning in his life
and took-trio
then
HHFend applied for theMiddle East in the light of it; and then in the
Middle East similar germs of thought had started unawares and silently, with-
butlamindarng them or dinglanythinguneslprovoks-thoh, and nat tralt they
montinueduhere his other thoughtsin Susser-had-Teftloffy as if there A4pST
loy
already in him an order;eicehberantotabbytng-wathoit/ltout/uMholsing/ue .and the
kad
climax og this had been the night of the eclipse, which. in turn/changed his
life so that now he enjoyed a greater stillness sfbetipg than before and
lived with fewer divisions of will; not that his life was more still in the
outward aspect, nor even that he could remember the details of his thought
that night, but he was content to leave it like this until his next point of
clarity came, confident that his life was moving and changing silently all
allthe
the time in the light of that thought, through the chaos and bitter, jagged
contradictions every day; he thought the night of the eclipse would bear
fruit in him as action and living later on, and was moving in him like a
all tke
germ now, being absorbed slowly, turned over and transmuted through every
(with each other,
actions/that seemed to him to have no connection But Dick's
ideas,
thoagat, didn't have this life-giving and life-absorbing quality. They wese
tired
beoha lesiurelyo somd/Abpatlthetr They fitted the epiet hours after din-
clevemness;
ner, when there was time for reflectiong or they were penetrating and
dissecting little thoughts about the ambiguities of life, sex, fears,
pleasures. They came from sitting back a little from life. They weren't
thrown up haphazardly in the CO urse of action, from underneath; they came
from a quiet act of surveyance.) Mefebrasuggastionenatleandstions
had to be safe and reasonably easy for them to be possibled They thereiota
seemed separate from the real world that flowed along outside, its tumbling
couldur e
Some cone
events too hot for reflection: They wersnatikelyiate had by anyone in
distress, or suffering in any way. Msa they won scholarships, impressed
aud
teachers at school, apld belonged tosome extent to formal 09r stylish bihav-
iouro andtorperforming beforelancinglrclaoroloefrfenosoTriends They were phil-
T C CLL


-osphical in the weak, mental
Asto00-vw0 sonbe--thorising'g SAnd
ful, an answer that was like
theyproduced, if success-
a plan, fitting the facts.


and
was
socialdifferences,
Dcomtha.otber Sackropresented adistortion
of consciousness unequalled in any other social class, or in any other epoch
of history. Heid been brought up to take acertain kind of wixi for granted
as the nornal human will, when actually this was unprecdented in history,
and unknown both to working people, among_whom Granville had lived, and
EnomL to the former aristocracy, in whose shadow Pinkie had lived. That
was the differenceofupbrfl inging
The middle-olasse Wasrarantqueandnew
densarpaspeser
chyg?
Granville ERERE
found that compared with Dick he couldn't properly
form judgements about other people.) This didntt-meanthhat-bouastasaslasagien
to'mbrarldgemenaorother-peoplogctiona tham Digknit soythihg/bertras
only
mOTA But He could/see the actions : he couldn't make a formal judgeme nt
sxote
If Dick asked him
of another person's/ character in a satisfactory wayi AXXXXMAPXNnkEAxetXEAEXKOOXEI
what he thought about someone, say someone they'd Et met at the office,
alxeakaraapoxenxthexxXMEXXXXXXXxXXXRXXxeoxtantExxmexktaxhtaxaxxttfextnxtncthxfaxmxa?
ogigomgane
axmapx
whodroppedlinauthelbouse, he stumbled and said, "Oh, I don't
know. He-m" And there he would stop. Or he would say perfunctorily,
"Oh, he seems all right", when in fact he didn't feel happy about the person
at all; only the fact was_n't clear to him." But Dick would give a succinct
appraisal of the man, which always appeared to Granville exactly right, so
that he wondered at Dick's powers of penetration, and his imperviousness to
false charms.
Granville would ask himself why he hadn't been brave enough
to venture such a clear criticism, to say exactly what he thought of the man >
and he resolved to do so next time when the occasion arose. But when the
did
next occasion/arpse the wy same thing happened; he hesitated anantanne
fiseisenfand murmured something like, "Oh, he's a nice enough person."
Some-
times he would say, "He gives me annasty feeling." But he couldn't give a
Hals real apprastal? All he could say was what the other person made him feel
like; he couldn 't venture to say what the other person was
He always wante
-d to say to Dick, "Well, I don't know, he probably has reasons for everyth-
ing he does!h People kad only had themselves, after all; they had to get on


with what they'd got. On the other hand, Dick was much less damning than he
hup.
was. Dapk gave a judicious description, Granville went by the state the
other person Maa put him into, and if this was an ungharmonious -state he blind-
When he Whax gted seriously
ed eff and didn't want the other person mentioned again. Whumezskumbotwnak
attemptete mene a complete judgement he went into a long,apruch wandering
Amxymaockiinkxmfchimetxdroncittuxettharxhuambckaxgaxctnkeoxactongexpanshxkrptng
sppech examining every aspect of the other person until he
saxatexerthexexRryXaspresxaecthexathmExpRxxeRyXpxaxcEsR
reached a few
general ideaso andhis impresston-nap-thatlik_pedehed Ntheserideaslatoneey
supreyaneed
bynbashabipitofnental SyyEKY Granville was swpet away in the hot
menlal
currents of another person's presence, while Dick kept his, judgement alive.
Granville was aware of a state of feeling in himself to which no words could
do justice; and when asked what he thought of someone he understood the
question to be, 'What is this state of feeling in you?' Of course, he
hesiaated and stumbled, trying to order his feelings for articulation; he
felt a AMEMMA weight on him, a state close to panic, and he would think
Ja L to himself, "What shall I say? Quickly! But I must do justice to the
other person; I must make a true statement of the feelings he evoked in me---I
But by that time the occasion was gone; he'd only been asked, after all,
for a simple little statement, such as, '0h, he's a snobx', or 'He looks
dishonest, 1 This was what he couldn't dos He stood before other people
in something like a dazed and hot state---not an abnormal state at all, but
one which made cool mentalmactivity impossible; especially if the other
Wher he-steed-before-another person there
person was new to him. CanrankEdxkyxaxatkKEEXHEKEOEXEREREXXAX
was a buzz
of life in him different from other times. This meant that he had no
repartee, except with someone-very intimate to him, and that he had no power
quiet, conversational
of/unpleasantness, direct or oblique : he couldn't cut or snub. If the
person he was talking to was disagreeable he had no defense; he had to wait
situationchanged self
Dick was much better-armed against
people? He went away from offensive people uncontaminated. Also he could
give other people better attention than Granville because he was less depend-
ent on his immediate feelings towards them, and so could elicit their best


side in a deliberate manner; he could see himself apart from
them.
Branville was aware that, to accomodate himself to the
middle class world, he would have to learn---or he would learn
by daily example---how to do what Dick was doing, more and more.
It meant changing from the Abbott's Road state, which was un-
fitting for the world he found himself in now. into what might
be called a picture-perceiving' state.
One had to have a
picture of other people. In the Abbott's Road world you sat
side-by-side with other people, so to speak, looking not at them
but at a spectacle in front of you---he found he got on best
with other people when they werg doing something together, when
there was something to watch, like a theatre: you were aware
of the other person, but not in a mental way. In the Abbott's
Road world people flowed into each other; they were like the
countryside---you didn't have to look at iti.to know it, you
didn't have to see all the trees and hear all the birds and
each breeze that rustled the branches. Indeed, the more you
looked and examined, the less you knew! And this was what he
found in the middle class world; the more he looked at people
the less he knew about them---the more he talked to Hanni and
Dick the more puzzling they were for him; their presences didn't
flow into


Ther sitences were tense and cmstiou,
himg Dickibad wotdhinbbatsilencce imapponverantion-alwaysumado-nnseed
Iseheoh
thetthaeyesof-tbelolassiusere-om-him But silence in Abbott's Road was
i produced
always allowed to flow on, pooducing/a new mood of its own accord, a fresh
turning-over of the spirit like a breath oed/iior across the rooms uthatithe
meaanemackseemeepedtaactullyicaeeutofit The whole tone of life in
Abbott's Road was different; it was another world like another civilisation,
and slowly he had to get used to this new world, which Horaa meant/fighting his
one
agfer anothes
way through tanrtble distortion# but he couldn't go back now, he had no
other world to live in; We would have to learn this new picture-perceiving
Seemed ko take
neay
state which every middle-class person) took) for granted/as the normal way.'d?
pwanenoarhsarg
percerving/exeryoneryane-in-the world
would have to be strong as well,
to keep harmony, informing himself about every step he took. - It was no longer
adequate for him to exist in himself, letting his moods come and go, forming
was
his ideas about other people and their actions in a flowing way that seemed
lear
simply a continuation of his moods.' Now he had to have a/picture of other
people, deduced, when their behaviour wasn't clear, from himself. He had to
Tal take their interests into mental consideration, whereas,before,his natural
sense of their presence had done that for hin. Now there had to be a consciou
-S sense of relation.' He had to listen to them alertly and then furnish
his reply, in a kind of set give-and-take that wasn't a natural give-and-take
of the heart that came easily, but on a different lével, with a different
raythm; there had to be an acute mental awareness of the other person, as to
you Yaud
what was going on in his mind, and what picture he had of
Onela
privacy was suspended; and the mind took on a planning activity, mapping out
the form of the conversation, trying to find interesting and informative
things. to say. But in Abbott's Road the conversation needn't be at all
informativep it could go on in a kind of monologue; one person taking over
from another. He-femembered how the-majertsrtemifnSussexhad toldhim
that-her-father-hadimpressedorher-Sromoarlynchildhoedthhe neoessitpof
thinktngubesorbetoreyspeakaktarshorsdialsdidsherdalvays/KonhdAtastrainluter


In Abbott's Road thinking-before-you-spoke was ungracious;
in this way working class manners were more gracious and subtle
than middle class, and much nearer thearistocratic. The rule
in Abbott's Road was that having silent thoughts behind your
words was disrespectful; the mind throbbed on behind the
words in a non-thinking way, as a man's eyes blazed in a non-
seeing way., . Talk was a state of being in Abbott's Road, not
mental conclusions. It flowed from the the mouth without
thought of. performance. /PHt the middle class world it.was like
making announcements: ideally, if you wanted the most attentive
audience, your announcements were factual, well-thought-out and
informative. It was like people being the official spokesmen
of themselves.
You cariied about in your head a picture of
yourself and you decoyed other people's minds into accepting
this picture---of a straightforward person, or casual person,
or clever, or carefree, or poor, or rich---whatever you wanted
to be. And since the people you were talkedg to did eaactly
the same, it was like pictures meeting pictures, all the
excitement of being with people was gone, there was no mysterious
timbre and richness in their voices, no quick, violent, unknown
gaze. Men's faces were like little masks from which they
peeped out defensively.
These faces went on in front of the
thoughts like a dance of the xeisi veils, moving about to enchant
and. conceal and lie.
It wasn't enough for him in this new world to say 'I like
this person' or 'I dislike that person', andleave it at that,
with a feeling of natural rightness because, after all, he was
only talking about his own feelings! No, now there had to be
a judgement.
There had to be a picture of the other person,
you had to say if you disapproved of this or not. That was
really what Dick was asking him-- --'What quick picture have you
formed of the other person?' 'I dislike him' was now a social
or moral judgement, no longer an autobiographical one. In
Abbott's Road it was autobiographical---that was just how you
felt about the other person, and you left him free. Now you
were required to construct the other person on a little map of
virtues and to say if you thought this little construction
deserved life or not!


At once the authority of your own feelings was dead.
That was the first thing to get a blow when you went into the
middle class world: your own authority.
Did he like Dick and Hanni, really? Not really!
He liked Mohammed---there was the wonderful, drugged state
of friendship where no questions were asked. In Dick and
Hanni there was kind of glittering, MEKAT mental excitement--
which needed a party to come out; it always needed something
else. Did he trust them? No! Yes! He couldn't tell!
Which meant he didn't!
It wasn't easy in this new world. The other person was
always so hidden.
If he was boisterous you had to consider
that he might really be shy; if stern and reticent, really
warm; if charming and straightforward, really cold. ThE
MERREXXEIfEffExREX*HxtHEXpNRIIEXREERRXMRR* You had to look round
ERKDEES all the time---round the pictures.
Dick always said what volumes he could tell about Hanni,
if only the occasion arose.
But these volumes were hidden
from others. Perhaps only when she was alone with Dick did
she unveil herself. Wasn't it true of' them all, really?
So it wasn't enough to say what you felt about a person!
You might have got the wrong picture! So the brain had to
keep checking and reconnoitring. He had to consider, for
instance, that a remark of Dick's might mean the opposite of
what it said; or that Hanni's silence forffew days might
actually mean noise underneath. Feelings no longer established
factsk in a plain and robust' way!
With Dick he never really felt himself. He felt
quenched. He was a picture---partialities, a good mind,
interesting, likeable---such a warm person! But the flame
was gone.
Dick couldn't see it.
The creatures in the fields gave their light, the birds
and all the other beasts. But not men: Not in this world
hed come itna into.
Men no longer had God in each other.
He felt a quick mental revulsion from Dick. Dick's


attitude to other people was starved!
He braught a starved
autitude to his clients at the office---he couldn't invest them
with the stature proper to them---they were 'old' this and 'old'
tnat for him, elbowing each other pathetically for his attention!
The middle class had come to strike the light out of peoplet
Dick was starved in sex---he was always afraid it would
be snatched away from him. He was starved in thoughts---his
thoughts were thin and mental, without the support of his life
and his flesh!
But this was followed by concern. There was such. a grail,
tra ansparent innocence in Dick, stilliintact, which had been in
his eyes when they first met, at training-school. He could
still remember it---he could see the light-blueness of Dick's
eyes close to him, smiling, with their confiding twinkle.
He was exhausted? How long would he spend in this
frightful labyrinth?
To.P557.


Gerald brought in a portable radio one evening and switched
to their astonishment
on the midnight news. It said/that there would be a special call-
up of 'emergency reserve personnel', details of which would be ann-
ounced the next morning. There was a great whoop of indignation.
"What bloody fools!" Ginger cried.
Glenning asVEN was worried.
Also the news said that the American ambassador had called on the
Prime Minister at his own request, and had stayed nearly an hour.
Glenning said that Russia and America both wanted Britain out of the
Middle East to open it up as a market for themselvess anduhetthis
Moata-nappom. Britainfbeingubroken-by thelastuaryhad-no-benofite
euough
to-ONfor-tthat aréa any moret she could) neitler invest big money
paperly.
there ner protect it with hereras, That was the reality, aobandwhat
wasigokagion, and no good could be done by calling up troops.
Pinkie yawned and went off


to bed. She said that Nigel had rung her up to say mat he was going to
volunteer if necessary; he'd just had dinner with some of his old buddies
from the war, and they were going to do the same. Hehadnitorgottennis
diagustotmEMOPAPADpparemalyt He said he was doing this because he was certain
there wouldn't be any bloodshed, and that there'd just be a sort of picnic in
had
the desert. Pinkie added that he sounded wonderfully mellow, and/told her
he'd met her friend Elizabeth Bewley-Patton, who was going to invite her up
to her house for a week-end soon if there wasn't a 'show'. And hedsaid she
Rad e
ought to see more of Elizabeth.
Granville wanderedattthelastaremarks
Eligabal aly Gice, Enigly
Herdimet her-a-few bimest She was a healthy, bounding sort of person with
flushed cheeks and dark, quick eyes. Theremas nothing Gveflve"labeut_hem
Perhaps thatwaswhat
en Rinkie.
InxkuxxgaxexthEKE
Nigelmeant. She was a clear, healthy, sane influence)
direet,
In-hergaze-thereumaran-extraordinary/ppeimistie galetys Bheneter tumed
chisway andthat refleotively as Pinkiendidy #er eyes darted on to things
with
with a dark, careless penetration. She was full of questions always, and
the utmost generous concern. Her talk was like a great waterfall, pauselesss
and deafening.' Sho-wasused to Roving inhigh eirciess as Pinkie saidwith
anchuekles Volt
zy used a a beingvheard, not Chat-therens ever beenany
a ahA
dipcicultyfr And there was a robust eexual energy in her; nothing distort-
ed taxker or held inwards. Next to her Pinkie looked & delicate, glittering,
waywardoporoon Pertapamarbreysonashingofberlzitonota
The fant call-up affected only a few people, and hundreds of enquiries
Aaws
by potential. volunteers wefe turned away at the recrui ting offices. A paper
said that the cO untry was almost equally divided on the issue. There were
also small demonstrations outside the inadtive recrutiing officés; people
carried placards throughout the hours of daylight past the doors, callirg on
h.p. everyone to frecruit' their common sense and 'volunteer' for sanity. The
following Sunday he went to the demonstration in Trafalgar Square alone and,
So to speak, incognito. He didn't see Linger-Longer pr any of the others.
wih
There was an immense crush of people, and primi.tively-rigged banners


waving about over their heads, 'THE CREED OF SLAUGHTER', 'The Empire Is Dead
But won't Lie Down', 'Britain Faces Total Extermination With Stiff Upper Lip',
Rubath. Naiognal Health Scheme - says LEAVE IT TO NATURE', *Reunion 6f British
War Heroes Lo Take Place This Month In Rabath To Practice Bayohet Drill ôn
Live Women And Children.' There were mounted policemen on all sides, squash-
ing people.into a tight group here and di stending them into a line there,
the horses throwing up their heads and stepping delicately. He got caught
in part of the crowd and was swept along into the square, close to one of the
fountains where platforms had been erected; some people were being pushed
on to the fountain and a young man had taken off his shoes and socks and was
a en
paddling in the water. There was
cheerfulness everywhere; = it might
have been a royal procession. Policemen on foot shouted out to the man in
the fountain and drew nearer to him, elbowing thérough the crowd. Suddenly
several yards
there would be motion and everyone would shift and move las smoothly as a breati
when
dfuste-ceveseh-puxtan) nB the mounted police put pressure on at the edges.
It was a warm day, the first they'd had for a week or more, with high clouds
He saw Indàins in the crowd, negros and a few Arabs. But mostly there were
contingents from local labour parties and peace-groups. Singing came from
various parts of the square, and he could see a man on the platform conduct-
ing; it seemed to be *Cavaliera Rossa', and on the other side they were sing-
asepaae
Ahotrmm
ing Abide with me',' Suddenly xht clergyman soperedpycar de
teristor
severed-times stepped in front of one of the microphones on the platform and
cried, "Prayer-cards will be issued nowl Nearly fifty thousand prayer-cards
have been issued in the last fortnight! In the middle of the meeting there
will be a two-minute silence; during which you are requested to read your
prayer-card and offer it to God," which produced a slow roar of laughter like
wind across the square; he said it all incredibly fast, staring at the sky
wi th his head pushed forward, his long, pale hand clutching the stem of the
microphone a and as abruptly he stepped aside. The young man in the fount-
ain.was arrested and carried shoulder-high through the crowd by two police-


men, without his shoes and socks; he kept calling to someone
in the crowd by the fountain, cr aning his neck round, "Bring
'em to the station, cock! Oy, cock! Bring 'em to the
station!" Then he looked down at one of the sweating police-
men underneath him and said, "Constable, you're hurting my
leg, I'll screw you when I.get down!" The crowd was laughing,
and some of them began singing, 'Let's all go down the Strand,
Have a banana!"
On the other side of the square there was something un-
pleasant. A police-horse had swept somebody off his feet and
he'd started to attack the policeman, trying -to pull him down
from the saddle.
There was a scuffle, and some angry cries,
and the crowd in that area moved backwards and forwards as if
being pulled as a whole to and fro; some police vans. came
round quickly, their bells going, and by the look of it a few
people were arrested.
Speakers assembled on the platform and an appeal was put
out for the Arab refugee fund. Then the speeches started,
the usual political stuff where the moral vehemence had its
effect on the crowd like clockwork. He walked away, down
Whitehall. The voices echoed behind him, rising to the point
of moral climax and then falling again. It was all rotten
underneath! It was the same with Dick and Linger-Longer,
the same with the newspapers, with the solemn, measured,
admonitory leading articles that cashed in on every crisis
to double and treble the sales---rotten! And Whitehall was
strangely silent and deserted and ancient, wi thout even buses,
like a street made suddenly into a church, with idiot-cries
for blood coming in from outside on the wind.
A woman spoke. He heard her call for a 'Middle East
Charter' to be signed by all the powers with interests in that
area. What a hope! The sound of the crowd, listening to
her with rapt silence, then making a subdued murmur of approval,
made not a great political roar as it had done with the other
speakers, but a more intimate one of outraged decency. Her
voice sounded wild, but in a touching way, also nagging, a bit
shrewish; she seemed to be grappling wi th male sex, not just
politics---male sex was to blame at bottom. "I was told last


week---!" Her voice drifted to and fro. "One of our
boys---" The crowd made its roar and he heard her words,
suddenly shouted above this roar, "I wonder what his mother-ve!"
And then there was, "Crying shame!"
Granville hurried along past Westminster Abbey, no
longer within earshot.


CHAPTER 17.
Then the crisis petered out. Russia proposed a
peace-conference, with the first condition that #ritain
withdraw her troops. This was a clever move as it isolated
Britain mor ally, by making the negotiations depend on her
alone.
Britain announced that troops would. be withdrawn only
at the request of the xhikk sheikh; but he requested it a few
hours later.
There was suddenly another riot in Rubath in which a
policeman had his feet cut off and was dragged through the
streets by a howling mob. There was a banner, in English,
which read, 'Humanity, happiness, habeas corpus.' Glenning
said that the mob thought habeas corpus me an 'have a corpse'
and picked on a policeman.
There was to be an international conference---certainly;
then, the day after, there was to be one---perhaps. Anyway,
the crisis was over.
There was no word about Creed. A
paper published a cartoon showing the sheikh in conference with
army officers, but without Creed, and underneath there was the
caption, 'Altogether dis-Creed-ited.' There was a melancholy
XXXXXXHEXYHEXEXWE stillness in the country. Glenning's 'little
political anatomies', as Dick called them, had become a regular
feature of kitchen-life since the crisis started. He said
that America and Russia had got the world into two armed camps,
in which Europe was the temporary 'no-man's-land'.
And we
were living in the middle of this no-man-s-land, or at least
on its westerly edge, which was why we had the feeling of not
being quite real at times, not quite men, but'no-men. England
hadn't really existed since 1938.
After that she was a
barracks, and still was. Like France, she was embalmed by
both east and west into her old, dead self---the 'coloni al


power', to serve identical interests. When the no-man's-land
came alive again this would disappear overnight. The break
with America would come. Dick didn't agree with this. He
said that English interests were completely tied-up with
American: there was such an intimate 'love-death''relation-
ship that you wouldn't ever get a split. Glenning answered
that this had nothing to do with it---there would be a break
in American policies, the post-war theory of American civilisation
inheriting the earth by shere moral righteousness would go out
with a fizz, or a fart: and we would cease to be 'no-men'.
Dick listened to him attentively; - with a little smile of
appreciation; it was so clearly a voice he could understand,
quiet and balanced, never trying to rush him.
Everybody seemed to return to life now the crisis was
over. He realised as if jolted back after a long sleep that
he was due to make a report---he would have to go to the office---
that a few days before he:d met a strange, small woman called
Joy Celeste---that his leave was being extended---that Grove
existed! It was thrilling, horrifying, dazzling in one.
To P,566(


Slism()
othor-eeuntrieg of Europe pecause a €
agedand
invigonat
on empire
He said tha t,
paradokically enough, insularity grew more inside mountain-ranges than on
islands, because people nedded to get out of islands and did: Wheh people
'no longer, needed American money, he said, the break would come ; politics was
like that. Dick didn't agrée with this, He said that English interests were
completely tied up with Amerixan: there was such an intimate 'love-deathr
relationship that youvouldn't ever get a split. Glenning agreed; he said
asplit wouldn't result, only a break in present American policies; the no-
man's-land between Russia and America would
become an active
again
influence:
Dick listened to him attentively, with a little smile of appreciation; it
was so clearly a voiee he could understand, quiet ng balanoed, neventrying
erisnpim.
Hanni was still. sleeping at the house, and one evening Dick came in
shortly before midnight 'prowling for sex', in Pinkie's words. He always
had the same look, she said, of a boy who wanted to'go'and couldn't hold it.
hullo
He seemed to see nothing and didn't even nod agresting to Granville. Hanni
was sitting in the music-room paring her toe-naiis quietly when he came in,
and, aware of his state, she decided to prolong it. She hardly looked up at
him to say hullo and after he'd walked round the room several times she
asked Pinkie in a quiet voice, "What about some coffee?" And Pinkie, catch-
with a snaile
ing the intention, said at once, "Yes, I'd love some!" They trooped up to
masson
the kitchen, Dick following in a disconsolate silence : alncourteayand/sense
sopmotrdtzart/sna he dM had a grim, held-in look on his face,
and gazed at the floor a good deal, the edges of his mouth quivering ever so
slightly
tty so that the light hairs of his beard moved. His beard had been
under attack recently. Linger-Longer didn't like it especially; apepetaiso
atfint
she said mutpbtlaangjent it had struck as manly, in a horrifying, 'bristly-
fnuk
Said
brush' sort of way, now it revolted her. Bata Dick caungtoltheridea that
while she was ambivalent about it he should leave it on: the effect of him
to P 567


clean-shaven might be worse, and in any case Hanni had never
seen him clean-shaven!
Pinkie said the beard made him look
bogus.
"Cock! Dick cried. "It goes perfectly with a strict
black suit and a dark tie!
it's blond and untidy!
Edeause
It make_s people think twice about me---they're always look-
ing across the table to see if I'm really bogus or not---I can
feel them! And that means they're giving me their full attent-
ion, which in kuix business is an awful lot! Whereas your -
clean-shaven man lays his cards on the table much too soon.
A little twitch of the mouth and he's finished! Also," he
added, "the beard indicates possibly a wild past but the black
suit raps this idea soundly over the knuckles---thus, an inter-
esting conflict is set upt in the spectator!"
His beard.w was more of a goatee than what he called a
'bush', he said. He couldn't stand men with bad-smelling
bushes round their chops! Nobody could say his was a dark,
ting
nasty; it was blond and flimsy, golden in the summer; in a
word, 'Tudor',
At last, over the coffee, Hanni was got to bed. As the
bed downstairs was small they decided to sleep in one of the
ramshackle attic-rooms, immediately above Pinkie and Granville.
In the middle of the night he was woken suddenly. The
floor-boards creaked and bumped overhe: ad, and the bed moved. He
Aranyane thought drowsily, They're making love', and tried
to sleep again. Pinkie was always joking about how Dick was
a SXIRIEX stickler for 'new positions'; and now he seemed to
be running, walking, hanging on to things, heaving at the bed,
coughing, kicking at some thing, chuckling, jumping up and down,
all in the most grotesque way. Granville glanced at the luminous
alarm-clock---three in the morning. Had they been at it all
this time?
Then there was the sound of a powerful, regular be ating
like a drum, shaking the whole house, and he heard, when there
was sudden quiet, two strange cries, RhIEAXERdEdxIHexarMmming
first Hanni's, like a long, agonised laugh, and a few seconds
later Dick's, like a man coughing in thick smloke, followed
by a prolonged moan. He tried to stop his EXE ears in the
To P547 7(J


in the pillow against the intimacy of their sounds, but he
couldn't. Pinkie still slept soundly. What would she have
said? She would have joked about it, perhaps. But there was
now silence, absolute, flat, and he was left alone with those
intimate sounds, like a challenge to his whole self.
He toid himself, with a dawning and pained awareness,
that he'd heard the sound of real sex and that this wasn't what
he and Pinkie had! Alone---lefs with these sounds---he
couldn't joke, as he might have with Pinkie, rather tenderly,
chuckling. If onty she'd woken! But he, was alone---it was
a strange feeling---he was alone with someoneks else's intimacy
which he could never talk or joke away but would have to resolve
in his own life.
It was like a terrible task suddenly dropped
in front of him, bonk, in the middle of the night.
lo P. 568


tadbise marbroadon
lay anererl beenlaware B2lst befbre hslalf ct
gratstod bei
m pandeniable Zand separat te Heva hevér
aBrotoliok
ate bther people
hein Or W
ompe a I
ist bur
n p. DON R ould; Dick ane Hanni ad sheam him the way He couldn't sleep all
J sex
night. There was perfect silence upstairs: the natural after-sleeps with all
the tissues satasfied. He layb,turning and sweating.' Only when dawn came
did he doze off into a thin, troubled sleepo Then he woke at eight o'clock,
before Pinkie, fosting worn out. He'd had nightmares and felt sick.' When
the other three Agdtd left the house for work he got up, having simulated sleep
while Pinkie was dressingg iPbendtinttake for theralaushoalwayleft
hinyshosajdhhorababaidhotaberbaok to the grind'soon enough. He felt an itching
perspiration all over his face and everything looked grim and bilious to him:
he didn't even enjoy his precious breakfast alone in the kitchen. He was in
a completely sunken state. But there was a pain over and abovelthis: Miltetpess
he was awareof being in a confused and hiddan way ashamed of not having sle ept:
How strangel It seemed that he was ashamed of having suffered during the
of the suffering itself
night; there was a double sensation all the time, matkxpaskxkhexkhuexoxatblamxthxt
and then the shame of it! His life
axtxsameceaxhimxtuxthaxnkghkt
had fallen into chaos for the space of
a night---that seemed to be the trouble; haddepartadfrom-the-nubineg
Hals
he hadn't slept at the publicly appointed time! His thoughts in the night had
had a wildness that couldn 't be contaaned in the clear waking hours; they
couldn't be received into his life. Hethoughtraftroftryang toyut-blo-apura
Aenceafthenightintawordsg
6 couidn'tbe donegheeouldn't fititin
tonthe daxlishthoured The sensation was like wanting to vomit but being
unable to; he couldn't pass the experience through him, and he couldn't get
rid of it; he couldn't joke about it, as the daylight hours seemed to require, 4
and he couldn't put it in the necessary impersonal language either; to make
it a serious topic! Nowhe'd oftenhad asteepless nightin Baspehywibh
eimilar theughts, tooi What was thodifference? Hetdquits itenjoyed
then
itout there,usmlly Or-rabheryheld ascepted
herd absusbed the


raupdaggeatthoughts into his life, almest with pleasures at theit-prodegad
Usuaily ithad been
vigteneel
lorhadnet sweated andturneda BehundonxmatlYXXREMEbxkiRs
le rmenbered Basah ak night,
journey
stars
the
outside fantastically bright and
laa
twinkling, SO that often he leaned up on his elbows to make sure that
they
Rapondayttdun
were stars and not # silver lightx someone vas holding
up! atiwasrovema
restfron the endless froutine of waking andsleeping that-blocked outthe
xhythm-beyond; At was a strange country where everyone was asleep and there
wEBe no bitter, dusty thoughts; where the earth was absorbed for once into
the silence. all round it, so that one could touch everything at the heart,
without men's voices, in real state! He remembered lying in his room through
those long, cool; silent nights when the palm-leaves moved outside, making
their faint tinkle, and of being aware that the silence was teaching him some-
Yo +K Coughts that kad a prodigal visfence!
thing; it was the sensation of getting beyond the ordinary veil of
he felt joined to noshing, as if
But
Hfeiora
now the night flung him out; *axRinktsxhantxfattmbckaxsteexpxxxXXet
Fmding been brought into life but then been abandoned naked, Engt everything
tixcwatbounvdhmanchaskerpoxtsonitatckanavorntimrmbyhiaxsfrthisosiamnxmfsokartnge
meanigles. xuffered incemprohensthja. Meanwhile his mind cldcked and revolved in a
Honext*xxXkommyxxxttxwmMEXXAXHBXmsxkangexxkayexhEEaxxtxakXXXEX**EX
dull, grey void, trying to find its way to a connection which would bring
the rhythm and flow of life back, while his body lay inert and incongruous
underneath this activity, without finction, the blood sluggish and the limbs
heavy. HEXDX The night had broken an essential fibre in him; he was worn
and pale all the way through, with the sensation that he was discarded for
ever and would continue like this, among the dead, with only his mind limp-
ing on trying to perceive life through its bloodless little channels, try-
ing to do service for the body! His feelings in the night were all crushed
and herded into a frightened corner; there was no allowance for them in
the life round him; there was simply nothing to be said abouty them, and
other people's faces, even Pinkiets, seemed not to have in their tiny lines
stah and crevices the possibility of hearing about such things, Jumtborhtyortor
might Dbear the samemessagete-her; It was as ify in the life all round him,
in the streets, in the conversations they all had in the kitchen, in the


euery
busese that stopped and started regularly al day in the distance, in the
newspapers, in the vay people walked, in the flat shop-windows, in the way
akindof
He nifht-sealily ouk, HAAP
he himself had learned to talk now; there was nalagreement to. close/reelits
sas sdepeh
ontaids
round-withafence,which made forsafety butase everythingytropicaland
wildoutside,-threatening tobreak through the fenee, becausecit-wasall-left
untendedi Therenust benothing accidentalox eorrupts No-corsuption-of
were only
the-hoart-nas-toboseen. The lonely, dark, grim hours/merenataromente
xoredgasitherrerenvt to be seeny pApPEA as a little abstract line gring
te sign if stiess!
ftanthorevestovitbemotth A a 2 k Kof atressz, in péople's facesi When
ms doult
Pinkie came home in the evening he would/talk to her about the report, which
atte momeut
he was/unfit to touch, or ask her about the office; or she would tell him
the latest about Dick from Hanni. And his feelings of the night wouidpabs;
1hey wouldn't be absorbed into his flesh, into wisdom, they wouldn't even
have
pass into his face as an extra sadness as they would in Mohammed's; they
would die àut, and he would hope to forget them, so that the shame that had
followed them would die, toof And then his face would carry the shame no
longer; he. would be fit for the world, and then later other dark and accident-
al feelings would rise in him, and the same would begin againt/ : His feelings
would die into the corpse of experience, one experience rejecting the last
hip. Frexkoxs àne. How could he establish the meaning of these accidental vapours
that rose under his nostrils in the dead of night, when there was no solitude,
when he couldn't separate himself from Pinkie, when his body seemed not to be
his own, when this fenced world outside was on the move all the time, when
the streets pounded and hammered with recognition of the fenced life but not
only *e fenced life
of the othery which had no form of speech,when) At was present to him all the
time, when it was in his own bed, when it lay in every wall of the house he
was in, when it was written in the papers he read? How could Hp estabalish
Jas the meaning alone? He would have to get away. He would have to suffer
mopu loneliness, perhaps in Basrah, until his true voice began to speak
to him, in candour, and he could pick his way gradually through his life


unrav velling it from the other voices that had been dinning in his ears.
Weweresolittle alone, he thought, thatourom Gruerchythmauvereunable to
esteblish thesselves; and so we had to fight them-backwithshame when thoy
tbrestensdthe mniversal public rhythm; shame pryented us frongiuing fetire:
wken
tantherpople aud-it-Olsodphiped our gestures and expressioni henyPinkie
came back that evening he would be ready for her, hiding his concern and his
nakedness.of the dight.
All through the day he heard the cries Dick- and Hanni had made. He
olw
AAad
was stunned in his body. What Alstranga quietness his, marriage hadi )
They
kiel
Hard-ogtasto-afnuto-afcuttur-Tesbrunk shifting Hrohdpdksdartarad
Snch
involyed Itwea ttke a solemn act, requiring religious attentions. And
PLE ASURE!
Hals Dick and Hanni abandoned themselves to pleasure. That was the stark compar-
ison. What held could he have on her, then? There was a treaty between
A them, but no mutual interests: that didn't make a good alliance. The cries,
Dick and Hanni AOITVOA were like voices telling him about his life. Alone,
how could he have found out what he and Pinkie were missing? Gradually a
cloud had been growing round them, of their own touches and gestures, so that
nothing definite could be told any more, even about the outside worldf gét
ali/they knewreveryonerelse inthe rowid. was thesame, Including Hanniand
a pick. But on the other hand only he was hoodwinked; Pinkie had taken the
way out. Their love was limp and frail. What. was the matter with him, not
to have recognised this? Their bodies didn't exist/Fot/pectvounss Once
Dick had asked Pinkie, "What sort of women does Pip like?" And shellteplied
with some surprise at the question, "Nonel He isn't like that at alll"
Diek toldhim thisafterwardswithachuckle. Nub-he-added that inkie ed
one
ress
also said, pacadoxically, thathewas tthe randiest keton she had ever
'bakeninto pert', buthe was materrally menogamtorso thathisrandiness
wasdirectedfat-hers which Weexhaashing. His thoughts were OARKE clear
now She didn't connect his body with pleasure, And he'd taken this
quiet
for grantl
asamatterofooursa all these years. pharoylaseotombargichtezelter
To P,573


He often tried to talk toder about 'Stratfordt-t-basyooe Mhonftin
ere-andendourage-nete repeat lit as a matterofidary
He tried
to break through their friendship, that marred everythingg and took
(als
away the mysterylegett bodietr DE asing itase startine-polute
Hesaid thayshouldh'tngoat the matter so solemnty; itvagalieht
Roter Once he talked to her for nearly two hours, 7 pobttth pacing
round the room in his orang-utang fashion; she only nodded at every-
thing, agreeing listlessly and looking vague. They shouldn't go at
it with their personalities, hedsaid. There should be no 'you' or
Valy
*I'. They ought to follow their appetites selfishly, he said, as
if they were alone, and then they'd find something waiting for them,
an extraordinary natural pleasure, as at stratford! Abisenheprabsed
MBTA And she looked sick. Hawanted enspeechtess Tovey hersaidyone
bawhsch-therd woulaba non coRrebtionns Trienhahapand Doyalty
Batlhere howastryng to geti - y means of-speecht He Kevbile
Menadtallding mhatitbondant be dane, nothing eould be done in
this talking marner It made her even more


oluays
phecrunstand She had the suffocating look as, when he talked too much;
she sematimes put her hand up to her mouth *
tras-too-mueh
for-hery and made hs if too vomit, her eyes closed in a martyred wayo she
noanl di - a O atime
He said they had to learn how to become like a flimb
ead
d I
in tha other,s side, AAmos unconscious; and Ae0 a sturdy riptid confidence
would grow up between them, Appdy they would be able to tell each other every-
thing, their A6AY hidden and outlandish desires, na 10 ea n4 n S A A Mop
peetlopenbega, so that they wefe left with their bodies as things almost beyony
them, lying in their own mysterye shichtheg talkedabout withoutfeag,
bhen they would be more separate from each other, Alalgogdlwayt, and closero
Arooteurpt she oulymmued "HOW awftl" when hamentioned
being
Mmbs ineash
sidegh She ught of being
others
e dutifulndfen and
smelling of thekitchen, and
one child after anotherg that
waswhat she sook-him ta be advocating. Her-figure-woutd slump. Norshe
drantt want to be - 31 n n L I
sidel She, kated the idea of gettingfat
Immediately after this talk she went on a slimming diet, and began to look
pale and boyish, with a kind of martyared purrity in her face: Nahad/shop
pearalkibglwhienshenshegave the Celletalonienoputtinetbenband ptolhen
mouth,lofbspogbercgest
There was a letter from the United Kingdom Compound in Basrah, about
Technical
abill. *Dear Mr. Granville,' it said, I have been informed by Téxtale
Industries Management Ltd.* that you are at present in the U.K. for a period
of two months vacation. May I point out that there is an outstanding bill
with us in your name for the sum of £11.14.2. and that inthe circumstances
a cheque by return post would be appreciated. Residents of the Compund
settlex accounts weekly and your bill having been outstanding over two months
the Residents committee has decided Compund privileges can no longer be
extended to you.' It was signed, Yours faithfully, M. Scriven', which in
his disabled state he read as 'Yours fearfully, M. Craven.' Buth Letters lke
ttav
Jhad an extraodtinary power to arrive on the day of lowest ebbo ma/tonevam


'Yon eittle piccen ron 5 Englisa sml, 1 Houghr. What
nakes qm 4HIA So atoud
la he
up an 7
yogang AAPAABAMNELeluvay ap 1A
His teeth began to chatter with
thelaccumulated distress; the kitchen was cold and had a bare look in
ayain.
the dull light; the weather was sthh overcast and chillyi Hernasur
pwate-ghst-perhapa he audhinkie had caysedneseatmesentment II the-Compounds
there had been talk, perhaps, about her dancing at the Cabala, where
none of the Compound-members went; she didn't get on with the women;
they foundher uppish and lacking in-feminine iatimacys in her accent
they, Kound something haughty. She wasn't the type at all for the Con-
pound. She'd probably got the bill in Basrah and screwed it up, It
waerfromtholiberkystoresTwiere Bheyrsometinesishopted.
Norsctewedtheletter a L ad threw it out
the kitahen window
Nberewas 1o question ofnis
present.
He'd been
hip,
along to: the office to draw his monthly cheque and found that hi's sit-
uation wasn't nearly as good as he'd thought; his cheques had been sent
off to Basrah in the normal way, but his bank there had sent them back
to his London account, thinking that these were his instructionso nhezen
MmM
asnherneatoldthentensendoulythefipshenog thus he'd been draw-
ing from the bottom of the kitty without realising
He was stagger-
ed when he saw how much he'd spent in the last month; for safety he
deposited the price of an air ticket to Basrah with the cashier; to
go on he'd haveto borrow from Pinkie. However much he earned he never
seemed to have any in his pocketo Pinkie was the same ; they suddenly
lavished it on a party or dinner out.
Pinkie returned that evening with Hanni and Dick, in a cheerful
party; his sleepless night was forgotten at once. Pinkie put a question
(again?
unexpectedly after dinner; would Christ be crucified if he came on earth)


"Do you mean if he came in period costume or modern dress?" Dick asked.
"Oh, in modern dress!"
Dick said with a smile that he'd probably fill Albert Hall', representing
as he would *Charlie God'. Granville said he'd certainly be crucified again,
though he might not be put on a' cross or stoned. Hanni was against this;
she agreed with Dick and added that people were different nowadays; when Gran-
ville asked what she meant by 'different' she said 'less bagotted'.
Pinkie
was non-committal, gazing at them all in turn. It was a strange question
coming from her, and he looked at her sideways, searching for a clue in her
face, but there was none.' That evening she had a light, vanishing quality
in her face, as if she'd been through something extreordinerily purifying.'
In the discussion Dick talked about Carist as 'Charlie God, Junior', V/La a
A ABA
Granville said something V ague, y
rather under his
breath---that
we wererall serying 'a silent meaning' in all our haphazard thoughts
and actions every day. He said italmost to himself, gazing at the
: table. - Dick looked at him strangely and' seemed just about_tosay -
>sometihing.facetious whenrhe stopped', catching the seriousness in
7 Granvilles face, and, asked quietly, "How do you-mean?" a
AA Before he could reply Dick. leaned across the table so that his
face was very close, hiseyes screwe'd up, with 1 their little twinkle of
I curiosity, and' asked almost. in a.whisper, "Do you really beliéve all -
: that caper about - God,. Pip? 1 I never thought.-I'd know somebody_intimate-
ly_who did! Do you think old Charles God is up. there when the show's
over; sitting on the judgement séat, and alfthat caper?"
"No," Granville said, "I didn't'me'an exactly-that."
fur
- i "What,silent meaning are you talking'about, then?" "He seemed
genuinely to want to.know-- Fbe told something.
"Well, a kind of order behind things!"
"But when do wë find out what the order is?" Dick asked.
"How-do you: know it's there, then?"
"All I mean is we can't ever know .with our minds. - You're
for
asking


an order we can talk about. But this is something our minds can't deal with.
So we shall never know." n
"Well, how do you know, then? If you'll forgive the embarrassing quest-
"I know with what there is in me that's different from my mind."
"It's a feeling?"
a was an anti-climax for Dick; Bevuturons-unesn that he had
genuinely wanted to find out something.'
"But you don't believe in judgement day?" Dick asked him.
After a pause he said unwillingly, "No!n It buried the argument/ con
Dick PginyonpyieMonewagdisappointedbed-beeausehhefellt that Granuillehad
efteralithesame_soxtofmindashleoeOmmpandicouddntDtherefore explainthe
religions pointrofview,whichh L e nad-hoped, outofewriosity-> And the brief
discussion stung Granville to an awareness of his own insecure position: why
Aot
Because he dlidut!
a washe unwillingio say he didip believe in judgement day? He resolved to
go through his reflections on the night of the eclipse bit by bit soon, for hé
felt he had answered that question adequately then; but at the moment he could
nyp. reflect on nothing. Dick waited for him to go on talking but he didn't; he
sat locked in silence, staring fixedly at the table. He thought he might try
to unravel the matter, for himself and Dick; but when he looked up to begin
Afarinng Dick was fondling Hannits hair with an intimate smile and saying, "Well
what about it?", meaning they should go home.
Hanni-had now notunned to Hampton Court. She-enid-she foundit
hell of a mess, but Dick claimed that this had all been donethe evening before
she came back, when he gave dinner to Linger-Longer 'in a last effort'.
The ctitis had passed over completely now, and the international conference
hadntt taken place; the newspapers had other subjects; The sheikhof Rubath
produced, in committee with his ifficer-cabinet, a White Paper on 'national
reconstruction' 1 not that there had ever been much constructionras the phrase


He went to the office and arranged for his files to be Zbought up e
Nevinson didn't ask to see him. The secretary he was given was tall and
with engkt yellas hais and a Imng toce;
non-committal), she shook hands with him quickly, with a charm that came and
went in a shay, intimidated way, her smiled fading quickly and as quickly
teturning. Everything about her was meticulous, and she walked with straight
symmetrical but easy steps, her high heels making a perfectly regular sound
on the floor. The office he'd been given was tiny, overlooking a bombed
site; it had a gas-fire and panelled walls, and the dome of St. Paul's was
gatting
close by, huge and grey, like a pencil drawing. He stayed there all day A
otder)
hafpang the files put in pleaag but his work wasn't to start for a week or
8he
took
so, when the secretary would be free.
-seeretery
holes
belning-dowmmoee for him in a business-like way, her lips tight together with
Seamed ro have mote
concentration, pausing when he paused so that what he said was-given anextra
Kan ur teally did.
importances The room was dim with a tasselled light, and the desk was low,
acfoss one corner, with a rather gorgeous persian cafpetghaaterinatis She told
thi
him that usually one of the directors used the
as his 'funk-hole'; she
A roomg
smiled at him pleasantly when she said this, with a sudden unexpected penetrat
omer Y ing glance, slipping from her perfection foraagat. Later he met Gleming
downstairs and learned that she was the best secretary in the place and was
reserved for directors or visitors; she sometimes had to show them the
Re added.
sights of London, tAs a sort of top-class whore',k She was called àmong the


cund 3 ad
directors 'the secret weapon' pbeing) used semetimee to Asoften up hard
clients.t Nevinson would say, 9 "It's no good---we'll have to use the secret
weapon!"
He yearned to get down tox work at once. The room had sabh an inviting,
safe, enclosed look; it lay at the end of a quiet corridor where few people
passed, on the directors' floor. He would like to come there every dayi
He wanted to sink himself in it, lead Dick's sort of life, not go abroad any
wmld
more on that endless quest. Like Bick hehd/arrive in the morning at the
every Omy day
same time]; the little office would be a haven for him, away from the raw;
aching realities of home; he'd go back in the evening quiet and renewed,
fresh
seeing the house as a strange, vivid country where something mOW would be
Kim
offeredf a kind of theatre that started the moment he opened the door, bright
ahd glittering, with gaudy, soft colours, and the raw desires would return,
aud Jek Exciting
hearly
exeibingand dismaying/him, making his heart beat, perilous/to the pointy
elg-
IGE
of Mee/extinction,in an unexpected, grim, trembling rapture. Why
facts
l Pinkie
didn't he accept the form of patr marriage,, in sanity? Even now---as he
ilals
stood beside the low, elegant desk with its polished top, he could face the
better;
even!
existence of Grove uaktbes
He could see them kissing;
comfortably
they slept
together: what was wrong in that? The cosy little office saw nothing unusu-
al about it! There were just facts, and other facts to counter them." Why
didn't he consult his own pleasures as Dick did? Why not live like Mohammed,
taking women as they came his wayi and when nothing came his way, going to
the brothel? Why was he afraid of going back to Basrah alone? The brothels.
deeo
were pleasant/ One could drink in them and pass an evèning! Heid done it:
sat in one of the small rooms with wooden floors while thebgirls passed to
courtyard
had
and fro along a gallery outside; utorbthe Eauxtyenid below Mange chickens L
run
Rad
clucked and nan all day, and
came in noisily through the engfance-gate
meny
calling for madame: Why was he hemming his life in? Why couldn*t he bring
his body into the open? Dick had shown him the way, for London! There was -
now. a chance to imitate Dick's dandyism; he thought of him as a dandy, bot


serious and philosophical; a dandy of the night, in the glittering
mystery; going out alone, shorn of everything familiar, without a
wife, home, only a self that put on a new black mask for the journey,
Granville could imagine him so well with a velvet mask held up on a
little stick, only his mouth showing, moist, full, innocent, taking
relish in itself, nearly smiling, for the mystical journey of sex.
He remembered the solicitor Ismail Beg in Basrah, a tall, wild
Kurd who always wore the most beautiful American duck-suits and a
panama hat, and poured arak down his throat in the evening untilhe
alrout
was swaying all overtheptace and calling everyone aatohA except
Granville, for whom he had a special, protective intimacy,) buffalof
he and Grannnte
and "dogh-sonf-orylost'o Usually) they went to a cabaret togethery
where heavy Kurds and Arabs sat at tables glowering at a half-naked
girl on the stage while she revolved her hips, making her head go to
and fro sidewayd without moving her neck.
Ismail would tower above
them in his superb western suit, while they laughed at him sheepishly,
their robes pulled up to show their socks and suspenders, He was a
fsr *Kem
clown Antheireges but also awesome, a rich man afraid of no one.
They withered and looked away under his blazing glance. He owned a
number of brothels and sometimes took Granville on a 'tour of inspect-
ion* in the evening, to drink brandy or arak in one of the best rooms
with the madame, while trade went on in the adjoining compartments.
Madame would be called out every few minutes to settle a bill or stop
a quarrel. A girl would rush in calling for the douche and fase per-
manganate of potash because a 'buffalot had broken his french lettera
while the 'buffalo' swore by Allah downstairs in the courtyard, at
the top of his voice, that the rubber they used was like paper, and he
hoped the bint al gawad' - - the pimp's daughter, would make a better
mother than she'd made a fucki Huge shfikhs tumbledalong the wooden
gallery in the evening, their chauffeurs waiting outside in Cadillacs
and Uldsmobiles. They would come in roaring from the cabarets,brpuiet


dike children, their fat hands shining with jewels, their cloaks magnidicent;
they would stake whole villages over poker in the side-rooms, or buy one of
the girls for a week if they took a fancy to her. The madames were always
Ismail
calm and humorous; capable women past their youth. And they held Kkattt
Beg in Apecial esteem. They would settle him comfortably in an armchair
however drunk he was, and clap their hands for a bottle of brandy, putting
fried
tittle bowls of nuts in front of him, and hot fitked chicken-livers:p Ib
weenle-that
eTr
k plaeess they eachhad power in their ray equal
his
witi hisy AH They seemed ta expect justiee from himy and SgTERURWITd-
G C 5
mess,awxhek that Musalmafe threatening his/safety a5
shef No D ara thep
shook their heads and ave him more brandy He would pull the girls close
to him when they came in and put his hand up their skirts to give them a
pinch and make them scream; he would jump up and do a grotesque dance with
his eyes closed, towering above everybody, snapping his fingers and moving
rnnels Sthe
his head sidewgys like the girls in the cabarets. He pissed over the/cars
outside while the chauféeurs---dogs-sons-of-dogs---stared at him heavily from
inside, afraid to say anything. And sometimes he madea strange yell that
filled the narrow alley-ways of the brothel querter, rising and falling, like
a cry that might be heard in the mourtains, among the tribesmen. He boasted;
he said he could pick up a handkerchief from the ground with his teeth while
at Aull gallop on horseback, and he' 'd won many best doing this in Krudistand
pad ke was a warrior, a prince---hence, the name Beg---greatly respected,
And an
feared, hated by the dogs-sons-ofddogst Ad /influence on the government,
a friend of the king; adored by his wife; unhappy! He had one weakness,
he said, and smiled, leaving Granville to think what it was.) Itwmeither
ins
drinkOr woment he hadmsfirofboth fot Ir he intended ba sleep) wi th
one of the women he would go out alone and not call on Granvilleg Rettepst
befeared-that t for D uX a
t C as Wifen whembeluasldruingbenshoatedat
lis wife
nim, andityas çrear he fearecbera #e kept/ /her under more or less trak
lock and key, afraid of a dog-son-of-a-dog getting into the house and making


love to her. Sometimes he leaned out of his bedroom window at night/ba
iDolaasdyand fired shots into the garden, thinking there were men below."
his wigt
Unlike the other women of Basrah ishe/didn't wear the veil; she came from
Benrut, the daughter of a merchant who spoke French, and she smatted all the
time against being cooped up in the house from morning till night. She would
pour Ismail's arak into the potted plants in the sitting room when he wasn't
looking, but thé moment she'd done this he would turn round to her slowly with
a smile Bull of graciousness and say, "You whore, fill my glass againm! however
drunk he was. He told Granville that the only men who had seen her, apart
from him, were his brother and the public prosecutor. She was obsessed by
the idea that other women were pursuing him all the time; and he encourgaed
the idea. She even wrote bo Pinkie a note in French accusing her of trying to
charm him; she said she had always considered English woman, until now, above
others in matters of honour. Granville showed the note to Ismail and he
laughed, slapping his hip; and then he added, giving him a raguish glance,
"Is she trying to charm me?"
There was one madame thayvisited more than atherst Ismail told him
shetabeeh-hlsmistress for ten years befare hemarried, and hat
instal-
Tark
wenm
ledher ia Hitble/nouse- byd the river, then gtven-her-this brothelt She
always/Tooked at
A vague, dreaming eyes, infatuatedlike girl, and
ramenbered the past with him, She told Granvillenho'd been a *ineyoung
manty the most generous persen she knews Ismail said shé was the finest
fer between the RedSea and the Mely terranean, and she looked away laugh
who
ing, elapping herhands togetherd She was N plump, with à palé sallowness
that shone in an intriguing way, like a light in her, hardly disclosed,
making heryeyes extraordinarily dark; she stood straighter and taller than
the other girls, in an immovable way; they looked small and awkward next to
- va
her, clucking round her liké hens, while she remained immouable, smiling, in
her strange pallor. She was in the prime of life and, Ismail said, she was :'
as good as ever, though the flush of youth had gone.' Would. Granville like


? O-r mld L prefer
guies?
Lemet:
a evening-duringra
peuse (-Which would he like? The girls were all 'bits of velvet', he said,
but madame was C a queeh.' And he laughed, his eyes twinkling, as he gazed at
Granville waiting for a reply? Granville said nothing, smiling also, watch-
ing the madame Ah/ know," Ismeil saidi it wassthe madame GranviNer
faxete 10
past
*Tell mel"
with
à laugh, "of course, I shall tell your-wifel" Granville shook his head after
hu tace Vhking ak tiix
a' time and said, "Another evening'
Helfremembered Pinkie,) and compassion
Cahae
ovérwhelmed hims bed beer
eront
haty ne vas
and
ineb a
Ismair thought he was worried that he
say something
Pinki and kepp ropeating, "No no, youtre brother, you're
Igmoil
mbrothert" And heyt tried to tantalise him further: "Go on, isn 't she
shre-Woman-stoed therasmiling Uher eyebrows
magnificent? Look at herl"O tuxpxttmxknxkaxxibrsxxxtnaxaxtitskeposkaxioskawingchex
rafsedywaitingto gO into
f the eompartmenton
kahocd
kaxgaxaxExexxayxanobxsat OC dxa X
Ismail said thatshe
nevex slept withohe men, she wasthe mesame, but that forvhim, booausenie
wordwas overything o her, shewonld do
Granville began to ache with
tantalised desire, but his will gripped him, and he poured himself another
brandy, shaking his head with a smile, for all the world as if he was tired
has
e.. and only wanted a littke talko aB BHt
L There it/ended. Waybadihe
h.p. dapAtA Herd had occasion since his return to London to think of that
incident again and again, wondering if he wouldn't be in a stronger position
sea thal
now if he'd performed thEs mystical act of self-release! ou
- rematned
cen tarE
woulabave_been
released E
mactapre Apuriphetddons t
à S good husbands were Amore burden a ammerr than bada
Ros
Why
hergirel her the excitemént of a manwha drankand
whored and gidnt giva a damn, and
the
in bereyesshathhedoben
imthe wadamels-wtepahe lookedat Iemaila He would have come back to her


NIGHT
THE
ECLIPSE
% RETECTED
PAGES and
NEWLY TYPE)
INSERTIONS
a i
sanievamese
SON coty
CARB
7. ST


He saidi that the public school only taught a veneer; and that
under his methodical veneer Dick was inefficient. As long as the
essentials of his work were"done, with that decorative repose of his,
he didn't worry. He got on at the office, Glenning said, because his
superiors were as inefficient as he was, and as frightened of talent.
If organisation was needed Dick was an absolute disasters he would 'gum
up any works'. He couldn't even clip a report togéther s0 that the pages
were right. There was never any fear of him getting so interested in
any part of his work that it would embarrass his superiors: the public
school had also taught a horror of the 'earnest'.
The Glenning said he had been taught as a child in Johannesburg to
believe in the probity and decency and rectitude of these people, and
then he had seen the truth for himself. Underneath thekr veneer politeness
and veneer interest and veneer and magnanimty there was 'angry egotsim,
sometimes erupting into cruelty'. The public schools taught these
people how to exercise power, and unchallenged power at that. But if
the power didn't exist any more? All you got was poor character,
dressed up pathetically to look tha part; in symbols (like the casual
'wit') which nobody understood any more, even English people. You got
a man who would stoop to any little meannesses when in a tight spot.
Deprive the wealthy child of his wealth and zou will often see a vilé
little montser of outrageous appetites emerge, and that was the case
with England's dead arny of power servants with their strained accents,
'shadow gentlemen for the shadow empire'.
Dick admired Glenning: he listened to it all with genial
equanimity. There lay his good ness.


"It looks as if you won't ever be going back to Basrah," Pinkie
said to him.
not 'we'
He noticed she said 'you' again, "Oh, I don 't know, # he réplied.
"It'll probably blow over!"
In the middle of all this his parents came over. It was a
relief. They were the first sane voices he'd heard for days. Starty
use
dacr wet wotedd a
1 a e rough T
aar stante TOAa
a ways een
The moment
they came into the doorway downstairs he felt a new flush of life. - He'd
asked Pinkie to getoff early from the office, and, she was upstairs
getting the tea. Also Hanni, to his surprise, said she'd come. and
sevoring
They stood there smiling at him, the street behind them, and he
diggevent
was aware at once that his usual life in the house was in a ctatn rhythm,
slow and halting, in a numbed silence, and that theirs was quick, with
the throb of life in it and
silence full of
change
and motion.
t A Bsrf ae
as *
Borctng
CB *
not - n ne isposkant-sound-of Fotatus
* the-ruetle
mate
chi-tdhoods -For-a-moment 1e ed t Like-a-child
rez zeeting-them - caughs
ammsragean,
War
BOHT
a a der as she stepped
and- rahermu meed E FE
eeks ushedy tCome-ony-aboike time


srem at
nerc Wassurembrit st truopswhadmhtatakenspart
theren verewagasinstwhimg wOmrewofatherthergints-esedethememwasmtorbeya
domonebnationmbhew-foltowang-Surciaymeabwifrafongarwoquarevetd-everypoay
oughtatomturnsouty Wokunteers-werowwerezbeing-askedetomcarrymbarinersy-and
she-sadd-bhef e-wes-bombeweoolle povcon-fopmen-krab-rabwrefugéemfundrreditentsing
taughe et and-said-it a wesgthe first p time-heddeddwheard- Onewoi-herecrowdy 6 etbing
-berned-out-t ITE atyttre -jazamodub-ehedbelonged
Wm a peapt
Prtegrds
Pinkie asked Dick if he knpw#
Jmp,
that Linger-Longer had a boyfriend, and he replied with a genial glance
across the table at her that he st not only knpw# it but he got a kick
out of it. Hanni hadn't come in at this time, so he could talk freely.
Glenning said that this crisis was breaking up harmonious families
everywhere: men were walking out on their wives. Dick nodded and said
with a perfectly straight face that a woman he'd heard about at the office
had said to her husband, "I forgot to put a pinch of bicarbonate in the
rhubarb," and he'd interpreted her as saying, "We've got to dig a trench
and fight it out in Rubath," and had walked out on her at oncefo There
Rad
was also a member of the royal family whosa/ asked her private secretary
what some ceremony would involve and was told, "Shaking hands all day and
standing, m'm", which she heard as, "The sheikh intends to saay at
Sandringham," " and a suite was prepared at oncelo Dick rattled all this
1E was any h Lea Row ka wvund yunng grirls woumol
out without any hesitation. Eprea
Ae ad
3 saddedpened
Ris little
CHanni'
tinger
ater en
simate
and ny AOL
repbedue
e takem
sheskarvand-@regds"


couldn't go because he had his reputation to watch; if that want his
'whole cardboard fabric of self' would go, and it would be the end of
the 'best little P.R.0. in the City.' Pinkie murmured with a pout, "I
wouldn't dream of risking being run down by a police-horse, on my one
quiet day in the week!"
Linger-Longer seemed never to be quite sitting in her chair even
when she was, or to be quite in the conversation even when she was talking.
But when she cried, "It's absolutely bloody disgraceful!"
referring'
an sdiriils
to thewimassacre
she was definite for a moment, quickened with this
passion, that made even her eyes pointed and dark. Usually her gaze
floated over objects, never touching them. Whereas Pinkie gazed ra ther
steadily into the distance, Linger-Longer's gaze was always moving. She
glanced at Granville for support and he nodded. He looked-across the
room at where the morning paper lay and saw the word again, MASSACRE. But
he felt nothing. What had she derived from this word? What did she feel?
He found himself staring at her, trying to find out. And he kept
consulting himself for his own feeling, but there was none. There was
also a picture in the paper showing a scuffle in the Rubath streets; but
it evoked nothing in him; it showed a bundle lying in the roadway, someone
dead or wounded, and the rest was a blur of smoke from tear-gas. Dick
was quietly vehement, as if hé could see the scene before him. Granville
tried to imagine the scene and thus stimulate himself to feelings but
he couldn't! He felt inadequate, compared with the others. Perhaps the
war had killed pity in him; this thought went through his head. It was
in keeping with the 'orang-utang' image not to feel pity. He tapped
himself continually, so to speak, for a change of emotion; but there was
none. He was dead of feeling. He began to admire Linger-Longer compared


with himself: here was a girl. who came to the house several times,a week
and sat about like a piece of furniture, more or less discounted,
apparently without a thought in her head, and now. she was making a far
better show than he in the matter of conscience: It made the world feel
safer, that there_were people who could be stirred to kindness by a few
words in_a-newspaper; it meant that if there was trouble consciences like
theirs would come alive and put a stop to it! She even seemed to gather
beauty into her face with her passion; the light, vague dignity in her
eyes floated to rest. Hanni came in and was clearly bored by it all,
and got herself some supper, moving round behind the others silently,
edging past their chairs; he took confidence from her presence; the head-
lines appeared not to have changed her, either.
Glenning said that even if British troops had taken part it didn't
mean anything: it wasn't 'official policy'; troops, he said, were always
'young boys', a fact we always lost sight of, and of course they wanted
to hit back when they were hit and sometimes the politicians couldn't
stop them. The others answered that the 'boys' oughtn't to be there at
all; nobody was blaming them in any case; thé official policy was wrong
for having sent them there! Gerald was the only dissentient voice;
from the beginning he'd been with/the sheikh, or at least against Russian
encroachments in the Middle East; he said it ought to be fought out now
because it would have to be fought out anyway; the whole thing was a test
of strength between our secret service and the Russian. But it transpired
he didn't mean secret service so much as active political agents; he said
it depended how much 'appeal' they had for people, what they promised
them and so forth; and it was a question whether the Russians were
promising them more, or whet ther the Arabs were more at home with us.


there be such a gulf between them? There were slow people and quick
people, as there were fat and thin. But they were of one flesh! They
were thesame in their kidneys, their hearts and limbs: how could they
be foreignèrs to each other in their feelings? Especially two people
like him and Dick, from the same country, the same Eity? It was the
same with 'intelligence', the word that had been ringing in his ears
since the Sussex days, one of the cardinal middle-class virtues: who did
he know who wasn't intelligent?. Who of those sitting round the table,
could he say was 'unintelligent'? Not one of them! They were all
quick peoplé; they understood everything that was put to them. Gerald
and Glenning were 'honours men - from Oxford. Who did he know in the
world who wasn't intelligent? He coulan't think of one for the moment;
not even from the pasty Everyone in Sussex had been intelligent, including
the Major's wide! Walsh had been intelligent: Intelligence was a
universal quality of the middle-class, it seemed; hencouldn't think of
one person, now or in the past, who lacked it! People like Abu Kath'm
were intelligent in another way; one might call it intelligencèof the
heart; a little bit of education and they'd be the same as the others!
Where -did-people-di-ffery-then?--Where-did"he differ from Dick?
Zm Smachhes
One coulg see a passion of steely mental obstinacy in Dick, as
when he punished Hanni for violating one of his evenings-out: Ee
evenings of lonelinessmfor-her-at "Hampton Court would effect" the right
degree of oontrition, and so he 'd-stayed away for three evenings!
This
was his kind of will E= it worked, through the mind; but for Granville
this behaviour-was impossible; he would have had a sense of betraying his
past and his whole breathing organism, in deliberate self-mutilation; his
will would have worked in a different way, towards trying to persuade


<Hanni by words untilshe was Tilledwith-his-conviction like abreath
einwherd
mce:
Hel remembered a strange incident ati-training-school-awen Dick
and
wad çpme almost running to him on-a-Saturday-merning-and said, "By God, great
sanons that Hanni is a marvellous girl! Do you know what she said to me
this morning whon-we-were in bed'together She said, 'If you ever did :
something I really hated I'd be capable of putting you out of my mind and
never thinking of you again as long as I lived! 11 And WZO added,
"Don't you think that's terrific?"
sisv
simply gaped at him. It didn't sound like Hanni at all, even from the
little he knew of her. In those days mwhenwshewand-Dick-were-getting-to
knowseachwothem, she hardly opened her mouth and sat rigid in her chair
4 like a frightened child all the time, merxeyeszudcdezwisthapanie. She was
Dich's
so clearly trying to show herself worthy of Disckshe world, where such 7Sta
Rehg umlued Hide ditiv Lae Ic
merciless statements were admiredf: There was ah an odd artificiality
of judgement in Dicki sometimest as if the mind had to work alone,
Ae mpand t
unsupported by the-sound-be'aimongsosmbhne-eart. That incident was a
good example: it showed Dick's will at work, producing a mental world
which Hanni was frightened, into joining.
Nm grisl
Pinkie said that Dick B Or
ead
: A chapecter
kame ls
andathat he went to the office every morning saying to himself, "I shall
on carfl
hushen hatr, give this client five minutes, the other twenty," and that, except for
the Brazilian client who took his shoes off 'to rest his feet' and then H
feepl
took Dick quietly through his album of nude photographs, he eonformed to ith
AndeGranvialleahad.always-been-surprized-at-training-School-tossee
bowwedleDick ordered every day, with-a-little reading, a-visit,
Swn
a Letter to Hanni
rar undyaxbrief-chat-in, the-barathensbed, fall
astmish
Thug ponecioton


guseat casloin
asteep-as-soon-as-his--head-touched-the-pil-lows There was a manvellous
intactness in Dick that he envied. 1 Granville-on-themothenahand-had
floated through the day as if time wasa kind of raft and he shipswrecked
on itfhe tried to imitate Dick/ but it lasted half a day at most, after
which-his-mind relapsed into its humming state, as little personal as the
t ea
wind through the trees. Diok seemedato be in such good control of the
Pyp Cell Le 7
flow of time, while wheswasrashamed-of-himselfs-for letti
sncare
Aa/lEw NA anconsequenbiaal
Itawets in the way Dick played darts in the ber puk:
sometimess he watched the dart-board with coole delicately glittering eyes
for a moment, ead wwen)his pàle hand came slowly forward, curving slightly,
kean ho
exerthomlewedwof-hiswhead, and/sent the dart in a soft but
direct
flight to the board.
To darts and chess he brought a clean, methodical,
softly devout concentration. He would sit over his chess-board with
his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, quite still, and now and then
themound rub his chin with the tips of his fingers, moving them softly
through the light hair of his beard, wi-bhotb-moving-hes-eyes-atwall-immea
deeprinterior.concentration-wich,Tt seemed, no one could disturb. One
of Granville's-first memories of him was in the library of the training
school sitting by the fire, writing a letter. Granville had just come
infrom a long walk, it being the-week-end, and was still inf his overcoat,
his cheeks red and smarting from the wind outside. There was no one else
in the room and he was just about to talk when-the silence, seeming to
emanate from Dick as he sat there with bis legs crossed and his head bowed,
drew-him in and stopped his words, It also made him feel sheepish and
redundant. Dick looked up, very slowly, without surprise, and said in a
light: murmur, "Oh, hullo, bo'sun," and then went on writing at once. His
eyes were steady, inclined with a genial expression on to the paper before


him, and his-lips were closed easily-together, while he wrote without
opause in a clear, effortless, scholar's hand, quite-unaffected by Granville's,
arrival Dick had made a full stopron the page and paused, looking up,
and there had seemed, sawchance of' speech; but after_aufew"seconds he looked
down againsand began writing in the-same way as before, in perfectly
se EL
Linesmmaga II Withoutz -pausingy-and-for-Granviltepwatmthatemomennty
ach a ( Ang kr hal, la 6 of - bhu deg ist sebtt
ALL hoia helate
the host desirable thing on earthageemedscomte Fexactly-what-Dick-wars
doing.
the same time Dick's harmony wasn't an inclusive thing; Ur didie
Tinlt-infectzGranvilleswisthwharmony-as.welly--by-sa-flow-of-spirites:
acrossa aroomiwon.the.contraryomritumade.him_feel-redundart-and-iselessy-
andmalsosuporsns.disnitysmsince-once havingaenteredsthexroom-he-had-to
make.aeshowofhayitfg.comelin-sfor-axpurposey-whereas-his-purpose-hadebeen-
to-talk-to-Dick..HHe-was clinea-to"believe now that-this-wars-a-supent
mentaluharmonysinyin-Dicky-and-pernaj o a-state-into-which-Dickxcouldzinduce
Pin -himsel-fwatwwillyjmbat-ib-werer
botadharmonymofmsedd-whirch infected
hopwe!
other people by its presence; it wasn't the-hapmengsof-a comfortablegmen-,
sasl
Pl Anee--bbrcr-esn Fr
mpl adly 4
As-always Tt stirred Granville to admiration ad-a-new-kind-of-conseiousress
tort P e
tt I faall KI D Ia ool
Conl
which-made-everything-feel-clean-and safe; at-least-for-the-moment
homs
2 be
a because it refused to fall the victim . of hidden
seemed
feelings,-and
be making life as it went along. Clear, sunny days always seemed"
specially so in Dick's presence; they suitéd his coolness; he was a
visitor on the earth, choosing allthe sightsand sounds, strolling in
the golden air; everything"he touched, a book or a clean handkerchief,
had this deft, vivid E appearance as if it wasn't joined to reality but
separated by-his consciousness into an object called on to the earth by
his own*will.
This was cleaf in Dick's attitude to Creed. In his natural
wth Dicke Awon tha
Tapoise
face,
Oppmite a
sxelu
achriry
Ivwes
fu ac 1
hoa
ud 4 paculic Tan am,
deal
sob
Nabrzi
el alidofrele ML
ack
La terlted eya
ryslEu


epar
aurjfor Sivi
9TL
5 - to gro stl
f tu peioa Lij sd's :si rinsf. 3 Erei - T.3I5 : r a.
sl : abluof bocr. : Hpn got. Fih
e ruee
Gloisip
fhe
Lft
rey
rokrg
pusri
sitroy
l Halte
a3Jott a J'rern yro : 'toti Euts aS3 er
RLl
i vrcins' drf. cf.s Soolht
ol CEU
cao.c
La es LE Drichaos
w rpu t - 1 MOLTU t
h * achorllry to
efejiics
Kst
gotte -
: - Lat JL
ni f t:
PLv L
istalat
fyprl Putnk
A - eZ
Hapmlils
Mlay
He hool
leis Lemilai Wg AS
tsents
yaun
unth
1oT
tEnn
thod
Sanu
EArunt
clanls
xacls
asnidy
Icd
Le licrais
a u 10 . Lr IFLA 1S11-
entts
dmin Lup idoeng
1 H ja-e a
- mhem
Aal
Le 5p Gu ta
fa C: fI3
lntel len hsbrm. Wi a
wel Led
itte Sguis
elitae
eu se
ouTac t A 04
p lei
ferm
Lim Heimiegi
Lto
satiito
Iatle
nalapoes
satamnals
lea
Thuiy
abrdi
fenn
liho VpsT
mulo
fon
ken
colbag
mek
Ll didoda


càpacities he liked him; but rational principles made Creed, Ais enemy' and.
he was prepared to punish him in total detachment. 2
Ideas weren't the moving power of Dick's life, the cogs and
levers of his progress. In Granville they were: : thought moved.slowly
through him like a germ, in silence, changed his life - this had
happened in Sussex and it had just happened/in Basrah - there were
continual revolutions in his life that çame from thought. In Basrah
germs' of thought had started unawares, without him inviting them or
trying to provoke them, and they continued naturally where his thoughts
in Sussex had left off; as if there already lay in him an order; and the
climax of this had been the nightof the eclipse, which in turn had
changed his life so that now he enjdyed a greater stillness than before
and lived with fewer diyisions of willy not that his life was more still
in the outward aspect, not even that he could remember the details of
his' thought that night, but he was content totleave it like this until
his next point of clarity came, confident that his life was moving and
changing siléntly all the time in the light of that thought, through the
chaos and/all the bitter, jagged contradictions every day; he thought
the night of the eclipse would bear fruit in him as action and living
latér on, and was moving in him like a germ now, being absorbed blowly,
éturned-over-and-transmuted-through-al1-the-actions-that-seemed-co-nir-to" nxe
have-nomconnectionwi.th..each-other.
tougals
But Dick's ideas-didn't-have-tnis - ife-giving-and-ti-femabsorbing-
adtya seme TheywereweeisurelynmeThey fitted the tired hours after dinner,
otcanin
oyien faseinalip
when there was time for cleverness; A 5 they were pometrating-end-diesooting
almir
little thoughts about the ambiguities of life,)sex, fears, pleasures.)
Phey-camemfromasitting-back-awlittlefroome
eymwerendibethrownsups
Mei fa < - Le lad
- Ce
los yv entrels


haphazardiy=in-the-coursewof-action, tromsunderneathystheyacamerfromya
ah Reg micd a
quiet.act-of-surweyance.
-had-tombe safe and reasonably easy for
them-towbempossi-bea They seemed separate from the real world that t
drom
Lal laetert Unhe
flowed along outside, Jits tumbling events/ too hot for reflection. They
inth He h Agiltirpassin mind.
hud
couldn't be had by someone in distress, orf fouffer a ett wy Aay. They bLn
dettouf
E- Lernson
Srt) dasned :
ssea
f won scholarships/ impressed teachers-ad-schooly bedonged- a formet end-
keo -
stylish behaviour. They-weremphilosophica almin-the-weak-,mmental -sense:
gdepm-Andebhey-producedps) fasuccessful,ran-answersthatewas-hakes
ALA *
ALCHS Sid.' Cu he Alish endt, tto à pasit fou
pcp
Cerancintite found that compared with Dick he couldn't property form - cear
judgements about other people. He could only see the actions: he couldn't
make a formal judgement of another person's whole charactergimma
Batiofactantongoway If Dick asked him what he thought -etroart someone, say
stmeone-bheyakdwme-twatuthewofface,ahewstumbled=andwsaidg-t0ng-Irdonht-=know!
-And-therewhe-woukdwstoprm-or he would say perfunctorily, "Oh,
sretetrot-rder-ten PAT
he seems all right",/gihen in fact he didn't feel happy about the person
at all; only the fact. wasn't clear to him. But Dick would give a succinct
umalls
Pie
appraisal of the man, which alwaye appeared to Grenville exactly right,
so that he wondered at Dick's pouenemoi-ponetrabionnpwetrd-hiss imperviousness
to false charms. Granvilte-wouldweek-himself-why-he-hadrht-been-breyes
-eneggh-towventure-such-a-clear-oimistécisiny-towsaywaxacthy-pbatsheuthought
of the man,and he resolved to do so next time_when the occasion arose.
But when the next occasion did arisemthe same thing happened; he hesitated
and murmured something like, "onhe's a nice enough person!" Sometimes
he would say, "He-gives me a nasty feeling But he couldn't give a
real appratsal. All he could say was what the otherperson made him
fèel like; he couldn't venture to say what the other person was, He


They talked on about nothing in particular, as if his
arrival had been a year ago, and she got him another drink. It
got dark and the lights were visible from the street below, rather
silver, like moonlight. Then to his relief the guests began leaving
downstairs. The cars outside started up, making an unholy roar in
the narrow street. And Hanni rose, having unconsciously performed
her role of nurse.
"I'll go and collect Dick," she murmured. And as she went to
the door she added, "Come over and see us one day."
"We'd love tol"
After a time he heard the front door close. There, everything
was all rightafter alll


CHAPTER 2.
But now they were alone together he couldn't bear to face ger.
That was the pattern between them. He sat on in the attic room in the
darkness-Hanni switched off the light by accident when she went.
He heard Pinkie clearing up downstairs. Why didn't she come up to
say hullo? Surely it meant something? But why didn't he go downstairs
to her? He could go downstairs now and chuck her under the chin and
have another drini, make a joke of it. It was what he actually wanted
to do, with all his heart. But he couldn't!
Later there would be a quarrel; a sudden rash word followed by
tears. He would then pour everything out in a long speech, going into
the whys and wherefores of her errors and sometimes, though more rarely,
the whys and wherefores of his own, while he strode up and down the room
gesticulating, a glare splitting his brow, his shoulders hunched up like
someone trying to force his way into a tunnel. The theme would be
moral: what their lives ought to be like together. Meanwhile her eyes
would begin to flicker and she would stifle a yawn. She would begin
to feel imprisoned in a torrent of words, suffocated, drowning.
Once launched on a theme he was beyond


It occurred to him that he hadn't touched Pinkie yet. This meant
he hadn't touched her for a month. Wasn't that strange? Well, they
were completely out of tune with each other, really. Their sex was
fumbled, on the whole, glorified self-abuse. His desire was too direct
for her: she wanted subtle and intricaté approaches; even cruelty would
have thrilled her more. She closed her eyes add got excited only when
his touch seemed anonymous to her; when she could forget him as he
really was. And he, wrecking his chances, obtruded himself, gazing
at her and talking. The dim and shadowy excited her; but he was
frightened!
But once--at Stratford on Avon---he could remember with fascination.
They'd gone up to see 'The Tempest' and stayed the night at a small,
cosy innnear the river. The spirit of the room was favourable to them,
p8rhaps, with its bright curtains and tiny mullioned windows; it might
have been the previous occupants- -a lingering scent of good lust.
Anyway, it was the first time they really abandoned themselves to each other;
her breasts glistened with his kisses in the darkness, her nipples protruded,


never really got down to anything, but afterwards he felt the loss of
his company.
Quite suddenly, in the grounds of Hampton Court one afternoon,
after they and the Pollcokes had eaten together, he turned to Pinkie


CHAPTER 7.
One Saturday Granville woke up slowly and realised she wasn't
there. At first, as he roused himself, he had the usuas drugged sense
of being melted in with her, without touch or real physical sensation of
any kind, then he began to realise that his arm was lying on the bed itself,
not on her hip. He moved it, to discover whether it was an illusion.
She was gone. He was avare that the phone-bell had rung. She had got
out of bed hurriedly to answer it; he didn't remember her getting out as
a real event but as something that had taken place inside his own body,
a change of feeling. He felt mortally


BOOK 11.
CHAPTER 8.
People started calling at the house again. Glenning, the
publicity-man, was almost a daily visitor. Soie of the other faces
he'd seen that first evening reappeared; there was a girl Dick Pollocke
had been talking to; her name was Lucy, and she always came with a.
girlfriend nicknamed Gingerv The two of them sat in the music-room
together, long-haired and quiet, sometimes with a book, sometimes just
sitting.
For some time there were repeated phone-calls in the day which
came to nothing when he answered them. He would pick up the receiver
and say hullo, then there would be silence, followed by a click at the
other end. It got on his nerves and the idea became fixed in his mind
that it was Grove trying to get through to Pinkie, though why Grove
didn't know she worked at Wembley he couldn't explain. One day he
Silent
shouted into the/phone, trembling, "Stop it, you bloody fool, stop it!"
He remembered afterwards how his voice had echoed up the well of the
stairs in the empty hause, like someone else's voice, rasping and
strange; it souhded like someone bound and gagged.


CHAPTER 13.
This inspection of his office was unusual. He was frightened.
Did it happen because he was on leave? He asked Dick and he didn't
know.
It seemed funny that Tomlinson, from the Beirut office, should be
allowed to do the inspecting. Perhaps they were thinking of sending
him to Basrah as an exchange vith Granville. He had met Tomlinson
once or- twice and he seemed strikingly capable, tall, spectacled, rather
brisk and sharp. Also he had an Arab wife, from Cairo---not a Christian
Arab, either; it helped matters with some of the sheikhs.
He thought of writing to Mohammed about it and asking what
Tomlinson had said. What files had he looked at? Did he have the
proper authority? But it occurred to him that he didn't need the
authority, since the Beirut office looked after the whole of the Middle East
and it was only Tomlinson's kindliness and tact that had allowed him to assume
otherwise. He was troubled. Perhaps they knew--at the London office-


consciousness of its effect on others---its importance as a counter in
public relations.
As he walked away from the phone he felt clean and disburdened,
and thoughts were no longer crossing and fighting in his hoad. Once
his mother had told him that Pinkie reminded her of his own aunt May,
the same lavish, golden style, the slapdash generosity. There was
something in their voices too that was similar--not the tone exactly
but a richness that couldn't be describod, as if it came from past
generations, like a song that has an inexplicably ancient ring;
they had singsong voices, floating up and down, far beyond people.


'I thank God you do not come back. It i's too safe.' He meant
'unsafe'; this was a peculiar error he alwags made, omitting negative
prefixes. 'My dear,' he ended, 'I think I spend one month Gn one
outsider this afternoon. I have one good tipl I He always measured
money br his monthly wage, calling thirty pounds 'one month', sixty pounds
'two month' and so forth.
In nearly all the kitchen-discussions England was in the wrong.
And he took this for granted-it did seem natural that England should
always be in the wrong. 'England' meant different things at different
times-sometimes it meant bad weather, at others wartime restrictions
which were still lingering on, sometimes bad colonial policies, at others
stiffness of character. It need have no connection with the realities at
all: it was a static descriptive term, pejorative, automatically 80,
that covered a certain mood you were in, "England'---which everybody would
understand. He was so used to it that when Linger-Longer and Ginger
talked like this in the crisis he found it quite natural. But what was
going to happen if England was frittered away like this all the time?
What would happen to their little group on the kitchen, and the language
they talked: weren't both English? how much could England bear, in her


"It looks as if you von't ever be going back to Basrah," Pinkie
said to him.
He noticed she said 'you' again, not 'we'. "Oh, I don't know,"
he replied. "It'll probably blow over!"
Pinkie asked Dick if he knew that Linger-Longer had a boyfriend,
and ho replied with a genila glance across the table at her that he not
only know but he got a kick out of it. Hanni hadn't come in at this
time, so he could talk freely. Glenning said that this crisis was break-
ing up harmonious families everywheres men were walking out on their
wivess Dick nodded and said with a perfectly straight face that a woman
he'd heard about at the office had said to her husband, "I forgot to put
a pinch of bicarbonate in the rhubarb," and he'd interpreted her as say-
ing, "We've got todig a trench and fight it out in Rubath", and had walked
out on her at once. There was also a royal personage who asked her
private secretary what some ceremony that day would involve and was
told, "Shaing hands all day and standing, ma 'm," which she heard as,
"The sheikh intends to ssay at Sandringham, H and a suite was prepared
at once. Dick rattled all this out without any hesitation. It was
easy to see how he wound young girls round his little finger (Hanni's
artful expression).
Linger-Longer seemed never to be guite sitting in her chair even
when she was, or to be quite in the conversation uven when she was talk-
ing. But when she cried, "It's absolutely bloody disgraceful!"--
referring to some atrocity-she was definite for a moment, quickened
with this passion, that made even her eyes pointed and darko She was
an unusual girl to have in the groups not unusual in herself, but she
had beliefs, she worried about things beyond her immediate comfort.
She was too definite for the group, and Pip told himself she wouldn't


last long. Dick was only interested in her bosom, which she sometimes
glanced down at with a sort of concentrated intellectual fire, as if it
ch,llenged her and got the better of her. He helped it get thebetter
of her, and 'sort of molted it all in with the crisis', he toldPip.
Usually her gaze floated over objects, never touching them. The passion
--the mental passion--brought beauty into her face for a moment: the
light, vague dignity in her eyes floated to rest as she said something
indignant, her chin pushed forrard. Hanni came in and was clearly bored
by it all, and got herself supper, moving round behind the others silently,
edging past their chairs. She professed symptha with the Arabs, so as
keep in competition with Linger-Longer, but it went against the grain,
you could see that.
The passion in Dick was different. It was a sort of steely mental
obstinacy. It came out when he argued quietly, or punished Hanni for
'violating' one of his evenings-out. Pip remembered an incident onces
Dick came almost running to him and said, "By God, that Hanni is a marvellous
girl! Do you know what she said to me this morning in bed? She said,
'If you ever did something I really hated I'd be capabale of putting you
out of mymind and never thinking of you again as long as you lived! In
And he added, "Don't you think that's terrific?" Pip just gaped at him.
It didn't sound like Hanni at all, even from the little he knew of her.
In those days she hardly opened her mouth and sat rigid in her chair
like a frightened child all the time.. She was so clearly trying to show.
herself worthy of Dick's world, where such merciless statements were
admired (decoratively brutal attitudes cut a figure at the public school
and Dick was still, almost entirely, a schoalboy, as if he would never
live beyond those days among the'toffee-nosed little imitation men' as
Glenning called public schoolboys). Pip wondered that Dick didnot


see this. There was an odd artificiality of judgement in Dick;
another effect of the public school perhaps, as if he would never get
to terms with the real world even if he did with a certain sort of
closed English one. It was seemed that his mind had to vork alone,
unsupproted by other organs. That incident was a good examples it'
showod Dick's will at work, producing a montal vorld which Hanni was
frightened into joining. She didn't realise it was only a schoolboy's
game, and had no experience of life behind it, only a habit of anubbing;
which the public school taught as a sign of character. She would have
done all right to join that world. fifty years before: what shedidn't
know (as an immigrant) was that it was crumbling fast, in fact so
precipitously that the whole country would be brought to its knees as
a result, in a few years. At least, that was what Gelnning predicted,
in his deft, lazy way: he was an immgrant himself (white South Africa).
When Dick was promoted to the head of his department he said. (to Dick),
'The higher they climb the better we see their arses'. Dick's eyes
fluttered genially at him and he asked, "Who's they?" "The public
schoolboy", said Glenning, with his stolid Boer gaze ligtened with the
English mildness.
Pinkie said that Di ck was quietly turning into a careful business
man (fashion was against 'the business man' these days). He went to
the office every morning saying to himself, 'I shall give this client
five minutes, the other twenty', and she said that except for the
Brazilian client who took his shoes off 'to rest his feet' and then
took Dick slowly through his album of nude photographs he kept to it
with astonishing accuracy.
What Pip admired in Dick was a certain intactness he had: he
seemed to be in such good control' of the flow of time, while Pip felt


floated through the day as if time was a kind of raft and he shipwrecked
on it. To his dart games and chess games Dick brought a clean,
methodical, softly devout concentration. He would sit over his chess-
board with his elborws on his knees and his head bowed, quite still,
and now and then rub his chin with the tips of his fingers, moving them
softly through the light hair of his beard, in such a way as to make what
he was doing seem the most desirable thingon earth at thet moment. At
the same tine his harmony wasn't an inclusive things it didn't infect
other people. It was for himself alone, so it wasn't harmony or real
peace at all, but a state of repose in his mind. In fact it seemed to
induce tension in others. It was almost an act of exclusion. Perhaps:
it was only a variant in the art of snubbing, taught him at school:
even thé repose was a demonstartion of of character.
Dick's thoughts fitted thetired hours after dinner, when there was
an occasion for cleverness: they were fascinating little thoughts about
séx, fears, pleasures; their appeal lay in their candour. But they
seemed to need(or to come from) a safe and reasonably easy life. They
seemed separate from the real world. They couldn't be shared by
someone in distress- They were the sort that won scholarships andi
good degrees in England: they were 'solid' in the English (or rather
the public-school sense), that is without passion.
You could see it in Dick's handwriting-method, clarity, repose.
And a touch of the decorative, what Pip called the 'dandy'. He was
exactly the kind to make a business man, but one without driving, much
less.new, ideas. He would fulfil a function', with method and repose.
He was one of what Glenning called 'England's little army of public school
adjutants' who were. all right if you had generals for them to serve:
but England no longer did.


Only dick's fears--his fear of madness--his sudden frightened
relapses into disorder (Hanni had to close the flat to visitors)--
brought him into company like Pip's and Pinkie's. When he had an
important interview he put on a suit in the drabbest conventional taste,
and cropped his hair like a schoolboy: that was how he saw authority,
as bascically respectablee Pi, and Pinkie didn't make that mistake.
Dick ran to the respectable and ordered world (he assumed it to be that)
to recover from the bouts of near-madness. He sometimes talked to Pip
about these. Yet he seemed no different from any of his close friends
(all old 8 choolfriends): they all seemed to have something wrong with
them, in Pip's eyes. They created an artificial little world among
thsemselves, just like the hard, toffee-nosed little men Glenning
described. Their wit was schoolboy wit, which was no wit at all for
the grown worldo They helped to scratch each other's backs, in their
various jobs. But it wouldn't last long, unsupported by power, with
the empire ('the adjutant's paradise', Glenning said) gone. When a few
of them came to the house and sat round Dick talking with their strange
held-in, condescending accents they seemed not mad to the others but
just damned silly, a little bad perhaps but not mad. Their world hadn't
even that dogree of grandnessa
When Dick had to choose a subordinate he always went for someone
mediocre, whom he called 'safe'. Lively. and daring people roused his
admiration: and secretly his resentment.


Pip bought a: bottle of good wine and asked Dick round: he hoped
for more news of the Marquis. Hanni dropped in later and an argument
developed between her and Dick. First she looked at the wine-bottle
and seeing the chateau-label murmured, "What a mean bastard zou are, Dick!
I thought you said we'd got to cut down on spending?" She lifted the bottle up


CHAPTER 18:
He had got into the habit of réading the morning paper over
breakfast more or less colum by column. It was an hypnotic activity
he had never known before. He always turned to the middle pages - first,
where the gossip colum was. It gave him the sense of an inner circle
of glittering London activity from which he was cut off and which was
going on all the time, spreading a glow over his small life. This
circle involved more or less the same people day by day, but it wasn't
'sociéty' in thefashionable sense. It was à special gossip-column
society and though it might be imaginary it was acceptable in the
breakfast hour, ina half-dream; a little sickly and squalid, but compulsive.
And it was a relief from the dry, tyrranical hold of the other pages,
where robberies, dirty civic crimes, yacht races and political
meneouvres were dealt with in a few quick phrases which tried to show
no heart or the slightest serious coneern.
The gossip column was like a letter someone hàd


'Joe Clockwork' was the nickname of a smooth social climber Hanni was
getting to know. He. told Hanni that the only reason he didn't 'flee
the Chaworth Road house' - after his first five minutes there was knowing
that Pinkie was an Aldercote. His name sometimes figured, weakly, in
the gossip column. He also said that Granville's 'hotness of mannor'
horrified him. But Pip didn't know this.


quiet cohesion of the body, by virtue of its withdrawal from the world;
Pip had never seen him in repose before, not quite like this. He only
remembered him smiling and shaking hands, gazing at everyone with eyes
that seemed incapable of sharpness. And now Aldercote had an effect
on the trees round him: he made them seem part of a magnificent park
closed to the public. Pip thought of the gardens of Versailles.
Partly it was Aldercote's corduroy jacket, which at first sight looked
velvet.
There was something so foreign to him in Aldercote, he himself had
been avay so long and in such a different world, that he felt a fascinated
curiosity towards him. It was like being drawn into a strange, vivid
country where he only had to watch and listen; he was no longer involved;
what 'aunt' Beatrice or Deryk thought of him didn't matter now; they had
no power to hurt. A glow had come into his own life which he held intact;
he had tasted friendship; he deliberately remembered Moharmed as he walked
along, as a protective device. He clung to the memory of Basrah! He
felt nervous apprehension threaten to mount in him for a moment, like a
devil inside that challenged whether this new strength was genuine or not.
But it died.
He was aware that this new strength hehad might be his first glimpse
of maturity; it had something to do with the defeat of pride in himself;
he would have to learn how not to care what people thought of him; then
he would be able to rest, and watch and listen; he would all ow his own
self to reside elsewhere, intact; and that would take much construction-
perhaps years more.
The carriage of Deryk's head as he passed was like a sea-horse's,
uplifted, his eyes half closed in a sleepy, pale surveillance, his nose
long and pale, seeming to overhang his lipse Pip could remember when


Deryk opened the door to him, a few weeks after he and Pinkie were
married; he remembered the sense of being incorporated into some
grand and blazing activity, which never came about however; it was
in Deryk's delighted smile as he stretched out his hand-to his
'favourite' cousin's husband--with, "How very nice to meet you! Do
come in!"
That promise of grandness lay in Deryk's accent, which was like a
painstaking effort not to speak the language of ordinary men---it said
'rarely' for 'really' and 'daw' for 'do'. It seemed to say, 'I was
paid for.' It was 'trade aping nobility', as Pinkie said. It was
deliberately Top Drawer. Aunt Beatrice was nouveau riche, she had aimed
herself at the Aldercote family like a cannon. That was where her
vigour and flamboyance and sexiness came froms shedidn't bring money
into the family but terrific moral force.
The memories became more and more detailed---a slight rudeness
here, a sudden harsh sneering sentence from 'aunt' Beatrice, a look of
horror on her bright face when he mentioned his own mother casually in
conversation--the horror made her face fall into her chin!
Absurd, dead, historical, but here these memories were coming up
like steam from Deryk's parting figure- He remembered that old
illusive sense. of being subtly favoured by Deryk---that was the web he
invisible
and Beatrice weaved on their vistors, the costly/article they were
trying to sell to a world that had no mkxatxmarket for it.
Behind them was the innder citadel of power, and they held the
keys---that was the idea you were supposed to get. But you were never
let in. So the dream was. always to hover before you. Deryk's whole
body seemed made for courtesy. But it didn't go all the way through.
You were left with the feeling that he and Beatrice would tear you to


aLEm L
pieces as soon as your back was turned. You left them feeling an
inexplicable anger.
He remembered their house--the hushed anteroom of the citadel
of power-the thick carpets, the white curving bannisters, the dim
andheavily curtained drawing room that offered itsbogus prémise of
civilisation; there was the great porcelain bowl fron Aldercote shining
from one of the tables, the deep armchairs into which you sank, and
striped chintz everywhere. Beattice rose from an armchair as you
came, in with a mighty rustle and sweep, like centuries of power.
She was robust, too much for her role, with thick arms and a determined
chine Her eyes sparkled at you, gleeful and challenging, black, with
a tiny light of irony in theme Her dress was cut low, and the lights
were arranged to take twenty years off her age, which they did, giving
her skin a marvellous, soft, healthy glow, with nothing pinched or
thwarted. She spent so much time arranging how to take years off her
life that people thought her much older than she was, always. When
she tried to take ten off they put twenty on mentallye
She loved rank ravenously, with an almost innocent passion. Know-
ing that somebody was a lord or higher (lower she didn't go) made them
beeutiful to her, she really did look at them with sexually admiring
eyes. When she was with Pinkie's uncle, Maimbury, she laughed and threw
back her head and flashed him glances, and dim lights were xarg/necessary
then, her skin vibrated naturally with youth. By the same token she
hated the absence of rank in people. More than that, she couldn't
forgive it. She liked Granville but simply couldn't forgive him.'


CHAPTER 21.
It had started by accident, just before the eclipse; when he and
Pinkiv wandered out on the porch and found Abu Kath'm his houseboy's mother
there. She had a round, flat face with eyes set wide ypart, her nouth
a thick, straight, yellowish-crimson line. A hem of her black abba.
was usually drawn up over her nose, so that her eyes shone blackly in
the slit. She stood hardly higher than his elbow and walked in a round,
fussy way, going softly forward on her toes, hardly disturbing the sand,
her long skirt making a brief circular motion backwards and forwards.
The nowspapers had been talking for days about the coming eclipse.
And the time of total obsurcation was predicted to the minute. It was
to be a few minutes after three in the aternoon.
Outside a wind stirred the sand, like before a dist storm. The
city lay in a great hush. Only this slight breeze touched the sand
on the pathway outside and sent it whirling up in thin yellow clouds
among thepalm leaves. Usually they could hear children playing near by,
or cars in the distance. But today there wasn't'a sound.
The sun shone more and more dimly, as if a high mist obscured it.
There was. something vaguely disturbing in the air. Perhaps it was
only the silence. The palm leaves were. still like iron, the càlours
of the garden became more and more lurid as all brightness left the sky.
Everything seemed to be waiting. The sandy undulations of the waste
area outside looked hard like flint, each mound getting more and more
fixed, a polished yellow crust. The rugged barks of the banana trees,
the parched grass and yellow mud-hut with the endless shimmering desert


beyond, grew more contrasted as if, though more distinct from each other
than before, they were now part of the same hard substance, in a new,
unwholesome intimacy. There was no wind now, not even a breeze.
He heard Abu Kath'm say the greeting Allah bil khair to them under
her cloth. He nodded to her. She moved nearer them with her soft,
circular motion. He noticed that her eyes were troublod, blacker than
usual, more fiery and pointed. She was saying something about the sun-
"Allah is angry with men". And, "He is. covering his sight from men,
in: shame for them!" She repeated the quick, stabbing word for 'shame',
that was like a whip of punishment itself-aib, two syllables rushed
breathlesaly together.
And he suddenly realised something as he looked at her. She was
actually part of the weather, as he wasn't. You could actually see the
weather change in her face: as it got lighter, as the sun returned.
drowsily and hazily back to its old life, so the light came into her
face, changing and softening the lines and clearing her eyes. It made
him feel that. the eclipse was a whole movement for her, inside her-
not just phsical, outside. It was even moral--God was angry. It
was a feeling of disgust, fear, stallness: all that you could read in
her face. The sickness of the weather was hers for a moment.
But he and Pinkie saw everything at. a distance from themselves:
that was how they perceived things, quite naturally. They saw. the
eclipse like a physicist's survey, though they knew no physics: it had
been imprinted. on them---the eclipse was the movement of the moon
between the earth and the sun, three great balls in space, and that
was that, like the motion of a machine.
He realised for the first time that his way of perceiving things
was not the only way there was, vut had grown out of centuries of
though
Irt


thought, and special Christian thought at that-quite different
from Arab thought, or Chinese, or Indian. It was really a great step
in his life, this tiny revelation.
And because he realised it he knew he would never quite think like
that. again. He would never again quite see theuniverse as he had been
taught to see it at school--mathematically, like a machine. From that
moment he no longer quite felt apart from life, as he always had before.
He was no longer at a distance from it, watching.
That night the breeze made. a hushed sound outside, touching his
bedroom window, and he glanced up. He could see the endless desert
outside the city, framed in the window like dust. It was all un-
substantial like dust, a vast shadow, not only the dark desert that
seemed to billow and shift as he watched it but the room ht itself and
its furntiture and he hinself as he lay in bed. He had the feeling of
actually breathing the night, the source of his bereath being the
stillness outside. And he felt inside life, really inside, safely
and permanently, for the first times no longer just a man visiting
akind of inanimate space-time dome that bordered on oblivion. It was
like being received back into the arms of someone essential to him,
whose. existence he hadn't heard of before.. He was alives not in
himself alone, as a single unit of manhood, but inside the whole breath-
ing world, which shared its identity with him. He was no longer
foreign to the world, no longer suspiciously at variance with its
animals, its awful stars that twinkled from so far away, its destructive
seas and parching, subtly inviting deserts. Thus at the same time a
terrific: fear-which he remembered from the endless bakestreets of
his childhood--a kind of godless fear, a fear of the smoky grey
oblivion that hung over the tooftops and had no messages for yau,


except: about your destiny to end in an unthinkable black box one
day-lifted from him. And in that (a strange thought that came to
him) half of the negative spirit of England lifted too, andlet the
other England in, that dreamed between two seas. He was suddenly
freed of the dull, disbelieving eyes that had stared into his. It
was like suddenly hearing church-bells across that same parched desert
outside, when you had given up hopee, When you thought that only you
in your flesh existed.
His education had given him no inkling of all this. It had put
a certain design on the ro world, that was all: it had taught him to
bolieve in a dead universe. It had promised to teach him facts-
in biology it was the rabbit, but the rabbit dead; - in history people
but the people dead; in physics the sky but the sky dead. He realised
that the spell of life had beon missed out, like a tale without the
narrative or even the narrator, only the doad synopsis purporting to
be the truth. It was life séen in withdrawal, without sympthy, as:
if we were not participators, as if we didn't share the life. So it
wasn't the thuth at all.. Yet it had got inside us ali, as our way of
seeing things, without question.
So he had come alive; really for the first time. He began to see
that the world he knew through himself alone wasn't necessarily false,
nor private like a dreame That was his discovery on the night of the
eclipse, which never really left him again. That was changed him
once and for all, which he dared not put into words but nursed
jealously inside him: which made him able to bear--now--so much
trembling.


CHAPTER 22.
Pinkie phoned from Meedham to say he should come up for a couple
of daysi So he did. It was 'a lovely house, set back from the road,
its porch shaded bg a dark plane-tree. The red-brick walls glowed in
the last of the sun. There were tall windows, their sills within a
foot or two of the ground, 8o you could step into the rooms from the
gravel drive.
Elizabeth made rather a fuss of him and Pinkiw played up to it.
It seemed to give her a thrill as well. She made the tea, and they
drank out of tall nursery mugs. She behaved as if she'd always given him
being,
tea in this homely ways for the firrt time/ she seemed to believe it
really was so.
Elizabeth showed him her husband's study: it led off the dark hall,
long and quiet, with panelled walls and deep leather armchairs. reyitx
He told Pinkie what a wash-out it made him feel, being a clerk, when he
saw all this.
She murmured uncomfortably, perhaps under the influence of the mellow
house, "Yau don't have such a bad life. Anyway, you've got style and
that's what countsa" And after another pause: "And you're not a clerk
now, you're a branch monager!"
"That sounds worse," he ' said with a laugh.
That evening they talked about the value of confessiona Elizabeth
was a Catholic--she said, "It's such a jolly good services It's like
going to the lavatory!"
"Why, do you have many sins?" Pikie a aked her with a smile.
"Oh, lots


"Oh, lotsl Not grave ones---but lots of tiny ones!"
"I have lots too," said Pinkie quite seriouslys "And grave ones."
"Why?" hesaid, "what's 8o grave about them?" He had just remembered
his outing to the zoo' with the hair-girl and felt absurdly jubilant about
its he, too, had a sin-a potetnial one anyway! And this went to excuse
Pinkie's.
She seemed to catch the roguishness in his tone and said, "What
about yours?" It was a little tournament of words, and Elizabeth was
looking on like a child, though she was maturer than either of themo.
"Mine," he said, "my ains," leaning back and gazing up at the
ceiling, a glass in his hand, its ice cl inking against the sides,
"oh, they're like shadows, they come and go..."
"How?" Pi,kie asked, her chin quivering a little this time-
in case he got serious.
"Well, I never know what's going to turn out a sin--something
said-something thought-rarely anything done."
"No, I was talking about ordinary sins."
"Sleeping with people, you mean?"
"Oh, well, they're not so big as they -seem?" And he could have
kicked himself for saying it, because a look not of relief. exactly but
half-excited determination flashed into her eyes, making them glint for
a moment, while the relief was in her mouth, in a certain sweetvrepose
that settled there for a few seconds. And yet, why not...? Why not
give away your life with an easy gesture as with any other?
"I haven't time to be unfaithful," Elizabeth said.
"You're like thepeople who say that've got no time for reading,"
Pinkie criedo "J,st not intrerested.' n
"When I'm forty and the children are grown up," Elizabeth said


in a demure way, blinking, "I may cast my net around."
"Oh, vell, if you say a few Hail Maries afterwards, I expect that'll
be all right." "
They went up to bed early. It was a wide, low-ceilinged room with
an immense bed, and one of the windows looked straight down a wide valley.


The next day he went for a walk alone. The road dipped between
elms, shaded. He could smell newly cut grass. He remembered certain
scenes from the past-they swept into his mind suddenly, the names and
places forgottent tea in a garden with tall grass near by, hyacinths
like a blue cloud in a wood, a voice across the fields. And with them
came a sense of miserable regret; like darkness suddenly falling, as if
he'd lost something of stupendous importance somwhere along the path
and couldn't say where. There-I It was on the tip of his tongue.
He'd nearly got it: the keyl But it didn't come.


That evening went well. Lots of people came. Pinkie put down
a neat gin and said in a loud voice that she felt 'a world better for
it', and strode across to get another. In this sort of mood she infected
Pips he, too, talked loudly.
At dinner he heard Elizabeth say something about 'while manners
maketh man it only maketh an ordinary man, whereas a gontleman maketh
at the faces
manners. He gazed/round the table--they were dramatic ahd full,
flushed in the last evening light. They séemed to have the whole
English past in them, not just project their own feelings. They were
redder and wilder than faces in Londons The past was dug into their
flesh. They were local land agénts, a 'squire' or two, a farmero.
Their social authority was dead but it still showed in their


Next day he took the report to be typed out by the Secret
Weapon. On his way out of the office he met Hanni who to his
astonishment said, "Well, how do you like the girls at the Marquis?"
"What girls?" His mouth fell open.


Joy Celeste's hair-dance was the triumph of the evening and there
was a lot of clapping. She had painted her skin a light yellow and held
in her lips to avoid the 'nigger-look'. The chorus bumped into each
other and danced horribly, but the audience loved it. The hair-girl
seemed to impress Pinkie in a dark way. But at the end of the dance,'
during the wild clapping (in the programme the hair-girl was called
'Makboula straight from Tetuan'), she qualified the awe by saying
loudly to Dick, "She'd be more attractive if she had a square meal,
wouldn't she?"
The posters advertised 'real Arab dance and dervishes', which
meant that nearly every number was a chaos. If a dance began slowly
it had to gp up to a deafening crescendo. It was a tiny stage, making
it difficult for all the chorus to get around. A hushed, "Get off my
fuckin' toes!" sounded across the stager
Only the hair-girl was remarkable. There was a real ferocity in
her dance; it seemed her head might go flying off. She came out to
the bar afterwards in a hard mood and talked at the topf of her voice,
looking small and shrivelled, wkth pale cheeks, her high cheek-bones
sticking outs she had a short girlish frock on which made her look
a hard fourteen.
Pinkie's cousin Deryk Aldercote was also there, most polite,
bobbing up and down as he took Pinkie's hand, and singing out, "Hullo!",
his shoulders hunched a little, in a little dance of charmy And, "How
nice to see you again, Pip!" he cried. Then he was lost in the crowd,
with his pale nose.
Suddenly Joe Clockwork, talking to Nanni in a whisper, lifted his
head and made a high-pitched laugh, like a brief scream, which made
everybody turn round. Pinkie said this was his 'social speciality'.
He did it to mark himselfiout from other people, but he never did it


more than a set number of times; for a short appearance at a cocktail
party he did it once, with perhaps a parting one at the doors for a
long party there would be five or six, louder as people drank more;
at a dinner-party he kept it for the dessert. It was meant to show.
everybody that something very special was going on in his corner of
the roome
Dick went on talking to the pale girl belind a potted plant,
leaning towards her, seeming to elect her the only person in the room;
his eyes were clear and twinkling; he treated every one else casually,
as if the evening had only one purpose for him.


Elizabeth looked superb, her hair done up in a kind of mantilla,
with long ear-rings; she wore a long black gown and had made no effort
at fancy dress apart from a flimsy horse-hair tail, also black, that
hung from a lace bow at the back. Pip whirled her round the floor
at a breathless spedd. The band looked down from their tiers in a
gingerly way, not showing the slightest amusement and seeming to go
higher and higher as the evening went one
Pinkie said that Clockwork's set regarded fancy dress as an
'uncool' thing to dos they wore dinner jackets and their expressions
were tired and casual, as if (but only as if) from repletion of the
senses; she said that 'pallor' was 'the thing' now- -you couldn't even
sunbathe when you found yourself in the south of France; you had to
look 'fainting'. Hell was more or less in this set but she danced
too much; if she could just sit and 'sort of wilt' at a card table
for four or five hours in the evening she would qualify. Hanni i's
brilliant zebra costume stood out in the dark card room like a precious
carpet; Pinkiv said that this was quite all right because Hanni, being
'exotic', could do nothing 'uncool', shewas almost pure decoration.


considering a pay-claim, and left the money on his desk before she
went out in the morning.


CHAPTER 27.
The river-party Elizabeth had written about (on piss-soaked
notepaper) was a great success. There were aome faces from the Tail-
and-Hoof ball. She introduced them to a bouncy young man who talked
very fast and tapped his foot restlessly, and sang snatches of old hit-
tunes. "Do you know this one?" he would say like a machine-gun;
and launch into the deathly idiotic words of a 'hit'. To Pip's
surprise Pinkie lapped all this up. Normally she chucked to herself
at this kind of thing and said something genially cutting.
The river was touched with red from the sun. At the Isle of Dogs
they turned round, the boat kicking up a wash with its paddles, and the
bouncy young man kept up his endless chit-chat, taking his audience for
granted. Pinkiv and Elizabeth seemed rapt, glued to himg they never
missed a syllable or breath. Pip couldn't make it out. The powerful
Elizabeth was suddenly so docile and girlish. She ducked her head
diffidently and kept sayingz to Pinkie, "Isn't he extraordinary?",
after a completely flat remark he might have made, such as, "I tend to
go for the quick tunes, I don't know about yous" His other remarks
were a string of references to odd things sike aircraft, houses in
the country, card games, turf for lawns--all in a jumble which Liz
and Pinkie seemed to see a perfect logic in. Then therewas the story
of how he had hitchhiked fifty miles across Norway because his car had
broken down; also he had stayed at a hotel where the food was good,
and another one where the food was bad; sometimes it had rained,
sometimes it hadn't. And at everything Liz and Pinkie showed enthralled


wonder. Pip tried to liston harder--to get a narrative thread he
might have missed--and he tried to join in, laughing and showing
surprise by lifting his eyebrows. Hagore--that was his name-
said he'd been on the 'grand tour' the previous year: he pronounced
it the French way and Pip thought this was a joke and roared with
laughter, but he tripped up badly there because it was serious.
And George had once played baccarat with a lorry-driver in a bistro
at dawn-an apparently serious remark which got howls of laughter
from the women. Then, from George, "I was absolutely whacked the
next night, I really was-God, I think I slept about twelve hours--I"
To: which Pinkie said in a demure way-it was 80 unusual for her that
Pip's mouth fell open---"Come, come, I can't imagine you getting tired!"
Why not? She hadn't met the chap befores
They all went on to the Melbourne afterwards. And therewas
more champagne. Pinkie and George danced together--she showed him
how to whirl round on the same spot without getting giddys you kept
your eyes on the other person's eyes! And shegave him such an oh-
you-charming-devil look that Pip nearly fell off his seat. It was a
role he simply couldn't connect her with in any way, it was just too
astonishing for. words. He couldn't imagine how a person you had lived
with for four or five years could show a totally new side, unwarned and
unrehearsed in the smallest hint beforehand. Geogreewasn't a 'faun'
after all. : He didn't even have what she called 'umph'. Grove had
'umph', but not George. George was pleasant, inconsequential, cheerful---
not the sort of person who interested her


He said nothing about the interview to Pinkie. It seemed she'd
forgotten he was to have it. A few days later when his boat ticket
arrived she murmured vaguely, "I suppose I'll be joining you in a few
months, won't I?" He nodded glumly and they said no more.. Grove
came over again. He was once more struck by his frièndly confidence,
and felt revived; the events of the last fev weeks, including the
question of the child, seemed unimportant. A party gathered inthe
music-room that evening. Grove talked most of the time, making everyone
laugh. While he talked, rattling away without the slightest embarrass-
ment, Pip asked himself, why should he leave? why not be a subordinate
here, if he was to bé one anyway? But his thoughts went round in a
sickening way, gone almost the moment they entered his head.
He found that Grove conducted a kind of human publicity services
he brought people together and talked admiringly about nearly everyone.
But he never stayed long. He brought someone to the house and then left,
as if he had. many more missions to fulfil. Therefore. he brought warmth
and left a chill, in an enigmatic combination which had to do with his
strange deeper self, that was always hidden; all the more for his quick
repartee and cleverly transparent boasting. Grove knew--seemed to-
that he was hurting Granville's life; but he did it. like someone passing
on a burden rhich he had carried himself too long; though hègave no sign
of the burden in his eyes, or anywhere. He was hurt, somewhere: and he
was frailly passing on the hurt, without malice, and with no real hope off
getting rid of it for good.
Grove made easy capital out of winning a beautiful young wife from a
sunny young husband: yet it wasn't any more than the petty capital he made
all day, out of the smallest event, half joking, building up his little
reputation all over again, like a laughing mole. Something made him
try to build a stout little nest for himself wherever he was, as if


he had been dislodged every early in life wand was always trying to
get back, wobfing himself round with intimacy, in talk and jokes and
disarming boasts and promises. He did it a thousand times a day, this
nest-building. Perhaps he had no other way of surviving. It wasn't a
good way to survive, building a thousand nests a day, with everybody
under the sun, in a dozen houses, at a dozen café-tables: you only
needed one. So Pip didn't resent capital being made out of him---there
was also something nice about the fairy-tale conquest that Grove hinted
at to other people. For some hidden reason he needed it: it seemedi to
bring him an important mystical gain. As Pi_ was learning to do without
reputation he could qillingly let his go cheape Perhaps this was what
had always weighed Grove. down, bringing a strained look into his eyes,
suddenly thoughtful and tortured with regret, then gone again quicklys
a burning need for reputation. Pip didn't need reputation for the kind
of nest he wanted to build.
He went down to Abbott's Road to say good byee They knew nothing
about his having resigned, and he left it vaguej his mother divined'
that something bad had happened but said nothing. She only asked
quietly, "Is Pinkie going back with you?" From his panic-stricken
glance she knev everything. His father was gracious as always, a
little formal, gazing with narrow eyes into the garden. The table
was laid with cheese and lettuce and celery, and the tea-pét stood under
a cosy in the scullery as it always had in his childhood.


And she replied, patiently, as if to a child, "Yes, darling, yes!"
He realised for the first time-in a clear, evén blinding way--that
she was in love. No power could change that. She couldn't change it,
certainly. She had tried perhaps. Even, she had wanted to change it.
But she couldn't. Because she was in love, in love, in lovel The
words kept ringing in his braine: In lovel It was like bells. In
lovel Then why hadn't he recognised it? Oh, why? For it made her
innocent! She was in lovel The words rang out like joyful bellst
In lovel In lovel
He walked further down the staris and had the sense of losing his
body so that his steps hardly made an impression on hime He felt
bodiless--the stairs were nothing to him, his pain was nothing, nor
his trembling! These didn't matter, didn't matterl There was a
shudder of relief through his body that drained all the poisons away.
She was innocent, innocent. It was like touching Christ, as if Christ
was standing there on the stairs, in him for a moment, bodilessly. He
had a sense of sunlight, though he was trembling like a leaf. The
trembling wasn't hisv She was purel pure! The tears poured down his
face but with triumph-it was like his own triumph! He had surrendered!
surrendered! She wasn'tbad after all, nor hard, but in love, in lovel
And that was everything.


a ater-en, sowthey-tooletheirbabhoweppromemefatherepublieeplecesedm.
Bube-Dicionmedsnedntonbadgonbasgorcbecausamofabtremvteorgecmite-Mtkedrte
wine-peophemtowmmemebownmerndintakenetrenretresighontonthecwindowatbsthesendzop-tites
flessiohwsnsiieadindasktser * warerso-facthosizcenmentengess
"The journey back in the evening seems to take longer/ every day,"
she said. "This is the sort of house I dream about." Shé sat quite
still, rigid. "He spends the night in town about twiçé a week now, and
then I'm stuck down there all alone. He could phoné me to say he wasn' 't
coming if we had a phone, but that's another of his ideas! People would
pin him down by phone, you see!"
"Why pin him down?"
"They'd make him feel he belonged to one place!"
He smiled at her. "Old Dick/s a rum bird, isn't he? What's he
afraid of exactly?"
"I don't know. Comfortf I suppose! He might get fat and
boring! Having a flat would put him on the road to having a family, you
see. And that'd pin him down frightfully. What a fool he is, really!
As long as he's got the river outside he feels safe. The water doesn't
lead anywhere or belong to anyone."
"That's rather nice. The idea of the water. He's right in a
way, isn't he?"
"In a,way, yes." She nodded stiffly, as when she was saying
something fof form. "But.of course," she went on with a ra ther grim
smile, "hé expects his meals on time."
Hanni worked in the Middle East section of the Foreign Office as
an interpreter. But she never talked about it. The Middle East was a
élosed book. She'd even been silent about Granville's appointment to


selling newspapers on the-eorner, the-seme-as-beforer He-had-thick
glaseee-enan bleek-oap-pulled-over- o A a
Grenwilleke-bhowphte
seemed cidiculouely-emall simid-thie-chabterd
-bus-passed-swirftly-sending
-a-eloudofddust-room-the- gutter and dan thetiny-men-called-out-in-a-shrill
voicer-cupping Sa hand. -round-hisemouth-in-a-mechanical Way, UPap-er!
ornenle pap-erP"
Not -only
6 thoughte-seem.ridiculous-but-he-cout-dnet-remember
Met-they-were. 07 Se-mind-had-de.finitels-quickened-and-was-more-wide-aweke
thatr-in-the-housey-but-hts-thought CS were-at-best-ldttle-half-messages
Pheching-R6PosS-his-brainy-never-fintshedr---The-loner-continuous-themewof
motght-herd-had-in-the-rouse-was-impoosible-posow-Tet-he-wmo-happyr-The.
a cer-of-the-street-made-tup-for-the-lossi-it-lived-or-his-behaift
Most of the passing women had bright print-dresses
with bare
arms. It was so different from Basrah, where the women wént cloaked and
veiled, their eyes darting from side to side in the slit of black cloth,
flashing dimly like iron., Here they 'were so open and cheerful, touched
by the sunlight. Some/of the younger women walkéd in a provocative and
challenging way, tight-hipped. One young woman passed him gazing straight
before her, with thé suggestion of a smile on' her lips, well-built, paie,
I f
quite pretty, her/ jumper cut low enough tojshow the slight shadowy rift
between her breasts, tantalising and subtly devised, as if there, were hundreds
of men's eyes on her. - It was flirtation conducted in the brain, with
anyone. She held a shopping basket' in one hand, loosely, and her hips
O t6lled as/ she walked. - He passed/within a foot or so of her and saw that
had it not been for a line of anxiety near her mouth, séeming to indicate
that her freedom would only last as long as the sunlight, she would have
logked like the. women of the cabarets in Mansur Street, voluptuous and calm.


But life was too plain for that, the line seemed to say. Yet in her body,
in her long, graceful step' and in the smile that showed in her eyes,
distant and wonderfully self-assured, there was all she needed fôr freedom:
but her life wouldn't allow it, making a line near her mouth. d And the sex
she suggested wasn't voluptuous. It was subtle and mentai, meaning a
quick, clandestine, forbidden contact. At the same time he was affected,
and her closéness sent an unbearable, vibrant thrill through his body,
making his mouth dry. Then she was gone.
On the other side of the road he caught sight of three or four
detached houses behind fruit trees, little/villas built at the end of the
last century with porticos in timid, suburban imitation of the Palladian
style. They looked so drab and stifiing in their dingy brickwork! The
windows and doors were too large, with the typical heavy and replete touch
of the Victorians. Yet the houses weren't quite melancholy, perhaps
because of the trees that surrounded them. And, because of,the wooden
fences in front of them, insteàd of iron railings, one could dream that
they were part of a country scene with elm trees beyond! He stood still
for a moment, gazing jacross at. them! If only he'd côme back to a place in
the country! He might feel different then. The/sunlight made these
little villas with their fruit trees even sweeter. He walked back into
the quiet of chaworth Road and found Amy's shop empty. The bell clanged
sharply above his head as he opened the doof and at first he saw no one.
Then he Heard her voice.
"Well, Mr. Granville!" - A few seconds afterwards her head
appeared, flushed and smiling. Shef put her hand over the counter, wiping
it first. "What a surprise! Your wife said you'd be back!
"Hullo, Amy, how are you?"


They shook hands.
"Oh, all right! Well =I She stood gazing at him. You are
a stranger!"
She hadn 't changed much: a little plumper, perhaps, with a touch
of grey in her hair.
"How's the baby?" he asked.
"Baby? He's a grown man now. Look!"
He craned over the counter and in the'shadows behind a pile of
Daun? bright cartons saw a plump little child, flushed like his mother and with
avte
the same dark, healthy eyes, sitting astride, silently absorbed in a game
of wooden shavings.
"He's as good as gold," she added, almost in a whisper, looking down.
Then the child lifted Ais head and looked Granville full in the
eyes without the slightest change of expression, dark-eyed and absorbéd,
fixing on him the same look of abstract curiosity he'd just been giving to
the wood shavings.
"That's not nice way to say hullo," she murmured, She bent down
and gave the child/a tickle under the arm-pit, and he kiçked out his feet,
laughing suddenlf.
"That t's better," she said quietly, giving Granville a confiding
glance as she rose again.
"He's got your, eyes, hasn't he?" Granyille said. "They're
wonderfyi!"
She shifted and glanced at him shyly for a moment, seeming to think
something over. Then she said firmly, "It's funny, you never get people
saying what lovely eyes.he's got. But it's a fact, isn't it, though I say
/it myself?"


"Oh, it's a fact all right!"
She looked down at the child again. "It tickles me, watching him
play down there. I give him a little pile of wood shavings in the morning
and it keeps him busy for hours. People come in here and say, Goodness
gracious, have you got a baby down there!"
The child slowly ran his fingers through the shavings to make a
tiny pat th, his mouth open.
"They're funny, aren't they?" she said. "Their own little world!
The way he picks up a bit of shaving somet times and holds it. up for a minute
as much as to,say, Oh, and who are you? and then puts it down away from all
the others."
"What's his name?"
"John, after his gran'dad!" Then she collected herself. "Well,
Mr. Granville, what's it been. like over there? Plenty of sun, I expect?"
"Oh, yes, a bit too much'!"
"That's just what I thought. My husband was out there in the war.
He said he all but melted sometimes!"
"Yes, it can be terrible."
She frowned for a moment. "What are they as a race out there?"
And she added, "Persians, isn't it?"
"No, just Arabs! Persia's next door."
She laughed a Aittle nervously. "Well, my geography never was up
to much!" She gazed out of the. window across the strèet." "Still, it's
all the same in the énd. I don't suppose we'll need geography. where we're
all going to, shall we?" And she laughed.
Together they watched someone go by outside, The milkman's crate
clanged in the distance as he swung it on to'the trolley.


"It must be nice getting back,' " she said. "There's nothing like
home, is there?"
It reminded him of women's voices in his childhood, always
reminiscent and sing-song like this, saying set phrases one after another.
He felt lulled.
"I wish it was like this every day," he murmured, nodding out of
the window.
"That's right
we're not very lucky with our weather, are we?
But when all's said and done there's nothing like the old country, I don't
care what you say! I wouldn't say no tol a couple'of weeks overseas but
they can keep their sun and their big moustaches as far as I'm concerned!"
"Moustaches?" he asked.
"Well, you know!" She laughed, seeing him stare at her. "Like
old Macaroni
haven't you seen him? He comes round with his hurdy-gurdy
Saturday afternoons, they say he's/ made a tidy little packet from his pennies.
Haven't you seen him with his little monkey?"
And, quite naturally; she began to sing. Her face showed no
embarrassment at all. And shé had quite a lovely voice, rather high and
level.
Oh, Oh, An-to-nio!, /he 's gone away!
Left me all alone-io! all on me own-io!
I'd like to meet/him with his new sweetheart!
Then up would go Antonio, with his ice-cream cart!
She rested her hands on her hips as she sang. She had her head
lifted, and her eyes had even some of that fierce heat he'd seen in abu
Kath'm. She was singing softly, and it made him feel perfectly calm for a
moment.
All these old songs had a vague regret, as if people were saying


good bye in them. He used to try and stop his mother singing them as a
child. He would put his hand over her mouth and shel would wrench it away
again with a laugh. She had a faint, rich voice that seemed to come out
of the past, And then he would cry. But she always persisted. She used
to sing Daisy, Daisy, on a bicycle made for two! I'm half crazy all for
the love of you! or Has anybody here seen Kelly? Kelly from the Isle of
Man? And though they were rollicking songs, with a wonderful generous
vigour about them, they always had this sàdness, too. The vigour concealed
a certain courage. They were cries of distress. They had a wild
tenderness he found unbearable, as if they/were the last messages from a
lostrworld.
"You've got a nice boice,' " he said.
"Yes, that's right!" She turned and picked up a paper bag,
blowing it open, to await his first order. The song had moved her as
well, it seemed. "There's nothing like the old songs, is there?"
"My old mother used to sing them when she'd had one too many.
She had a voice' like Marie Lloyd, so people said. She knew every word
and she used to do all the gesture's as well, you know." Then she stirred
herself. "Well, this won't do, |will it? What can I get you after my
little recital?"
And-as usual she gave jhim a little extra weight when he asked for
bacon, and she gave him the same wink as always before.
"When are you off again?" she asked.
"Oh, I've got about! two months here."
"Well, we'll be seéing something of you, then, won't we? And
how's Mrs. Granville?" she asked, watching the scales.


"Does she like it out there as well?"
"She seems to!"
She paused. "It's funny, isn't it? A expect I'd settle down
as right as rain if I went to a place like that. You've only got to try
something, haven't you? You're lucky not to have children!"
"Yes, that'd be an extra worry, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, especially in the tropics/ What's the heat like, really?"
"Well, it's a damp heat!"
"Oh, dear! It wouldn't be much good for me, then! I'm bad
enough on a day like this!"
And there the conversation ended. He put everything in the
canvas bag and they shook hands Again with a smile. As he was leaving the
shop she called out, "If Mrs. Granville's passing this way we 111. be having
some nice knuckles of ham in this afternoon!"
He walked back to the house in a perplexed state, seeing nothing
round him, his head down. And he had a sense of restriction - in his
tongue - as if it was chained down 1 from not having spoken his fill! To
Amy! He never spoke the fullness of his feelings - no more! 1 A man
between two borders! he thought. He ought to have said more to her!
Anything! He could have talked about his own mother, for instance!
But he couldn't bring the same intimacy to his voice. He'd travelled
too far away: it/ would be like acting a part. And hes disliked this
feeling. Much remained to be thought out. 'Back in England,' he thought.
'Back to my problems!"


He glanced at the morning paper on the way jupstairs. The head-
lines said OH! OH! PRINCE CHARMING! in enormous/letters. Apparently,
there was a yacht-race somewhere and the English/boat was called Prince
Charming. It was making bad time or something.
There were no mat tches in the kitchen, so he slipped quietly back
to the bedroom, where he thought he remembered séeing some on the chimney-
piece. He opened the door very carefully and tiptoed into the dim room.
Pinkie was in exactly the same position jas he'd left her. He stopped,
gazing down at her. It was the' same silence as when he'd woken up, soft
and enclosing, and he folt worlds away form it now.
There was a bulge in the bedclothes where her arm lay over her
hip, and all at once he remembered the child they were supposed to have had.
She'd'done away with it! Yes! Hé gasped, looking down at her, as if
she'd just told him.t the truth. It felt as if somebody had gône away.
Perhaps. all this time, unawares, in Basrah and on the voyage, he'd been
assuming the presence of a third spirit in her
the ohly part of them
that would have been innocént! The child! Where was their child?
Her face had a pale, smooth look - he had the sensation that something
close to her had stolen away while. she slept and she didn't know it yet.
There was the pallor of loss.
A breeze came. No, she hadn't killed the child! Pinkie would
never, never do a thing like that! It was his fault, perhaps. The child
had stifled insidé her, because of his half-hearted little orgasm. Again
his heart started beating fast with shame. He hadn't filled her with that
terrific pride of being necéssary for a woman! He went out of the room
quickly and lét the thought die, becoming calm again, in the dazzling light
of the music-room.


put on terrific airs. It was awful to sée 'them together, Pinkie blushing
and intimidated, the girl uppish and pouting. - The appearance of Kath'm
at the door in his striped dishdasha, with bare feet, was enough to send
Bertha flying out of the room. He was dirty, she said, and brought bugs
into the house, which was probably true. She hated to see his dark, bare
feet on the tiles. And Kath'm bore it with a stern, untroubled face, his
eyes twinkling/a little. Bertha's family-bible sat on a little table in
the sitting-room wi th a heavy silver-plated crucifix laid across it, and
she forbade Kath'm to go anywhere near it, much less to dust it in his
clymsy way. And when he passed it sometimes he would give it a quick,
sidelong glance in awe and hurry on. Bertha had a room next to the dining-
room and could have put the bible there, but she wanted it as a demonstration
(of her class-standing - as a Christian) and Pinkie said nothing. It was
effective, too, because Kath'm treated it as something magical like the evil
eye.
Kath'm was always in good humour, and discreet and quiet. He
tiptoed upstairs with Granville's breakfast in the morning, and would smile
at him with a quick flash of white teeth. And he would whisper, hissing,
as he bent down with the tray, "Sahib, sahib, chai wa halib!"
tea with
milk; he repeated it every morning. There was a clear, perfectly understood
relation between them against Bertha. Xet Kath'm never uttered a word
against her. Indeed, he never uttered more than a few words all day.
Pinkie always packed Kath'm off to his hut in the evening, and
told Bertha she could go toper room. She preferred serving dinner herself,
even when there were guests. For this she needed Granville's help and he
would potter around the table like a servant, to the distress of his Arab
friends. He got furious about this but she said the penalty of having


Kath'm in the house would be her going up to bed instead of entertaining.
"But shat are servants for?" hè asked her.
"I can't help it, I can't bear servants round me, that's all!"
"But he lovés serving at table!"
This was true. Kath'm thought she was ashamed of showing him to
the guests! 'Dirty' - as Bertha said he was! And one evening Granville
found him gazing wistfully in at the dining room window in the cold air,
his posé pressed against the glass, fascinated by the warm glow inside.
Kath'm loved to put on a clean robe and pad softly across the floor fetching
tea or coffee as he did during the day if a guest called. But Pinkie said
that working in the evening was 'over-time', for which he waen't paid. It
was a strangely' tame and social attitude for her, and didn 't fit her nature.
The fact was that she couldn't bear the responsibility of someone taking
orders from her. She couldn't bear the idea of guiding other people's
lives.
And his Arab guests would look on in astonishment. It was frightful
aib, shame, not to have servants about, and they wondered how he could be
chief in the T.I.M. office..
But still,-t this created a problem of conscience for Granville as
well. He had to work in with the sheikhs, some of them hard, greedy,
exploiting men. Once he nearly wrote home for a change of post. He lived
like a little King though he. was only a clerk. When he walked through
the streets sometimes between the dark, ragged, sallow people he had an
uncomfortable impression of himself as soigne and well-wined. Evena clean
shirt and a suit felt too much. It was a position forced on him. The
sheikhs and: the Aràb 'and Kurdish businessmen passed by in théir Cadillacs,
Fords and Oldsmobiles, kicking up the dust, their chauffeurs cursing at the


he worshipped her. The name Waffle-Waffle came from the wayhe spoke,
it being almost impossible to understand what he said. Beatrice had had
a son and two daughters by him, and now, with the help of jher son Derick,
she ran a finishing school for girls in Mayfatr.
Pinkie was the youngest of a family of nine. Always 'baby Hester'.
Her nurse had always told hér, to make her sense of Ioneliness worse, that
she had 'the mark of the Grysham in her'. She'd told this to all the
children at different times but with Pinkie it stuck. The mark of the
Grysham meant a certain wildness of temperament -- a kind of noble
dissipation that ran in the family. At the Aidercote hunt balls pokers
were used to open the champagne bottles, the bannisters of the main stair-
case were 'saddled' so that t the men could ride down them with their shoes
in the stirrups, shouting Yoick at the top of their voices. Sometimes
Pinkie's father brought down a chorus-girl for the week-end or went off
to Brighton on the non-stop train from' Wat terloo that everybody called The
Flying Fornicator. He was also quiét'and charming. Not that Granville
had met him. They lived on' a Carribean island these days.
But he'd seen Aldercote once. Pinkie was born there, but already
in her childhood only part of it was used. The farm was sold up, then the
stables. Nearly the whole of/ /the estate round the house had been shaped
and planted by Gryshams in thé last two hundred years. It had an
unbelievable tranquillity
it was really like a blow, stunning you
suddenly, a terrific, blinding word from a' kind of people who no longer
existed on this earth. There were oaks and elms and a lake where wild
duck nested.
Her nickname/ 'Pinkie' came about when she was fifteen. It was
during her first stidio-party, given by a friend of her monther's who


smoked Russian cigarettes from a long ivory holder and élept in a hammock
slung between two enormous pieces of sculpture. Pinkie arrived in a
parozysm of shyness, her mouth working up and down hélplessly and her eyes
flickering. After tea the others started talking /about the psychological
meaning of colours. Yellow meant homosexuality,/red meant sexual
frustration: if you showed great fondness for these colours you were a
'frigid' or a 'queer': Then, during a hush, a small, plump young man with
a red-golden beard suddenly turned 'to her and/asked, "What's your favourite
colour, Miss Grysham?" To which Miss Grysham replied, with a blush going
slowly up her neck while everybody gazed at her, "Pink - - I think!"
Everyone laughed. As she usually blushed every minutes anyway the nickname
stuck. Pity was. an old-fashioned virtué among these people: hard-faced
bohemians with money in their pockets. They called her 'a flower of the
English aristocracy' - facetiously of course. She was so 'traditional I -
a museum piece! And everything from her soft, half-pained, tragic way of
speaking to her liking Gainsborough must go. Her politeness was pompous'. >
Once she ingenuously asked the red-golden beard if hellfire was true -
and the answer she got was a huge book on comparative religion! It was
all.in there,he said - religion was just primitive hopes and fears,
nothing to do with us. And af week later he had her in bed. 'He said she
had the softest and warmest and most yielding little twat of any virgin
he'd deflowered. He tried /her later with a cucumber; he wanted her to go
at it less 'sacredly'.
Nigel, her eldest brother, was the one she was closest to. He
was. the smell of the countryside for her
real health. And he'd always
been the nicest to her. After the last war he'd put his army annuity and
his family-allowance together.. and started a retail business in London, and


it turned out well. He even gave Pinkie a job. Then he started stables,
bought a place for himself in the country and was called 'squire' by the.
local romantics. The work he gave Pinkie, as a /kind of traveller for the
firm, on the public relations side, was good for her self-respect. And
she was good at it. That was why she visi ted/ the T.I.M. training school,
as part of her job, scouting for young people. She met Granville and
Dick, who were the only people there with 'style', she said.
She didn't see much of Nigel these days. He lived more and more
in the country, and spent a lot of his time hanging round the stables
talking horseflesh. He was a tall, fair-haired man with rosy cheeks and
broad shoulders, his eyes much like Pinkie's except that they were steady
and searching, with a constant smile in them. He had the same rash and
daredevil streak as his father, coupled with Pinkie's softness. The
moment they were together they fell into horse-talk. She played the part,
out of love for him. The mare had a 'cold back', Nigel would say, and
was a bit 'fiddle-headed', with a tendency to 'dish'. Or the grey had
'lots in front of him' though he 'grunted under the stick'. "A terrible
high blower!" he would say, and Pinkie, would laugh.
There was an indefinable element of unhappiness in Nigel. It lay
under his sunny good will and was even part of it. But he never talked
about himself. He only mentioned himself in connection with something
he'd seen or enjoyed. It was 'unsporting' to be disgruntled or irritable.
A man had to be. above that/ His first question after he'd had a nasty fall
one day and cracked his arm was whether the mare had been 'damaged'. He
married late, a girl calied Mary who hardly spoke and looked after the
house quietly and carefully.
In the war he was known as 'Nutty Nigel' because of his forays


CHAPTER 7.
Pinkie was given an office of her own at Wembley, as assistant
to the P.R.0.; it was quite a promotion and came from Nigel's staff, not
from him. Now and then it involved /her in taking someone to lunch or
dinner. She no longer travelled for the firm, but, she said, she might
have to spend a week-end away in Mânchester or Birmingham. He wondered
at this. It sounded like the screw being turned. Her face was set as
she said it, in a deliberate way, her teeth gritted. She looked tired in
the evenings, her face always drawn into a mask, and they never went out
together now. The house grew quite lonely. Or perhaps it wasn't the
house but the fact that only he, of all the people they knew, had time for
wayward thoughts. Everyone else was governed by schedule. He felt he
carried no weight in their company and began to wish for the end of his
leave.
Dick came in one evening and said he was getting the managership
of the South American department in a few weeks." time. Apparently, he
thought Hanni had said nothing to anyone. His eyes glittered in a fixed
was as if he was torn between his own achievement and a sense of shame.
Usually one didn't get a managership until one was thirty-five or forty,
especially in T.I.M. where things were a bit conservative. He didn't seem
at all happy. Hanni kept glancing at him. She also was àn a strange mood
these days.
They wére all sitting in the kitchen and Hanni murmured to Pinkie


between her teeth, "Look at him!"* Dick' was swinging on his chair
nervous habit of his - with his hands in his pockets and his head rather
sunk down. "He hates the idea!" She gave Dick a dry side-glance.
"He was all right when somebody else was giving the orders. It made him
feel young. But now he's going to have people calling him sir."
And she chuckled, puffing at a cigarette. Dick had a remarkably
clean look, as often on days when he felt uncomfortable. His hair was
neatly brushed and he was pale, with Ja youthful, purged look in his eyes.
His hands were manicured; he had them done every fortnight at the same shop
in the City: he said the girl touched his fingers gàve him endless chances
to explore her character and also look down her blouse
one day he would
ask her: to meet him somewhere.
Hanni's eyes were narrowed against the smoke of her own cigarette,
and they seemed to blaze with anger. Pinkie smiled, in a private
understanding with her. She had put her handbag on the floor, having just.
come in from the office, and was powdering her nose, pursing her lips as if
afraid to see herself in the little mirror.
"He's afraid he's going to get like his father, " Hanni went on,
trying to provoke him out of his silence.
And Dick did speak after a time, still swinging on his chair,
gazing down, his voice/ very quiet.
"Well," he murmured, "you ought to know."
"Why are yon's so scared of responsibility?" she asked him immediately,
her eyes fixed hard on him.
But he relapsed into silence again. Hanni pursued the subject
coolly.
"Of course, it means you'll be getting a better screw; doesn't it?"


she went on.
Dick nodded in silence.
"And we don't want that to happen! You'd rather go on with the
old screw, wouldn't you, and have the freedom?"
"Yes, I suppose I would," he replied in a tired way. "The
problem of youth, you know!" he added bitterly.
Pinkie laughed. "Iou'dbetter be careful, old cock, or you'll
find yourself furnishing your flat nicely!"
"Yes," Hanni said, also laughing. "He might find himself tied.
down to a comfortable armchair!"
"Probably," Pinkie went on, "he's just like his dad really, only
he doesn't want to fall into it too fast."
This was too much for Dick. He hissed at her, "Shut up!" And
the women laughed in" a defénsive and triumphant way, at. having provoked
him; their voices were harsh.
"What's wrong with your dad?" Pinkie cried, her lips trembling as
always when she was repfimanded.
Dick coolly got up from his chair and left the room. . Lat ter
Granville saw him glance at himself in the mirror downstairs on his way
out, his face delicate and troubled. He turned and saw him..
"I.hate any comparison with my dad," he said almost in a whisper.
Granville noddéd and miled, wondering if he meant it as a joke, but Dick
walked out witha berfectly straight face, little aware of -him, it seemed;
and a moment latef the downstairs door .closed.
Afterwards. Pinkie said that Dick looked exactly like his father.
She'd got this from Hanni. Perhaps it explained the beard, she said: it
was a sort of distress-signal; he was 'marooned in his body'.


When they all met again the following week-end there was more
irritation, to which Granville'was only a spectator. He noticed more and
more that their quarrels left him a stranger.
Dick happened to say, "Oh, by the way," addressing Granville,
"I always spit a Pip in old Nevinson's éye when I can, you know, just to
let him know what a fine chap you are.!"
Nevinson, being the head of the Middle East section,: was important
for him, though they'd nèver met.
And Pinkie was suddenly annoyed..
"I bet you do it carefully!" she said, flaring up.
There was silence and Dick's lips tightened just as they'd. doné
before. He fixed his eyes on' her and murmured, "No, I don't."
"Well, I can't imagine you laying it on very thick, in câse you're
proved wrong I!
"No, and I can't. imagine Nevinson listening if I did!"
Granville was forgotten for a moment. They were fixéd on éach
other.
"Well, good old Dick!" she cried. "You're nothing if not
judicious!"
Dick turned to him and said quietly, his eyes full of dislike,
"How do you stand this woman every day?"
"Why is it you like keeping things under your hat?" she asked,
trembling again.
"I suppose because I'm cagey," he replied.
"Well, it's no surprise to me that some of your clients are
speechless when! they walk in your office. You give them the willies;
old chap!"


"I don't think you've been in my office or spoken to any of my
staff," he replied, again in a quiet voicé, his back erect. There was, :
something white-hot and cutting in him when he was stirred sometimes.
Both Dick and Pinkie had to go out to dinner later and Hanni told
him when they were alone that Dick had annoyed Pinkie'by 'keeping something
under his hat' that was important to her. Granville couldn't understand
what this was and tried to get to the bottom of it. But she was evasive.
Yet her dark, protective gaze told him that one day she would explain: at
least, she'd made it clear that there was something to explain.
There was good news for him. Glenning said he'd heard he might
be getting the Beirut office! This was because Nevinson didn't like the
way things were done there; hel preferred Granville and thought he had a
better rapport with the Arabs'. Of course, this was promotion. Beirut
was considered a gem in the foreign sections at least as far as the 'sweat-
jobs' were' concerned, being the 'Paris of the Middle East.'
This brought him Jand Pinkie closer together for a time. That
evening, as they were going to bed, they began talking about it, and without
warning the intimacy of their very first two weeks together, when they'd
met at Reading, enveloped them again.
"Isn't it wonderful about Beirut?" she said.
"We could have one of those lovely houses by the sea!"
"That's exactly what I thought!"
"When do you think it'll be?" she asked.
"Soon, I hope."
He switched off the light and got into bed at her side.


"It'll be lovely moving there, tt she said quietly.
He was surprised how soft her body felt at his side
quite
different from that first evening, when she'd felt angular and also frail
to his touch, distant from him, in her own strange sleep, without the
necessary blood for intimacy: Now she was soft and yet firm, with a kind
of invisible, plump wholesomeness of the flesh.
Out of this sudden intimacy they drew everything that was possible
for a change. They kissed each other sweetly and softly, like children,
again and again, their lips wet,and they clung to each other in a gentle way,
not exploring each other's bodiles but locked together mildly, their breath
intermingled, in a closeness of perfect health. It was quite different
from 'Stratford' - it was what their love should have been when it wasn' 't
'Stratford'. They came almost "at the same moment, mildly and completely,
sunk into each other with this unpausing sweet intimacy. Her orgasm never
wracked her whole body
it was always local,.as if limited naturally,
half-broken - from childhood, made too secretive for the natural-functioning
world. But at least théy were together, in sweetness. They fell asleep
at once, staying in thej same position all night, her right leg crooked over
him and her flimsy nightdress in a bundle round her waist, like a thick
silk band under her breasts, making them swell. It was like being in a
region underneath life, full of warm, shadowy touches that weren't even
definite enough to bé known as touches; and next day they were both clear
and happy-looking.
They went/ on the river again at Hampton Court, this time the four
of them. It was a lovely, still day and he felt drowsy and content. The


reeds on either side were dry and tall, stirring slightly in the breeze.
They'd taken out a punt but were using canoe-paddles instead of a pole
because the water was too deep. Hanni and Binkie were lying at the
bottom of the boat sunning themselves while the men paddled quietly side
by side. They left houses behind them and came into perfectly silent
countryside. Bef fore them in the distance there were hills, smooth and
bright like a marvellous cloth, and on either side there were fields with
hedges, at their own level, so that/ they seemed to be gliding silently
through the earth. Granville felt quite rid. of his problems now. He had
no extra desires.
And as if a sense of what he was thinking had entered Dick the
question came from his side, "I should think Basrah's a bit of a dump,
isn't it?Despile wok ym saf alnk myslery and all to
"Well #1
"I mean, politeness aside!"
He hesitated. "Hes, I suppose it is."
Their voices echoed a little across the river.
"Of course, youl have to put a good face on it, a
Dick added.
again
This wasn't: Granville's feeling at all and he /wanted to explain
what the fazcination/ of Basrah was for him. But Dick had already looked
away and was addressing something to Hanni who lay behind them with her
eyes closed, et ttring a bit flushed from the sun. This had happened qui te
frequently in the last few weeks: Dick would ask a question and then show,.
by turning away to something else, that it was really phetorical. Meanwhile
the words rushed to Granville's mouth and he was left feeling like a man
with nowhere to put his vomit.


Pinkie opened her eyes and murmured, "Do you remember that fish
we cooked in the garden?"
"It's a kind of cod," she added to Dick, who was gazing at the
water with a genial expression. Then she chuckled: "Of course, it did
taste a leetle of burned wood!"
"Oh, well," Dick said, making his noiseless laugh, "bedouins can 't
be choosers, can they?"
There was more pleasantry and Granville stomached his words,
letting the heat go down slowly. He found it easiest to talk to Dick,
and closestito the style of talk that existed between the four of them,
when his feelings were at a nimimum. As long as ke kept a check on himself
it was all right, but if he let himself go he was left with a feeling.of
regret or constricted, stomach.
As the pleasantry went on
now it was about a ghastly' dinner
Dick had been to the previous week - the lovely day began to darken for
him. He wanted to laugh and did, and also he was content. But the fields
looked dwindled to him and he had a sense of dryness and surfeit, as if
everything round him was fixed and dead in its position. A casual and
bland style existed betweén the four of them in which sustained ideas were
impossible. One just had to learn how to leap from one thing to the next,
never dipping too far. The moment a tone of sustained interest came into
his voice the conversation dropped a kittle: This wasn't Dick's doing;
not wholly. He thought it might have something to do with the company being
nexed, two men and two women, So that a compromise-style was achieved,
neither the sustained intimacy of women's talk nor the enquiry of men's.
The style, flippant and selective, though not always flippant, was the only
one they could all have together. Yet it wasn't natural to any of them.


Dick imposed it as an act of will, so deep now tha t it was second nature.
And Hanni was tense, keeping back her spontaneity, grippéd tight inside.
Only Pinkie had the style in her flesh; it wasn't a strained or unnatural
or jarring element in her, nor. did it involve mental surveillance. She
lay at the bottom of the boat with her eyes half-closed, listless, the
touch of a smile lingering on her mouth. A selective conversation, ranging
quickly over many subjects, never committed to any, was natural to her.
Going deep would be like a breachjof delicacy. It was a light curiosity
that touched on things and departed. She and Dick were similar in this,
while Granville and Hanni were similar in their silent withholding of the
battalions of truth, though Granville was always looking for a breach in
the enemy-line to pour them through.
Pinkie knew naturally how to select and range over subjects, and
what was permissible and what was not. Discretion played no part. She
could be as rash as she liked but style lay in her flesh, not limiting her,
but the very form of her being. In her quiet moods she would sit-with a
reminiscent gaze, talking casually, rather in a dream, and every now and
then she would touch the tip of her forefinger with her tongue in a delicate,
slow, gliding movement, still gazing before her, while preparing to talk
again, as if to indicaté the turn of her interest. After she and Granville
had been away from each other for some time she would lap up all his
information afterwards in one or two-sittings, leaning back, her gaze upwards,
asking one question after another in the most economical way, but without
mental alertness, only following her curiosity with a casual, dreamy
obedience. She hadn't done it this time, though. She asked nothing about
his last mont th in Basrah. It seemed that Mohammed and the Cabala and the
club-room at the United Kingdom Compound where she hated going so much


all the things she would naturally/want to know about
were now dead in.
her memory.
The four of them ended up at the pub with the lawn where he and
Dick had played croquet once. . This time also it got dark. The evening.
was warm and exciting, with yellow lights on the other side of the river
and the sound of grasshoppers. There were young couples playing croquet,
their voices drifting between .thé trees, laughing. The sun went down in
a Vast red blaze, making the flat water glow like a lantern spread out.
How lovely it was! London seemed many miles away. The perfect silence
of countryside began to fall ail round and their voices became hushed in
the air. How could he bear to return to Basrah? Pinkie was close to him,
her shoulders brown from the jsun, strong and dark in the last shadows.
Then they paddled slowly back to Hampton Court, but this time there was a
moon and everyone was drowsy from the beer and heat. His arms were burned
where he'd rolled up his sleeves, and he noticed that Dick's face was
flushed deep and his hair bleached slightly at the front.. He could see his
beard as they paddled, whisps of it silhouetted like a thin bush against
the moonlit bank on the other side.
"Penny for your thoughts, sea-scouts," Dick murmured.
"I'm rémembering last time when it was dark."
"Oh, yes!" And Dick began telling the other two in- a comical
way how they'd battled their way back homé. "How Captain Granville and
I brought her in that night I shall never know," he said. "But we did!
And there's not a crew between here and.Southend Pier could say better!"
His voice was like a soft chant in the night, as they drifted
slowly along, the women chuckling in the darkness now and then. He had
an impression of each of their consciousnesses drifting in the darkness


far from each other, so that the set forms of the day
their bodies
and the glances they gave each other and what they said - appeared like
an irrelevant world, or rather a partial one. - Dick 's voice, and the
darkness that was like an unsubstantial dust all round them, and the
gradual tipping and rocking of the boat, were the relevant world, of which
the set forms were a part we needed in order to move and see and set our
wills at work These forms were like gestures.
Underneath the gestures what t were their consciousnesses like?
It was so difficult to tell. How did they differ from each other,
essentially? What was Hanni like, really? What were Pinkie and Dick
like, for their saying more than Hanni made them no clearer in the end?
What did this 'really' mean?
People were so separate these days! The
bare physical world lay outside each one; and each consciousness was in
isolation, lacking the common joining factor of an outside world, which was
silent and indifferent, like. thef moonlit bank that passed them now, without
familiarity for them = only a scene like a film, which would be called
'beautiful', detached from them. - And each of their consciousnesses lay
floating in this unsubstantial and indifferent dust of hight as they
drifted smoothly along.
Only someone outsidé a consciousness could say what it was like,
for we couldn't see into the endless depth of our selves. Between self and
gesture where did the truth' lie? The gestures were so difficult to judge
for someone outside. Even Pinkie he couldn't divine. He knew her only
where there were no longer' any gestures, when they were lying in bed at
night, he curled round her, so that t even their limbs were like the
unsubstantial dust, joined together. And then during the day the gestures
began again, and they perplexed each other.


Did his 'own consciousness differ essentially from those of the
other three? Was the discipline to withhold themselves that he noticed
in Dick and Hanni in him as well? Was theirs the typical consciousness
of the new world he had inherited through education? Was it second na ture
to Dick or Hanni? Or was it second nature only to Dick? Was there an
ancient sense of style in Pinkie that çould accommodate itself to this
new consciousness while not really belonging to it? For Dick's style was
a mental one; it wasn't part of the flesh as her's was. He thought that
perhaps Dick had the.most typical néw consciousness of all of them.
His mind asked these questions in a state of dreaming and he was
too sleepy to answer them. It intrigued him. He came from adifferent
consciousness from the one he knew now
it wasn't enough to say a.
different world, as if we all shared the same kind of consciousness. This
was the basic fact from which all his questions and problems came . Was
his own consciousness divided incomplete through knowing two worlds
instead of one?
He. felt that the others, though perhaps not Hanni, had a whole and
undivided consciousness whilé he didn't, however distorted their' consciousness
might be. His task was to think his problems through in order to attain
to a similar wholeness: he didn't want to be divided. The others weren't
divided in their perceptions as hé was. In hearing and seeing and smelling
Dick didn't doubt that he jwas- simply hearing and seeing and smelling as
othercmen always had done' everywhere and always would. That was Granville's
conclusion, after seeing'his gestures and hearing him talk. There was
something undoubting in Dick which he himself didn't have; not in the
matter of will. or desire but in consciousness. Nor incideas - only in
consciousness, the dumb consciousness. For Granville there was always the


CUTTORS
BOOK II
CHAPTER 8.
Philip Granville was born in Abbott's Road in West Ham, not far'
from where.] he lived now; his parents had moved there from Bethnal Green
just before the 1944 war, when there were still traces of the old village,
though even then there were few. When, they moved in there was an orchard
opposite their home but by the time he was born streets covered more or
less the whole district, formed into oblong blocks, one door after another
with a few feet of garden in front for evergreen bushes, then iron railings
and the pavement, stratching for miles, with nearly all the trees felled.
Abbott's Road houses were a better class than those of Bethnal
Green, where the front door opened straight out on to the pavement and the
streets were much longer and bleaker; also the houses of Bethnal Green
were smaller, with a tiny asphalt yard in the back instead of a garden.
Abbott's Road had quite nice back-gardens. 1 Some of the old village trees
were still intact there, by an oversight or perhaps by the contractor's
mercy, standing in the middle of the narrow strips of garden, huge elms
casting their shade on the roofs and swaying slightly in the wind with a
grand, solemn movement that always seemed to give warning of storms.
There was always talk of pulling them down but it never came to anything.
He noticed as a child that sometimes people talked about them with
grudging dislike, as if they were human, a moral affront one didn't talk
about loudly. "Those damned trees,' II they would say. "Those blasted trees,
when are they going to pull them down?" But in the summer they would


lean out of the back-windows gazing at them, smoking, the men in their
shirt-sleeves.
The village had been called Abbott's Blenchley. It had straggled
along the banks of a delightful little river called the Abbott which was
dark and rank now, hardly more than a stream and completely hidden by
shops and houses, with the waste from the Blenchley Road factories pouring
into it. But here and there a grassy bank remained, strangely quiet, like
someone pe'eping out from the past. An orphanage also remained, and the
original Green behind Abbott's Road, made square now with iron railings
round it, and the Common at the top of the hill near Tatlin Broadway.
The Common was rough, with untidy bushes and little ridges and hillocks,
and as a child he used to go to the centre so that he could look all round
him and see no buildings at all, only trees and goarse grass.
Cattle still grazed in the orphanage grounds and it was possible
to standiin Tatlin Road, which ran by the side of it, and imagine oneself
in the country. Even Tatlin Road had a country-look at times; there
were only houses down one side and these were detached, standing in their
own gardens.
Tatlin Broadway was a shacky, crowded shopping-centre where
everything used to be squeezed into one narrow street
trams, wheelbarrows,
Woolworths and Marks and Spencers, cinemas and cake-shops and crowds of
people. He was always excited when they went there on Saturday afternoons
to do the big shopping for the week. The lights blazed on both sides,
one bright shop-front after another; and people pressed together on the
pavement, talking and smiling, calling after their children in the
wonderful glow. There were long, roofed-in markets leading from dark
archways, like immense corridors with blazing gas-jets, and there one could


see everything, vegetables, toys, clothes, furniture, sweets and tall
boxes'of biscuits and shining glassware all in a massive array, while the
market-men's voices rang out, exhorting. the women to buy, "Now come on,
sweetheart, you won't get a chance like this again!"
One always came back from Tatlin Broadway loaded with bags;
everything would be put out on the table first, then checked with the
shopping list and put into the larder. His mother would mix a cake for
Sunday, while the fire shone white-hot in the grate, before they all went
down tb the local Co-op for a dance or whist-drive; these usually took
place 'at a school at the end of the road, called Abbott's Road Junior
School, where he and his brothers went until they wère eleven.
At-the end of Abbott's Road there was still thé village inn from
two hundred and fifty years before, with a cobbled yard in front of it.
The river ran behind, at the foot of the garden, where there were tables
and a bowling pitch in the summer. Even the stables were still there:
also the Smithie, in a 'small barn shaded by a huge oak. He always heard
the hammering from his classroom in the junior school, which was exactly
opposite; and sometimes he would go across and watch - the horses being
shoed. He was always astonished that they didn't cry out, having long
hails driven into their feet. They stood there placidly, old cart horses -
-with fat bellies and lovely long maness blinking and shaking the. flies off,
their bright coats twitching, with one leg tucked up, while the trams
rocked and screeched outside: That was about ten years before the 1939 war. .
Afterwards one saw few horses about, unless they were the huge brown dray-
horses that were still kept by some of the breweries for old times' sake.
The stables were torn down after an incendiary bomb caught one of. bhe
timbers during an air-raid. Also the junior school was removed by a


land-mine in 1944. All the windows in the street were blown out when
that land-mine fell and the road was knee-deep in rubble for nearly a
week afterwards. The windows of the inn had been blown out, too, and
much of the roof destroyed. But the tiles were put back carefully and
it all looked much the same as before, except that it was cleaner, like
everything else in the district, without the old griminess, and the
cobbles in front were removed to make an ealier parking space for cars.
The walls in Abbott's Road before the war were more smoky and dingy, and
this had given them a more mysterious look.
Every house was divided into flats, one upstairs and one down,
and his family used to live in' an upper one. The back-rooms looked across
the gardens and were level with the, thickest branches of the great elms.
They were hot and tiny, and all the family-life went on in them. Along
rails over the fireplace handkershiefs and socks were hung to dry, and in
front there was a brass fender where his father's slippers were left to
warm before he came in from work. In the middle of the room there was
a table big enough for eight people at a squeeze, with a thick brown cover
over it, under a tasselled gas-light. And along one wall-was a big
dresser where all the. crockery showed, and opposite this, set in the wall
over the back stairs, was the larder, where he and his brother hid when
they were playing hide-and-seek. In that larder there were bags of dried
fruit that his father brought home from the docks on Friday hights.
He and his brother did their school-work in the back room,
spreading their books over the table and telling each other "Shut. up!"
now and then or "Put a sock in it!" Next door, by the larder, there was
a scullery with a deep copper -for boiling clothes, and a gas stove. His
mother had the boiler removed, to the distress of the landlord, but soon


after the war started the rest of the street followed suit; she was often
quicker in her ideas than other people. She said the boiler was a
'blasted old-fashioned thing' and 'the only creatures who liked it were
the mice!'
Trams ran along at the end of the street and he could hear their
heavy clanging noise from where he slept. Opposite his window there was
a line of roof that stretched uninterrupted the whole length of the street.
Everything was regular and fixed like this. There were chimney-pots at
regular intervals and beyond them the empty sky. But even so the street
had a small, intimate look sometimes and on summer evenings when the sky
was angry and low it would seem to be indoors, exciting, as if an enormous
glass roof had been constructed over it, like the Crystal Palace. And
when there was thick snow it looked like a tiny village-street. He hated
people to come out and shovel the snow into the gutter, which they nearly
always did, making nasty black marks on the pavement; but then sometimes
the snow came again and made what they did ridiculous. One day the
Crystal Palace burst into flames' and he went out into the street and saw
the glow of its fire rising and falling in the sky, making the evening red.
The street was nearly always quiet, like the countryside. Now and
then', in the evening, especially in the winter, there came the sound of
a piano from behind drawn curtains on the other side, hesitant and out of
tune, melancholy like someone crying, without an audience. He and his
sister, younger than he was, slept in the apare room overlooking the street,
while their two brothers shared a bigger room overlooking the side-yard,
where drains gurgled all day.
One of the family got to a university - that was a great event;
it was his eldest brother, and all hopes were centred on him, as the


cleverest of the four. Granville tried to repeat the success but failed.
His other brother went into a stockbroker's office at the age of seventeen
and later became quite a successful business-man.
In a way Granville had an easier time then either of his brothers.
They felt protectively towards him and were always trying to groom him
and prepare him for the world. Both he and his sister basked in grown-up
adoration. By the time they were ten and twelve his brothers were already
bringing money into the house. . The first struggles were over and things
felt safer.
Through his brothers he met middle-class people when he was only
a child, so that he came to know sooner than they did that outside
Abbott's Road there was a world quite different from his own. He was
better prepared for the shocks than they were.
After the university his eldest brother was almost crushed. He
became a drunk and went down to Abbott's Road asking for money. He had
filled Granville with his dreams of what life could be like outside
Abbott's Road. It: was to be so glorious! Then the dreams collapsed, or
rather they were worn slowly down, and he almost went to pieces. But then
as suddenly he mended and became quiet and sober. He started a family
and took up a job with a mining company in South Africa, in mathematics.
His learning' always intimidated Granville. He had a natural grasp which
he, Granville, couldn't iMitate. As for his sister, she married and he
hardly saw her now. Sometimes he remembered hér quiet face from his
childhood and wished he'd married a girl from Abbott's Road.
The family often used to go over to Bethnal Green when they were
children to see' his father's family. At first they used to:go every


Saturday night. Life was more in the open at Bethnal Green; there were
ragged children everywhere, in.loud, scrambling groups. And the streets
looked wider and more hollow, flattened out to the sky, with a raw, smoky
air that grimed everything and yet made it like a new lurid countryside,
iron-coloured and dusty, very still and solemn like a strange ghastly and
fascinating monument. The rooms there were dark and small, and in the
summer people sat in their doorways or on benches put out on the pavement,
the women suckling their babies. At night about ten o'clock old women
with laced-up boots used to shuffle down to the off-licence for their jug
of stout. His grandmother used to. pull the shawl roundiher shoulders and
set off with her flower-painted jug gripped tight in her hand, her lips
pursed mutely together and an obstinate look in her eyes. She was small
and pale, with an extraordinary iron obstinacy.
After the pubs closed there were usually fights, too. The police
kept out of the district on the whole, and it was a law to itself. There
was the smell of cooking from the faggots-and-peas-pudding shop round the
corner, and outside the pub where his uncle went there was always a man
with a horse-and-cart selling cockles and winkles; he used to call out,
"COCK-les end WINK-les!" in a sing-song voice like someone yodelling.
The trams rumbled past with their yellow lights, up on the big road, where
the darkness of these streets, that rose and fell in deep hills as if they'd
been poured on to the earth like lava, ceased for a time. The streets
were always dim at night with a wonderful mysteriousness, because the lamps
were few, much fewer than at Abbott's Road. It was still really the
Victorian world, whereas Abbott's Road belonged to the era of the first
war when people wnated to end the old scrambling life. His mother's
ambition had always been to achieve the new order, of clean streets and


doors that remained closed. She said the words 'Bethnel Green' with a
touch of contempt, as she said 'King George's Dock', where his father worked.
She wanted an end to the ould rough life. And those were her words for
roughness.
In Bethnel Green there was a dusty, vagabondish, warm atmosphere.
When he was a baby the women still wore wide hats and veils over their
faces, and gaitered boots which they used to do up with eye-hooks. The
men wore dark suits with high collars and bowler hats.
Going over to Bethnel Green on Saturday nights was an unquestioned
habit at first, but his mother always seemed to want to draw her children
back from the life there, with a.certain grim distaste. And he hated
going there more and more, as if in obedience to her. He and his sister
would be taken while the older brothers stayed at home. Even as a child
he felt his mother was giving him and his sister a silent directive about
Bethnel Green life. She joined in it, singing and laughing, but she seemed
to be telling them, as they kept close to her, that she was reserving
another future for them.
They all crowded into one tiny, stifling room - his cousins,
his grandmother, Aunt May who was his father's sister, and sundry husbands
and other sisters. The men were slow and blinking, except May's husband.
Granville went there with a divided fascination even as a child, beeling
the division in his mother.
Aunt May, next to his father in age in a family of eleven, was a
kind of queen to them all. She had golden hair which she did in braids,
and a soft, long, beautiful face. Sometimes he watched her take out
her braids until she stood there like a child with golden hair down to the
middle of her back. He adored her with that haunted physical passion of


childhood. He followed her wherever she went, listening to her voice,
that seemed to be eternal. She shouted everything, her head lifted up,
with moist, red lips, but her voice never lost its gentleness; she seemed
to be crying or singing. She swore with nearly every sentence, with a
deep, ribald look in her eyes. The name 'May' always had a special sound,
seeming to cover things deep in the past of the family, like a wonderful,
golden memory of something long ago, not a person at all. She and his
father were the closest in the family; he had a clean, wholesome look
which May admired, and when he appeared in the doorway she would shout,
"Well, bless my arse! There's Alfred! Come and give your sister a kiss,
duck!" Everything she said had a tone of rich, sad, understanding love.
Together she and his father used to smile at the rest of the family for
being doughy'. They were both quick, with the best looks as well.
Granville's father was spellbound by her like everybody else, though they'd
grown up together, and a dreaming look came into his eyes when he said
'old May'. She used to make lavish suppers, and once he heard his.mother
ask as they were going back home, "Where the devil does old May get the
money to do all that?" His father said she'd always been the same. She'd
got the knack! *
May would swing him up in the air when he was a baby so that he
caught his breath, then hold him above her and shout, "He belongs to May,
doesn 't he, the little bugger, eh? Eh?", her eyes flashing. Outside,
dark smoke would drift across the street from a shunting yard round the
corner. Men would pass in heavy boots, from work, with silver chokers
round their necks. Then -she would turn and shout at one of his cousins,
"Now put that bloody 'iron down!" or "For Christ's sake leave off, I'll put
my hand round your mouth in a minute!" The irons were on the stove and


her two sons used to pick them up when they were feeling devilish, and menace
people with them. Yet her voice seemed to encourage them.
By the kerb there were carts with their shafts up, and in the next
street there were stables for the horses. May's eldest son worked on a
cart when he was old enough and sold vegetables. His legs were weak when
he was a child and he had to wear iron struts. He was big-boned, with a
bulbous nose and a rather adenoid way of speaking, and he was always getting
into trouble. He was clumsy and lanky. His father used to take him into
the back-yard and give him a good hiding with his belt, and come back
smiling. All the children had pale, sunken faces but clear and quick
eyes. The beatings had no effect on him and he slouched about insolently
when they were, over. May used to say between her teeth, "That boy's a proper
little sod!"
The last time Granville saw May was when he was about sixteen, in
Abbott's Road. She'd comé on a visit and he went downstairs with his
mother and father to see her off. "The Saturday evening visits had stopped
by that time. It was a summer evening and she was wearing a light hat and
a print dress, rather loose and flowery. He could still remember watching
her back as she walked slowly away from them down the street after saying
good-bye. She had an easy, soft walk. Only it was a little stiffer now,
compared with her young days. And as if she knew what they were thinking
she stopped and turned round to them with a. smile, aad and at the same time
jaunty. Her cheeks were smooth and slightly flushed, as always. Her
eyes had a steady, dark gleam and there were wisps of light brown hair
over her brow. And she said, putting her hand lightly on her hip, "Not
too bad, is she?" Then she walked on and didn't turn round again.
Her favourite swear-word was 'bleed'n'. "Mind my bleed'n corns!"


she would cry if one of the children came too near. This word had a
vicious, forbidden sound to his ears. His mother forebade its use at
Abbott's Road and only said it herself, shyly, when she was with May.
She would try to loosen up in May's company. She would lean forward and
talk with narrowed eyes, using all the swear-words she could think of.
"I said to her, I said, now don 't you come your sodding larks with me,"
she would murmur. She had a delicacy that was crushed when she used
these words deliberately. She needed to be angry, but in May it was an
understood manner of speech. It ran in the family, perhaps, for his
father was the same. He was fond of the words 'shit-house', applied to
people. "He's a real shit-house," he would say during one of his dockyard
stories, and his mother would lower her eyes and murmur reprovingly, "All
right, King George's dock " At other times whe would say, "That's
enough, Bethnel Green!" His father would look at her with his mouth
open and his eyes bewildered, as if unconscious of what hé'd said.
Sometimes May would talk about her husband. "I do love my Sid,"
she would say. "He's lovely! I don't know what I'd do without that
bugger!" And, "Sid does me good!" They never seemed to quarrel. Sid
was a lean, handsome man, not unlike Granville's father to look at, and
on Saturday nights he set out to get as drunk as he could. They would
all start drinking at the pub, with the children waiting outside eating
potato-crisps and sipping ginger beer. Then at closing time everybody
would pour out, stumbling and singing. There would be froups of people
all along the road, rolling and bumping into each other. Sid would always
bring some more beer home with him, in bottles. The men would fall about,
leaning over the women and shouting. Usually Sid looked for someone "to
take into the yard'. He always liked a fight. with bare fists when he was


drunk and he would choose one of the men who might be getting 'nasty'.
Together they would go out and there would be sounds of scuffling from
the yard, and dull blows. Granville and his sister would cling to their
mother, trembling. Then Uncle Sid would come back, smiling as he did
after beating his son, and say, "He's out!" He was always the victor and
once or twice left the other man quite inconscious in the yard. After a
time the other man would return with a bleeding nose or a black eye, sober.
May had a daughter called Eve, who was a little older than
Granville and was a special friend of his sister. May always called her
'young Eve', in the. same lingering way as she talked about her husband.
From the earliest times May and Eve. went shopping and did the housework
together, and were allies in everything. There was the same softness in
Eve as in her mother, and one could even see in her, as,a child, some of
the jauntiness as well. She protected her mother against the boys in the
family and hated Bethnel Green in the same spirit as Granville's mother did.
She had the same kind of delicacy in her, too. She never swore like the
others and had a gracious, quiet manner. On Saturday nights she would
lay the supper in the kitchen and see the youngest children to bed. Now
and then someone would ask, "Where's young Eve?" There was a great deal
of sadness in her eyes, and she gazed at things for a long time as if trying
to see their meaning. She was a little ashamed of her lolling brothers,
who said 'bu'er' instead of 'butter'. Granville's mother used to imitate
them on the way home from Bethnel Green sometimes: "Bu'er, bu'er, wa'er,
wa'er!" Those boys are proper gentlemen, aren't they?"
Annt May had a special gamé for the boys of the family, to chase
them round the room and make a sudden dive for their trousers, to catch
their 'little winkles'. Then she would hold up her hand, showing them


her thumb sticking out between her fingers, and cry, "I got it! I got it!"
And the boys always looked down at their trousers, half-believing. This
game excited him. One evening, without any consciousness of what he was
doing, in the passage-way near the door, he suddenly stopped while she
was chasing him and turned round to face her as if to say, 'You needn't
chase me,, it's yours for the asking! She stopped, too, and raised
herself up slowly, gazing at him with a slowly dawning expression; then a
look of utter disgust came into her eyes, the only one he ever saw, and
she walked slowly away.
Eve was the only one of the family he'd seen since the war. She
lived near Wimbledon now, in a suburb like the U.K. Compound in Basrah,
with a husband and four children. Her cheeks were rosy now and she was
quite plump. Much of the sadness had gone out of her eyes but they still
had a. baffled, searching look. Aunt May had died some years before,
suddenly. Whenever Granville talked to Eve he saw flashes of her mother's
face in her and almost gasped. There was the old rich tone, and the
jauntiness. It was in the way she lifted-up her head sometimes, smiling,
with bright eyes, when she made a joke or shouted at her children, seeming
to encourage them just as her mother did. Her children were quiet and
well cared for, with her rosy look. She'd coolly made it the ambition
of her life to get May and the rest of the family out of Bethnel Green,
and she'd succeeded. The 1939 war gave her the chance, when the bombing
got really bad. She levered them slowly out of the district they loved,
from the tiny dark house they belonged to. By that time she and her
father were earning decent money and she found the Wimbledon house. It
was a detached house and nobody could imagine May living there. But she
loved it and even started looking after the garden. After her death Sid


moved away and Eve was now alone with her own family. She had a spotlessly
clean home, with nice furniture, not at all suburban in taste.
Eve turned to him once when he went over for tea and said, "Do you
know, I can't help feeling swindled with life?
Do you know what I mean?
I feel I've missed something been swindled out of it! Perhaps I'm just
getting old!" May's shadow, jaunty and sad at the same time, came into
her face for a moment. "Then I think it might have been the war. But I
don't know --- I've got everything I want but I'm not satisfied and I
don't know what it is!"
Her husband said he thought it was the war. It had taken five
years off people's lives, he said. But she wasn't satisfied with this.
Granville thought he understood her.
But her husband denied it. They
had everything they wanted, he said, and they must be grateful; there were
other people in the world, many of them, less fortunate than they were!
"But I wasn't thinking about other people," Eve said quietly. "I
was thinking about myself! 'And I'm sorry to say it I don't care about
other people! We're always being told about other people, it seems."
And she gave her husband a sharp look.
At Tatlin Broadway there were two cinemas, one of them like a huge,
gilt palace inside with thick twirling columns and an organ that came out
of the ground. Sometimes there was a stage show as well, and once even
a circus. He used to be taken there once a month or so, usually on
Saturday afternoons for the one o'clock performance. But sometimes his
mother would take him and his sister to the other less grandiose cinema on
a week-day; the fact that it wasn't huge and gilt like the other one seemed
to affect the film and made it less convincing for him.


Once when he was about thirteen his; father came home helplessly
drunk, on a Friday night after he'd been paid. He had to crawl up the
stairs and made a frightful clattering noise. It was two or. three hours
after his usual time and Granville and his sister were already in bed.
They heard their mother rush down from the back-room and shout from the
top of the stairs, "God Christ almighty, look at this!" Then she said
in a scolding voice that sent a shiver down their spines, "Come on!
Come on!", and more quietly, "What the devil have you been up to?" They'd
never heard her speak to their father like this before - just as if he
were a child! And so she went on while he made a grotesque mumbling noise,
trying to keep his balance on the stairs and pulling the rods out. "Look
what you're doing!" she cried. "Why, you rotten drunken bugger!" But at
the same time her voice was mild, with pity and a touch of rapt interest.
"You ought to be damned-well ashamed of yourself!" Then one of Granville's
brothers came out and helped him up, saying quietly, "Come on, dad, that's
all right." He wasn't a bit alarmed and after that their mother said
little. She only murmured, "I don't know, I don't know!" to herself while
their brother hurried up and down the corridor getting hot water and a
face-flannel, after they'd got him on to a bed. Neither Granville nor
his sister. dared get up. They only sat quite still on their beds staring
before them, their mouths open, nudging each other when there was a new
sound. They heard their mother say briskly in the bedroom, "Turn over!
It serves you damned-well right!" and their brother murmured, "That's all
right, mum, leave him alone now."
Apparently, his face was covered with glood because his glasses had 5
been smashed. There were still tiny pieces of glass embedded in his fore-
head and their brother spent a long time getting them out, with his usual


patience and kindly good will, while his father snored. "He's just had
a good time, that's all," they heard him tell their mother. The next day
they found out that he'd fallen down the whole length of the stairs at
Tatlin Road station; these thairs were very steep, and were edged with
little steel studs. He'd landed on the asphalt at the bottom and said
that as far as he could remember he'd slept there for some time. Anyway,
no one had helped. him up and-he'd had to crawl home on all fours
"keeping to the wall of course," he said. He waited whenever he had a
road to cross, looking left and right as the safety-first posters advised.
His knees were cut and his trousers torn. "It was that damned cider
did it!" he said. The next morning, it being Saturday, he brought tea
round to everybody. Granville took his in silence and didn't say good
morning; this was about the time when his horror of Abbott's Road was
beginning. His sister asked quietly, "How do you feel, dad?" for there
were scars and a graze on the upper part of his face. Then Granville
regretted not saying hullo and laughed. But their father was ashamed,
like a child. He went about the house quietly and cooked a huge breakfast
of sausages, eggs, tomatoes, bacon and fried bread for them all. In a
way the episode was a fling into the old life, which he never repeated
again; or perhaps it was only the cider!
The visits to Bethnel Green gradually stopped. Now and then they
went back into the mystery of the old life. He remembered- being taken
to a men's club and seeing music-hall turns on a tiny stage; -the room-was
tall and Victorian with a massive fire-place, and the ceiling had elaborate
plaster-work all over it. Everybody joined in the songs that always
madenhim feel say
"Holdyyour hand out, you naughty boy"", "My old man
said foller the gan!" and "Who were you with, last night?" They were


rollicking and generous, with such unbearable tenderness and sweetness
in them. The gas-lamps had gaudy tasselled shades with beads, and the
room had a hot, dark, solid feeling.
Every night when they went to bed Granville's mother took him and
his sister to her lap, standing by the bed while they kneeled on it,
leaning against her, and said the Lord's prayer in a soft voice, with
another little prayer that went, 'God bless mummy and daddy, uncles and
aunties, soldiers and sailors, tinkers and tailors, gran'mas and gran'dads.'
The God she spoke to seemed a different God from the one in church. This
God in her prayer was deep in the past, of enormous volume like the sun
or the wind or the dawn, with unlimited patience and pity, looking after
everything in a kindly way.
When his father talked about the docks, they also seemed far in the
past, though he might have been there only an hour before. He would talk
about the biting winds that came down the river past King George's wharf,
and the grimy brick walls of Silvertown, and the swaying tram that took
him through Blackwell tunnel soon after dawn every day, while: the sky was
heavy with smoke and river-mist. He would stand at the back door for a
moment after he got up in the morning, gazing into the blackness of the
garden that was like a great beast outside. His movements as he made tea,
and put scalding water into his shaving bowl all had something devout
about them, with an extraordinary relish and glow. He would stand by the
kitchen table with his cup of. tea, kis eyes lost as he blew the steam
away before each sip, making a loud sucking noise of which he was unaware.
Then there was the brisk walk down to the trams and the swaying voyage
through the dim, mysterious streets of West Ham and Plaistow and Canning
Town, with people just stirring about, yawning and stamping their feet,


muffled up.
His mother always talked about. the old days in a grudging numbed
way. "Some people talk about the good old days," she would say, "not
me!" But when she talked about her father, whose nickname had been 'the
gent', there was a sing-song richness in her voice that reminded him of
Aunt May.
She had a dream of what it was like to be rich. It was a
compound of all the ordinary things whose taste and touch were cosy
the table-cloth that went on for tea, the breat-and-cheese and pickles at
bed-time, the sound of the crowds at the Tatlin dog-track on Thursday
evenings like a vast sigh drifting across the back-gardens, the crackling
of Guy Fawkes fires on the Fifth of November, the fillets of plaice she
sometimes brought in for tea as a special treat, the front-room which was
used on Sundays when there were visitors with its deep armchairs and
settee and bowl of nuts on the table while the street lay silent outside
and the sound of the muffin-man with his bell came through the window
closer and closer. Richness was the accumulation of all those little
moments into one long pause without any more worrying or skimping. She
couldn't believe that rich people had any worries; some people had it
perfect! That was her dream and she stuck to it grimly. Money solved
everything.
In the old days, she said, people were 1 just goods and chattels'.
You never dared to raise your voice against the 'higher-ups', she said.
You had to bow down to nearly everybody - to your own parents, to policement
to shop-keepers, even to well-dressed passers-by in the street! Every
little pleasure was a privilege in those days! A privilege to be employed
at half-a-crown a week! She'd been sent out to work at the age of twelve,


working as a kitchen-scivvy, and her mother had waited at the corner -
every Friday night to take her half-a-crown.
Granville was taken to see his maternal grandmother a short time
before she died, and remembered a tall, gloomy and yet awesome and
fascinating room full of knick-knacks and velvet curtains and lacework.
She wouldn't part with her. money and died on it, they said. One of the
brothers called Charlie, a regular in the army, whom Granville's mother
called 'doughy', cut the money out of her mattress a few hours after she
died and went oversea back to his unit with it. Nobody knew how much
there was but it was said between fifty and a hundred pounds, quite a tidy
little sum for those days. Other people said that the old girl couldn't
have saved. so much because 'the gent' liked his drop too much. Every
Friday night when the money was in his pocket the gent used to leave the
house in a top hat, with a' smart cane in his hand, tall and impeccably
dressed, and would return after midnight 'as drunk as a fiddler's bitch';
the children would hear him pass their door in his socks.' He never got
a speck of dirt on his evening clothes, it was said. Like Granville's
father he used to work at King George's Dock; when he was drunk he. called
dockers 'a lot of bloody riff-raff and bugger the lot of them!' He was
greatly loved at his work and it was said that he could bring barges into
dock like a magician. At the end of his life he was a tug-man and the
rough work, which exposed him to river-mists and gof, killed him.
Granvillé's mather was a slim, good-looking man with smooth, dark
hair. He loved the huge elms that. swayed with the wind in the Abbott's
Road back-gardens, and said he'd like a forest full of them outside the
window; he used to lean on the window-sill gazing out on summer evenings.
Other people's gardens were always mysterious; some were well cared-for and


others like tropical scrub: Some had an unknowable, dark look because
their owners were unknown. These gardens were most exciting on Guy Fawkes
night when tall bon-fires were lit and fireworks whizzed into the air,
lighting up the still trees, and sparks drifted about, and silver
St. Catherine's Wheels hissed and whirled round and round while all the
windows glittered and there was the sound of children's voices and repeated
crashes and smart bangs and pops that were like a man frantically beating
on drums in the sky! Effigies of Guy Fawkes with a wide-brimmed black
hat, his jacket swollen out like a pumpkin, were raised up and then let
fall with a last reclining movement into the flames, which always made
him catch his breath.
Granville's father only had to think about flowers at night to fall
asleep. Sometimes on the tram-journey to work he would start planning
next year's garden in his mind. "I think of all the colours," he would
say, "and I feel all right!" He was against picking flowers for the
house and said the garden was a place for flowers to life and breathe in.
Half-way up Tatlin Road, opposite the orphanage grounds, he had an
allotment for vegetables, one of many little narrow plots covering a whole
field that always looked untidy and bleak. In the summer Granville and
his sister would go up and help him with the lettuces and radishes for
Sunday tea. They would bring everything back in a wheelbarrow. Sometimes
Granville lay in the sun with his eyes closed, at the side of the allotment
where there was a grassy path, listening to the oak-trees swaying in the
breeze on the other side of the road and imagining himself in hilly,
spacious country far from London with the sea glittering near by. He
connected the countryside with summer weather and never thought of it
otherwise.


There was a bitter scrape for money at one time, during the
Depression; his father was laid off at the docks. Strangely, his mother
stopped grumbling about money as she .usually did, and was mute and pale
instead. She was rigid with an old fear that chilled her bones and
plunged her in doom and shame. There was a superstitious horror of
unemployment in Abbott's Road, and while this period lasted they got no
visits from the neighbours at all. Unemployment was like smallpox or
fever.
Uncle Sid, May's husband, said that the Granvilles were fools to
keep their children at school so long. "I'd give them education!" he
said in a vehement way. "They won't thank you for it! They'll only
turn up their noses at you!" His parents were quiet and firm. They
listened, and his mother nodded her head in agreement. But in his father's
eyes there was a gleaming, distant look, almost smiling, impervious to Sid's
arguments.
But things got better just before the war; the old pinched feeling
want. His two brothers were now at work; and the whole district round
Abbott's Road seemed to share the bell-being. The district had a life quite
its own: the lending library glowed cosily in the evenings, and sometimes
the street-lamps gave the impression with their intimate twinkle of
numberless exciting things about to happen. Saturday evening was the
most exciting, before a dance: his father would hurry up and down the
corridor asking for his cuff-links or a new starched collar, while his
mother sat quietly in the bedroom before the mirror powdering. herself with
only a petticoat on, queenly and still. And this bustle gave everything
a luscious, thriving look, especially in the back-room where the fire
blazed white and the tasselled lamp-shade cast a shrouded light over the


table. At the school where the dance was held there would be ham-
sandwiches, cakes and lemonade in one of the class-rooms, and someone
would be sprinkling french chalk on the floor when they arrived, and the
women in the cloak-room would be talking and laughing in undertones,
opening and closing their hand-bags with a sharp clicking noise in the
silence before the band started. The hall would look bare and seem to
be holding its breath, with chairs along each wall. Once his father was
Master of Ceremonies, and there was nearly chaos. He got the Paul Jones,
the 'spot' and Sir Roger de Coverley mixed up in some way, and in the
raffle the serial-numbers of the tickets in the hat were different from
those he'd sold to the audience. But it was much.more comic than an
ordinary evening and the band stood him three pints of best winter ale in
the pub opposite during the interval, and he could hardly keep to his
feet for the rest of the evening. He preferred to watch people, his
eyes glowing, with a smile from ear to ear, than arrange things.


CHAPTER 9.
Granville's horror of Abbott's Road grew like a ghost over his
life, from outside, independent of him. It happened after he left the
junior school at the bottom of the street; he stopped looking at
Abbott's Road as his natural home. In a few years he was quite torn out
of it and couldn't go back: his consciousness was changed for good.
It wasn't what he'd expected at all. When he was eleven he took
his scholarship to the secondary school eagerly, thinking it would be
much like the school at the bottom of the road, where you were always happy
more of less. He took the exam in a dream. He wrote an essay about
snakes and what lovely colours they had, though he'd never seen one. And
a few weeks later, at prayers, in the hall with tall windows at one end
and a parquet floor, the headmaster read out a list of those who had passed
and gave them permission to run home at once and tell their mothers. It
was a clear, wintry, sun-lit day and everything looked extraordinarily
wide-open to the sky. Sitting on the floor of the hall listening to the
names being read out slowly and clearly he had the impression of a great
flash when the letter G arrived and then, after two or three other names,
he heard 'Philip Granville'. The flash seemed to extend, in an instant,
across his whole future life, that was now quite changed.
When he got home with the news his mother had just finished
cleaning the stairs and the front door was open. He'd run all the way,
along the kerb with one foot on and one foot off, bouncing up and down


with happiness. He called up from the door, "Mum! I won a scholarship!"
She turned slowly at the top of the stairs and a long time passed while
- she gazed down at him in silence, and then she murmured almost in a whisper,
"Oh, my. son, you have
That's a good boy! Come upstairs and let me
give you a kiss." And he saw tears beginning to fall down her face.
Then, afterwards, he became aware of Abbott's Road as a locality
for the first time, apart from him. The glow went out. It became
physical: there were just roofs, tram-lines, pavéments like a hard picture
in.front of him! A frightful. emptiness and drought fell on his life.
The higher school was called a 'public day school', which meant it
wasn't a real public school but an imitation. And this was the whole
atmosphere, of imitation; conducted by people who didn't know the original,
either. A 'gentleman' was someone who never said anything spontaneous
or rash.
He was miserable as he'd never been before in his life and never
was again. A riumbing wretchedness of spirit persisted from hour to hour
every day under the eyes of adults who rarely vouchsafed a glimpse of
their humanity, though there were one or two exceptions - poor devils
who'd sold their lives to this little fake-castle of ignorance: It was
more an ignorance of the possible graciousness in life than lack of book-
learning, though this was mostly faked, too. Learning was dished-up in
the style of high-class goods not to be touched easily by the sons of
Bethnel Green, Mile End, Stepney and Walthamstow, of whom the school
consisted. The moment he got there he felt the shadow of a kind or
original sin: it was the street where he was born - a matter of
'background'. That word had an unpleasant ring, rather like syphilis.
And this gradually had to be wiped out and the manners associated with it


gradually replaced by an air of half-sneering irony. Those who got on
best were the boys who locked everything inside them and spoke staccato
little sentences like pettets being spat out of their mouths; also they
had to play sports, though with ascetic grimness
muddy and hard-eyed;
even on the playing field relish wasn't allowed. Nothing 'soft'! In
the summer there was a choice of two sports, rowing or cricket. Rowing
was frowned-on, perhaps because of the grace a boat had when it skimmed
through the water, like a delicate sheath of wood. The headmaster was
a quiet, charming man who gave the impression of smothering his real life
behind pale, fixed lips; he glanced about him nervously and sometimes
yelled at the top of his voice, between the same fixed lips, as he swept -
through the corridors in the lunch-hour, pencil in hand, hisrgown flowing
behind him. He had a hard job grooming the sons of working people into
class-habits that weren't even the best class-habits!
The headmaster always wanted to 'raise the tone', as he called it.
Straw boaters were worn in the summer. There were Field Days, Old Boys'
Dinners and House meetings every Friday evening after school, and houses
called 'Mafeking' or Punjab'. There was a dining hall, a tuck shop, a
chapel with an organ, and onee, before the 1914 war, there had even been a
few boardérs. The grounds and the school itself, which was Victorian
gothic, red brick, with ivy over the front and mullioned windows, were
quite pleasant. Sometimes they had the air, especially in the evening,
with the tall trees and bright green lawns, of being in the country and of
being really old. The foundation of the school reached back to Tudor
times and this was made much of by the headmaster. In a way, the boys had
to make up for the social disappointments of the teachers.
He lost his confidence. He saw his mother and father as some of


his teachers might see them. The back-room at Abbott's Road seemed tiny
and stifled him. He was bored. The old life was small and uneventful.
Nothing happened in the street; he was always waiting for something new to
happen; a nervous concept of life as on a rapidly moving belt of time was
being implanted in him. He couldn't read a sentence in a book without his
mind wandering. He'd been given a mind, but it did none of the things
education required it to do. It spent most of its time thinking about
women. Enjoyment was suspect in any case -- one really had to do better
than enjoying books!
Abbott's Road was now a kind of prison-yard for him. 'Town' was
the centre of London where everything important want on. In his own
district nothing counted. What people said and what they did hadn't the
slightest influence. The newspapers decided everything; they came to
Abbott's Road from outside, like the radio. Everything came from outside,
informing one about the real state of things! But education had elected
him to a new position supposedly, at any rate: he was now among those
who could influence matters! Except that nobody, including himself, really
thought so.
He was always being criticised at school for his accent. He was
asked how verse could be recited in such a voice. He started having
dreams that his real voice broke through his genteel voice and talked
obscenities which showed everybody where he 'came from' ' . Everything was
now part of a map in his consciousness, even his own existence and his
own body. He watched life from outside, in stillness. There was no
further movement in his life. He was bleeding for the touch of another
creature; there was no one he could.speak to any more, after all. They-
languagetiof this.motheriand father was foreign. Everybody in the district


was a foreigner. He started to fear going outside the door. The
district was like a huge monument with nothing growing in it - terribly
hard, made of concrete and slate, angular, without a soft curve anywhere.
His whole spirit sank down and everyday was like the opening of a severe
cross-examination. This was so in term-time; during the holidays there
were a few pleasant and even happy days as before. He had a growing
sense of unworthiness and. wrong-doing. He felt he hadn't the slightest
human status. He blushed helplessly in front of people and stood
paralysed and speechless with fear, quite giddy, his eyes staring out of
his head. These were some of the glorious effects of education, which
the middle classes were holding up as a passport to health and joy!
Not that there was any slave-driving at the school. It. was quite
liberal, in fact. There was an up-to-date theatre with the best stage
equipment. Russian was taught, before most schools started it. The
caning was moderate, but energetic when it happened. One was 'taken to
the bathroom' for a caning. The master ran the length of the bathroom
to get a decent momentum. But this practice was dying out. Granville
had it only once, and went about with four cuts across his arse for a
week afterwards. On the whole, masters shrank from doing it. The
atmosphere was kindly; or rather, it was hesitant, as if nobody was quite
sure of his authority.
His mind was a complete mess. He had no idea what they were trying
to teach him! All he got was the names of things! In history there was
the divine right of kings, mercantilism, the rotten boroughs, the balance
of power, the rise of nationalism, electoral reform, the factory acts, the
Irish question, all in one big dirty heap! Not a face, not a human
creature to be seen! Well, Henry VIII and Elizabeth were allowed faces -


but that was from his first school. Now they were squashed under a Star
Chamber - he never knew what the devil that was! He got all the
Jameses mixed up. And the word 'Jacobean' - that beat every other
word in the curriculum! It was so like Jacobin', which seemed to mean
something absolutely different, even French! There was also 'Jacobite'.
By association with the French word 'Jacobin', and because of an image
that persisted in his mind of James II escaping from England wi thout his
trousers on, having just thrown the Great Seal (whatever that was) in the
river Thames, he thought Bansculottes were the king's supporters, namely,
Jacobites a a bizarre mixture!
He even had the sansculottes fight a pitched battle -- wit thout
their trousers of course, but perhaps they. wore kilts - at Killiecrankie
against William and Mary. There was another James called the Pretender
but that was best left alone. A sentence he found, 'the grace and
elegance of the Jacobean', had him baffled for over five years. He
couldn't see why bloodthirsty French radicals should be called graceful
and elegant.
But the name that introduced our epoch
ah, that was something!
The Industrial Revolution! Like a huge cloud so vague and dark that you
could say what you liked about it and it was luck if you were right or not.
That name gave off thousands of others like a heap of rotten garbage
proliferating with white worms. Also there was a new master. He was
going to teach history the. modern way! No more kings and queens and
prime ministers - the people had to be studied, the lives of ordinary
people! But that was even worse! They turned into even longer names,
such as Wage Levels, Mortality Rates, Sanitation and Living Conditions!
And, of course, the Industrial Revolution wasn't really a revolution.


But of course not? Did you think that in our high-class school we
actually said what we mean? Oh, no! It was' a 'process'. That was
the name you used if you wanted to be really superior -- - - and under it,
quite inexplicably, there was a little crowd of men, called Arkwright,
Watt, Murdock, Stephenson, jumbled up with spinning jennies, the Stockton-
Darlington line, a 'Rocket', and God knows what else! Then there were
the 'Factors'. These were the worst of all! When you heard that word you
knew there'd be a list a mile long. The 'Factors' were Speenhamland (but
of course! this was so obvious that he never knew what it was!), Cottage
Craftsmen, Turnpike Roads, Canals, Coal and the Steam Engine! As for the
spinning jenny he didn't even know it was connected with yarn or cloth in
any way. It was just - well, the spinning jenny, you know! Years later,
by accident, he opened a child's encyclopedia and read that the wife of a
poor weaver had one day dropped her spinning wheel on the floor and her
husband had noticed how it spun round and round as it lay there, which
gave him the idea of the first spinning machine; and the wife's name was
Jenny! Simple! But not if you're a bit of a cut above everybody ètse,
of course you don't tell that sort of thing! And Arkwright had been a
hairdresser! When he heard this he asked himself with astonishment how
a hairdresser had been allowed in such an important-sounding list of
Factors! A hairdresser - started the Industrial Revolution:
No wonder he felt he was floating above life all the time instead
of learning about it. He began to get a sense of the world not as men
and women and trees and things like that but a system of names held high
above real life. First the system, then the things themselves! Even
his mother and father changed - they were now little units in a vast
'working class'.


It seemed that all life was only an example of something higher
that had no taste, no sound, no heart and no face. And a chill grew
in him. It was living in a worldcof ghosts. His mother and father
gradually began to seem a bit childish and innocent in his eyes, and they
felt this new attitude in him. They lived so deeply and wholly in the
street where he was born that he now seemed - in his knowledge of all
the other streets that existed, and the map of names that covered them all---
far in advance of them! His eyes had been opened! He could see the
whole map on which they were only a tiny mark! At the same time he saw
that they were better people than himself; better than his teachers, too.
A frightful neutral misery came into his life.
He had the impression éven at the time that he wasn't learning to
think at all, only how to think in a certain way; and he had an inkling
that perhaps this wasn't the way people had thought in the past or a natural
way of thinking at any time. It was special in some way. He felt he'd
inherited one world through his birth and another one through his education;
and they were different from each other to the point of requiring entirely
new ways of perceiving, even of smelling, seeing and hearing.
There was only one thing of interest at school - masturbation, It
was the great school sport.- There was no need to take an examination in
it; everybody would have passed with honours, anyway. But it was still
competitive. A team was started once in which prizes were given for the
yuickest orgasm
self-abuse to start from the stop-watch. It was funny
to hear the headmaster talk about'raising the tone' to a stupendous male
whorehouse where a brisk and noisy trade went on all day. Occasionally
the staff issued a warning about 'bull-fighting', a euphemism for 'ball-


fighting', in which a group of boys would tear someone's trousers off
and toss him off, watching his struggles turn into grateful acquiesence.
One boy, a vast rugger-playing 'man', said there was nothing better than
a pound of liver nailed to the wall for the pleasures of a wife. He did
it every evening and went round to the butcher's every week to get his
'pound of pleasure'.
Sex was the only pleasure school left intact. It was the only
little frail power and dignity left to you. Otherwiée you were just a poor,
pale, wilted thing crammed with facts. You didn't have to learn it. It
was something you could actually do yourself, without having some pot-faced
misery telling you you needed more style! You could do it with your own
hands!
There were a few serious 'marriages' at school: a couple would
stay together and have an agreement about being faithful to each other.
These affairs seemed to have more passion and tenderness than one saw
later in life. One famous 'marriage' took place while he was at school
between a good-looking boy nicknamed Strumpelpeter, because of his shock 3
of blond hair, and another called 'the Gordian knop' because his real
name was Knott and he was reticent' and difficult to fathom. These nick-
names ran through the school and lasted a certain time. One master, a
shy, worried-looking man, was nicknamed 'The Hand' because when he called
out a boy to his desk to run through an essay he always put his hand up
his trousers and fondled his balls. Another, the geography man, was
called 'The Kipper' because he liked to organise camping holidays and
would ask any boy he had his eye on to 'kip down' next to him at night.
Boys with real homosexual appetités often did well at: their work.
They didn't ache to get away home as the others did; they lingered in the


changing-rooms and the dining hall afterwards, watching their fellow-
voluptuaries walk by. They lived in an atmosphere of Latin primers and
glowing Victorian rooms . with coloured shields on the mantelpiece, and
gas-fires at dusk when there was extra study, and the smell of stale tea
in the evening from the kit tchens. They had everything they wanted. But
Granville was among the majority whose sexual pleasures at school were only
vicarious, and usually solitary. Only when a local girl's school paid
a courtesy visit did he come to life: he poured a cup of hot tea down the
headmaster's wife's back in his nervousness and blushed so much that his
face tingled afterwards. His ears were still bright red when he woke up
next morning. He tripped over people's feet, grinned sheepishly and
gawped at the girls, completely speechless.
His failing mat triculation was the first real blow. There'd been
hopes that he might go to a university, but failing matric put the kibosh
on that! He was too shy even to walk along the street properly and he
spent hours trying to pluck up the courage just to leave the house. He
blushed and faltered if a passer-by happened to throw him a glance. The
bus-rides to school were a real torture. He spent five years at school
virtually listening for the bell at the end of each lesson.
His only other pleasure was rebellion. He was known at school
as a 'fire-eater' and 'against' almost everything. He hated England and
he hated the Church. Those were his two platforms. One term-report ended
with the words, 'Lack of patriotism is not enough.' It stung him because
it was true; the cut went home.
He turned to music. He first listened to one or two records his
brothers brought home, then he started going to concerts. Music always
made him feel calm and resolved afterwards. He began to need it like


fresh air - to keep him alive!
He started having what he called giddy fits. He couldn't describe
them because they weren't physical. But they had physical effects. They
always started when he was along. He might be sitting in a chair reading,
then slowly he would seem to lose connection with the things round him and
would go into a state where his self would actually seem to disappear and
his mind float high above his body. He banged things furiously to bring
himself back. Or he shouted- for the people downstairs. The sight of a
person would restore him to life again at once.
Even to his parents and his brothers and sister he seemed a
stranger now. They looked at him in a puzzled way. The fun he'd always
had with his sister stopped. He gave her the same look of loneliness
that he gave everyone else.
He went to Cambridge to see his brother and this had a devastating
effect on him. For the first time he actually came face to face with
that other world he'd dreamed about so much! So his vision of it was
true! It did abound with grace and love, just as his brother had always
promised.
He loved the narrow cobbled side-streets and walked along King's
Parade again and again. There was nothing to remind him of Abbott's Road.
Not one grimy wàll! The lawns were neatly kept -- extraordinarily bright!
And the quadrangles of the colleges, enclosed and utterly quiet with some
of the windows glowing wafmly and casting a light on to the cobbles below, were
like a dream he'd always had but never been able to define! He lived in
one of these rooms on the second floor - they were the guests' rooms
and spent hours sitting over the fire imagining himself an undergraduate.
While his brother went to lectures he walked by the river behind the


colleges where everything was laid out like a superb garden and nothing
seemed to move, even, from a distance, the riverq shining like glass
between the lawns. The dons had quiet and reflective faces as he'd always
imagined the faces of those who belonged to the other world! Every time
he passed one of them he tried to make his own features as gentle and lost
as possible. He imagined them living magnificent lives with everything
they said and thought subtle and quiet, their manners always perfect.
They understood all thoughts! No delicacy escaped them. It was as
much as he could do to speak if one of them addressed him!
His brother's college had a fountain in the middle of the front
quadrangle, and the trees near the river were just visible over the roofs.
The scout built him a big fire every evening when he came in, and he took
tea in his armchair, gazing across at the latticed window, a tremendous
luxury. The room, too, was a dream. It was small with a low ceiling
and heavy beams, at the top of a very narrow wooden staircase. An arched
window overlooked the quadrangle, tiny and high in the wall so that little
light came through and the room wasualways mysterious. By the door there
was a bookcase and near it an ink-stained desk. The carpet was worn but
thick, and there were two great armchairs and a settee. He could think
of nothing more wonderful and wanted to stay in the room all his life! It.
was specially marvellous on the second morning when he woke up and found
bright sunlight streaming through the window on to the carpet so that
everything glittered and - the whole city outside seemed to exist inside a
kind of sparkling eternity and to promise extraordinary happenings during
the day. The traffic had a special sound in the distance and he felt
sure, by a peculiar premonition, that a room like this would one day be
his.


He imagined sitting in hall at dinner in the evening with a gown
over his shoulders, and going back to his room afterwards with a friend
and sitting talking over the fire all through the night, surrounded by
books and papers, his legs stretched out; they would make tea or cocoa in
the wooden corridor outside, where the gas-ring was, and make quiet jokes
while the rest of the college slept. He would think about books all day,
and the sun would come glittering through the window; there would never
be a painful thought in his life again!
There was a feeling in him he'd néver be able to shake off,
perhaps - that he couldn't understand things that came easily to other
people! He watched the other boys in hall and wondered how they could
behave so confidently, so much as if the world was comprehensible: He
had to work harder than anybody else, so he thought - because he could
understand less:
He was told by his history teacher at school that he must stop
'flying too high' in his essays. When he talked - when something
interested him
he ran on hotly, in the manner of Abbott's Road. But
that wouldn't do for school! You had to be neat and cool. So he tried
to write bluntly and to cut his feelings as short as possible.
achieve the history teacher's coolness, which was only mediocrity, he-
distorted and damaged the thing that was best in him. At the same time
he knew this wasn 't na tural or good. He began to find that when he wrote
palely, with only a small part of his energiès, he got good marks. So he
went through all his essays afterwards cutting out the strong and direct-
sounding words and putting hesitant ones in, like 'on the whole' and 'so
to speak' and perhaps' and 'rather' and 'quite' and 'taking all in all'.
He imitated what he thought was the necessary cool style. It felt like


blasphemy and self-betrayal.
But while he was sure somet thing was wrong, he knew no other way
of learning. And he was influenced by his school enough not to be able
to credit anyone he read about with a real life like his own. If he
learned the word accidie or a phrase like the night of the soul from a
potted history of the Middle Ages he would never connect them with the
feelings of emptiness he himself had at Abbott's Road! So he barred
himself from real learning before he started. The moment d he set foot
in the world outside Abbott's Road - by going to high school
mental world started in him in which his own flesh and experience, not only
his accent, were flung out of service: both were infra dig!
The attitude grew up in him at this time that his parents lacked
full moral responsibility for their own actions. Compared with the
people of the higher world, few of whom he'd met and none of whom he knew,
they were cl blind to life and were moved along by it in an automatic way.
The people higher up carried about a conscious moral map of the world in
their heads and applied the principles deliberately, while his mother
and father were vague as to what they stood for. They didn't approach
other people with a deliberate air. They only did what seemed right to
them, apparently in blindness, when the occasion arose: but before and
after such an occasion their morality was hidden. And this didn't seem
to him a real morality.
Definite perceptual differences began to grow up between him and
them. He no longer had any idea what it felt like to be them. He
couldn't imagine, for instance, what it was like to do the same work every
day and live in the same street and not ache for something more.. He knew


it was possible and he knew he'd felt the same in his early years: but he
couldn't remember what it was like. How far did his parents have his
insight into things? Had they a deeper or a lesser insight? For while
he attributed a lesser moral consciousness to them, he also suspected
that in their silence there was something deeper he could no longer grasp.
They had a steadiness, both of them, which he knew he'd lost. He relied
on their goodness every day as a constant and unchangeable factor. Yet
he couldn't see it as full moral responsibility. They were 'blind'.
And he had no insight into this blind world he had once occupied; he, could
only see his childhood like a wonderful landscape in the farthest distance.
The people from the other world looked at you clearly. That is,
their eyes showed a quick sensitivity to everything you did. This he
called having a delicate understanding. But in Abbott's Road there was
always a certain vagueness in people's eyes. His own eyes had it, too,
and he began to regret it while he was at school and to try to diminish it,
by pinching his look into what he thought was a down-to-earth look. And
there was this vagueness in his work, too, he thought - - the same thing
'flying high', as the history-teacher called it. One mustn't fly!
When he stood in front of someone from the higher world he felt
acutely and morbidly aware of himself. More than this, he felt that
hidden questions were being asked about him, in the silence of the other
person's head. Deductions were being made from his appearance. These
questions concerned his true personality, underneath
what. was his
character like? was he clever? was he good? That was what he meant by
their approaching people deliberately, unlike his parents! He was dazzled
by this! It was a curiosity about other people which he'd never found in
Abbott's' Road. He thought of it as an acute appreciation of other people,


though at the same time he was disquieted by the process that t took place
inside him when he was faced with it. One thing was clear: the moment he
stood in front of someone from the other world he knew, even without them
speaking, that they were from that world! They created a tense
psychological relation. It was even in the form of their eyes, which
had a more scrutinising quality than those he was used to. He was aware
of middle-class people as creatures entirely distinct from himself whom
he recognised by the state of lowered energy,his best self neutralised,
into which he at once fell. Their presence was like an invisible wave
paralysing his actions, which he attributed to his not being worthy of
their level of underatanding.
Whenever he met a middle-class person he softened himself unduly,
to the point of lisping. He hung back, smiling and nodding agreement.
He was never at full strength in their company. Often, far from
attributing 'roughness' - to him,as he thought, they put him down as soft in
the head. From about his twelfth year on it became his constant discipline
to curb his real self. Only with intimate friends did he argue and shout
and move about freely. But the moment someone from the other world
appeared he went quiet. And all the time he smiled and lisped he thought
they were divining his real feelings perfectly. He included in that other
world everyone from the local priest to the conservative M.P. who called
at the door at election-times. They were all 'nice'. There was something
of the same awe in his mother's voice when she said someone was 'a real
gentleman'. He was tongue-tied in their présence as if under a great
beneficent light.
Once he saw a well-dressed man step out of a car with a young girl,
apparently his daughter. "Now - are you all right for money, darling?"


the man asked. She was about to go into a gateway that might have been
a school or convent. "Yes, thank you," the girl said, "I think so!"
But the man looked into her eyes searchingly and then put his hand in his
pocket. "I think you'd better have a bit more," he said, "to be on the
safe side." It was such a safe world, so exclusive of the terrors that
went on outside, and for a moment Granville felt included in the safety,
so strong was the atmosphere round the car, the man and the girl! 'She
can't feel naked to the world like I do,' he thought. What a marvellous
life it must be, with someone above you who could provide for everything!
How wonderful never to have to aspire beyond your own parents but think of
them as the leaders of your world! Tears came to his eyes as he stood
there. He always remembered the incident as a little image of the world
beyond Abbott's Road in its beneficence and strength. There was also a
touch of cruelty in its exclusiveness and it might well have been this
that brought the tears to his eyes; but he wasn't conscious of it at the
time.
His brother talked glowingly about everyone he knew at college.
It seemed to Granville that his brother was invested with the same bright-
ness as those other people. Granville couldn't imagine his brother being
defeated or thwarted in any way. All the world outside Abbott's Road
seemed to him a unity, of which his brother was now an accepted part. He,
too, with luck would move into that world. It wasn't the world of a
better class for him; on the contrary, he was full of socialism at this
time. Just a world in which grace and love abounded!
The visit to Cambridge made Abbott's Road even worse for him.
It was like the death of all the impulses. He was numb, void of anything


like desires: there seemed no chance for them, no way out! The silence
over the streets was worse than ever before. The moment he was back
everything became unreal for him, even the memory?of Cambridge. The
raw industrial light, glaring and yet never really sunny, made the streets
look dead and forlorn. He watched pieces of paper drift along the gutter.
He wandered about for hours, his hands in-his pockets. Cambridge was
now like all the other useless daydreams he'd had. He tried to read but
the activity now seemed absurd. How could he ever get out of these
streets now? He had no money in his pocket! A friend of his brother's
at Cambridge had said to him, "Just leave! Just run away!" A nice
suggestion with a couple of shillings in your pocket!
And getting a job would condemn him to the streets once and for
all. He knew.no one outside these streets he could go to.
His mother and father were. silent at this time. They had no
suggestions. They only knew their own world, not ways of getting into
the other, except through school and scholarships. The Bethnel Green
camp had won. His mother wanted him to get an office-job at least. But
Granville refused. He would work with his hands, in the open air, or not
at all! So it looked like the docks, where he would start at a lower
wage even than his grandfather, who'd never known how to read or write!


CHAPTER 11.
He was conscripted into the army and there was almost no real
goodbye between them. Pathetically, to appease her and bring her back
he wrote her a letter from his barracks which he copied ôut carefully
from several rough drafts, like an official document, in which he told her
how he too looked forward to the socialist commonwealth and that she must
never take him to mean anything contrary to that in his little jokes and
games. He read it over and over to himself, marvelling at the neatness
and soundness of his expressions. At the end he said he would do anything
in his power while he was in the army to bring the wonderful day nearer
when they would all be united! The inference being that if mankind was
going to unite they might as well do the same, to make a job of it. He
never got a reply. He didn't see her again.
He lived in a deadly soldier's world for several months, hollow
and degraded. He went with one or two skirts available near the camp and
in the end caught clap, a virulent type which the military doctor said
was 'Spanish'. It meant hospital for a few weeks and then a return to
hospital because there was an inexplicable, painful relapse. He took it
as a moral punishment. Every time he felt desire and every time. he dozed
off at night a stabbingspain went through him like a reminder and woke him
up with a start. He didn't sleep with another woman for a year, until they
got to the organised brothels of Egypt and the Lebanon, which had first-aid
stations near by where permanganate-of-potash douches were available: he


showed the other officers how to do it, with the professional touch. It
meant inserting a narrow tube and then relaxing one's muscles until the red
liquid flowed down into the bladder. The doctor in England explained it
to him as 'having a pee backwards, if you see what I mean'.
But he was healthy and well-fed and too busy to think about the
past. During his training he grew stronger and filled out remarkably.
His muscles and nerves protected him: they hid everything. He was amazed
one day in- France after his battalion's first operation near Caen when a
signaller remarked how calm he always seemed.
There was also the travelling. At Alexandria, where he was sent
first, he gazed at everything with his mouth open as the ship drew in to
harbour. He was fascinated by the dazzling sunlight, the sparkling blue
water and the clear sky, like discovering a new world. - The white houses
were blinding in the sun. He watched Arabs unloading dates on to. the
harbour and wa's furious, with a mute rebellious rage, when he saw the
English sergeant inccharge of them shouting in a contemptuous way, "Come on,
you bastards!", standing over them with his arms folded, beefy and sunburned.
And the fellaheen nodded and scampered about obediently.
He realised in this new stark and brilliant world with the blinding
sun how unprepared he was for life - in his body, even his desires. Even
with Kit there'd been no real body. They'd loved each other with an awe-
struck, imaginative wonder. And their bodies had only followed this
state of mind. They'd never created a tie it was impossible to break,
of the body. When he was away from her he yearned to look in her eyes
or kiss her; he yearned for the romping and affection, but seldom for the
act itself. That had seemed a trifle, almost, compared with their great
imaginative love.


One day on manoeuvres north of Damascus, near a dried-up, deserted
wadi, he saw an old signpost pointing north up a dusty track with 'Basrah'
written on it. It seemed unbelievable: Could he actually be near
Basrah? He didn't know why the name had such a thrilling and fabulous
sound for him. He stared at the post again and again. And in his mind
there formed a thought half-way between a resolution and a prophecy, that
he would one day visit the place; and he had a sense of excitement as
though he'd actually started that wonderful journey.
During the fighting in the Ardennes he was caught in the open at
dusk and had his leg nearly torn off by schrapnel. He was heading a
platoon-attack and the others had to fall -back because of machine-gun
fire, leaving him there. He lay out all night in the middle of a field,
numbed with cold, sometimes crying like a child, but in a strange way
without grief as if only his face was doing it. The enemy machine-gun
was on a fixed arc and every few minutes bullets would come spraying over
him, though luckily he was lying in a deep plough-rut and had some
protection. A bullet grazed a stud 'on one of his boots and wnt whining
away. It was like lying there for a week. He was soaked to the skin
and was too cold and numbed to move. After a time he began pleading with
the bullets in a soft voice, like a child, whenever they came close
"No, please
please don't - please!" But they had an extraordinary
relentlessness and seemed to shoot over his head on the back of an enormous
wind. The numbness grew from his leg and he was aware of caked blood on
his fingers. The attack was completed next morning and the machine-gun
knocked out. He was brought in on a stretcher and the doctor found there
was no gangrene, by a miracle, probably because of the cold. The shock
gradually wore off. The wound left two raw mauvish patches on his leg


which troubled him in a mild way when it was damp.
He dreamed about the wonderful England he would find when it was
all over, and the friends he would see again, but when the war did end
he found they'd dispersed and that in any case the old friendships were
dead. Kit and her parents had left the village. Walsh had gone. Of
course, there were no cadets. The Philbys were going to move; he had a
much better job in the north of England. Granville had nothing to say to
Jean. There was only an air of sadness. She had suffered, too. She'd
lived two years wi thout her husband. Granville blushed incessantly and
faltered in his speech. He made a strange sight, hefty and fat in the
neck, flushed with the outdoor life but with something unhealthy and
disquieting even in this flush, from unsatisfied energies. At the
slightest soft or friendly glance he would flinch away and go wooden, with -
pursed lips. Even his feeling for the countryside had gone, it. seemed.
He left the village almost at once. Loneliness that dwarfed even that of
his school-days fell on him. London was drab and people were short-
tempered and exhausted. Nobody wanted to listen to other people's
troubles and everything was devoted to getting private life. going again
after years of grey public activity. He wandered about the helf-bombed
streets for hours to make himself tired. He woke yelling one night and
his mother rushed into his room saying, "For Christ's sake, son, you scared
me out of my wits!"
It felt as if a war-regime had settled into English life for good.
There were identity-cards and food-cards. Everything was registered.
When he went into the country he had the feeling that it was a huge dead
area only for the recreation of townspeople. The intimate side of life
had been pushed out. There was an air of surfeit and nausea everywhere.


It was difficult to get back to the peace-time rhythm, because the casual
element necessary to it was lacking. For five years all little enjoyments
had been relegated to a kind of relaxation-department in the war effort.
He'd escaped all that by being abroad. But the grey afterma th was there,
in the people who'd stayed. They were nearly finished. Everyone was
bewildered. The war had made them used to the hard. pleasures, and peace
meant subtlety again. The newspapers and radio now seemed to govern all
life; journalism had replaced society. People went on smoking and
drinking in the eleventh-hour style of war-time.
But still Abbott's Road hadn't changed. There was only less food,
everyone was tired and the shops were rather empty. On the other hand,
there was more money than before; there was a job for everybody; the trade
unions had a whiphand now; their fighting days were over.
His mother and father were a little grey, from the bombing. They'd
slept down in the shelter nearly every night for three years. But still
they in themselves hadn't changed. Only the 'higher world' had collapsed.
He had no ideas for his own future. He thought of going abroad
again but a familiar listless reluctance to decide anything took hold of
him. He went down to Chichester instead, as the only town he knew apart
from London, and took a room there, planning to stay for aslong as his
annuity from the army lasted. He was there a year, alone in his room
nearly all the time, reading everything he could lay his hands on with a
remarkable hunger. Slowly he met people again. The 'higher world'
really was knocked sideways. People got drunk and there was a hard
promiscuity in sex. The middle-class was dead. Just a flicker was kept
alive, enough for the country not to sink in the sea.
When he met Dick Pollocke at the T.I.M. training school he had a


peculiar sense of forbearance combined with relief. Would Dick be his
first real friend since the war? He had a brief ecstatic impression that
the Sussex days would start again, in a new way. It was sômething in
Dick's light-blue, transparent eyes, and in the way he looked at him when
they met in the canteen of an evening, as if they'd known each other
years before.
But he was scared of a new relation. It was a fear of being
exposed. He felt on the edge of a frightful confession all the time -
and short of this he couldn't speak. Everything in his past was involved
in this confession -- the war, his life in Abbott's Road, the 'giddy fits'
when he'd knocked on the floor frantically, his separation from Kit and the
fact that he'd hit her round the face; it was covered in shame, in a dark,
cloudy region. Why Pollocke should want to see him he couldn't imagine!
He was awkward, with this dangerous flush all the time. He was also afraid
of damaging Pollocke's first impression of him, presuming it had been a
good one. And this intrigued Pollocke: it gave him the idea that Granville
was rather exclusive - too busy perhaps to: need new fields. This, in
turn, was something Granville was pleased to encourage. They began to meet
each other, but always in a hide-and-seek way. Sometimes they sent notes
to each other's rooms. It reminded him of the famous public schools he'd
read about where the seniors had fags and studies of their own. Dick
Pollocke had been to Winchester, so the atmosphere was nothing new to him.
He wrote to Granville in a careful hand, putting in a witticism if he. could,
like a school-boy. 'Dear Granny', he would write, 'I haven't seen your
stare for several days and wonder what new' slush has passed under your
bridges.' They would sit drinking beer together in the canteen and try
to talk. But there was no common ground. They left with a sense of


having been locked-up together. Pollocke tried to be clever, Granville
was simply awkward and tongue-tied. They blinked in : consternation when
they met, with a sense of the formlessness of their relation. The
friendship petered out quickly, leaving a polite respect.
There were parties and dances, at one of which he met Pinkie. And
Hanni came down for a week-end - - about the time she and Dick were getting
to know each other. It was an unpleasant period. Nobody was quite sane.
He looked back on his lonely year at Chichester, among his books, with
pleasure. He no longer wanted to read much, and drank whenever he could.
Partly there was the wonder of getting back to something like his old life
and being wit th people again
having tea in cafes and talking endlessly,
that sort of thing; but he was always alone in feeling.
Pinkie dazzled him at once, the first evening they met. She was
tall, with a light, healthy face, her skin smooth and brown from the sun.
She was vague, her eyes wandering about in. their forlorn, loose way, and
he was awkward; they hardly shook hands. But they kept returning to each
other in the course of the evening. She'd just come back from a holiday
in the south of France with her parents, and her cheeks and nose were
peeling slightly. And her hair was bleached, a flaxen colour in the front.
She seemed to make a mistake about him at first: she treated him like a
man-about-town; he was surprised but found the assumption useful
helped him cover his real self up! After two or three drinks she was
reckless and swashbuckling, and talked at the top of her voice; the young
trainees looked cautious and tame next to her. He adored her and stoked
himself up with the hideous punch Pollocke had provided
made with red
wine, soda water and surgical spirits from the chemist. They danced
together wildly, and he noticed that some of the other people stepped


aside from them in a gingerly fashion, disapproving. There was a great
hauteur about her, sophisticated and self-assured. She chuckled at him,
and in the middle of laughing she suddenly kissed him on the neck as if
it was the easiest thing in the world! Panic seized him, but the drink
helped him pass it off. She couldn't have meant it! Did she? And
later he saw her do precisely the same thing to someone else! But he
put this out of his mind. Thus in the first hour of their knowing each
other there was a hint of the later confusions. After that they were
friends. She stayed another week, at a nearby hotel, and they began meeting
every day. They each wondered secretly
as they found out from each
other long afterwards
whether they shouldn't remain just friends.
But they were lonely, neither of them felt they had the power of choice.
They thought they recognised the signal of love - they'd been waiting for
it so ippatiently, and they plunged ahead! They were infatuated with
each other. But underneath there was only the simplicity of fieldship.
And also there was something distressing, as they got to know each other
better. He went round with his mouth open loosely and his eyes wandering,
in a peculiar imitation of Pinkie's face, as he got more and more
infatuated with her. 'What a complete fool I must look!' he thought to
himself as he walked along the street sometimes. It didn't seem sane!
But he could do nothing about it. It was like being under a sweet drug.
It wasn't the pure, direct ecstasy he'd known in Sussex; but he supposed
it was falling in love! Pinkie's gaze shifted all the time: and there
was something of a comfort in that for him. It meant he was never under
a direct, piercing stare that might uncover him. But he never really
trusted her from the first moment he knew her. Nor did he feel properly
himself with her. But there was the trust of friendship. He couldn't


have siad with confidence that she wasn't sleeping with somebody else at
any time
or even that she loved him! But he knew as a friend that
she wasn't. She was blameless, yet
totally guilty!
She gave him a sense of nightmarish and subtle desires he couldn't
hope to penetrate, because of her way of looking about her. Their first
two weeks together were their happiest. They went everywhere arm-in-arm.
That, too, had the golden quality of friendship. They were close together
like children. She always recalled these two weeks afterwards, as if she'd
only really loved him then.
There was nothing unhealthy in her strangeness - that was
remarkable. The strangeness was all to do with her mind. And that was
separate. In her body she was clean and fastidious; it could be seen in
her skin
a smooth, unblemished texture glowing underneath with health.
And this health had great resistant strength. She didn't smoke or drink,
but if she did
even if she took pep-tablets - it seemed to make no
difference: she only slept a little longer afterwards, and the warm glow,
and her appetite, came back, The healthiest practice always seemed the
most natural to her. She would suddenly push a full glass of liquor away
from her at a party, then dance until she'd sweated it out.
He felt towards her strangeness a grotesque kind of worship
somet thing ecstatic and pained and full of awe. They were in the same
boat, really; they couldn't face each other's gaze, and at the same time
they needed what was healthy and simple in each other, behind the strange
looks and gestures.


CHAPTER 10.
War suddenly brought this to an end. Nothing so miraculous had
happened in his life! All the sixth-formers of the school were sent to
'the country as potential officer-cadets, to act as lookouts in the hills
near the south coast in case of German invaders. They would get classes
as at school but fewer of them, and they would look after themselves more
or less. A contingent of twenty boys, of which he was one, travelled
down to a village in West Sussex and were distributed among the houses,
about three to a house. It all happened so suddenly that he couldn't
believe it!
It was a tiny, silent village fitted snugly in to the side of a
hill. All of a sudden it was full of life, like a city in which trees
and hills had been preserved so that coloured lights fell on the leaves
outside and homely voices could be heard across the fields! His life
changed at once as if he'd only been waiting for this moment all his life!
He sat in his room upstairs looking out of the window while he wound the
khaki putties round his leg. All at once he was a soldier as well. It
was marvellous! There was a slight mist below his window on the first
day, and beyond a narrow gravel path he could see apple trees, the earth
black between them. There were cheerful flowery curtains across the
window and a glowing Persian carpet. A fire had been lit. The house
had a sturdy, oaken look, with a wood-panelled bathroom. When he was in


his room he rarely heard a sound from the rest of the house except the
creaking of boards.
The house was at the edge of the. village, where the road sloped
round the side of a hill, and behind it were steep woods protecting it
from the bitter winds that came in from the sea. The owner, whom they
were told to call Major, was retired from the Indian civil service and
lived quietly with his wife. They went for long walks every afternoon
dressed in tweeds, wit th stout walking sticks, followed by dogs. At meal-
times a great golden gong from India was beaten in the hall downstairs by a
pale, sturdy-armed maid, and the three cadets would sit down between the
Major at one end of the table and his wife at the other. By her foot was
an electric bell for the kitchen. Everything was done in a quiet and
formal way, and little was said at meals. They heard the swish of the
gardener's scythe outside, or the farm-tractor up the hill. The Major
was tall and grey-haired, with a stern yet kindly expression in his eyes.
He treated them with perfectly consistent respect as if they were his own
age. It was the first time he'd come really near the coolness of the
other world and he was fascinated. The rooms seemed s0 spacious! For
nearly three days, apart from meals and his stints at the guardhouse, he
did little but sit at his. window looking out.-
The docks were bombed, and his father's job ended. It happened
'on a beautiful, sun-lit Saturday afternoon, and the German planes, one
wave after the other in perfect formation, looked like tiny, silver fish
high in the blue sky. When his father went to work on Monday morning he
found the whole of his area cordoned off by the police. One of the
policemen asked him, "Did you work' ' there, mate?", and when his father said
yes he told him grimly, "Well, I reckon you can take a year's holiday


without pay, mate
there's a million or more money gone down the drain
there!" The yard where his father worked, and the whole of dockland
from Woolwich to Tilbury, was a mass of twisted girders and rubble, and
burning food. All the workers were laid off that day and his father
took a job in East Ham with a catering firm connected with the 'army.
The guardhouse was in an outbuilding belonging to a farm, and when
he was on night-duty he slept on the floor, doing two hours on and two hours
off. The job of the cadets was to guard an area of railway line about a
mile long. The farm stood among trees with a cobbled courtyard, and near
by there was a fenced bridle-path that ran straight across country, with
flat fields on either side. He looked at everything dreamily, seeing
only vague outlines.
At night, when he was on guard, he climbed to the top of a steaming
silo and sat-there staring before him, sometimes imagining a movement in
the darkness below. A breeze would stir the leaves and sometimes a cow
would cough or low softly in the next field. A wonderful warmth came up
from underneath him and his cheeks were flushed with health. He always
looked forward to the huge- breakfast of eggs and bacon and- tomatoes soon
after dawn, and the'slow walk home when the day-guard came on, along the
fenced bridle-path, past the mossy church at the edge of the village. The
maid would just be up when they got in, lighting the stove and shivering
a little. He felt strong and clear-headed.
One morning about six when the sky was already sunny and clear,
with the slightest mist lingering among the trees, he walked to the
railway line as part of his dawn inspection. He liked this spot especially.
A bridge ran across the tracks, which were in a deep, grassy embankment.


He looked down on to these lines from the bridge as into a deep, endless
ravine going in a perfectly straight line north, and south as far as he
could see. And something in the nature of a baptism into the countryside
took place on this bridge. It was all so immense, and the fields were
laid out so splendidly to the sky! He'd never known such spaciousness:
The bridge was only used by farm vehicles going, from one field to another,
so that an intimacy hung about it. Its walls were of brick, mellowed by
the weather, golden and red in the early sun. And between the bricks
grass and moss had grown in places. It wasn't a bit like a bridge in the
Abbott's Road district where the intimacy had been taken away and great
trucks roared through. He could hear birds singing in the_near by trees.
And he had the impression that t this immensity round him, unlike the
immensity of things in Abbott's Road with their iron struts and spans,
didn't exclude him. It was quite a discovery! Despite the massive early
light falling on everything like a shroud he had an intimate sense of
ownership. This bridge, too, had stout spans underneath, but they were
made of brick and the size didn't confuse or belittle him. Some of the
fields were yellow with corn not yét harvested, and the morning breeze made
slight ripples across them. He could see the sea, a hazy blue in the
distance beyond the hills. There wasn't a sound except for the birds.
How strange that it could have been missed out of his life all this time,
since early childhood!
He started taking long walks when he was off-duty. Then there
were club meetings in the village to which the cadets were invited. Films
were shown there, in a hall with huge beams that had once been a barn, and
lecturers came down from London. .Once or twice a week they went to the
nearest market-town, where there was a bookshop with a low ceiling and


Tudor-style windows, and a snug room where you could have coffee. In
the village there were two pubs, one of them with deep black-leather
armchairs and settees where they sometimes sat in the evening, gazing into
the fire. The leaves were just starting to fall, and there was a touch
of winter chill on the air. Some teachers from the school had been
evacuated to the market-town, and they came to the village several times
a week to give lessons. But they weren't like real lessons. They were
held in ordinary rooms, usually in one of the cadet's billets, with a
blazing fire in the hearth, for only five or six cadets at a time. He
seemed not to belong to school any longer. The world was up to something
much bigger, and some of the teachers would be called up like the cadets
after a year, and so there was an equality and freedom he hadnIt known
before.
One room where they took lessons had a great sycamore outside the
window with dark-green spreading arms, motionless like a monument. He
always sat with his back to the window, in an armchair, and the silence
was so great that turning over the leaves of his book made a sharp sound.
Nothing was too small for him to notice now. In London everything he 'd
read about had become just ideas, floating over him in a dead and neutral
way! But here the leaves and the silence - which was quite unlike the
silence in Abbott's Road, perhaps because of the birds and the rustling
sound in the trees whenever a slight wind blew -- made thinking and
reading seem natural, even necessary! He found he could really enjoy a
book for the first time, leaning back in his chair and letting his mind
go where it wanted to. He used his eyes more. The world outside was
closer: he could touch the leaves and in the morning he sniffed the air
deliberately like a farmer.


He started really reading and learning for the first time.
Knowledge poured into him. He always took a book to bed with him when
he wasn't on duty; books were like listening to people talk, but in the
silence, without time pressing down on you! And he listened for the
first time in his life. He really listened, all poised, and quiet, not
strained as he'd been in London. There hadn't been this leisure in
London, this rhythm of leisure, slow and pausing; there'd only been an
underground roar all the time, of the city, taken for granted like the
smoke. He thought he could even have got a Cambridge scholarship now if
he'd tried! It was remarkable for him to be able to read what he liked
without feeling higher on account of it!
The shadow began to lift from his life. He made new friends.
There was a teacher at the local school called Philby and his wife, and
a few people his own age who came to the club, not cadets. The Philbys
had a small house at the far end of the village and he started going there
when he had a spare hour. They had two babies and a child of five.
Quite a crowd gathered there sometimes. Usually Philby went up to bed
early and left them talking. Jean, his wife, would be curled up on some
cushions by the fire listening. She was the centre of the group and
said once that she felt cheated of her youth by having children too early;
yet she was only twenty-seven or so. Sometimes they talked all night,
four or five oftthem together, drinking one cup of tea after another; it
was a select group to which only Granville, of ali the cadets, was admitted.
Sometimes Philby would bang his shoe on the floor in the middle of the
night if the talking was too loud, but he never came down, and Jean took
no notice.
Jean Philby had a soft, smiling face and uncannily pale eyes.


There was a hurt look in them that came and went. She always gave
Granville her special attention as if he were her charge. Once at table
she asked her husband, "Don't you think Philip looks very un-English?"
Being un-English implied romantic qualities. And Philby snapped, "No!
I think he looks like an ordinary English schoolboy!" But she took no
notice as usual and replied to this, "Oh, I think he looks like somebody
who's just come fron abroad!" It was the first time anyone had shown
appreciation not of his qualities but of his being a person in himself at
all! Really she brought him to life! When he was with her he never
felt the old lurking sense of unworthiness, for the first time.
He became friends with a girl in the group called Kit and they
fell in love. She lived in the village but her parents were usually in
London, due to her father being an archivist for the war-office. She was
usually at Jean Philby's for the all-night talking. 'But for weeks at the
beginning he and she hardly spoke to each other; they wouad only gaze at
each other sometimes. Then one hot night the following summer they
stayed talking until nearly dawn, alone - Jean had slipped up to bed
with some excuse. They didn't put the lights on and he was aware of her
as a shadowy form, mysterious in a way that made him catch his -breath.
It was nearly full moon and a vague silver light came from outside. Now
and then there was the hoot of an owl, straight and neat-sounding, followed
at once by the silence. Behind the house was a steep hill with woods at
the top, now a tall black shadow. And there was high grass outside that
came as far as the walls. They left the house together and kept a foot
or so apart, afraid to touch each other, and took a path across the fields,
going round the village to get to where he lived. They passed through
a copse of young trees with a stream running through it, and there they


suddenly kissed each other shyly and uncomfortably, and stood there until
they were chilled to the bone. The dawn was just starting to come up;
for the first time they really looked into each other's eyes, and Kit said
it made her feel giddy, like looking into a chasm that was marvellous and
inviting but yet at the same time dangerous because one would never come
back if one fell into it. She was still a tom-boy, with a lively and
pretty face. She threw little stones at him and laughed. Before them
there was a gravel path which became more and more yellow as the light
grew, revealing bushes on the other side. The birds sang louder and
louder in the branches above them, startling in the morning silence. She
had black, glittering eyes and very white teeth that flashed when she smiled.
They ran home shivering as the sun appeared --- to the Major's house,
because her mother was at home. They tiptoed through to the kitchen
where he wrapped an overcoat round her shoulders and put the kettle on for
tea. He prayed the maid wouldn't come down but at the same time didn't
care if she did:'life was so different for him now -- - a stupendous light
had spread over everything and he was in a state of trembling ecstasy which
he'd never even imagined before.
Kit was slower to say she was in love. He went through a week or
more of frightful apprehension, during which he hardly slept; but even
that, was ecstatic, and at night when the warm air drifted across his room
from the fields he_had the satisfaction of dreaming about her face and of
the way she walked. He always remembered the kitchen afterwards with its
scrubbed wooden table and tiled floor and the perfect stillness of everything
in it
the cups and willow-painted plates on the tall dresser, the
marble sink and the wooden ladles and spoons hanging by the stove i and
how the brightness growing outside made the copper pans glow with a


wonderful mellow warmth. That day, in the afternoon when there was hot
sunlight, and the drowsy clip-clipping sound of the gardener's shears
drifted in through the window, he wrote her a little note beginning,
'The beast has reared its ugly head! I'm in love wi th you.' He didn't
know why he mentioned a beast. There was something fabulous about the
phrase, he felt; and it made it clear that he wasn't responsible for his
love in case it inconvenienced her. The following day she came. to the
house and stared at him for minutes on end, sitting on his bed while he
lay back on the pillows. She said she could feel nothing. But slowly
she came round and one afternoon looked at him with sudden recognition,
smiling brilliantly.
A year or so afterwards, when they were hardly friends any more,
she working in a factory in Liverpool and he a soldier now, Jean Philby
told him that she'd always seen them as belonging together from the first;
and now she regretted having 'made it easy' for them! "Look at the
suffering you've both been through!" she said. But this annoyed Granville.
He felt the suffering was part of his love, the other side of it, so to
speak. But Jean Philby clung to an ideal view of lifek and saw it only
as a mistake.
He and Kit met at her house continually in the first months,
sometimes staying the night on a narrow divan. When-they did so she went
up to bed early. The all-night talking became less. One morning Philby
came downstairs early when the heavy dew was dripping from the trees outside
and, leaning over the divan, gave them an intimate wink. Sometimes Kit
came to the Major's house and sat in his room with him. Usually no one
saw her because he had a key of his own. But once the Major's wife passed
them on the stairs and looked right through her. She said nothing


afterwards but the Major gave him an embarassed glance at dinner tha t
evening. Probably they didn 't care to pull him up because he'd be a
soldier soon; people expected another trench-war when all the young men
would be wiped out, as in 1914.
The Major's wife was friendlier to the other two cadets than to
him. They took the dogs out for long walks and in the evening joined
her and the Major for cocktails and bridge. The Major often told aneddotes
about the 1914 war over dinner, describing plans of attack with the help of
playing cards, and addressed most' of his remarks to the other. two. His,
wife described Granville as 'dreamy', with a trace of bitterness, though
she also smiled; the Major always showed disapproval of personal remarks
he would purse his lips and look down, quite stiff. She said once at
table to the other cadets, "Granville seems to have packed. up his troubles
in his old Kit-bag, doesn't he?" And she laughed and sang, "Oh, smile,
smile, smile!" To her mind he took not. nearly enough interest in the war
and so there was a double meaning here. There was also something
delicate and melancholy in her. She would gaze before her in her armchair
for minutes on end sometimes. She had no children; perhaps that was why.
One day he was astonished when Kit said to him, "You're always on
top of the world so, aren't you?" And once in London when they were
walking through the grounds of Kensington Palace a uniformed attendant
crossed their path, holding up his hand and said, "I'm sorry, there's no
way through here!" And for no reason at all Granville began blushing,
rooted helplessly to the spot as he'd been in Abbott's Road! Kit and the
attendant stared at him, for a moment united in a common human curiosity.
And afterwards when they were walking away she whispered to him, "Phil!
That's the first time I've seen you go red! I didn't know you could!"


She seemed to think of him as an impregnable sort of person! He was
astonished and didn't correct her. He wanted to seem uhcaring and gay
all the time! And ironically, it was the main reason why Kit left him
later on. He refused to be serious, she said -- for instance, about
politics.
He spent quite a lot of his time with a fellow-teacher of Philby's
called Walsh, who had a small, neat cottage near. the church and was often at
the local film-shows and discussions. He was a dark, réticent young man
with a loping walk, and usually he had a pipe in his mouth. Something in
Granville intrigued him, though there was little real sympathy between
them. He was much more Kit's friend - she was the one who introduced
them to each other.
Walsh would watch him in silence, sucking his pipe. He never
raised his voice, and spoke in a precise way, considering everything he
said and sometimes taking the pipe out of his mouth to scrutinise its bowl
while he thought something over, as if the idea he was after lay somewhere
in the dirty ashes. He was the son of a big corn-merchant in the north
country and could have had a large private income if he'd wanted it, but
he preferred to teach at a small village-school and live on what he earned.
His rooms, three.of them, plus a kitchen, were religiously simple. He
never took a first-class railway ticket - or a taxi, even late at night
when there was a mile and a half to walk from the railway-station. His
clothes were old but neat. He even refused to go into the saloon bar of
the local pub, and preferred drinking mild beer in the public. He
disapproved strongly if a friend of his took a short drink there - gin or
whisky. He would say in a cutting voice, "I always used to like this


place, you know, when it was a four-ale bar and no more!" And he tried
to blunt his accent into a common one o The farmhands and workers who
collected in the public bar were beyond criticism or reproach for him,
and when . with them he would try to disown his own past. He seemed to be
ashamed of Granville if they went there together, and he would try not to
notice fellow-teachers sitting in the saloon bar, which was visible through
a large hatch. He would call out, "A pint of old-and-mild, Tom!" to the
publican in the same style as the others. And his pipe would begin to
look like a clay pipe from the way he sucked at it there.
Thé Major's wife called Walsh 'the village-bolshie', and he described
himself as a militant socialist'. This was the cause of his intrigued
curiosity about Granville, as someone who had come from the 'right' class;
and it was the ground he shared with Kit, who was beginning to believe in
communism, partly under his influence. Philby said with a dry laugh that
Walsh wouldn't mind a bloody revolution if other people shed the blood and
didn't tell him about, it beforehand! Of course, the Philby house was
looked on' as a nest of thieves by the bigger houses. Russia's pact with
Germany was a big blow to Walsh and he lost face for a time. The Major's
wife made capital out of it and told Granville she wondered he had time
for a friend of the Nazis!
Granville never knew when he was going to say something of which
Walsh would disapprove. Sometimes Walsh would be silent for minutes on
end, sucking his pipe, his eyes fixed on a point in front of him, and
Granville, his stomach turning over with a quaint fear, would go back over
the conversation in his mind trying to find, out what he'd said wrong.
Walsh's silence made him feel sheepish and sometimes frightened but he
never thought of reproaching him, much less of getting up and leaving;


nor, for that matter, didhhe reproach himself or change any of his own
ideas! Walsh only showed inner anger: it made his eyes glaring and a
little smoky, with a terrible fixity. He never had an outburst. On
the contrary, his voice was quieter when he was furious.
Walsh always seemed to have secret thoughts hovering behind his
set face. And the puffs he took at his pipe seemed to mark time to his
silent thoughts. He would gaze at a point on the ground, shooting a
quick glance now and then at the other person. If Granville spoke without
preparing his words carefully beforehand, or in a precipitous way, with
conviction, leaning.forward, he would recoil at once and appear strangely
exhausted, his eyes wandering away. So Granville tried to: curb his
manner in his presence with the result that, just as Walsh sat with a fixed
expression, his thoughts going on in silence, so did he! This was, perhaps,
his first real contact. with the psychology of the other world. And he
even seemed to realise this, but only as a dim feeling, not'at all
articulately. When they. were together a third element was always present.
There wasn't just the two of them in direct talk, saying whatever passed
through their heads. There was this third ghost in the silence of the brain
that made Granville's occasional departures into direct speech
his
words getting the better of him
seem strange and unhinged. This ghost
followed them whèrever they went; and he knew quite well that it was
started by Walsh, since he'd never experienced it before and hadn't found
it in anyone else. The moment he was away from the man this ghost was
gone also. He was in the true world again, his blood flowed properly and
his joints were no longer stiff!
Walsh planned every day neatly. That was another thing Granville
noticed: he always seemed to be sniffing.life in order to form a plan for


the next step forward; he seldom just went to a place. If he had to go
to London, as he sometimes did on a teaching job for the Ministry of Food,
he reserved his seat well ahead. Before they went for a walk he would
look up at the sky in a careful way, wondering whether to take a macintosh.
He kept a large stock of medicines in his bathroom cupboard to cover any
eventuality. He knew where every hospi tal in the district was and what t
means of transport was available in case of an air-raid. Even when they
were actually out walking there had to be plan behind it, to see a church
that had excellent stained-glass windows, or the ruins of a Roman villa
that had just been unearthed. If he had to stay at a hotel he would book-
up beforehand and discuss the price in a firm way. Granville felt quite
ashamed of himself sometimes
he was so un tidy by comparison, and he
did drift along so! Walsh had a neat way of dismissing all his practical
suggestions.
It was sometimes difficult to get Walsh's attention, because he
was so wrapped-up in his thoughts. Once 'they walked up a hill called the
Mountain locally - Walsh, Kit and Granville - but Walsh talked and
sucked at his pipe all the time and looked perfectly astonished when Kit
pointed out the view of Chichester harbour in the farthest distance. It
was best to be in a réom with him, alone. Then a certain snugness was
possible. It brought all the world within the compass of the brain.
There were consolations in that. Once Granville asked him, "Don't you
think Kit's simply lovely?" and he looked away at once with, "Oh! I've
known her a long time, you know!"
Only after he was in the army and a long way from Sussex did
Granville know, through a letter he got from Jean Philby, that Walsh had
been in love with Kit but had refused to let this interfere with his


liking for Granville, or what he thought was his liking. They never met
again. There was something moving about Walsh which he always remembered
afterwards. He wasn't a happy person nor even was he good-willed, but
yet he had this moral preoccupation that made him like a servant for others:
he allowed himself no tantrums and he never turned people away from his
door even half-way through the night. Morality was like a monster
sitting on his shoulders. He had no real friends and spent hours alone
in his front room. Every visit to him was a fresh beginning: Granville
was as shy of going into his cottage after a year as he had beèn the first
day.
Granville's nickname in the Philby group was 'the drifter', and
Walsh was always on about this.
"Are you a socialist or are you not a socialist?" he would ask.
"In our world you have to decide!"
There would be a pause and Granvillé would say with a laugh, "Yes,
I suppose I am!"
Walsh talked a great deal about the revolution that. would
inevi tably come at the end of the war. He went through a list of social
schemes that would have to be effected to make the country happy.
Granville nodded earnestly when these schemes were discussed. - But really
he was bored! He helped Walsh at thé local political meetings and
sometimes went to Chichester with him to pick up propaganda-pamphlets from
the labour party headquarters. Kit was in her element in that sort of
work. She didn't believe the revolution would be bloodless and said she
didn't care much if it wasn't. She also told him when they were alone
once that Walsh was a 'compromiser', one of those who would be used as a
'stepping-stone' to the dictatorship-of-the-proletariat and dispensed with


afterwards.
She and Walsh rounded on Granville together for not being more
'class-conscious'. He had taken her up to Abbott's Road once and it was
this visit that caused her to introduce him to Walsh, as a new 'working-
class contact'.
Once whén they were walking together across the fields to Philby's
house he suddenly said to Walsh with a yawn, "Gosh, I'm so tired! Let's
sit down for a bit!" He'd been on guard part of the night and promptly
lay down with his eyes closed. Walsh was annoyed.
"What do you want to sit down for?" he asked. "There are things
to do!"
"What do you mean?" Granville laughed. "We're going to have tea
at Jean's, aren't we?"
Walsh was at a loss for words and after studying the bowl of his
pipe said, "It's your attitude - !"
"What's wrong with my attitude?"
"Well, you can't just drift! You've got to help the others you
left hehind in your class - you can't just drift off from them like that!"
"How can I help them?"
"By political action!"
He was perplexed. He didn't believe in political action but he
had no argument against it! All he could do was shrug! And again
Walsh started talking about the future, his eyes fixed. It was a wonderful
dream for him, the time when all Englishmen would be brothers and there
would no longer be classes. Sometimes when he talked Granville did catch
a glimpse of this future and for a day or two afterwards he concentrated
on political work. But it never lasted long.


He tried hard to become class-conscious. He read 'State and
Revolution'. But he soon forgot it. He took long walks alone and read
other books such as Pepys's Diary and the letters of the duchess of
Devonshire, which he hid whenever Walsh came to his room. Kit was
amused by the letters and drew no political conclusions, thankfully. He
felt a growing resistance in himself to the other two, though he was in
love with one of them: he wasn't going to be swindled out of his new life.
He would enjoy the countryside!
Kit enchanted him with her lively, dark, glittering manner, so
quick and soft at the same time. Her eyes always seemed to blaze goldenly,
from the moment she opened them in the morning. She strode along when
they were out together, bent forward a: little and her chin pushed out with
determination. He loved the way the skin went across her nose, like a
little freckly bridge to her cheeks, so childish and delightful! Her skin
was dark and she went brown easily in the sun, her eyes more searching than
before. Her lips tasted of fruit, and indeed her whole face had something
scrumptious and fruity about it. They ragged each other like children.
But she became a young woman quickly, from a girl. Her body changed.
Her waist grew slimmer and her hips and breasts larger. Her face lost
its chubbiness and began to wear a more determined and aware look.
He was astonished to find himself a gay person. That seemed to
take place in a moment, a few days after he arrived at the village. He
romped across the field with Jean Philby's little girl and pulled faces
at her. 'Why aren't I shy and ashamed?' he asked himself. But he wasn't
It was like standing back and giving way to something inside him which had
always been there. It was 'the easiest thing in the world! He only had


to forget himself, and then a self poured out which he'd never known
before! Also it had something to do with the air, cool and clear, some-
times smelling of the sea; it belonged to the wide fields and the steep,
wooded hill outside Jean Philby's window. Sometimes, for a moment or
two, the past would suddenly fall on him again like a black shadow and he
would stand paralysed with fright and embarrassment, wondering at his own
audacity, trying to stop a blush climbing up his neck from under his
collar, talking very fast to hide it, but unable to move or turn away.
These moments were unnoticed, luckily. He always managed to laugh,
calculating that his flush would be put down to merriment. There was
freedom, most of all, in the way Jean Philby looked at him; nothing in her
gaze limited him. He watched his own nature unfold, with surprise. It
was like starting life all over again. He began to notice that other
people looked at him with attention when he spoke. All his ideas that
had seemed outlandish and extravagant at school were now, apparently,' ' sane,
and sometimes other people even shared them!
If, when he was alone, the old Abbott's Road nervousness threatened
him, or a hint of the 'giddy fit', he left his room at once and went for a
smart walk through the valley south of the village, and gradually the air
would fill him again, and strength would come back. His surroundings were
alive now, and that saved him; in Abbott's Road they'd been dead -- - hard,
bare, sharp! The 'giddy fits' ceased almost entirely. He never felt
lonely now, though he spent more time alone than ever before.
Sometimes when he was reading quietly in bed at night a ghostly
whisper would come into his mind, 'You can't do it! You can't concentrate
on that book, you're not good enough!" And for a moment he would shudder
and be dislodged. That voice would go on for years, he thought. If only


he could have a cool life, taking an easy relish in things like the Maj jor
and his wife! Why did he have to be ravished and torn all the time?
It would take him years to learn that attitude of leaning back from the
world in cool thought, instead of straining forward all the time, driven
on my the mond!
Living so freely was like living wi ithout death; there were no
regrets and shames to hold you back and make you dream of a better life!
You were't turned inward, to reflect on life as a span of time. "Why do
people need ideals?" he asked Jean once. "We've got the ideal here!
Life is ideal!" And she looked up at him with a quick, questioning look,
then nodded with a smile, in silence.
Even with Walsh he felt free, essentially: he thought of him in a
context of his bachelor-cottage with the tiny fireplace, the oleander bush
touching the window outside, the air smoky from his pipe, and the books
on his shelves that were so colourful:
The silence, and the leisure in the dead of the night when he
leaned on his rifle gazing into the darkness or watching the clouds move
across the sky in the moonlight, gave him a new support. His education
had given him no inkling of it! Had it been missed out deliberately?
It had put a design of names on the world; he realised that he'd
been taught at school as if no other design existed in.life except this
design of names! Only men's names for things! The universe was 'space',
'gravitation'. Animals were 'nerves "and 'glands'. It implied that
life was really a system of ideas, at its root, at the font of creation.
And now he was beginning to find something behind that design, something
that breathed.


His education had no words to describe this. It began to seem
to him that the power of speech had been taken away from him, rather than
given him! An iron vice had been fixed on to his head, and he could no
longer turn freely this way and that. But he would be free!
The trouble was that he'd absorbed his education. He' actually
did perceive life as if men's names for it were the only reality! The
sky was 'empty space' forhhim. - He'd got this impression in physics
a vast, empty universe governed by laws and full of bodies in perpetual
motion like an infinitely subtle machine! This machine had never been
known to come into existence; it was just there. Yet it wasn't a mystery,
either
the scientists were supposed to know all about it.
The earth was supposed to be whizzing round the sun at a terrific
rate, but he couldn't really see how this was possible. Everything
round him was quite still, or at least moving soberly, so in what sense
was the earth whizzing round? It was only whizzing round in a sense.
Yet it was 'true'. It could be 'proved'. But how was it he couldn't
conceive it? Well, that 'whizzing' was only a way of putting it. It
didn't mean real earthly whizzing such as he could see with his own eyes.
It meant the earth whizzed in relation to the sun provided you could stand
at a certain point in space millions of miles away, which he couldn't.
* And all his education was like this
a way of putting things. But
never the thing itself
never what you saw and felt and smelt. So in
his childish way Granville had begun to doubt his own perceptions and to
feel that he was being deceived in the most elementary things of life.
So now, when he looked up at the sky, its vastness didn't move
him to wonder but to a kind of intellectual bafflement and fear much like
his state during on of the 'giddy fits' in Abbott's Road. It was also


like looking into death, where he would fall for ever one day, toppling
down into space and then further space. How painful it was to be alive -
what an absurd accident it seemed - in a world that was uniformly
represented as dead! And he realised it was a dead universe he'd been
taught to believe in.
He remembered this feeling even as a child, of being given
nothing by this kind of knowledge. It was during a simple experiment
which had showed how metals expanded. The teacher took a black ring and
passed a little ball of iron through it; then he heated this ball over a
Bunsen burner and showed that it would not pass through the ring no longer.
Now Granville had understood it perfectly. But there'd been an odd
silence in his mind which he remembefed vividly even now. What was the
teacher going to say next? But he said nothing! That, apparently, was
the lesson! Granville was waiting for the lesson to be given meaning.
But it had no meaning! It was like being told, 'A man hit a boy over
the head', just that: well, he understood it, but - what next? The
trouble really was that nobody explained what these facts wére for. That t
was the missing link. In fact, nobody said they were for anything! And
this was what made the facts dead. They didn't lead anywhere. And more
and more at school he'd felt an antipathy to this kind of learning. He'd
even argued against it and said it wasn't the truth. But he felt defeated
in the argument. Clearly it was the truth, or at least you couldn't say
it was wrong'.
Now, in the country, he asked himself seriously what had been
wrong. He felt he could solve it now, in the quiet of his new life.
And this new life made the question more urgent than before
because


he had a secret feeling that he was enjoying something under false
pretences now. The 'truth' he'd learned at school had never included
anything like this! Not this silence or immensity! Was his new life
just 'private' then? This is what his education taught him to think!
But he had an obstinate conviction that there was a truth in his new life
that surpassed anything in his education, and that all this time he'd been
misled.
Almost every day he took a. walk alone, usually to get to the
Philby's house. It meant climbing a hill, across meadows. He always
expected to come to the top of the hill at the first stile, but another
field stretched ahead, with grazing cattle. There was a copse of young
trees near by, slender and wispy, with a cool stream, and then, beyond it,
a deep wood of older trees, tall conifers and oaks, where he and Kit had
stood that first morning, in the growing dawn.
Sometimes he would stand there listening, especially on a sunny
day. Every sound
a dog in the distance, the cry of a child
melted into the silence. He tried to grasp what it was that held him
there. His mouth tried to frame the question he wanted to ask. But he
couldn't get even as far as the question! Whenever he passed a lovely
spot it was the same. His tongue twitched, wanting to find the words of
a question. What was the message being given to him? What were the trees
saying, that he could listen to them always, without knowing what was said?
One hot morning he stopped at a disused quarry on the road to
Chichester, captured by the stillness of everything. And he seemed near
an answer. There was long grass at the edge of the road, and the quarry
was like a cliff, overgrown with stiff, dusty bushes now. There wasn't
a soul near by. The road qas quite wide, but because it was war-time it was


hardly used. So it had a mysterious look. He walked down the middle.
It was like walking along a desert-road, parched and dusty, only with bushes
and trees' close on either side. Everything baked, and his eyes were
dazzled. There wasn't a sound except the shrill singing of the birds.
They swooped and flew over the road as if a car had never passed there.
The road bent frequently, and this gave it an untouched air as if every
corner could lead to the most marvellous place in the world where one could
stay for ever.
His hands were in his pockets and he was aware of a peace actually
in his body that he'd never known before. It seemed that the sunlight
was going right through him and he was part of the grass and trees,
indistinguishable from them. He felt hazy, too, as if walking along and
being in the open was part of a great sleep. There was no fixed difference
between his own feelings and what was going on outside. He had the
impression that if he threw himself on the grass and stretched out, its
touch wouldn't be from the outside but only a further aspect of sleep. It
again struck him as most strange that no one had ever told him about this
kind of thing. And he had a sense of returning to something. It was a
feeling of reaching home again, and of recognising it as home by the ease
and satisfaction of his body, not by any sign that he remembered. His last
visit to this home could have been before his life began, so strong was
his yearning! The silence round him seemed to be beyond his life, while
including it. His surroundings had taken him.over entirely, their drowsy
prisoner, and yet he was perfectly free, more so than he had ever been
before in his life. What was this strange design in things, already
there? It seemed close to having a voice. It breathed!
The more he tried to think about it the more baffled he was. It


stole over him like a marvellous, natural drug, forcing his mind out of
action the more he tried to revive it. The moment he thought, 'What is
this spell I'm under?' he became conscious of himself standing there alone,
separate from the drowsy heat, and the spell was gone. And then, when
the mind gave way again, it returned to life.
And he realised that this spell was precisely what his education
had left out. It had been the tone of all the school-learning
biology the rabbit, but the rabbit dead, in history people but people dead,
without their private lives, in physics the sky, but the sky dead, wit thout
its awful presence over.us!
Suppose he tried to see things in that way, missing out the spell
of life? And he did try, one morning, standing at the bridge. He tried
to. see the fields and trees as a kind of mineral and vegetable collection,
the bridge as a mathematical problem of spans and stresses, the sky as
empty space. And he realised that to do this he had to withdraw himself.
He had to go cold. He had to take the life out of himself. Just what
they'd asked him to do at school
to qualify for middle-class life!
And it occurred to him -- as the slightest whisper, hardly caught
that this was what the middle-class view of life was essentially: life with
the spell taken out! Was this all he'd learned -- - not knowledge at all,
not real knowledge, but the middle-class attitude to life? Was this all
modern education was, in fact? Not leaming at all!
Instead of walking up and down the bridge naturally as he did on
other mornings, he had stopped and was thinking - but this thinking wasn't
real thinking, with the whole of him, it was a kind of brain-thinking, cold,
peering at life from a distance, in a pale way, not in it any more. He


was pinning things down
like pinning butterflies down by their wings! - -
that was what he was doing with the things all roundhhim! Those things
breathed with a life much like his own - but he was missing that out at
the moment - he was treating them as dead. And so, he was partly dead
as well.
And he suddenly realised-by a person should want to do that, why
he should want to kill life. In order to make it work in a certain way!
If you wanted a person to work in a certain way you could do it by going
cold to them, by seeing them as just muscles to be manipulated: that is,
if you had the power over them. And we had power over all this breathing
countryside! - It wasn't much of a power. But that was the only power
we had, a brain power. We could watch and calculate, rather like watching
a person to find out his habits and then put them to a clinical use; we
could make the earth work as we wanted it to, we could force it to work
for us. Ît did work for us, but to get it to do so we had to be half-
dead ourselves! Q.E.D.'. You kill life to make it work, it will work,
but its spell over you has to cease first!
Of course, it was the truth, you couldn't oppose it though you
might dislike it! It was the truth about life considered dead.
And now he. began to see that the world he knew through himself
alone waan't necessarily false, nor private like a dream.
Also he was amazed to find an England he'd never known before.
It was the England that had gone before Abbott's Road -- - before these
gleaming railway tracks had begun. And to a surprising extent it lay
there still, untouched. And he felt strangely close to it in his own
person
in his flesh and blood
so that for the first time in his


life he knew what it meant to be English! Before, it had meant nothing.
He'd just been a ghost a a brain-ghost hovering in the streets, belonging
nowhere.
Was that what he'd suffered all those years - life with the
spell taken out? Was Abbott's Road just a world with the spell taken out?
Was it the work of people forwwhom life held no spell -- was it just one
of their experiments, only with live people? Had they used live people
to function for them as they'd made the fields and earth and air? Was
that why it looked like a grey, silent camp where the guards were invisible -
not the real world at all, not a real place where things breathed? A place
without trees, without any visible grace at all - where the people were
locked inside themselves and walked stiffly, keeping the flame of life
going only in their homes, in tiny, warm, brilliant rooms!
Had that been the terrible hunger he'd suffered from -- - hunger for :
the spell? A positive suffering would have been better - Bethnel Green
would have been better with its dark, smoky streets - like corridors
under the earth so terrible that they had 'a kind of new mystery
and the
children barefooted
the women sitting at the doors and the wild scenes
on Saturday night
that was why he'd hung back from Walsh's clean little
plans - - he wasn't sure it was better to live clean, without the spell of
life all round you, than to live dirty with all the colour and wildness
and passion still intact:
In them
in May and Sid and all the people packed into that tiny
hut-like house in Bethnel Green -- England had still been intact! People
had only tried to take the spell out of them, but they hadn't succeeded.
But in Abbott's Road they had succeeded. There, the last untidiness had
gone: there was just the stark working world, with the skeleton of factory-


schedule over everything! But in May and all those people there had
still been the flush of a peculiar kind of human triumph: - - in May's
cheeks you could see it, in the children, in the thick, sing-song voices!
And a touch of the old limitless aristocracy was still there - the rash,
blazing quality which was now almost quenched!
He became aware of England's aristocracy. And he realised that
the marvel of England, breathing like a wounded animal now, almost gone,
in terrible, fitful starts
had been laid by those people. They had
had' the spell of life! You could feel it in the duchess of Devonshire's
letters. A terrible, blinding, self-destructive spell! A wonderful folly!
And he seemed to be looking for this again. But where was it?
How could it have a face? How could it be a thing at all? What was it?
His lips tried to frame an answer. Was it in the little village churchyard?
Was it in the walk he took nearly every day? Was it in certain moments?
Was it in Kit? He only seemed to touch it unawares sometimes, and lose
it again!
All this was madness to Kit. She said she didn n't know what it
had to do with the future! She thought he knew something she didn't -
from his childhood, perhaps. But in the end she gave up trying to find
out what it was. She began to think: it wasn't there.
He began to wonder if that spell wasn't 'God'. He began to look
at the village church with a new interest. Had it been the function of
his education to exclude God?
He realised how much nearer he'd been to that spell as a child.
He'd even had some religious understanding then! He remembered the church
in Abbott's Road, tall and gloomy and rather bare, but with an odd warm


fascination perhaps because of its tallness and spaciousness. That memory
was locked behind so many shadows now! He remembered the confirmation-
classes
he'd caught a glimpse of Christ, even, there!
But then the
image had faded. And then the word 'Christ' had become meaningless. Only
now did it awaken again, slightly, as a dim memory he mustn't talk about.
'Christ' seemed to mean something different at the Philbys: house. It
wasn't a serious word there. It felt silly using it, even in the silence
of his own thoughts. He kept quiet. Two images persisted in his mind:
the Christ he'd glimpsed as a child, saying, 'Come, little children, unto.
me!', like someone who would never betray you as long as you lived; and
the Christ at Philby's house - weak, respectable, preaching, watery, an
empty, historicad name e
The sense of a private mission - to think these things out
grew on him in Sussex. - It helped him through the war, and then through
long weeks of training at the T.I.M. training school. It made him feel
beyond whatever he was doing. So it took the stress off things. Walsh
said to him once, 'What makes you think you've got to take the whole of
society in tow and bring it into port?' It was the only time Walsh used
a. shipping image and he remembered it afterwards. In later years the
same thing annoyed Pinkie as well. Who was he to give himself the airs
of a thinker? It did seem absurd - he had no qualifications: Yet, also,
wasn't that an excellent beginning, to have no qualifications? What had
the qualified thinkers done for him?
Sussex was also his first real taste of the 'higher world' he'd
always dreamed about. He began to judge a person to be of this 'higher
world' by the things he said, by his tone or expression, sometimes just


by the words he used. But he couldn't make this judgement articulate.
He couldn't say what the principles behind it were. He was just aware of
a foreign consciousness. It might. be in a certain use of the word
'democracy' to mean something moral, rather like the word 'decency' -
as if life, even political organisation, was a moral affair, but moral in
a small way, without passion or real concern, just conventional and
colourless. But he couldn't see why this struck him as of the 'higher
world'.
It might be in the use of the word sensitivity' to mean artistic
temperament
the moment a person said this word he seemed marked as
'higher world', without real powers of thought and experience, only
conventionality; but conventionality masquerading under new words. That
word was much in vogue at the time. It was fashionable to be 'sensitive',
as it was to be 'progressive'.
You felt it in phrases, too
'Everybody can't be a genius",
which seemed to slight the ordinary genius there is in every creature.
Or, 'Keep an open mind', 'Listen to both sides of the question'. They
were all signs of the 'higher world' mediocrity. Also a great respect
for being 'modern' - - a fear of not being 'modern': that was another sign.
They all wanted to march in a group of some sort, including Kit. Every-
thing wayward, lonely, hesitant in Granville frightened her. Really she
wanted somebody with a tidy exterior. And he knew this underneath. That
was her world, really and truly. Really she looked for the same things
as the Major's wife did
a 'solid' young man with a 'future', who
'worked' regular hours and had a 'purpose' and didn't 'spill over' all the
time; only for Kit he must be 'progressive' - he had to use different
words.


The Major's wife maintained that people should 'keep both feet
planted firmly on the ground' - - - this was another much-used phrase, but
only among the 'reactionaries', not among people like Philby and Walsh.
The word 'ground' here meant something like the facts Granville had learned
at school - life with the spell missing. As soon as you showed signs
of the spell you were 'flying high'! You couldn't be relied on.
Both groups had the same scepticism, the same hardness that always
rejected the imagination. Walsh and Philby had this strongly and
consciously, much more so than the Maj jor, in fact. Kit was afraid. Only
Jean Philby had a lingering, regretful sense that she was going the wrong
way
she seemed to be looking back all the time, as she drew further and
further into that hard world, always with her little smile, so full of
gentleness and a kind of dumb hurt.
Walsh was always saying, "Well, what are you going to do about it?"
Behind every thought there had to be a plan of action, to make it valid.
And 'action' meant, not a change in your own life, but a social act like
making a donation to the local progressive club. Everybody had to see it
or hear it to make it a real 'action'. The marvellous, infinite actions
of the hidden self didn't count. They didn't exist!
The others seemed too afraid to consult their own feelings, even
Kit. Feelings were 'private' and 'subjective'. When they did give vent
to their feelings
not Kit, but certainly Walsh and Philby - it was
like a tyre suddenly being let off, the effect was of something private and
chaotic, without real objective authority. The feeling didn't well up in
them naturally, in a straight flow, but was interfered with and came out
in a cutting and dangerous way that chilled the heart, or in the form of
an outburst, which they themselves felt to be shame ful. Granville had


grown up among shouting, feeling safe and intimate, with nothing twisted
or interfered with inside him, and so he felt the difference strongly.
Everybody in the 'higher world' was in some way a cripple. He
didn't feel this of Jean or her husband
or of any particular parson.
It was just an impression, dimly present, as if providence were laying it
aside for him, 'To be accounted for later'. It was a dim impression that
he must live the rest of his life among cripples because of his education,
and ultimately become one himself!
'Higher world' people had all sorts of odd little nervous diseases
that came from the disordered heart. One person had bad breath; another
was locked in silence, like a permanent deficiency; another had trouble
in the lavatory, and was always asking for laxatives; another
where
the disorder was closer to the surface, so to speak - always had his
head in a textbook of psychology, looking for clues; another was horrified
at any reference to sex; another had an ugly obsession with it. And none
of these things seemed remarkable in that world! They were taken as a
matter of everyday life! No wonder drugs were needed
to stun and
paralyse the twisted nerves!
And, like Walsh, people always seemed to recoil when he began
really talking from himself. Rat ther as if he were a stink, and they had
to draw back! While his mind was working, while he was in strict mental
control of his words, there was no recoil; but the moment he fell into
natural speech, talking unguardedly, the recoil came. About this
experience he was quite conscious and articulate. One day he said to Kit
that some people made him feel 'a distasteful sort of person' - , and she
replied with a laugh that she'd been made to feel that since a little girl!
It planted a seed in him during the Sussex-days which was the


opposite of the seed of freedom planted by Jean, though from the same
world: this was an unnatural state of distress with people not his close
friends; and it grew on him more and more as he penetrated into the
'higher world'.
There was something wistfully curious and divining in the Major's
wife. He would catch her dreaming sometimes, gazing before her, a
searching expression in her eyes, while her hands lay placidly in her lap.
But there was always the recoil. Always a distasteful subject that had
to be avoided! What was this secret inner stain?
Kit loved Abbott's Road but turned against it in the end. She
told Jean she'd expected more 'class-consciousness' among working people.
When. they were talking about the district one day she cried, "Oh, it's
wonderful all right, but why are they all so bloody passive?" She said
it was 'a little heaven'
but that was the trouble, you could live there
for ever without 'doing' anything.
There was a look in her face he'd never seen before. It was a
sort of 'we've-got-to-get-things-done' look, closed and grim like the look
that sometimes came into Walsh's facé. It was grudging and impatient.
It didn't really go with her face. It was so different from her first
look in Sussex when she'd been open and boyish, always laughing at him.


ease: he would feel all the struggles in his mind, its sharp girders and
struts, falling, while he laid himself open with a pained, unwilling
relief.
She spoke again: "How's Pinkie doing, all right?"
"Oh, yes, she's fine! She's going out to work again now, you
"Go on, is she really? What, in the same job?"
"Yes, she thought she'd had enough of sitting round doing nothing!"
"Did she?" his mother asked. "Why a " she chuckled, "did she
do a lot of that out there, then?"
"Well, there was plenty of work, one way and another, but we had
somebody to do the cleaning and everything!"
"Yes, I remember you saying in a: letter you had plenty of help in
the house. So she's gone back to the office, has she? Some people don 't
know when they're lucky, do they?" she added with a laugh.
"Have you been sleeping all right?" he asked
"Oh, the same as usual - I've never been famous for sleeping,
have I?" He could imagine her smiling at this moment, with a quick
intelligent glance after it. '"I drink a glass of stout last thing at
night - the doctor said it might do me some good, but it doesn't seem
to make any difference!" She paused. "Pinkie came back with you, did
That was one of her divining questions: these were mostly
rhetorical, because for some reason she knew the truth already.
His voice faltered, and he hoped it wasn't noticed. "No, she
came beforehand."
"Oh, yes? I expect she had the house to get ready and all that


sort of thing, did she?"
"Yes, there were dust-covers all over the furniture, and she had
to air the sheets and everything!" He said the first words that came
into his head, quite panic-stricken for a moment.
"Did she, really? I thought you let the place out!"
"No, we gave the key to Pinkie's brother, don't you remember?
And he used it when he wanted to?" He felt an impatience familiar from
his childhood of not being understood quickly enough - : as the two worlds
in which he'd lived had grown further apart.
"Oh, yes,' "1 shé said, "that's right", in the slightly hurried way
she had when she felt a gulf of some kind. "I remember now.' #I Then she
added in a more direct voice, some of its pleasantry gone, "I would've
liked young Pinkie to come over for dad's birthday. We gave him ever
such a nice party!"
"Good God, was it his birthday?" Caught!
"Yes
oh, go on, I tell you once a year and you never remember!
I think we'd drop through the floor if we ever got a birthday-card from
you, let alone a present! We'd fade out!"
"I'll try and remember next year!" he said with a laugh. Why did
a year always seem such a frightfully sort time?
"Yes," she replied, "try is about all you will do, I expect
but as to sending us a simple card, well, as I said to dad the other day,
it's never happened yet and there's no reason to think it ever will!"
"When's your birthday, then?" he asked with another laugh, but
abashed.
"Well, if you promise to keep it a secret it's September 15th "
"But that's quite soon!"


"Don't you worry about that, old son, it's long enough for you
to forget all about it and then swear black's white I never told you!"
"Well, was it a nice party?"
She chuckled. "Well, thanks for your interest!" Then she was
serious again. "Oh, it was really nice, Philip! You know, I think people
really enjoyed themselves. It isn't often you can say. that, is it?"
She seemed to narrow her eyes thoughtfully, and a strange sophistication
came over her, of an inherited kind, with nothing deliberate about it.
"Of course, you can never really tell, can you, when you're running round
with sandwiches and cups of tea and that sort of thing, looking after
everybody? We had ever such a lovely cake -- I went round to Hemmings
and ordered it the week before. I thought, well, they're just as good
as making it yourself, and you don't have all that bother with getting all
the ingredients and mixing and all that nuisance. I don't mind doing it
at Christmas time but what with getting the drink in as well and, you
know, little presents for dad, I thought, oh, blow it, I'll go down to
Hemmings and see if I can get one on order! And, you'd be surprised,
that cake was one of the best I've ever tasted. It was lovely! Well,
people came up to me and said, this is a lovely cake you 've made,
Mrs. Granville - so it just shows you, doesn't it? Sometimes you take
a chance and they let you down, then at others you strike lucky!" She
laughed softly. "They kept on asking what I'd put in it and all that sort
of thing. Of course, I never said anything. I thought, well, if you
want to think it, think it - I'm not saying anything! I thought, I'm
the only one who knows where I got it, so why worry?"
"You haven't got a bit left for me, have you?"
"Well, I saved a. couple of pieces for you and Pinkie, not that you


deserve it, though!"
"How old was dad - sixty-four this time?"
"Sixty-five. I thought, oh, well, we'll give the poor old
bugger a party!"
"Did he enjoy it?"
"Did he? Trust him! He got soused and couldn't.roll his r's
as per usual! I think he had a better time than anybody else ! Well,
he never was slow at having a good time, was he?"
"Wha t about you, when's your. sixty-fifth coming up, is it next
"Oh, don't say that, son! I've got two more years to run yet!
But I don't suppose anybody'1l give me a party. Some people wondered
why we made such a fuss about him being sixty-five, but I thought, well,
we didn't do anything when he was sixty, or when I was sixty for that
matter, so why not? I think you need a good party now, and then,. don't
you? It sort"of loosens you up!"
"I'm sixty-three in September. It makes you think, doesn't it?
Time doesn't stand still!"
"I always think of you as about sixty all the time - both of you!"
"Well, I wish we could stay there, old son, but we can't, can we?
It's all right when you're young, but when you get to our ripe old age
the years start running like little rabbits. It doesn't seem two years
since you and Pinkie went out there, does it?" She paused. L "Well,
Philip, how do things suit you out there?"
"Oh, quite well!"
"Is the work interesting?"


"I expect you've had some interesting experiences all round,
haven't you?"
"Lots, yes! It's a very nice atmosphere out there
you know,
in the office ---"
"Is it really? Well, that's the main thing, isn't it, if you've
got nice people round you in your work?"
"Yes! I've got a very good assistant. I don't know what I'd
do without him!"
"Go on! He's a real good worker, is he?"
"Yes, He's an Arab."
"Is he really? Well, that's really lucky, isn't it? You can
never tell what sort of person you're going to get, can you, especially if
you're a foreigner yourself?"
"No. I might have got a completely dishonest person, and not
knowing the language it might have taken me a year to find ont, suppose
he was fiddling the accounts or something like that!"
"That's right! Then you'd have to take the buck back yourself,
wouldn't you?"
"And there's. another thing, when you go away and leave the office
you do know you 're leaving it in good hands, don't you?"
"Oh, I could go off for three months and not worry
well, it'll
be two months when I get back this time!"
"Well, I bet there's not many people in business can say that,
is there, especially abroad like that?"
He was afraid she would ask when his leave would be over. 'In a


week or so'
he couldn' 't bear to say it! But she said nothing.
"He saved me from a, riot once," he went on, talking about Mohammed.
"Go on, did he, really? What, were you in the middle of it or
something?"
"Well, I was in a hotel, and they were throwing bricks through
the window."
"And he walked right through it all and took me out to his car,
and they didn't say a word!"
"Didn't they, really? Well, it just shows you, doesn 't it?
Goodness gracious me! I dare say they had a respect for him, didn't they,
and thought, well, any friend of his is a friend of mine, sort of thing?"
"Yes, that's right. Anyway, they didn't try and throw any bricks
at me!"
"Still, it's a nasty experience, isn't it? Do they get real wild,
"Oh, yes, they scream and cry when their blood's up - you know,
when there's a real riot!"
"No, do they, really?"
"I saw a young chap with tears pouring down his face
he was
shouting about the government or something! You ought to have seen him!"
"Go on! They get so worked up they don't know what they're doing
any more, I suppose?"
"That's right!"
"I expect you felt damned lucky to get out of it alive, didn't you?
A jolly good thing this Arab was decent, wasn't it? Did he know you were
there, then, or did he come in by accident?"


"No, he knew I was there because I left the office about an hour
before to see a client, and I told him where I was going. So when I
didn't turn up he put two and two together."
"Well, s'help me God! There aren't many like him, are there?"
"No! Of course, everybody knows when there's going to be a riot.
Usually, anyway. They always go on round the colleges."
"Do they, really? What, the students?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Oh, and this time they thought they'd have a go at one of the
hotels, did they? I don't know! Of course, it would be just when you're
in there, wouldn't it?"
"Well, mostly English and American people stay there, so they
thought is was a good place to throw bricks at, I suppose."
"Why, did they want to get nasty with the English, then? I
suppose if the truth was told they get so frantic they don't know wha t
they want to do!"
"Well, it's little wonder they riot, really, considering the way
they're treated!"
"Why, aren't they treated right, then?"
"Well, most of the people are half-starved. And you ought to
see the money the rich ones throw away!"
"Go on! It's pure greed, is it? Well, those people deserve
what they get, don't they? And I suppose they think you're in with them,
do they?"
"Yes, But I don't think they'd touch a foreigner, really. It's
funny, isn't it?. They'll set on their own policemen, but I bet if I
walked out into the street they might jeer at me, but they wouldn't hurt me!"


"Go on? I expect they think, well, he might be bad, but he's
not as bad as our lot! And from the sound of it they're not far short
of the truth, are they?"
"No!" You ought to see how some of the rich ones behave.
Sometimes they won 't let the poor have a doctor, even if they know they're
dying. They say they don't want the doctor to get his hands dirty!"
"No! Well, that's just wicked, isn't it? I don't know, some
people are the limit, aren't they? Fancy that! Not letting a man have
a doctor if he's dying!" And she added, "Oh, well they'll get their
reward. They don't do things in this country that they used to do, do
they? The people saw to that. We don't stand for things like we did
in the old days. Well, they say you can take a horse to the water but
you can't make him drink, don't they?"
There was a bustle at the other end, and she said with a laugh,
"Wat tch- out for it, Philip - - it's just come in from the garden! Old
Nosey!"
"Yes!" There was some murmuring at the other end, and he heard
his mother say in a joking way, "All right, don't push, you'll get there!
Here's your dad, hold on a minute, Philip!"
She moved away from the phone and he heard her shout playfully,
"Why the hell don't you wash your hands when you come in from the garden?
Look what you're doing to that phone!"
His father answered in an elated way, between his teeth, "Go on,
you're always on the grouse!" Then he bellowed into the phone, "Hullo,
Philip! How's things?y


"Oh, all right! How are you keeping?"
"Not too bad! Mustn't grumble! Your mother's always on at me,
of course! She never gives the old man a minute's peace! He heard
his mother say in her rich way, in the background, "Yes, that's right!"
and laugh. His father went on, "Well, when are we going to see you, son?"
"Some time this week, I thought! I'll fix something up with mum . I1
"That's right. How's Pinkie, all right?"
"She's fine! I was telling mum, she's gone back to the office."
"Has she really? What's the matter with her, dopey? Does she
like work or something?"
"She seems to, doesn't she? Are you still getting out in the
garden?" :
"Oh, yes! I've just been doing some watering down in the green-
house. Couldn't get down there last week, I had a bit of a cold!"
His mother again said something in the background - "Oh, go on,
don't make such a damned fuss about a snuffle! Anybody'd think you had
pneumonia the way you carry on!"
"Hear what she says, Philip? She leads me a hell of a dance!
Anyway, I. just brought in some nice chrysanths, and the gladioli came ' out
nice this year! Tell Pinkie IEve got some nice bulbs for her to take."
"Well, how are things over there, son? Are you doing all right?"
"Not too bad. I've just been telling mum, the work's very
interesting."
"Oh, well, that's the main thing, isn't it? How does Pinkie
keep out there, all right?"


"That's good. We'd like to see you." And he added politely,
as if he'd made a blunder, "Both of you." Granville could imagine him
with rather a puzzled expression, blinking, trying to see things properly.
His mother was always talking about his blunders of tact. And often, as
in this case, there hadn't been one.
"I expect it gets nice and hot out there, doesn't it? his father
asked.
"Yes, it certainly does! The sweat pours down your back in the
summer. It's like leaning against a wet towel all the time!"
"Go on, is it really?"
"There's nothing you can do except sit downstairs in a kind of
cellar all day, and even there it's boiling!"
"God love old Ireland!"hhis father exclaimed softly. "I expect
it gets you down sometimes, doesn't it?"
"Yes!" Then he said, "I hear they gave you a good birthday party?"
"That's right! I got as tight as a fiddler's bitch, so they told
me : We didn't half have a lovely time! Quite a crowd there was, too!
Mum got a beautiful cake down the road - #t
His mother said something, and his father laughed - "She don 't
like it when I tell the truth! Mustn't tell the truth,, oh. no! You're
supposèd to say she made the cake when you damned-well know she didn't!
Love old Ireland, you ought to have heard the lies about that cake! Your
dad nearly put his foot in it, though! She had to give me a kick in the
shins!" He added, "Still, she put the icing on. That's all she could
do for the poor old bug! They get lazy in their old age, son!"
"That's right!"
"Well, mum wants to talk to you again. So we'll be seeing you


shortly, then?"
"Yes, that's right, I'll fix it up with mum. I
"Good boy! Cheerio, then! Give my love to Pinkie!"
"I will! See you soon!"
When his mother came to the phone she said softly, "He's a proper
gas-bag, tha t man, isn't he? And he' 's never got anything to say!"
She chuckled. "Except when he can put his foot in it. You ought to
have heard him leading off about this cake at the party, telling everybody
where I got it, I.could have killed him! And there was I keeping quiet
about it! Well, when are we going to see you?" she added.
"Why don't you come over for tea first of all, and then we '11
make a date to come over and see you? What about that?"
"It's all right by me. What's Pinkie got to say about it?"
"Oh, she asked me to fix something with you."
They arranged a day for the next week, then his mother said in a
quiet voice, "I suppose I ought to have given Pinkie a ring about dad's
party, didn't I?"
It was in her wondering voice again. "Yes, you should have déne,"
he replied, with the sense of surrendering a secret. "She'd have loved
it! She was here a month before me!"
There was a slight pause, then his mother said, "Wha t a silly I
was, then, I ought to have phoned up, didn't I?" She spoke slowly, as
if to herself. And she added, "Well, give her my love when she comes in,
won't you? Shall I bring what's left of the cake over when we come?"
"Oh, jyes, would you?"
"All right, then. It'll make the old man think he's having
another birthday party, won't it?"


and makes her think about her own life and her own struggles!" he cried.
"But when you say 'old Bill Shakespeare' and 'young Hathaway's husband'
and all that sort of thing you make him sound small and weak and limited
as if all he did was sit down and think up clever little plots for people
like you to come and sniff at! Whereas what he did was wait for God to
move him and pass through him, and Pinkie knows this! She knows the
wonder of God in a person! All you seem to see in Hamlet is a text and
a story, and so you make the play seem! dead -- look at the way you talk
about- it when you say 'that graveyard (stuff' and 'the get-thee-hence gambit'!
You make it seem impossible that a mah wrote it with his whole life and
so there's hothing sacred in it for you, you don't believe in men, that's
why, you don't respect them, you don't see anything sacred in. them! That's
how Hanni talks, too
she isn't interested in the play much, . I don't
see why she should be but apparently she does, she seems to think we'll
put her down as a fool if she doesh't say something! But when Pinkie talks
about Shakespeare you feel he's somebody fabulous, not fabulous in a
social way but just in himself, iike when, she said, 'He must have been
such a sweet_man!' But that's too soft for you, isn't it, you think
you've got to be cleverer than/ that, you've got to say something clever
and hard that shows how your brain's been working!"
He spoke in a rush, without noticing the changes in Dick's face.
He paused at the end, waiting for Dick to take him up and challenge him.
But he didn't. There was just silence. Dick looked up at him with a
peculiar smile, his eyes flickering in a more uncertain way than usual,
and murmured, before getting up to go to bed, "Well, thanks a lot!"
Granville sat there with his mouth open as they trooped out of
the room
the words seemed to have poured out of his mouth without


his knowing, and he tried to reç6llect what they had been. He went
downstairs behind Pinkie like someone not quite responsible for himself.


"But suppose it produces less civilised government?" Granville
asked him.
"It couldn't," Dick replied. "At least janother government wouldn't
cut off people's hands for stealing!"
"It might," said Granville.
"I don't think so," said Dick. He addéd that he didn't believe
the Russians were behind. the revolt, but /he did believe the British were
behind Creed. He said he based this on the fact that the Middle East had
been an area of British influence for'more. than a century, and that Russia
had always been kept out. But sométimes in zones of influence people
fought for a just government, and /this was what they were doing in Rubath.
Granville's answer was that it had nothing to do with justice or,
indeed, with any ideals!
"What is it, then?" Dick asked him.
"I'm surprised to see you supporting nationalists and military
men!" he replied. "Where/ does that fit in with civilised government?"
"I didn't say I pelieved in nationalism: I don't necessarily
say people ought to govern themselves," Dick said. "All I say is that
they should be governéd as they want to be governed."
"The people) /aren't involved ataall!" he said. "Where do. they
come in?"
"Ultimat tély 'they're involved."
"They're all sitting quietly in their villages, half-starved!
Don't you bélieve it! It's never the people who start these movements!"
Granville decided to take this as the opening theme of his report
for T.I.ML, for which he'd been casting around in his mind. A middle-
calss was coming into existence in the Middle East
doctors, lawyers,


use his name when they forced their way in. It was a very Middle Eastern
thing to do,and there was an outcry. at once
the freedom of the press
had been violated! Then the public-relations office' of Rubath, which
meant Creed published the text of a telegram from the journalist's
newspaper which asked for violent stories wherever possible, and if they
had a six-element so much the better. 'Anything with blood in it," the
telegram added.
Creed then put out that he would talk to the press in the palace,
but he would read a prepared text and not answer questions. Everybody
wondered what this meant. Would he say something to tip the balance of
crisis? Perhaps he would offer terms to the revels or announce his own
resignation
it was known that he was no an embarrassment to the
British government. But the first reports were uninteresting. The
morning paper said that Creed had provided the 'uncolicited information'
that journalists had arrived in Rybath from all over the world by air and
that they had 'more or less taken over' the only two hotels in the country,
the Rubath National and the Tigris. "After this courageous sally into
common knowledge', the paper said, 'he then told the conference that
certain eye-witness accounts put out by journalists had been written in
the bar of the Tigris Hotel.
Most of the papers said no more than this, but Dick came in with
the whole text of Creed's speech. t No wonder the papers were furious!
Attacks on Creed had already started. Dreed had said that the so-called
eye-witness accounts had grown out of a scrap between a policeman and a
native due to a donkey in the middle of the main street, and this had been
built up into a major riot. A crowd had gathered, some of the police had
thought it was political and fired some shots in the air; this in turn had


excited the crowd. Creed said the news was always being built up in this
way. The bar of the Rubath National héld most of the 'so-called respectable
correspondents, who usually callled themselves, I think, Diplomatic.
Correspondents', while the Tigris had the 'tabloids' - the two bars were
doing better business than at any time in the last twenty years, 'since
I, in fact, advised the sheikh to put them up.' The chief of police had
reported to him that not one of these journalists had been present at a
demonstration or skirmish in any part of the country. Anyway, Creed
said, these demonstrations took place too suddenly to allow correspondents,
'slowed-down by pints of bobse', to get to their cars and drive ten, twenty
and sometimes fifty miles. 'They come'out here with their degenerate bloody
faces,' he said, 'and think they can size the situation up in a couple of
minutes when they can't even talk the language and have never even set
foot in a Middle East country before! They think they can tell me how
the place should be run when they haven't got a serious bloody thought in
their heads, when they can't hardly read a book, and when they're never
alone! They haven 't been trained for anything, they live on a lot of
bloody tittle-tattle, and they're the people forming opinion, as it's
called, all over thel world! No wonder politics is a cheap and nasty
public-relations racket! And if I'd laid on my public-relations properly
and handed you boose free of charge, you'd have all been eating out of my
hand by now, the whole bloody lot of you!' The paper said. Creed had
stumbled into thé vernacular
'can't hardly read a book'
perhaps
because his eduçation at Oxford had been 'curtailed'; this was a polite
paper,. and its personal attacks had to be oblique. It meant that Creed
had been sent down for homosexuality. 'And. all those right-thinking
people in England,' Creed had continued, are in fact the dupes of a lot


of drunken bloody wash-outs ---! Well, - he cried when there were
interruptions, 'even if you're not.all drunk you should be, to sluice out
the rotten thoughts in your brains! This crisis would have died down a
week ago if it hadn't been for'you lot! Rubath is the same as any
Middle East country, no worse and a good deal better than some', and
everything'd be all right here if you people hadn't settled on us like a
lot of bloody blowflies, to make money out of us, and without boobies all
over the world to take your dirt seriously you wouldn't be able to do it!
And I can tell you how most of you get your news, too, in case the rest
of the world doesn't know : He said that nearly all the news came
from Rubath native reporters, that meant natives of Rubath. 'Every time
a stone goes through somebody's window there's a story,' he said, 'and
you're all sitting in the bars slopping the whisky down your gullets
waiting for the stuff to come in. What a moral life! And you've got
the guts to hand out morality in your daily newspapers! I&d like to see
any of you spend a week in this palace
I mean off-season, when we
haven't the pleasure of entertaining riff-raff from all over the world -
without going off your nuts from boredom and loneliness! Well, I've
stuck it for twenty years and I've enjoyed it. I respect these people,
and I admire the sheikh. Vell,' he went on, 'I'll tell you about these
native reporters. There wàs one little skirmish last week that was
prettily staged by the interested parties and the story all about it got
through to the Tigris bar before it actually happened. These Rubath
reporters are an even more illiterate and unscrupulous lot than you!
They 're the sons of doctors and lawyers who wanted their children to
inherit a better world
well, they did, they got their better world,
they've lined their pockets out of the misery of the people! And I can


tell you these boys know no more about the lives of ordinary people in
this country than you arrant knights of the Tigris bar do! Two of them
have got a school certificate which any bloody fool could pass at the age
of fifteen! And one of them hasn't got anything! I know, because I
taught temnmyself. You may have noticed that their mistakes in grammar
are the same as mine. Well, some of you might have noticed - the
diplomatic correspondents; the others, I suppose, phone their stuff
across to save themselves the shame of putting it down on paper! Those
reporters, I repeat, are lay-abouts and raggamuffins, and I should be very
surprised if any of them had a thought beyond this evening's sex!'
Creed ended by saying that the receipts of the two hotel bars
were unparalleled, and that since he had shares in these hotels himself
he wouldn't come off too badly. He was thinking of setting up a fund
for the religious conversion of journalists everywhere to Islam. There
were interruptions all the way through his speech, but he showed no
awareness of this and spoke through a microphone, with a stout bodyguard
standing in front of him. The laughter was sometimes uproarious, and
at the end some of the journalists sang 'For he 's a jolly good fellow!'
When he'd finished talking he got up abruptly and without another glance
at them strode through the beads of a doorway and was lost to sight.
It didn't command the headlines. Creed was a minor figure now.
Dick read the speech out, swinging in his chair, and everyone enjoyed it
immensely. It was the first real human voice of the crisis, breaking
through the bleak, metallic sheet of the daily news that Hid the light.
.Pinkie and Hanni were thrilled by it, and laughed and clapped their hands.
The papers treated it like a music-hall joke. A few papers published
amused biographical notés about him with a malicious undertone. He was


we saw a bit of each other, isn'tlit? What've you been up to all this
He shook hands with' his father, who said quietly, "Nice to see
you again, son. I
There was a richness in their voices, lulling and enchanting,
that at once embraced him, making room for all the tiny unspoken things
in a creature, the hidden follies and scrapes, and brought the world down
to glances and the warm flow between people, to the actual moment alive
between them. How exciting it was to be having tea! The kettle would
make its special little whistle when it boiled, and the electric fire
would glow in the hearth, and' the carpet in the music-room,. the deep
armchairs and the divan, the little coffee-table and the long curtains
would suddenly appear extraordinarily luxurious and comfortable, as he'd
never seen them. before! There was a' glow inside things, just as there
was in Abbott's Road. It wasn't that they made tea-time important by
flurry; but that any moment between people was the top importance.
Usually when there was tea'i in the music-room it felt as if a time-limit
had been set on the proceedings and that at any minute people would be
up and off, back to the routine of life from which this had been a brief
and by inference illusoryi departure. Or someone would be clever and
amusing: that would give tea its meaning! Or someone important would
call and tea was given a special, spurious social glow, that passed muster
in the middle-class world for the glow of life! But it was never exciting
in this way, for itself, without any reference beyond the actual moment
to wha t people's status' was outside, or to their cleverness of talk, or
even to the talk whatever it was:. the talk flowed from the moment, as
the silences did, too; it was the glow of the moment itself that counted!


His father still. had his keen and yet dreamy gaze. His mother
was a little greyer, perhaps; that was all. She gazed at him for a
momeht with shrewd, dark eyes, and then they all started upstairs.
"Well, son, how are you keeping?" came his father's voice, with
its keen, inquisitive edge, from behind him.
"Oh, all right, thanks! Are you all right?"
"Not too bad!" his father cried. Then he added in a tone that
meant a leg-pull, "Bit too much work in the house, that's all!"
"Go on, I like to hear you talk," his mother said, taking up the
2 tone in an acknowledged, ritual manner. "Anybody'd think he was a poor,
hard-done-by creature, wouldn't they, Philip?" Granville laughed. She
puffed at' the first landing and leaned on the bannister for a moment.
"Blimey, you've got some stairs here, haven't you?"
"You're getting ola, that's your trouble!" his father said, coming
level with her. "Here, give us your arm!"
"Now wait a. minute, don't go so fast
what's the matter?"
His father pulled, at her arm jokingly,.and winked at him. "Have
to help the old lady some'times!"
His mother had plump cheeks and a little line at the corner .of
her mouth as if from setting her chin in a determined way; her eyes were
tired but her old, divining look was still there. Wisps of grey hair
came over her brow. Hi's father had put on his Sunday best, with a
trilby hat over his eyes, and black, polished shoes.
"Pinkie at home?" came his father's voice again. This. time
there was the smallest hesitation in his tone.
"Oh, yes! She's upstairs getting the tea ready."
"That's right. We could just do with a cup of tea! How 's


she keeping, all right?"
"Oh, yes, she's fine!"
"Keep her in order, do you?" his father asked with the suggestion
of a laugh.
"I try to!"
"That's right! They need it, son, you take it from med."
"Oh, listen to that," his mother said, glancing at him as they
struggled up the stairs, "quite the little tyrant, isn't he?"
"Well, who's the boss, then?" his father asked.
"I know who doès .the Housework, that's all I know!" She smiled
at Granville. "Of course, they' don't think that's real work!"
"Who does the washing-up, then?"
"All right, all right, just because you do a bit of washing-up
once. in a while!"
"Once in a while? Cord ---!" He gasped in an exagerated way.
"I like that! Every dinner-time, you mean!" his father added, just as
Pinkie came down to meet them, full of smiles.
She stretched her hand out to his father first. "Hullo; there!"
"Hullo, my duck, how are you?"
She looked tall and robust, towering abofe them from the landing
above. His father grasped hold of her with a hearty movement, almost
pulling her over, and gave hér a smacking kiss on her lips. Her eyes
lost their vagueness for a moment, blazing slightly from the quick,
overwhelming contact.
"How are you, my gir1," his father repeated, gazing into her eyes,
"all right?"
"Fine, thanks! Are you all right?"


"Oh, not so dusty!" Getting old, you know, that's all!"
Then Pinkie kissed his mother and said, "Hullo, Mrs. Granville,
how are you?"
"All right, thanks, dear. You look well!" There was a quiet
confidence between them. "How dol you like it out there?"
"Oh, it's lovely," Pinkie |said in a mild voice. "Sun all the
"From what Philip was saying there's'a, bit too much of it at
times, isn't there?"
"Well, it gets unbearable about this time of year. Last year it
was ghastly!"
"Was it, really? Still, you both look well on it, anyhow!"
They walked into the music-room.
"Well, this hasn't changed," his father murmured, eyeing everything.
"I expect you're glàd to be back in a way, aren't you, Philip?"
"Oh, yes! It's nice to. be back in these rooms again, I'd almost
forgotten what they looked like!"
"That's right, you do, don't you, when you've been away all that
Pinkie told them about the report he'd been given' to do, and the
extra leave.
His father laughed. "Cord, I bet you're sorry, aren't you, son?
Another month's leave?"
"Yes, it was quite al surprise!"
"Take it easy while you can," his father said. "That's my motto!"
And when they were seated he went on, "And what does the old country look


like after two years?". He smiled across at Pinkie. "Not so dusty, eh?"
"Not too bad!" She smiled,; too. "I could do with more of it!"
"Of course you could!"
"It's funny , It his mother said, "you can have all thè comforts in
the world, can't you, but if it's hot in your own country it's never the
same, really, is it?"
"Harkiat who's talking!";his father cried. "What do you know
about it? You've never been abroad, have you?"
"No, but - " She glanced across to Pinkie. "It's obvious,
isn't it? It's never going to be the same if it isn't your own country,
is it?"
"Well, it. isn't for me, 11 Pinkie replied. "I don't think you
really relax if you're abroad jall the time."
"That's right." Shel turned to his father. "See, clever dick?
You don't know everything!"
He laughed. "No, nor do you!"
Hi's mother put her hand-bag down by the side of her chair, near
her left foot, as she always did when on a visit. It looked so comfortable
lying there: it suggested anl éxciting visit to him, from childhood
association. She bent down.and opened the clasp, then felt inside for
a.t tiny frilled handkerchief sbe always carried, and deftly wiped her lips
with it. He remembered shé'd always carried a little bag of cachous at
one time, in the shape of tiny hearts and stars, coloured bright red and
yellow and blue, to suck.
"Well," she said, settling herself again after she'd put the
handkershief back, "we've been having some funny warther lately, haven't.
we? Sunny one minute andf cloudy the next. Talk about August! It's


more like December, isn't it?"
"Yes," Pinkie replied, "we started using fires again last week."
"So did we!" his father said, crooking one leg over the ôther,
his head back. "I said to mum, come on, Isaid, let's get that fire
alight, it's chilly in here!" He added with reminiscent surprise, "And
it was, too."
"Then we didn't have any wood to start it," his mother mummured,
looking at Pinkie again confidentially; "Well, you don't think of it in
the middle of summer, do you? Still; we got it alight somehow, with
some old scraps!"
"Of course," his father said, "at one time we used to light it
regular in the summer to get the water hot, didn't we?"
There was a pause. "What do you mean, at one time? Anybody'd
think it was twenty years ago to' hear you talk?" his mother cried.
Pinkie chuckled, hearing the familiar approach of an argument
between them.
"Well, how long ago was it, then? his father asked, a determined
and yet baffled expression on his face.
"How long do you think it was?" she asked quietly in return.
"Ohy about five years, I should think," he replied, winking at
Pinkie because he was really doubtful àbout this.
"Five years?" She shifted in her seat. "You must be crackers!"
"Well, it's four. . Young Philip was home, I know that!
"What, when we had the heater put in?"
"Don't talk rot, for Christ's sake!"
"Well, didn't he come down and say they'd put the wrong switch


on or something ---?"
"Oh, no." He looked lame and added in a soft voice, "That was
young Will, wasn't it?" This was Granville's eldest brother.
His mother shook her head and chuckled, turning to Pinkie: "I
don 't know - this man! I've never known anybody get his dates and
years mixed up like him! Anyway," she added, looking across at him again,
"he didn't say anything about the switch being wrong, he said they ought
to put it outside the bathroom, door instead of inside, so we could writch
the water on without going in every time, and it's safer."
"Yes, well," his father said, going headlong into the argument
again, "that's more than three years ago, I bet!"
"What?" She lean'ed forward, to deliver her thrust slowly. "Tha t
was last year, soppy date!"
"Last year? Will wasn't home last year!"
"What do you mean, Will wasn't home?"
"What I say!"
Pinkie was énjoying herself thoroughly.
"When was Will home, then?" his mother askèd in her quiet tone
again.
"Will?" He sounded as if the name hadn't been uttered before.
He looked sheepish for a moment, pausing. Then he'murmured, "Two years
ago, wasn' 't it?"
"Two years! It was last year!"
"Don't, talk rot!"
She shifted in her seat again, beyond her patience. "It was
last year, I tell you!"


"Last year? I can remember that heater over the bath two
Christmasses ago, anyway? What are you talking about, last year?"
"You can remember what?"
"That heater over the bath the Christmas before last!"
"Oh, you can, can you?" She winked at Pinkie. "Well,you're a
marvellous man, because that heater wasn't even manufactured two years
ago. It only came out last year."
"What?' II She imitatéd his 'bark', as she always called it.
"Just think it out!"
There was a pause. And then, as always at the end of one of
their arguments, his father said quietly, his eyes raised in puzzlement,
"Oh, yes, that's right. Will got home on my birthday, didn't he? I
was sixty-four, wasn't I?"
"And when was that?"
"Last year."
"The bell's rung at last! she said with a laugh. "He always gets
there in the end, even if you do have to drag him!"
Granville was always the official tea-maker of the house, and as
he was going upstairs to do it, Pinkie having prepared all the other
things, his mother said in the tone of protective intimacy she always used
when he was a child, "Make it nicé and strong, won 't you, duck?"
Hanni came later and helped, moving round the room with a plate
of cakes, smiling and listening attentively to everything his parents
said, but saying littie herself. It seemed a nostalgic pleasure for her.
She made extra sandwiches and cut the crust off so that they looked most
professional, and she arranged them round the plate on a paper doily in


a little design. - Pinkie let her moré of less take over.
Granville put two heaped teaspoonfulls of sugar in his own tea
and his mother at once exclaimed, "Good God Almighty! The way you pile
it in! You're drinking toffee. my dear!" She turned to Pinkie:
"You ought to have seen what I/ used to spend on sugar when these boys
were kids! Talk about sweet' tooths!"
"Yes, we've never taken much of the stuff ourselves, have we?"
his father said quietly. "Never more than half a teaspoon."
"No, it's funny. You'd think they'd take after you, wouldn 't you?"
Pinkie nodded and murmured, "Yes", in her bored way, very slowly,
her eyes gazing into the distance. It was becoming a strain for her.
He only hoped she'd last out: she could be so rude sometimes, getting up
and going off to paint her lips or something, in her room. She always
re: fused to make a false effort. And, indeed, this room where they were
sitting was. made forj jraw desires, and cleverness, and arguments on long
summer evenings, and secret, unfaithful dreams, and bottles of wine on
the coffee table, leaving the same round stain each time, and sombre
thoughts that were too reflective for Abbott's Road. But the strain wasn 't
in Hanni. She sat. there curled on the floor at the foot of the divan,
perfectly at home, like a child.
His mother made a comfortable sigh after her first few sips and
said to him, "Mm, this is a lovely cup of tea, son."
"Yes," his father said, smacking his lips deliberately, "nice cup
of tea!"
Pinkie told them that Hanni had been born not far from Basrah, but
Hanni didn't enlarge on it and from there they went on to the crisis.
The crisis!/ He'd forgottén it! And now it seemed to have lost its


sting.
"It looks as if they want to damned-well start another war,
doesn't it?" his mother said.
"What do you think, Philip?" his father jasked. "Do you think
there'll be any trouble?"
"No, I don 't think so. These things usually blow over, don't
"Well, I always say they make thése damned crises . to keep the
people on their toes," his mother murmured. Then she asked in a higher,
more open tone, "Doesn't that affect fyou going back, Philip@"
"I haven' 't heard anything yet," he said. "I shouldn't think so."
"Well, you don't want to go out there and get mixed up in one of
those riots again, do you, Pinkie?"
"I suppose it's the old story, isn't it?" his father said.
"Keeping the people down, then wondering why there's trouble."
"That's right."
"They can keep their wars as far as I'm concerned, anyhow," his
mother murmured.
"They certainly can! One's enough for mei" Pinkie cried, waking
"Well, we' 've been through two, and. as far as I can see they didn't
bring anybody any, good, either of them."
"No, we don't want any more of that lark in a hurry," his father
said. "Cord 'blige me," he added reminiscently,. gazing at the floor,
"those raids wé used to get!"
"Go on," his mother cried with a laugh, changing her toné, "what


do you know about it? You were asleep all the time!"
"Asleep?" his father asked with a smile. "I don't know what
you mean, dear. You know the trouble I have sléeping!"
"Yes, that's right! The way he used to snore through them raids,"
she went on to Pinkie. "I used to shake him'
'Come on, wake up,
there's something coming down on top of us!' I used to get scared out
of my wits. Not him! He used to wake up all dopey and say, 'What's
the matter? Why the hell don't you let' me sleep?"
"Well, a man needs his sleep, doesn't he, Pinkie?"
"Not like you steep!" his mother cried. "Talk about snore!"
"That's right, she used to wake me up in the middle of the night
when we was down the cellar and say, 'Stop snoring! I can't hear the
bombs!"
"Oh, I did use to get frightened! I used to listen to the
whistles and think, 'I wonder if that one's for us!' And there was he
snoring all the time!"
"Well, what's the use of worrying, that's what I say!"
"I used to say in the morning, 'That was a terrible raid last
night,' and he'd say 'What raid, I didn't hear anything!"
He felt a pleasant drowsiness as their voices went on quietly,
so protective, as in' childhood, taking over from each other smoothly.
The street outside, bare and bleak in the chill wind, was remote from
them, and the low, dazzling-grey sky. His father's shoes reminded him
of the heavy boots that the men had once worn, carefully laced up and
polished; the silence had always throbbed in these days, as it was doing
now. All thé sounds outside had had an intimate tone, as if they belonged
to the warm, enclosed room and weren't foreign and impartial as they


usually were. He imagined leaning over the table in Abbott's Road
reading about the crisis: the heavy, black headlines would seem to
describe an angry state of affairs over the roof-tops and far away, like
something in the sky; the sky was of such importance there - it brought
so much from the outside world; there were the storms, the flashes from
the trains passing in the distance, the voices over the radio reading the
news
the bombers that had come in the war, the searchlights, the
flaming aircraft that sometimes floated down in the night making a howling
sound that turned the sky into a kind of. domed hall where there was no
distance! Why hadn't he gone over to Abbott's Road for a visit? He
had a moment of panic. He'd left it too late! There was only a month
left. He ought to be going down there more and more. Supposing his
parents died, he'd never be able to go there again; his roots would
disappear; the tiny house would go to someone else! He had the sense
of trying to snatch at something. He was trying to snatch something
across the division in his life. 'When will I get my life straight?'
he asked himself. There was this inertia that clouded his will, clouded
his heart! Where had/he been since he left their world? They sat there
unaware of any change in him. He answered their questions and nodded,
feeling ponderous and slow compared with them; how quick their world was!
Downstairs, when they were going, his mother turned to him and
said, "What a nice/girl that Hanni is, isn't she?" He nodded, and then
they kissed goodbye. He'd be coming over to see them, in the next week,
or perhaps the week after. And Pinkie? It depended on her job. She'd
only just managed to get that afternoon off, he said; he invented this
quite freely. I But perhaps they'd both come over on a Saturday, when she
was free. They ought all to go out somewhere, perhaps for the day.


And they waved from the street. "Good bye, son!"
Upstairs there was renewed movement. The usual rhythm was back
again. Pinkie was in the bathroom getting ready. to go out, and Hanni
was making herself some sandwiches to eat at the officè later that, evening.
They were calling out to each other between the two floors, talking about
the man nicknamed - Joe Clockwork' whom Hanni had been out with the previous.
Saturday. He heard her say with a spluttering laugh' that 'Clockwork' had
large ears, and Pinkie also laughed. They seemed in charge of themselves
again, after the brief interlude of his parents; there. was more crackle
in the house. He returned to it reluctantly, wit th fatigue. He thought
of his parents arriving back home, perhaps at this moment. They would
open the front door and bustle inside; probably his mother would say, "I'm
dying for another cup of tea, aren't you?" They would lay the cloth
perhaps, take off their shoes and then open the little box by the fireplace
where their slippers were kept. There would be a whist-drive later on,
or a dance at Tatlin Broadway. Soon they'd be starting to get dressed,
washing first, with a. dim light in the scullery, then pulling out drawers
and opening the wardrobe in the bedroom upstairs, the thought of a crowded
and smoky hall before them
Pinkie and Hanni were going out together. It was Tuesday, and
so, he thought,. Pinkie should have no ambiguous appointments ahead of her.
She said she was meeting someone in the firm to 'check up on something',
and she'd be back for dinner.
The evening paper only made a reference to Russian manoevres on
the Persian border which everyone had expected in any case. The
atmosphere of politics drifted back like a slow foul breath from the street.
Pinkie and Hanni left the house and everything was quiet. His parents'


presence was still.in the room . The sounds outside were sad - people's
quick steps and a car brushing past. When it began to get dark he took
a record from the pile on the floor, behind one of the armchairs. They
were dusty and scratched, and some of them, including his precious
Schubert impromptus, were broken. He stared at the black, shiny
fragments and was surprised to be feeling no shock or regret. What did
it matter? They were dead objects, without intimacy or touch! They
fitted the ghost-life he was leading: men playing instruments, but unseen,
at another time and place; borne to him by. ingenuity, voices coming from -
nowhere while the intimate heart lay still, receiving it, alone and at
one remove, staring into space, inert likea bundle of nerves and guts that
had been discarded in the movement, of history!
He found 'Fidelio', and happily all the records were intact. He
put on the beginning of the second act and from the moment of the first
note everything changed. He hadn't put on a real record since his return.
It began to flood through him and opened all his fibres and the channels of
his being. Music! Tears flooded to his eyes. The notes seemed never
to have been made on the earth; and he seemed never in his life before to
have heard pure sounds! There was also a perfect, solemn rightness in
the notes as well, as if there couldn't be another arrangement for them
and the order .had been made before life started. He waited for the
prisoner in the dungeon to begin his 'Welch dunkel hier!' And then it
began, breaking out in a marvellous and unbearably beseeching way from the
other notes. He was in a state of collapse and subservience, yet strong
as well, the tears pouring down his cheeks in a rush as if his face had
nothing to do with their activity; but at the same time, again, there
was the order underneath, the total rightness of it all. The music entered


pain with terrific firmness and insight. He could feel the man leaning
forward in the dark, as in. a performance he'd seen at the Graz opera
house a few weeks after the war had ended, when he'd travelled down to
Austria, when everything had been crushed and burdened in war and distaste;
and this same voice had climbed out of the darkness with the same beseeching
distress, crying for freedom! This freedom was like a lover; in the song
there was frightened, tender sensuous yearning for it, for the touch of
her dress, for a glance if that was all she could afford! And Beethoven
himself seemed to be leaning forward as well, through this man, inside his
voice, touching the listener with a clam hand on his knee, in such intimacy,
from the other side of life, comforting and yet always showing you the
darkness unflinchingly, so that even in the darkness of the prison there
was order! The music poured over him and through all his fibres
'What have I been doing all this time?' he thought! 'Where has my life
been?' For music always did this as well: it took . the strands of your
silent life and drew them together, seeing if they would go toget ther,
trying for the harmony and putting you on the path again. How could he have
gone so long without this purity? Even at the concerts he hadn't caught
this moment: it was always a moment
music was never a static thing
lying before you, never the same, but a moment, a conjunction, caught,
gone! But this was where his life belonged
to this purity! He
meant to keep it! He refused to let it go! If only he could keep it,
the harmony he had in his hands now! Life was so dry and full of ashes!
He couldn't keep it. It died away... It was only a moment. The end
of the song came, when the prisoner imagined being free and seeing
Leonora again, crying 'Leonora! Leonora!' in a mounting beseeching
voice like a sexual cry; and all of a sudden Granville had the sense that


music was the light, was in itself the flash across the sky, not sound
any longer but a being that had ân endless existence and could only be
glimpsed! The record ended. A record! It was only a record!
The sounds outside came back. He was calm. He didn't trouble
to dry the tears on his face but let them 'roll down' into his mouth and
dry slowly, making his skin smart. They were so dispassionate from him,
like rain on his cheeks, that he had the impression that Beethoven had
shed them for him; Beethoven had taken on his suffering on his shoulders
and shown where the order and strength in it lay, and the rightness.
It didn't seem wrong to suffer! This made him calm. He felt in the
thick of life; suffering was movement through it! It must have cost
Beethoven such pain, he thought. This calm he had now was Beethoven's
gift to him, as pure as. the gift from Christ! It was like coming to terms
with his life in its wretahedness; there was an order here, he could feel
the message of it and received its certainty again. He didn't care if
Pinkie came back early or not; but, as if in reply to his state of
strength, she did come back, with oysters and wine, early, as a treat,
she said! She talked about his parents, and how they always made her
'feel good'.
The news next day was that there had been more rioting in Rubath,
this time close to the British garrison, and several people had been killed
it was uncertain whether by police-bullets or British ones. The British
headquarters there denied that troops had taken part, but all Arab
spokesmen scorned this. The papers talked about an 'outcry' from all
over Asia. It looked as if England had fewer and fewer friends. There
was a big set-to. in the kitchen in the evening when everybody assembled.


Dick- was in a good mood and said that. whenever he lifted a glass
to his lips he always had a 'fellow feeling' for Creed. He thought of
him - probably 'an old sentimentalist' - festering in that palace
and calling the sheikh 'darling' at breakfast. "Sucha noisy call-to-
prayer this morning, darling
does it really have to be so loud?"
He'd heard that they both had spy-holes called 'Les Voyeurs' in the walls
of their bedrooms which gave a view of the main guest-room, where they
put anybody 'choice'. Creed would say, "A choice article coming out
from England this week - used to be at school with him
enough was
never enough for that one - just up your street, eh, cheeky-sheek?"
And the sheikh was probably 'a nice enough old boy.' However, Dick added,
if he hadn 't been 'by principle' against capital punishment he would have
had both the sheikh and Creed 'tried by an international court-of-law'
and executed if found guilty. This was an astonishing statement coming
so soon after his music-hall act, and Pinkie gave him one of her disbelieving
guffaws. Dick had talked cooly, without unpleasantness.
"I don't believe in executions,' I he murmured, "but these boys,
pleasant as - they might be, haveiincurred the wrath of mankind all right!"
The headlines that morning had created a sensation. One. paper
had a single word in massive type, MASSACRE, and underneath in smaller
letters, 'British troops involved?' An anglican minister was to
broadcast, calling for the abdication of the sheikh. The evening papers
said that a middle-aged man had chained himself to the railings outside
the Rubat th legation in Queen Anne's Gate.
Granville was silent most of the time. It was decided that
everyone except Glenning, himself. and Pinkie. would go to the demonstration
on Sunday. He said he might go as a spectator. Glenning said he


He wasn't scorned by the others so much as blandly disregarded. Linger-
Longer laughed. Gerald had a 'classy' accent and she relegated every-
thing he said to the harmless region of history, where 'blimps', 'pukka
sahibs' and jingos' talked. She laughed with genuine enjoyment, which
made' Gerald blink and draw back ever so slightly, and the moment he
finished speaking she talked about something else, in the manner of bringing
the conversation back to a serious theme.' The sheikh and Creed were
grotesque figures for her, with possible comic, but not conceivably
serious, lives,. and she. heard Gerald as a voice in the same grotesque
chorus. When he said that the sheikh was responsible for 'one of the
best programmes of social legislation in the Middle East' she ducked her
head forward and spluttered with laughter, and imitated his accent with a
mock-solemn face
(seeowshaul lugisleeshun!"
'Dick brickly quoted some figures about the number of malaria
cases actually treated in Rubath and the number estimated to exist
about 'a ninth of one percent' were treated -- and the earning power of
the average peasant which was less in a week than that of a London clerk
in an hour. Granville came in briskly with the argument that in this
case money wasn't used much in the villages of Rubath and the peasants
out there didn't wear bowler hats to work and take the underground; that
the figures for Rubath were still brobably better than those for most
other Middle Eastern states, including those with nationalist governments
elected by 'the people" and all that. This started the old recurrent
anger between them, a hot flame like a sudden intimate sign, recognised
simultaneously.
"That doesn't justify it!" Dick cried.
"But why don't you talk about all the other states as well?"


"What, all the time?"
"I'm talking about a state of affairs! That's the state I'm
talking about!"
"Anyway I1 Granville's anger made him flush. "What exactly
are you getting so het-up about? What's all the emotion for?"
Dick's mouth opened with surprise. It was certainly an odd
question coming from Granville: unprecedented, in fact!
"Do you really mean to say," Dick asked him, "that you don 't
know what we're getting het-up about?"
Dick's gaze made him feel ashamed, and he faltered. "Well, I
don't, really. I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm asking. What is it,
exactly?"
There was a pause during which everyone at the table was still.
"Well," said Dick, "it's because people have been killed."
"But people are always being killed."
"Yes, but this has come to our notice. It represents one set
of human beings being cruel to another set, in the most cynical way. It's
the most frightfully cynical cruelty. Don't you think that's something
to get het-up about?"
He was flushed and pouting again. "No!"
"No?" Their voices were quiet; they nearly all joined in with
Dick. "No?" And Dick put up his hand in a helpless, resigned gesture,
letting it fall again limply, leaving it to the others to form their
judgements. "Don't 'you, really?"
Granville noticed in his eyes, too, a, gleaming compassion, soft
and yet direct, light-blue; and again he was aware of shame. But he was


was fixed into an attitude now and he wouldn't budge, in much the same
way as Dick had been in the Hamlet discussion, provoking hostility with
deliberate, self-hurtful defiance.
"Oh, well, Pip, if I didn't know you I'd say you were pretty far
gone. But I' do know you and I know what you've just said isn't true!"
Granville was pleased and flattered but in the, interests of pride
kept the pout and frown on his face; they would have to stay there for the
time being, until he could make a decent withdrawal.
The discussion passed away from him and he was left to his own
thoughts. He was disposed to believe that this state of compassion in
Dick was the equivalent of his own 'orgng-utang' condition: how much
worthier it was then, to have this mercy in one instead of the blind
rush of feeling he was acquainted with in himself! He looked-at Dick
again. There is was, a genuine pity like a light in his face! And
confronted by this Granville had the same kind of recoil Dick had had in
the Hamlet discussion when confronted by Pinkie's passion. Which of
their passions would lead to a more ordered world? which would lead to
the greater quietness? He was inclined to say Dick's, There was a
steady line in it; there was no danger of anyone getting hurt!
But there was a snag here. Every day there were reports of
violence in the paper. Why didn't Dick feel pity every day? He couldn't
possibly do so! Didn't that make it spurious? His pity was a poor
mental thing! But how could that be? Granville had once noticed how,
during a quarrel with Hanni, Dick trembled in exactly the same way as he
himself did with Pinkie; it had given him a wonderfully sweet sense of
equality in the flesh! He only realised now how much he'd always taken
for granted that Dick's feelings were weaker than his. But how could


person seemed to take for granted as the normal way! He would have to
be strong as well, to keep harmony, informing himself about every step
he took. It was no longer adequate for him to exist in himself, letting
his moods come and go, forming his ideas about other people and their
actions in a flowing way that was simply a continuation of his moods.
Now he had to have a clear picture of other people, deduced, when their
behaviour wasn't clear, from himself. He had to take their interests
into mental consideration, whereas, before, his natural sense of their
presence had done that for him. Now there had to be a conscious sense
of relation. He had to listen to them alertly and then furnish his reply,
in a kind of set give-and-take that wasn't a natural give-and-take of the
heart that came easily, but on a different level, with a different rhythm;
there had to be an acute mental awareness of the other person, as to what
was going on in his mind, and what picture he had of you. Your privacy
was suspended; and the mind took on a planning activity, mapping out the
form of the conversation, trying to find interesting and informative things
to say. But in Abbott's Road the conversation needn't be at all
informative; it could go on in a kind of monologue, one person taking over
from another. In Abbott's Road thinking-before-you-spoke was ungracious;
in this way working class manners were more gracious and subtle than
middle class, and much nearer the aristocratic. The rule in Abbott's Road
was that having silent thoughts behind your words was disrespectful; the mind
throbbed on behind the words in a non-thinking way, as a man's eyes blazed
in a non-seeing way. Talk was a state of being in Abbott's Road, not
mental conclusions. It flowed from the mouth without thought of
performance. But in the middle class world it was like making announcements:
ideally, if you wanted the most attentive audience, your announcements


datoytomner The madames were always calm and humorous;
capable women past their youth. And they held Ismail Beg in esteem.
They would settle him comfortably in an armchair/ however drunk he was,
and clap their hands for a bottle .of brandy, putting little bowls of nuts
in front of him, and hot fried chicken-livers. He would pull the girls
close to him when they came in and put his hand up their skirts to give
them a pinch and make them scream; hè would jump up and do a grotesque
dance with his eyes closed, towering abofe everybody, snapping his fingers
and moving his head sideways like the girls in the cabarets. He pissed
over the bonnets of the cars outside while the chauffeurs - - 'dogs-sons-
of-dogs'
stared at him heavily from inside, afraid to say anything.
And sometimes he made a strange yeil that filled the narrow alleyways of
the brothel quarter, rising and falling, like a cry that might be heard in
the mountains, among the tribesmen. He boasted; he said he could pick
up a handkerchief from the ground with his teeth while at full gallop on
horseback, and he'd won many bets doing this in Kurdistan! He was a
warrior, a prince
hencé, the name Beg
greatly respected, feared,
hated by the "dogs-sons-of-dogs"; And an influence on the government,
a friend of the king; adored by his wife; unhappy! He had one weakness,
he sàid, and smiled, l'eaving Granville to think what it was. If he
intended sleeping wifth one of the women he would go out alone and not call
on Granville. He kept his wife under more or less lock and key, afraid
of a 'dog-son-of-a-dog' getting into the house and making love to her.
Sometimes he leàned out of his bedroom window at night and fired shots
into the garden, thinking there were men below. Unlike the other women
in Basrah his wife didn't wear the veil; she came from Beirut, the
daughter' of a merchant who spoke French, and she smarted, all the time


the long, blueish scars on his leg from the war.
"What are they?" he asked.
"Oh, haven't you seen them before?" Granville said casually.
"I was wounded."
There was a pause and he sensed a stiffening on Dick's part.
He looked up.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing. But, you know, " Dick went on in a slightly trembling
voice, "I've got no sympathy for that at all. Did you expect me to have?"
"Well, I'm rather surprised at myself! But you went out to
murder people and that's what you got."
He pulled on his trousers quickly. "Yes, that's what I got."
His anger was up at once, but this was the first time Dick had made a
frontal attack on him,, and the anger was diminished by surprise. "I
didn't ask for sympathy!"
Dick was glaring at him in an unnatural way, 9 and he felt quite
frightened for a moment.
"What's bitten you?" he asked, calm again.
"Nothing. You attack people often enough, don 't you?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"I.mean why be surprised when I do?" Dick said.
"I'm not! You've got the tight!"
"That's what I was exerting, old sport -- the right!" Dick's
ease of manner had returned; his leyes were genial again. And he left the
room with, "Well, I'd better look for the old woman."
Granville told Pinkie about this later and she said that Dick was


probably brooding over what he'd said after the Hamlet they'd seen.
"After all, you're not one to pull your punches, are you, sweetheart?"
she said with a quick, critical glance at him. Dick was frightfully
sensitive, she added, and although he liked to give the impression of
being balanced he 'brooded on hurts' for a long time without saying a
word, and was full of 'the most awful doubts about himself.' Granville
'built people up too high' and then thought that only a 'God-almighty
blow' would knock them down, wherea's a 'tap' would do the job! He had
a passing impression that this wash't her true style of speech; the second
such impression he'd had recently!
He expected to be stung by what Dick had. said but instead he felt
light and grateful; perhaps it was because Dick had shown his hand, and
he could now see him in: his heart, as a fellow-sufferer. He went out
and bought a bottle of good wine, then phoned him- to say it was waiting
for him whenever he liked to call, as a reward for 'taking attacks so
well'; to be drunk- on the premises or not, as he wished! Dick's voice
at the other end was quiet and gracious: "What a nice thought, Pip! Yes,
please, teacher, I'll be there, Monday, and we'll go fifty-fifty!" On
Monday evening he came full of smiles, and they drank the bottle together,
sitting in the music-room.
Dick told him that, in view of the conversations they'd had during
the crisis, he now put him down as 'a romantic supporter of ancien regimes
everywhere.' It was a familiar theme, he said, of justifying poverty
and distress - other pedple's. of course
on picturesque grounds!'
Granville wasn't unlike those 'Arabophils' Hanni sometimes came across at
the foreign .office
who when they went out to the Middle East found
'dignity' in the Arabs Jand then hobnobbed with the dirtiest rogues among


them. Dick spoke pleasantly, gazing at him with light eyes, smiling,
simply putting the propositions before him for rejection or agreement.
"Whenever there's something to say about henna-marks on Abu Kath'm's
brow," he went on, "or the call-to-prayér that blares down the dirty
streets, or the stink of. the river at night in the summer months and all
that caper, you say it! But as far ab Arab schemes to change Arab life
go, even elementary ones such as irrigation of the desert, or plans to
introduce wide roads and hospitals, you've got. nothing to say at all!"
Granville shrugged. "Well, all I can say is that I don't
belong to the romantic school!"
"All right, tell me why not. You agree, first, that
only talking
about the stinks and the henna-marks would be romantic, don't you?"
"Yes," Granville agreed /doubtfully.
"Well, then, tell me what else you think about over there! Tell
me one realistic element that/comes into your thinking about Arab life."
"I can't." Again he shrugged. But then he added, "In my
friendship there, perhaps."
"No, I won't let you get away with it, old sport! Your friend-
ships won't clear up the trachoma in the villages and decrease the child
mortality-rate."
"Oh, I agree there."
"So you are a romantic, Pip!"
"But why not?" Dick persisted, seeming pleased at Granville's.
lack of resistance ibut also curious.
"I don't know! I can't tell you!"
Dick laughed and took another sip of his wine. "You talk just


'1914 war, and had been responsible for a, deep hole in. the divan downstairs
in the music-room, which had come from a house in Carlton Terrace where
the grandmother had lived for the wat-years, it being so conveniently
near the war office. Granville had gazed at it in wonder after she'd
told him, trying to imagine the grand and fabulous actions of that world
before his birth, and the magnificent bedroom with rose-coloured silk
overlays, and the immense lace curtains hiding the windows, in an
unsubstantial Carlton Terrace where the houses gleamed and towered like
rocks of immutable sugar, and where the hum of the traffic - or the
clip-clop of hoofs
was softened by tall trees!
Pinkie told him that in fact Maine and Nancy, as the grandmother was
called had always made love in a box-room full of cobwebs, in the servants'
quarters; her grandfather, she said, being a 'rather vague' old boy!,
always thought the pounding 'above stairs' was a Zeppelin raid! One
night the bombardment was so loud that he decided to go up on the roof
and 'have a look', and he came across Main in one of the upstairs rooms,
in his Blues, though he was supposed to be fighting on the western front;
"What's it like up there, Maine, old boy?" grandfather asked, and Maine
replied at once, "Much too hot for you, sir! Better stay downstairs!";
and they both went down to the cellar for a drink. Maine said he'd
'dropped in to have a look at the raid on the roof', as the war office
roof was 'crowded', and her grandfather weemed quite satisfied. The
raids had gone on long after the Armistice, which her grandfather had -
thought was 'just like the Germans'.
When Pinkiettold these stories the men in. them were nearly always
vague and bewildered, so that one wondered how public life had ever been
carried on at one time. But this vagueness helped to cast a legendary


warmth over them as well. Nearly every article of furniture they'd
got from Aldercote had a story attached to it. The divan with the hole
helped to give the music-room its glow, making it seem watched over by
the past, and also as if it were continuing the past now in its glowing
colours; the room had an extra dignity and presence. It made him think
of heavy curtains, and love-letters written in a large, generous, untidy
hand; so different from the careful, educated little scrawl he had
taught himself. But it was more than a thought; it was almost a memory,
seeming to lie in the room. Much was due to the curtains in the bedroom,
too, with their sad monkey. And in the book-shelf there was a collection
of Maine's letters and memoirs, written in a halting and oddly meek way!
with much more tender feeling and doubt, Granville thought, than the
letters he himself ever wrote or received! Something had gone out of. us;
we couldn't weep any more like those men; yet we thought of them as
blustering and hard - military men who rode rough-shod over their women
and servants, and had sent battalions to their slaughter! Yet they had
this peculiar meek dignity. He came across a note one day, slipped into
the Memoirs, yellow and faded, one corner inexplicably burned, from Maine
to Nancy Grysham, from General Headquarters in France, dated November 18th,
1915: 'My own darling Nanky, ': it said, 'dined at the chateau last night,
quietly toasted your health at the very moment, would believe it, when
my host referred to Nancy, the town, in French! Rushing this off to
catch the bag. Big push starting soon, your own Ted. P.S. Please tell
Mamma to send chocolate biscuits!!!
Maine always announced a push some
time before it happened, to give German spies, Pinkie said, 'a sportsman-
like hint'. Sometimes he even gave the exact day and hour. "At dawn
the day after tomorrow, he would write, 'the big phow starts'.


The past gazed on him from that létter as it gazed on the music-
room. He felt he had to join up with this past, by his development; he
didn't know quite how. But he couldn't forfeit what these men had had.
If he'd been a Grysham it would have been! easy; the gruff tone of the
Grysham males would be in his voice now, jand their glaring, impersonal
gaze would be somewhere in his eyes; he might be like Nigel, who was more
on the classical or what Pinkie called the 'gilt' side of the family.
He wouldn't have been just one single person sitting in a kitchen, trying
to make out where his personality lay and what the world was made of!
The past would have been in his flesh: people would have said, 'That's
just how his grandfather looked!' Dife wouldn't be just here and now!
Nor would his own life stick out like a sore thumb; he'd be one of the
shadows of the house, that came and went,. among the other shadows of the
past that had come and gone in their time. The glow would be that of the
past and future as one presence, absorbing everything!
Sometimes he felt he was in al mystical association with these
men,, through Pinkie. There was a scrap of a letter he 'd seen from one
of her uncles, Clive, who'd been killed as a boy at Ypres in a dawn-
attack: 'Dear Mums, my boots are cracking again, and could you send
some notepaper, also, dearest darlihg, I lost the precious lanyard.'
Like a tiny city! With such a yielding innocence! No brittle mind-work
going on! Only this golden, unquéstioning belief! They'd all had such
delicate voices compared with ours, so rich and'full of heart, so. rambling
and soft. Everything had been spoken without caution or fear, then.
There'd been such openness. But we were hemmed in all the time; our
feelings bubbled over and simmered and made endless distortions.
People had been the be-all and end-all of life.then
thrilling,


without preparation, whatever the, words were!
"Isn't it difficult for an English woman
moving about freely,
that sort of thing?" Deryk asked him.
"Well, it isn't easy but you get morefand more women without the
veil. They're quite used to seeing English women. They think they're
all mad anyway.' 11
"Oh!" Deryk chuckled in a breat thless way. "And you work with
Arabs, do you?"
"It must be a wonderful life, Philip," Deryk aaid quietly.
They camé to a stone bridge'with fat pillars where there were
people leaning on the parapet gazing down into the water, silent. The
stream Mas very still below, touched at the edge by willow branches.
The sunlight cast the design. of the pillars on to it, and these shadows
trembled with the breeze sometimés; or a fish passed swiftly across.
"Are they trout?". Deryk said, peering down.
"They look_like-d-tit-
Two or three fish darted under the bridge, their bodies silvery
blue. Parther-on-oh could. see boats
-onthe-Serpentimeymoving
slowly, wit thout a sound from any of them; nearer_the"bank there were toy
Ahill wze
Brefh efmhin yachts, their sails a dazzling whiteas they went up and down on the tiny
Gnoctk greer waves; far on the othervside they could see people diving into the water
te wem Hohe
at the Lido,-white bodies streaking down and making a' splash, with the
sun Ladunuld
trees where.he-and-Hanmi-hhad-sat-miakingadark cave-like hollow behind.
Lor, He hdlny
They came to a man launching a toyehip from the bank, with a
fll 2 Rov,
dusg otentf crowd watching him. The little vessel had three funnels and was worked
by radio. Somoof the people watching were dressed for the office, in


dark winter suits. The man started the engine by pulling at a piece
of cord, then he pushed the boat carefully away, giving it a final little
shove with the tips of his fingers; he was a small man with a wrinkled,
pale face and freckled handsi, utterly absofbed in his task, the stub-end of
a cigarette forgotten in the corner of his mouth, brown and dry. As the
dignified little ship went smoothly out, keeping a straight course and
sending out a surf on either side, he bént down to the radio, which had
an aerial and three or four dials. And then he controlled the boat's
direction, so that it moved out heavily, as if massive, still going a
straight course; but then it veered heavily round, gleaming in the water.
The port-holes and cabin windows flashed as it turned, and all the time
the man kept his head bowed, only lifting his gaze slightly to look out for
other boats, his hand on - the dials. The only noise from the lake was the
muffled bumping of an oar now and then on a rowlock, far out, and the
flapping of the tiny yacht-sails!
Again Granville glanced/at Deryk and was surprised to see that he
was. rapt and fascinated like every one else in the crowd; again he was
like a child.
"He must be a happy man, don't you think?" Deryk said with a
smile. There was the same wistfulness Granville had noticed be fore;
he was bereft of a tangible |self and looked extraordinarily lonely.
"Do you enjoy living in London?" Granville asked him as they
walked away.
"Well, it's awfully wearing sometimes but the holidays are good
I do get long holidays, that! is one advantage of teaching!" And then,
having. said this little /bit about himself, he turned to Granville with a
final air, as if drawing a curtain, and made his little smile that seemed


to say, "But my life's just a game, what about yours?"
Granville felt suddenly elated
he would really talk to Deryk,
he'd get him to tell him about his life and fears, he'd' dig further and
further down, why shouldn't they be friends, why shouldn't he explore.
things in this way, why not cut through all this dreariness and formula
and set talk that governed everything, that gripped England like a deadly
paralysis and which you could see in people's faces! What was there in
the air, against that exploration?
They'd come round the park full circle to where they'd met and
the children still played. It seemed to finish the conversation, too.
They walked on to Alexandra Gate, strolling. They saw two chestnut horses
on Rotten Row, under the trees, withi women riders in elegant top hots,
turning and rearing slightly, theirffllanks close together, the sunlight
going over them in dazzling yellow spots as they kicked up the sand,
seeming not to move by their 'own wills but to be in an airy, floating
motion like the brilliant shadows jall round them.
Well! He and Deryk turned to each other to say good bye. So
nice to have met! What about Hester, when was she going to call
Beatrice? Then they must both come over! Yes, and Deryk must bring
Beatrice over for dinner one evening, Hester would love
and so forth.
He hardly knew what he was saying or what he'was hearing. He only had
an impression of Deryk's face as gentle and solicitous again, smoothing
the path, always smoothing theffpath!
They put out their hands and gave each other a final smile.
"Be sure to give Beatrice our love!" Granville cried, in a last
sudden access of affection. "Hester's been meaning to phone for a long


"Do come round and see us! Mummy's going to. be so excited-when
I tell her!"
They walked away in opposite directions
he chose the opposite .
direction though he was heading-the same way as Deryk
and then turned
to wave at each other simultaneously. Granville caught a glimpse of his
long pale face again, and his pale fingers as they waved delicately,
flickering above Deryk's head for a moment. Then he was gone.
Pin
mellas,
alci
F A Maimbury, had a spar aM EE ag SER golden quality
that put people at ease, eight toaway
wae thie perhaps that Deryk was
Hhis,
striving fork Why didn't he attain it? He didn't
quite: -There
was something grudging 1n MIm
he and-Beatriee-béckonedyouinsidowbut
that-wes-ars-atso-a good-wary-Of making You-feet-shut-oub-as-wedby-especeed-ky-
as-there-wars no-inside:
hey-did,-real-ly-was-eneate- -1obble-fable,
and then despise u -seerety
ou ret Fon L au
But Maimbury was whole: a still, slim, quietly gracious man with
regf-
the same unaffectedjassurance, ouched
-sen-wynbers;
wat.
enty there was more bite to his gaze
he d-mede-himself one of the
a Lenttama suf hohne 1 7 radtal in taher,
richest men in the country and
good-many-briek- deate -He
wuear Beatais 3
puhe Timole
So euf 1 t fau. She cale
was- 1041 anistoeraoy
athen-was-a-brgea-brgshamy-ar-brt-tbo
k Gert Cute le dm
Mai & lury Catant k soaf rronm
expeneive for-trueu h
famialy-eadidy-but-good-to-dire-od-to-ttre-orr:
auk
He kept his tall London house, that shone like a great white tooth in the
tumil
fanul
sunlight, partly as
formbhem and partly as a/restaurant pelatues
Cukie
a/monument
lihe
they came in their muddy shoes and dirtied his carpet, Binkig-caid, and
belched boudty after meaps, bo-the-horror
ret
A e
49444and-warsfool-fool-enough C 5 an him-thedwaristocracy_and delicabe-manners
couard-gver-go-bugethert


Well, to some extent they did go toge ther in Maimbury. He'd
grown up in both worlds - - a bankers' world on the one hand and the
old lingering world of the country estate (supported by the banks) on the
other. He was the effective head of Pinkie's/side of the family.
Everyone came to him for advice and, of coursé, money. They brought
'their bastard children for him to support, and used his name when they
were in a tight spot. Family conferencest took place between him and
Beatrice, who knew better than anybody where the family needed bolstering
up and patching. They were always trying to keep the. family together.
But the family didn't want to be kept together: not unless they could see
the money in it! As for a sense of Aristocracy, they had absolutely
none
they didn't know what people 'meant!
Pinkie. had a childish, romantic admiration for Maimbury: it was
like her love for Nigel, only Maimbury - 'Nicky'
was a debonair
figure who 'arranged' everything; he belonged to the world of affairs,
and Nigel to nature.
The first real family event after Granville had married Pinkie was
lunch with him. And it was an. extraordinary event because it showed
Granville a world he'd never known before even in his wildest imaginations,
an invisible world which Pinkie had renounced in herself. He was always
conscious afterwards that she'd renounced the England in herself, the
unconscious and dreaming part of her blood, for which she could see no
use in the world.
The moment Maimbury had walked across the carpet' in the hush of
the hotel-lounge Granville felt at ease, with a strange, immediate,
involuntary change of feeling as if the man had brought a new golden light
in with him, coming suddenly through the revolving glass door, treading


softly, waving his hand in a casual movemeht towards Pinkie. He wore
his raincoat open and carried an old trilby hat; Granville remembered
the way he swung this hat, with an oddly childish and graceful abandon,
so that it was like a school-cap for a moment et His eyes caught Granville's
attention next: they were wide-set and still remarkably plavid, as if
their physical shape had been determined slowly by quiet, good thoughts.
And their original shape seemed to includ'e a smile, which asserted
safety and calm at once.
It was a light wondering quality, and
dominated them all the time they were at' lunch. It put Pinkie in a
specially gentle and courteous mood, bringing out that invisible element
that brooded and slept in her
the ecstatic, thrilling, wild, half-
choked way of talking that made her lips moist and full, and put lost,
distant, shining vagueness in her eyesjas if she was looking back across
centuries and everything grand that haa ever happened in the country
was happening in her again and as if a natural authority and dominance
lay in her body which only had to bé called out, like the rustle of a
silk dress and candlelight and, the flash of eyes in the dimness! She
and Maimbury made the crowded. Oxfotd Street outside distant, rotten,
dead and foul, an idiot dream sprayed on the earth like a stink and left
to lie for a few decades, not morg, before it was smashed to pieces by
better hands than had put it there.
Maimbury had taken Pinkie by the hand warmly and spoken in a low,
easy voice that at once seemed/to establish endless time
"Hester,
how are you?", with a quick glance at her to verify she was well. Then
he turned to Granville, his eyes measuring him for a moment in a mild,
rather passive way, without jscrutiny, absorbing him with an unwatchful
calm, and said to him shorthy, man to man, "How do you do?" Through the


whole lunch Granvillè kept glancing at Pirkie because of her metamorphosis
into a tall, graceful, attentive creature, gazing before her in a dazzled
way
into her real self. She had a dark suit on with a red silk
scarf loose round her neck which made her face glow and her skin pale.and
smooth, in a dramatic contrast. She could have been one of the great
women of the past
a Holland or Devohshire! It was extraordinary
what effect his presence had.
Maimbury's hair was slightly grey at the edges and this made the
casual, vigour of his body all the more striking. He had a firm, lean
face, weathered and lined; everything led to his eyes. As they went
into lunch he snapped his fingers and called out "Boy!" sharply to one
of the pages, then. . told him to 'take the gentleman's coat'. For a
moment Granville had been surprised, and had stood still in the carpeted
lobby
'The man means me!" he thought. It seemed to him then that
Maimbury had subtly established equality between them by saying that
by making a double ànnouncement, to the page and himself. And the page
raced towards him, even before he, took Maimbury's coat.
Inside the dining room they were handed over to the head waiter,
who said quietly, "This way, milord," and led the way briskly between
the tables, whispering to another'waiter in a brittle, narrow-eyed way,
"Tell Joe quick
Maimbury!"
Seats were drawn back from their tables in the corner, they all
sat down, and Maimbury took the léather-covered menu in his hand. He
glanced down at it and stroked lis mouth thoughtfully, leaning on his
elbow. "Now what shall we have?" he murmured: Granville said nothing.
He was used to being confused by wine-names andi dish-names at that time,
so he decided to leave the talking to Pinkie. She always knew what she


wanted and said so, while he would order, the same dish as someone else
at the table, saying to the waiter after a pause, "I'll have the same!"
Then he just hoped the food would be all right. Once he'd ordered
escallop in this way
it was one of the few dishes he knew
and he
got a heap of fish in a sea-shell instead of what he'd expected
veal!
He'd looked down at the fish in a bemused way, trying to reconcile it
with his idea of veal, fried in breadctumbs, and wondering whether the
waiter had misheard him.or if his legwas being pulled. Then he'd
caught sight of the card and saw undér FISH the word scallop and assumed
this must be it. Apparently, you could use the word for both veal and
fish.
Another time, when he was atlthe T.I.M. training school, he'd
been invited to lunch by one of thef specialists in Arab affairs. The
man had small, gleaming, kindly eye's but he only spoke when he had
something intelligent : to say, a mannerism which always frightened
Granville. Suddenly, between courses, he looked at Granville in a calm,
rather patriarchal way and asked, Pwill you share some plovers' eggs
with me?" He decided to nod and smile, as if the thought'had occurred
to him, too. But he had no ideal what the words meant! He thought it
might be a wine
something liké 'Plaver Seggs'! It seemed all right
'Plaver Seggs '45'. And then the little mottled eggs came, six of them,
and he ate three of them with a ganic-stricken show of relish.
After a pause Pinkie said to Maimbury, "Well, I don't know a
thing about wines for a start, Nicky. So you'd better do the ordering."
There,. it was perfectly simple! You just had to say it! And
Maimbury replied, "Would you like me to order the whole thing?"
Granville answered, "Yes, that'd be lovely!" So homely, this idea of the


host ordering for everybody: Maimbury gave him an appreciative little
glance.
Granville had noticed. for the first time in a restaurant of this
kind that he felt no apprehension, nor a sense that he must hand on every
word said to him in casé he was guiltylof a breach of manners. He sat t
easily in his' chair, his elbows on the rests, and actually thought
about what he was saying - this was perhaps the most amazing thing for
him, to actually think in a public place with the same unhurried
reflection as he did in private!. The table seemed to belong to them,
their own, and though the hall clattered and hummed with conversation,
the other tables seemed far away, ànd the streets outside were so remote
as to be undraginable:
He(d forgptten now what they talked about. But an extraordinary
graciousness had flowed from Maimbury;it was something rooted and fixed
in him, a blessed mark, that could nevér have been imitated or learned.
Granville was astonished how, within-al few moments of being in his presence,
he felt not only at his eàse but washed clean of guile and baseness;
it actually seemed, by contrast, that! at other times he'd learned to
dislike himself! For he settled so comfortably - - not proudly or
vainly
into his own frame under Maimbury's gaze, and he observed that
Pinkie was doing the same; Her sentences were like trenchant little edicts,
uttered blindly, as if from the past, with the vagueness of the past
round them, caught in a glow, dramatic, making the present moment seem
only a contribution to the slow, légendary movement of time far beyond
them. And her red scarf marked this more strongly. It was something
in Maimbury's smile, and in the soft gaze of his eyes that carried no
advance-image of the world but waited in good will for the world to


declare itself. Granville only said what he wanted to say, and his
silence didn't feel hedged-in and intimidated. It was such a relief
actually being with somebody in a "public place and yet keeping intact,
without fear! In an epoch when being in public meant losing intactness,
in the roar of a city! Had the world always been like that? Was it
only us, in our world, who underwent a strange psychological shock when
we went into the company of other people, and uttered things we hardly
knew or recognised, and then, afterwards, felt a sense of betrayal, that
we'd departed from ourselves, unawares, and lost the road, as if we''d
been bewitched, and odd public statement ts had been put into our mouths
from the air? Was the usual air infectious nowadays? And was Maimbury
free of that?
Granville had the momentary enchanting experience when he was
with Maimbury of discovering goodness in himself
not extra and above
what he was in himself-- it was simply a recognition of the ordinary
goodness every-man had, as if hitherto he'd been given a false story,
that there was no goodness in the ordinary state, no natural goodniess
inherited by everyone!
There were even all sorts of ways of talking and moving which had
never appeared to him before; as if hitherto he'd been in the grip of
fear, and had been paralysed by the gaze'of other men, not consciously
any more but in a manner almost physical, certainly automatic, like
goose-flesh in sudden cold; sometimes it seemed that he could deduce the
presence of other men near him, without séeing them, by this automatic
response of the flesh! Indeed, it appeared to him that the whole of his
life, apart from the interlude in Sussex, had been in a state of fear!
Long ago, he'd forgotten what natural behaviour was like, and now he moré


or less accepted a state of self-suspension as the price to be paid for
being in public! And now, through Maimbury, he became aware that this
might be true of most other people, too: it might be the state of our
world. With Maimbury he said whatever thoughts came into his head, as
if they were from a mysterious source
mysterious even to him
and
not open to the limiting judgements of men; it was a strange freedom he
had never known before, and' he was less willing to say afterwards that he
lived in a free epoch; for the flesh was in chains, it was chained to this
throbbing public life that went round in a circle and caught us up like
a St. Catherine's Wheel, stretching and torturing us, twisting our faces
and shooting out our hands in peculiar, unwilled gestures! The self was
more or less in abeyance with Maimbury: he was simply a man, Pinkie was
simply a woman; there was simply the world, no 'inner' or 'outer', no
'private' or public', but people sitting together to eat! Not was this
a primitive sense, of having got behind civilisation to a supposedly
untouched and intimate state; it was the reverse
far in advance of
anything primitivé; it was actually a sense of civilised people
not
clever ones, or terrifically energetic ones, or demoniacally astute ones,
but civilised ones in a golden way, in whom reason wasn't a faculty of
the brain but a sweet power of curiosity and light! That was in
Maimbury's face. There were nol marks of fear!
Pinkie had once showed:him a photograph of Maimbury as a. child,
standing in a tall hot-house with the rest of his family, dressed in
knickerbockers: he had long, fair curls and' the wonderful softness was
already in his eyes. And it made Granville feel how seldom a child
keeps his dream in our epoch, but is pinched and limited early, especially
a boy, in recognition of the pitiless, dry symmetry of the public world


that has to be observed, requiring stricter gestures than natural ones
ever could be, and only certain brain-calculations in place of thoughts,
and hard pellets of 'fact' in place of the flowing truth and experience
of life! Maimbury had kept his softness. Nothing had been damaged
in him; so. . it was like a glimpse into more golden eqochs, seeing him.
he'd been allowed his own dignity from the beginning. Perhaps only
girls could grow like that in our world; with their graciousness intact
in them, and the light of dreaming still allowed in their eyes.
Granville remembered all too well in his own childhood how he had always
tried to stop the graciousness in his face as much as possible, and to
discourage the dream, in deference to a public world that never made a
clear statement of its requirements, only seemed to turn a cold shoulder
when he departed from this descipline into natural behaviour.
This was so. wonderful in Maimbury's face
that it had never
been turned from its natural and swèet civilised development. Instead
of civilisation being progress or industries or ethical presumption, or
anything grandly intellectual and public, it was, in Maimbury, an intimate
light that could only ba passed from person to person; it was something to
do with the heart, inimitable:
ih every man it would be a different
flame
how extraordinary to. think that once life had consisted of all
these flames, intact, touching and burning.and reflecting each other!
How exciting it must have been before our epochs came into being! The
flame was in Maimbury's movements, in the way he talked and smiled; there
was nothing constructed about him; he simply had this shining presence, which
couldn't leave him because it was in the shape of his face and the sound
of his voice; Granville thought of it as 'extraordinary'; but suppose it
was what men had inherited in the past as the ordinary course of things,


without thinking about it?
The marvel of Maimbury's presencé
for which Granville had
no parallel or previous warning in his life.
was that it showed no
trace at all of the 'higher world'. That was the revelation of Maimbury's
lunch invitation for Granville! And he realised that Deryk did,
emphatically, belong to the 'higher world': like Beatrice, he had not
a gentle heart, but gentle manners.
And this light in Maimbury/ was something that could never have
been invented or cultivated by oné man alone; it could only have been
inherited, and grown out of birth, through slow years of growing, in
safety! Were we going to lose all that? Were we going to become simply
separate citizens, each wi th his personality, but wi th nothing marvellous
inherited? What Maimbury carried in his body and in his fine, restful
eyes was a theme that had grown liké a slow flower by the ingenuity of
generations, and was a doctrine' that couldn't be passed on articulately:
it was a light known only by presence, and impossible even to give a name
to pecause no single thing çomposed it, only the total life of one person!
That was aristocracy: it wasn't class namely, power, but a genius which
no country, once given it, could ever forget, and beyond which, in
simplicity and sweetness, it could never go. Aristocracy was only an
image', caught for a moment; it wasn't truly a historical reality. The
image was only passed on in glimpses. No primciples safeguarded or
hindered it. A man was it by his presence alone, it couldn't be
purchased or learned or damaged: it could only be inherited.
Were we to haye only bare records of it, only memoirs and country
palaces open to the public? Were we to do away with the first image of
our own souls?
Could we inherit as well? Had the 'higher world'


reached the end of its historical task? Now a man had to create his
own life! Would he do it in that most perfect of all images? It was
all laid before us in the tales of kings, in the country houses that had
never stirred from their first tranquillity: what an extraordinary
inheritance awaited us if we could break our silence of the heart! But
if we kept to the middle-class road, ashamed to be ourselves, because self
was dark and secret, if we kept on joining movements and trying to make
more movement, if we looked for the right society all the time, and the
right principles, and the right safeguards for our children, if we let
our selves of here and now die, broken by the noise outside that prompted
us to join and spoke to us out of radios and stared at us in the morning
from the newspaper and. gazed at us from films, always drawing us to
believe in a bigger and finer world outside which was only composed of
people like ourselves, if we never turned to our own silence, never let
that silence take its own time, never learned to take action from its
sound root; if we never braved the accusation that we were useless or laxy
or selfish,.or out'of the group, or hollow, or dead by virtue of our
solitude: then we should inherit death, and our children would look into
our public faces and read nothing! A great religious duty for the first
time awaited-not simply a few people but untold numbers.


hae-own-so-deeply-thatmthere-was-now-no-other-way-of-seeing-thingerg
But ou *
1 was-inside-the-processes-all-roundwheEg Thi
sebt
didn--temean-shewlacked-aminnd. She.had.a.quick,-shrewd_intelligence
swhieh-showed"Ih"her-eyes. But-she-didrrtwhtwhavewawsystemmofmthought,
imprinted on her.
If-the eclipse had" affected"hin"hewould-have-sadidwsit-cwascmwe
Anervouenessi-due-tomkthe-weathertee-Itowould-haveabeen-tumned-into.e-s
scientifte-type-of-conceptyminwhich-the-body-was-a-vactim-of-influences
-from-the.doutsidedummComparedewisth-Abu-Kath.im,.-bhe-thought.about-about.lifemall
théwtimeminstead-ofwactually-perceiving-and-mlévig-ith
The comparison induced strange sensai tions in him; for a moment he
could see himself as the Arabs did: F strangely static, pates wi thdrawn O
apeatrurtes -He-seemed-not-reatty-owbjeotmtoud themprocessesmod-irife-and
deat thy-but-a-spectatornof-d.hetme.hemowrwihewfactmwasywhowewen,mthatmthese
pracessesm didustial-lagoxemnalls. Thereforemheuehezmustzhave-aedistorted
consciousnessi
That-evening eftersthemeckipsey -there-was-a-deeper-silencesilencexin
the-house-than-usual, Kath-m-theshouee-boy-made-a-fire-in-the-sreting"
room,-for-it-was-still-cold-in-the-exeningsr There-were-no-sounds-from
ontside,monly-a.dog.barking-in-the-distance-novrand-then"
Pinkie wa's
reading.the_local newspaper.. .for-English-residents. They'd planned to
eat at. the_Cabala.with-one-of-the-brench-nienegers,-but-Pinkcte" had said
+she-was-tired-and-he", drcmlHed-st-offF
He sat gazing into the fire, thinking about the afternoon. t*
was.a.matter-that-Concerned-him-very-closely,-he-knew-that. Abu Kath'm
believed inGod! As we. beliewed-in-treesysay, or our own breathing;


these-things simply weré for us. And Allah simply was for her. The
mind didn't enter/intoit His vocabulary, 'believing i God or
'feeling' God, put the matter wrong from the-startx And he had to think,
through/these words.
Pinkie went up to bed earlyand he stayed watching the last embers
of the fire. Only a talstanding lamp was on, casting ardim red glow
over everything She-moom-wes-tong-and-high-weer-rording "doors-in-one
wall, awhich Led b omthe-dinang-Doolyend-were-openedoonly-whensthere-were-
guests. Curtains were drawn across them now to hide the rather ugly
glass panelling, and they gave the rooma shrouded, secret look, like
a temple, especially now there wasfonly the red lamp. He half-dozed.
All evening he'd sat t without a book. Then he became aware of a growing
contentment in himself. He stretched out his legs, making a rustling
sound on the rush ma t and settled further into his armehair. The fire
was still hot andfthe room glowed with a wonderful subdued brilliance,
the-smald-black-designs-of-themcurbain-standingrout-vividlyr-likendesignsm
on.thewwali.ofuali.of-demosque. He heard singing in the di'stance, with the
thump, fof a drum: was-a-servant
-eoneutar-gardensy
perheps: -Pheedumbbuk made smart little raps, exciting and subtle. The
song seemed not to be developing in time, but static, like an endless
wail. His mind was asleep for amoment, in. second place, contented.
Theglowing room-was-1is-like-a idoor
ts-objee-te-fixed-Like-stars,
ith.
bre Ae eon tE -sbidiness-os-breess
It was like haying life in depth instead of movement; he was only
aware of the present moment; but the present-moment was endless, in depth,
there being no sound of movement-to recognise time by. This had a strange
relevance to his other thoughts. Only his mind could have told him that


Cuk ls
time was getting on, that bed was/waiting, that Pinkie was already
asleep. But for the moment there was' only the present, like eternity
captured. Surely the mind/always brought the shadow of death over an.
experience, by announcing' the horizon beyond present time? taking us out
of the depth of eternity? Did Abu Kath'm really live inside present
time? But we'd got broken off! We moved at a tangént all the time!
He felt drawn right into life, sucked down by the flow of the
room and the distant, whining song. There was no death for the moment.
The mind pointed out. no frontiers.
The song ended, and his mind was/ /roused again. He looked at
his watch and was surprised to see 'itjwas past midnight. Pinkie was
probably asleep by now. He decided to sleep in his own room, which he
did whenever he worked late.
Before turning off thé light he looked back at the hearth again,
where there were the last dusty embers. The room was very still; long
and brilliant. Did Abu/Kath'm live all the time with the fullness of
that moment he'd just/had?/ Was that what real life was like? Was that t
why she had endless patience? Once he'd told her to guard the housè all
day while he wasfaway, and she'd taken him literally, and had sa t squat tting
on the doorstep for eight hours, until he returned, without the slightest
impatience, ,her abba' drawn close ovêr her head.
He closed the door and felt his way along the corridor to the
stairs; * on the first landing there was a double window where he sometimes
stoppea to watch Abu Kath'm on the lawn below. The sky was bright and
.he could just make out her yellow hut, a dimly shining hump with shadowy
trees behind it. And. beyond, stretching into vagueness, lay the desert,
a whitish-mass that seemed bo move, be'cause it was hardly distinguishable


from the sky. He stared at it for a few moments, and it disappeared.
Then he looked down at the garden again, a black oblong, and once more
it became visible, like a moving shroud in the night. There wasn't a
sound. No dogs were barking. On this side of the house he couldn't
hear the singing. Yet he had no sense of solitude. He had the
impression of actually breathing the night, the source of his breath
being the same stillness that lay outside. He turned round to look at
Pinkie's door on the next landing and saw that her light was out. His
shoes scraped on the stone stairs, and he went up on tiptoe. He didn't
want to disturb the silence. It had the same commanding integrity as
during the eclipse.
He opened the door of his room carefully and could make out his
sparse objects there
the narrow bed by the right-hand wall, the desk
under the window and the rush matting in the centre of the floor. It
was simple, rather like a monk's cell. He didn't want to switch the
light on but walked through the darkness on to the balcony that let from
his room. A faint breeze came through when he walked out, touching his
face. He could see the waste area below with its little mounds and
craters, and the path between the palm trees that served for a road, its
sandy floor shining dimly between the stiff leaves. A dog barked in
the distance, then it was still again. The palm tree at the edge of
the balcony tinkled for a moment, and the breeze made the sound of a
distant wave, rising and falling back again. Everything was composed
of shadow, furry and soft; even his hands were unsubstantial like dust,
hanging at his sides.
He pulled the door closed again and went over to his bed, where
he lay down, propping the pillow up behind him and pulling a blanket over


his feet. How paltry Abu Kath'm made his past thoughts about 'believing
in God', in the Sussex days and after! God was for her
it didn't
matter whether you called it God or the sun, or what. For the first
time in his life he'd glimpsed the other state of being, for which he'd
been searching since childhood! That was why he'd thought about. her
all afternoon. He'd arrived at a turning-point in his life, as far as
thinking went - he was sure of that!
He tried to remember his earliest thoughts about religion. He 'd
been sent to St. Mary's in Abbott's Road every Sunday. What had
happened? What had his thoughts been there? He racked his brains,
trying to remember. At St. Mary's there were dark. mahonany pews and
fat yellow pillars on either side of the chancel; it was quite a handsome
church, really. The idea had been to keep him out of mischief more than
anything. But what'had happened in his mind when he'd heard the mords
Christ and God? Had he ever believed in God as Abu Kath'm did? What t
had happened to his religion? And all he could remember now was a vague
perplexity.
At first, 'God' had been simple, just a gentle presence at the
edge of the roof-tops. The image had been dreamy, in the style of
childhood. But then those confirmation classes had started, and' here,
he remembered, the problems had begun, when he was about thirteen. His
perplexity had begun over Christ, whom he'd never really though't about
before: Christ, too, had been a simple figure, like a marvellous elder
brother. In his mother's prayers Christ had never been mentioned, only
God and people. Now he heard about Christ in detail for the first time.
He was raised up by the story, and he was as quickly flung down, into
perflexity. And since the day of his confirmation, when a bishop had


come to the church and he'd taken his first
and last - - taste of
the wafer, he hadn't given the matter a deliberate thought. Nobody
else had bothered. And the perplexity had remained. But it had
remained hidden. Only now had he become aware of it.
The confirmation classes had been held on Sunday afternoons
when the church was empty. A 'group of children say in the front pew
while a young clergyman from another parish talked to them from the
chancel steps. At first Granville could hardly take his eyes off the
clergyman's face; he thought'he'd never seen such clear, good eyes in a
person! They never seemed to show censure. And he noticed that the
young man always spoke wi th a smile when he mentioned Christ. He smiled
a little even when he was talking about Christ's' death and how they didn't
have to break his legs to quicken the end because he gave up the ghost
early, while the two thieves still struggled on in the death-throes. He
also told them how a soldier had thrust his spear into Christ's side,
probably to make sure he was'dea, and how there was a legend that a drop
of the blood and water from the wound had fallen on to his face and he'd
been cured at once of an eye-disease. Even when he spoke about the
blood and water gushing out he smiled in a tender way. He had flushed,
healthy cheeks and soft black hair, and talked in an easy way, his eyes
resting on the children in equality, which struck Granville even then as
wonderful in a grown-up, that he should be able to talk with equality
to children.
By smiling when he told them about the last moments on the cross
and how Christ had called into the darkness, 'My God, why hast thou
forsaken me?', he made it all feel sàfe and even good: which was very'
strange.


The church itself had begun to feel a happier place! Before,
it had been hopeless and sombre, a place where priests sniffed and haw-,
hawed through their vague sermons, and coffins were laid in the chancel,
and grim, nervous couples were married, while the trams scraped and rumbled
past outside. It was astonishing how the young clergyman could change
it so! The sun seemed to shine in at the tall windows more, and the
stained glass began to glow mysteriously. It began to look quite a
lovely church, with its great clean beams and arches.
As the confirmation classes went on he began to associate the
gentle look in the young man 's
with what he was
eyes
talking about, namely
'Christ'. And he listened more closely. He was determined to be like
him if possible, to have those. same good eyes. Hè wanted to be like that
when he grew up, without suspicion or reserve. So many people in the
streets outside had small eyes which twitched from side to side in a
fixed, disbelieving watchfulness. He began to hate the streets at this
time. They were hard, dusty, bleak corridors leading nowhere, grimy and
yellow and grey. The trams creaked and clanged, and over everything lay
a silence that had nothing gentle in it at all, no rhythm, but was simply
'a' suspension, like a dead face. Even at thirteen he was jumpy and nervous,
expecting accidents all the time. There seemed less and less to cling
to in his life. The streets offered nothing. Life consisted of quick,
unrelated events which didn't comprise a whole experience. It was a hard,
disjointed dream.
Only in the countryside had he ever heard. the real silence, that
had a rhythm in it, like someone breathing. That was a comfort. But
otherwise the gentleness in people's faces was his only comfort. When
he saw someone 'nice', as Eve, Aunt May's daughter was 'nice', with her


sad, compassionaté look, he had a terrific sense of awe. And the young
clergyman was 'nice'. But this time there was more than a person. He
felt 'Christ' behind it.
The young man talked about Christ intimately, as if he was close
by, and Granville began to have a sense of Christ as actually being thère
on the chancel steps. The communion rail, the tasselled alter-cloth of
crimson and silver, the gleaming altar of gold, seemed to be his home.
It was a strange feeling, like discovering who these things belonged to,
for the first time. The. church began to feel like a house which the
owner had just left, so that his golden presence was still in the air,
in the ticking clock and the armehair.
He learned that confirmation would give them the right to eat of
Christ's body and drink of his blood, symbolically, at the communion rail,
for 'He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh of my blood, dwelleth in me,
and I in him.' The meaning of this was only vague for him -- idiotic,
really
eating flesh and drinking blood - but his mind made a quiet
acceptance and he thought of the communion as a silent meeting with
Christ that was too far beyond the clutches of ordinary life to be
examined thoroughly. Still, it wasn't simple
not life the figure of
Christ.
We must always remember, the young man said, that Christ willed
his suffering and foretold everything that would happen to him. He had
to show people what it meant to forgive and love. People don't believe
words. They must have something to look at. And when they saw Christ
dying above them on the cross they knew as they would never have known
otherwise that he meant every word he'd said. Here was a man who had
used himself as a living demonstration for other people
used his own


body! 'Can you imagine that?' the young man asked. 'Do you wonder
that his example has never left out minds since?' 'Though ye believe
not me, believe the works,' Christ had said. 'And the breat that I
will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.'
Without his crucifixion Christ would simply. have been a preacher
'like me ', the clergyman said with a smile.
But during the last few classes Granville began to feel puzzle-
ment. For Christ wasn't 'nice' in the way he'd thought at first! It
began to seem strange to him that his own mother and father should have
sent him to church. There was a great anger in Christ, often against
mothers and fathers. 'Think nottthat I am come to send peace on earth:
I came not to send peace, but a sword, - he said. 'For I am come to set
a man at. variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and
the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.'
Now how was it that his mother and father had sent him there, if
Christ wanted to put him at variance with them? And how could the
young clergyman tell him to honour and obey his mother and father? There
was no mistake about it at. all!
'If any man come to me and hate not
his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters,
yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.' Yet the clergyman
always said that Christ was 'good'. And his mother and father had sent
him to church so that he too would be 'good'. Could you be good wi thout
following Christ? How couldi you follow Christ if you loved your mother
and father? Look at the man who'd asked Christ if he might bury his own
father before following him!
'Let the dead bury the dead,' Christ
had said. 'He that loveth father and mother more than me is not worthy
of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.


Did other people hear the same words? Or did they gloss. over
them in some way? Or perhaps they didn't know about them!
In one of these classes he asked a question about it. But the
young clergyman was yague and seemed not really to understand him. He
said something about Christ's calling being beyond even his 'nearest and
dearest'. 'But how can it be good to hat te my mother and father?'
Granville thought. And if everybody were to do it to follow Christ,
surely the world couldn't go on, because there'd be no families?
But the other children didn't seem worried. And the clergyman
went on talking, with the same smile. And gradually he put aside his
doubt. The church was still there with its gleaming altar and tall
stained windows. It was all so much bigger than he was. It had been
alive such a long time. No doubt there were reasons he didn't understand.
It seemed impossible that so many grown-up people, including the vicar,
could be wrong. Perhaps he didn't understand the archaic language of
the Bible? And if the bread and wine of the communion were symbolical
for Christ's flesh and blood, why shouldn't Christ's words be symbolical'
in somecway? Perhaps Christ hadn't meant real mothers and fat athers, and
réal brothers and sisters!
Only in the marriage at Cana was there a glimpse of a possible
meaning. When Christ's mother reminded him that there was no wine,
implying that he alone had the miraculous power to bring it, Christ said
angrily, 'What have I to do with thee?' and 'Mine hour is not yet come. -
And Granville felt a dim understanding of Christ in this mood. It was
what'he'd often felt with his own mother, when she tried to interfere
with him sometimes. But then how could Christ possibly feel the same
as he did? Probably the words didn't mean what he thought they did!


He took Christ to mean, 'What's it got to do with you?' But that seemed
much too familiar! So he accepted the puzzlement, and then put it out
of his mind.
And people didn't seem to care. His mother and father didn't
seem to know much about what Christ said. And he had the idea that one
didn't go to church after one ceased to be a child. Only old fogies
went. So the question never meant much to him.
The bishop confirmed his class, and the. wafer melted in his
mouth with a remarkable swiftness, and he wondered where it had been
manufactured, He sought a special holy taste in the wine, which he was
told had been blessed, but the sip he took
the cup was pulled away
from him almost at once
was too small for him to find out. There
was a crowded church and anthems sung by choirs from all over London, he
had feathers in his tummy, but all to a purpose he didn't understand.
He was sure, now, that there was something right in that first
puzzlement. And he wanted to get to the bottom of it. It wasn't
difficult now to imagine that the vicar had been wrong, and the young
clergyman, too!
He remembered the Bible that lay on show downstairs under the
silver-plated crucifix, belonging to Bertha, -and he toptoed down to get
it. The house was so silent that he could hear' the rustling of his
clothes as he walked. The Bible was one of those family editions with
the words of Christ printed in red, and genteel paintings of the disciples.
It hadn't been moved for nearly two years, and there was a faded place on
the lace cover underneath. 'Well,' he thought, 'I never imagined I'd
ever use this!' It was a little symbol of Bertha's stuffiness, and he'd


wanted to get rid of it, but Pinkie had stopped him, And now he picked
it up with the same gingerly awe he'd seen in Kath'm's eyes whenever he'd
passed it.
That night, pulling his desk-lamp closer, he read more or less
haphazardly in it. He was amazed at how simple and true-sounding the
story of Christ was. Why had he never been taught it, just as a story?
He felt he'd stumbled on his own language again after years of silence,
and was suddenly talking!
He even began to see Christ as a person. This was the first
time he'd really read the gospels. Even now, as he read, absorbed and
still, it seemed silly that he should be doing so. He wondered that he -
could be really interested in it! He realised that he'd always taken the
language of the Bible as meaningless. It all had a kind of vague
symbolical application
a sort of poetry, not meaning much! : And here
he was reading the words actually as if other men had written it! And
he found a story that offered no difficulties at all.
How was it that he'd been disinherited from this story, in this
great epoch of education? when, once upon a time, for generation after
generation, simple and illiterate people all over the world had found no
difficulty in it? What a lot of effort his 'education' was costing him
in life!
He began to think of Christ as intimately close to him, and not
wrapped up in divinity. Only for a short time in the confirmation classes,
moved by the young man's smile, had he felt that intimacy before. Since
then, his education had taught him that he had no right to feel intimacy--
of all things
with great historical figures!
He was amazed at how clearly he could see Christ
like someone


standing in front of him, very youthful, with an extraordinary calm and
sweetness. He could see him sitting in the temple writing in the sand
absent-mindedly, with perfect repose, before the crowd brought the fallen
woman to him, playfully, to see if he was fool enough to bless a. whore.
And he could see him standing up and saying angrily that if anybody in
the crowd thought he was clean of sin himself he had the right to judge
this woman, but not otherwise! He could see him again, always with
this marvellous repose, lying on the couch before taking dinner with the
Pharisee, and showing a certain care to the woman who bathed his feet in
oil, another whore, whilé the Pharisee sarcastically asked him if he
minded being anointed by a 'sinner'? He could see Christ at the weli
talking to the Samaritan woman in his leisurely, reflective way, arguing
quietly with her. That was ridiculous to most Jews
to talk to a
woman about God and to a low Samaritan at that! But Christ was always
doing that kind of thing. When somebody touched Christ once in: the
crowd, and he turned, Granville had the impression that he knew how he
turned, the exact gesture. Christ stood so clear and fresh among people.
Christ was always talking to people in their lonely state, he
noticed
not in their importance.. He called to men - alone in themselves.
'Beware of men,' I he said, 'for they will deliver you up to the councils.
'When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy. door,
pray to thy Father which is in secret.' No priest was needed. No
family was needed. Only a man alone in himself. This was what made
Christ's teaching last from one generation to the next, that it depended
not on other people but on one man alone withdrawing into himself.
But the Jews had said no less since Moses
that God was only
to be. found 'in secret'. That had been their strength, too, this gleaming


secrecy which nothing could touch. It was the silent dignity that had held
the Jews together. And Christ inherited this dignity. The difference
was that he said that every human creature was chosen.by God. Not just
the Jews! The Jewish gift must be given to all men! And this 'was the
blasphemy in Jewish eyes
to call even the wicked blessed, even the
low! To call all of them children of God was offensive!
And all at once Granville saw the connection with his first
perplexity as a child! Christ said it didn't matter that you were
somebody's son or brother, or a man as opposed to a woman, or a Jew
instead of a heathen,
the state of your life was what counted! And
if you loved those names instead of God, if you rested on your position
in life, you were rotten! Christ put his life against the whole
suffocating weight of status quo! Against this throbbing public life!
God was so high in Christ's time that no one dared even pronounce
his name. Foreigners and uncircumcised people were excluded from His
mercy. Women were unclean, excluded from the Passover. God the State
the high priest governed for Him.
Therefore Christ's teaching was treason as well. He talked
equally to women and whores, to foreigners and hea then. Everybody had
an equal power of penetrating to God
equal even to the priest's; It
was a devastating argument and in the end took the Jewish God to almost
every race on earth.
In leveryone, Christ said, however dirty or wicked or despised,
there was that mysterious element of light and silence where he belonged
to something that was beyond other men beyond even himself; and which
couldn't be destroyed by other men! No special credentials had to be
shown. You could even be a slave! Everyone, the most foolish and


ignorant person, had this absolute self-responsibility. No wonder, the
Jews were aghast
or rather laughed and mocked!
1 Every man had the power to choose between the light and the
darkness. He always knew the difference, in himself! He was alone wit th
his own conscience! The verdict of the priest made no difference. And
the law made no difference, if your conscience was active! Only a man
alone in himself was the judge of where the light of truth lay. 'He
that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, that his
deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.'
Hitherto in Granville's life the name 'Christ' had meant, more or
less, 'love'. Very well, everybody agreed with love! And Christ had
been talked about so many times, after all! Even the crucifixion seemed
painless now, especially as 'Christ' was too lofty to engage your
sympathies! He'd often wondered, like those who had stood about the
cross and mocked him, 'Why couldn't he save himself, if he was really
the son of God?' How could you feel Christ's pain as your own, if
Christ was divine and therefore started off with an advantage over
everyone else?
And that was the chief difference now. He saw Christ as a real
person. Like himself! Before, he'd never been able to see exactly
what. had gripped one generation after another, for nearly two thousand
years, in the story of Christ!' In the Sussex days he'd understood for
the first time that the Christian civilisation had spread across the whole
of Italy, and then the whole of Europe and parts of Asia, planting a cross
in hundreds and thousands of villages, but he hadn't been able to see how
it had happened that so many people had been influenced! He'd only seen
it as an historical movement.


But now he saw Christ through himself. Therefore the crucifixion
was real to him. And, also for the first time, since he could see
Christ through his own experience, he could see how extraordinary he was!
Of course, if you started by saying that Christ was extraordinary and
divine, there was no room for amazement. Only if you saw him as yourself
( could you be amazed.
Christ seemed to tell the story of a man's pain wherever that man
was, whatever language he spoke, whatever epoch he lived in. He didn't
waste a gesture! It was all so beautifully conceived, his own life,
spread out like a story which he knew from the beginning. Opinion didn't
touch him. He went about his death with an absolutely calm deliberateness,
foreseeing every stage because he brought it about himself. Ànd the
story was discovered again in every generation as something fresh because
it was revived in each man's experience, like a flower that while new had
the same head as millions before it.
The word 'God' was easier for Granville. It meant the spell
what had gone out of our lives! At dawn in the Sussex days, when he'd
been on sentry-go, the whole earth had seemed to stir, and then the word
'God' had seemed sui table.
The truth wasn't supported by the number of men who held it.
That was Christ! One man alone could hold the only truth in the world!
Granville felt a terrific self-vindication! He did have a place,
then, in life, he did have meaning, he did know something without ploughing
through exams and books and fighting to the top of the T.I:M. worm-world!
It was a doctrine of terrific courage, it raised the single man
to a height unknown before! And this man could be anyone! His strength
in the truth would come from. beyond him, where there were no numbers or


power, but silence! He only had to give up trying to satisfy that little
will in himself, or the will of other men. 'Then the stronger will would
come through.
This is what Christ did - he actually did it with his own life!
Even when he said he was the son of God he didn't mean himself with his
own little will
which the Jews thought. When they accused him of
blasphemy at his trial he asked them, wasn't it written in their own
scriptures that 'Ye are gods', that all men were gods? And he was a man!
He was ary man! All men were the children of God! Therefore his own
prayer began, 'Our father.'
Nobody really saw what he meant, apart from the women round him,
perhaps. The. disciples didn't see. You could tell that by the questions
they asked him. They thought he was going to offer them something, in
life: or they believed him like children listening to a fairy-tale. When
he told them that people on top found it more difficult than others to be
close to God, they couldn't believe their ears! The priests as well?
'And the disciples were astonished at his words. But Jesus answereth
them again, and saith unto them, Children, how hard it is for them that
trust in riches to enter the kingdom of God. And they were astonished
out of measure, saying among themselves, Who then can be saved? And
Jesus looking upon them saith, With men it is impossible, but not with
God: for with God all things are possible.'
For the disciples he was just a messiah. That meant the man
who'd bring glory to Israel again, the kingdom of God on. earth, that sort
of thing
a fairy tale. When he told them one day that he would soon
be dead, and seemed not to care, Peter refused to take him seriously!
How could a man who had come to save Israel, get rid'of the foreign troops


and so on, want to die of all things, before he'd taken one. step towards
it? How could you save the world by promptly disappearing from it? No
wonder the ones on top laughed!
It was the same at the last supper.
They didn't understand it
was the last at all. He told them, 'A little while, and ye shall not
see me.' But they didn't understand: 'They said therefore, What is
this he saith, A little while? We cannot tell what he saith. Now
Jesus knew that they were desirous to ask him, and said unto him, Do ye
enquire among yourselves of what I said, A little while? Verily, verily,
I say unto you, That ye shall weep and lament.'
The darkness of the cross wasn't what they'd expected. Two of
them had asked Christ once whether, on his day of 'glory', they could sit
one on either side of his throne! And death was such a baffling answer
to that.
Christ's magic was that he didn't ask for any satisfactions to
his personal will, not even leadership or dignity. He remained absolutely
still even when they were calling up to him to save himself, on the cross.
The silence is deeper than the noise of men's ambitions and
society and virtue and laws. A man has to wait for it, alone and still.
He remembered reading about the ancient world in the Sussex days,
and finding no theme there that had any importance for him. But now
things began to fall together. He was surprised how much dead knowledge
there was in his mind. The moment it fell into the new connection it
was alive.
The Jews had seen great empires collapse all round them, they saw
that though they were always passed by as an unimportant little people on


the way from Egypt to Persia, they were the only ones to survive. They
survived invasion, massacre, annexation.
Their God had a perfect, irresistible and consistent justice
which men couldn't buy or change. He wasn't a bull or the sun or a man
in the sky. He was silent, inside every man
every Jew. And so He
survived everything that went on outside.
In none of the other great civilisations
Egypt, Greece or
Rome
was there this intimate link between what a man did in the silence
of his thoughts, and the grace bestowed on him from beyond. That 'beyond'
was harmonious, it was one thing, it was an order
not various little
gods quarrelling in the sky and hurling thunderbolts. The 'beyond' meant
peace. It was on your side. That was the relief Christ took all over
the world, all over the broken Roman empire
from the Jews!
And of course we now took it for granted. Every one of us! The
world has a meaning for us. Nothing is quite haphazard or accidental
in our world! It is based on laws. And that sense of laws undernea th
life that never changed was the first lesson of the Jewish religion.
'How strange,' Granville thought, 'that I should have taken all
these years to arrive at a simple definition of 'Christian civilisation :
Yet it was so simple on the face of it! And slowly he was beginning to
link together his own life, too. What else had his sense of a silent order
in life been, in the Sussex days, when he'd begun to take walks alone, but
what the Jews had given? And his sense of there being a spark in himself,
without help from other men? Had he inherited this experience from
Christ, unawares, as Christ had inherited it, only more vividly, from the
Jews? He was beginning. to discover the historical connection he 'd been
after since childhood!


In everybody, Christ said, there was a secret place beyond all
men. That was the peace he offered people. Every man had a place
where his own infinite integrity lay.
Moses had promised the Jews great and goodly cities'. It was the
one respect in which God did reward men's interests. And Christ removed
this last reward. His disciples expected him to come mounted on a
charger at the head of an army, to remove the Romans. And, deliberately,
he came in mounted on an ass. He did overcome the Romans." But not in
the method of ambition. His story gradually travelled through the
broken-hearted empire, like hope. The empire's roads and ship-routes, r i
running across Europe and Asia, a vast act of ambition, became the roads
and ship-routes his story travelled by. Slowly the meaning of what he'd
said dawned. on people, as it dawned on the disciples, who wrote the story
down.
Christ died on a Roman instrument of torture, kept for criminals.
He was laughed at while.he was dying, his death wasn't important enough
to be recorded officially. But he overcame an empire. By giving up
ambition he overcame the most ambitious project that the earth had been.
'So things can come about from the silent will of one man,' he
thought, 'slowly through the years, working in the darkness unknown to
the mind!' How the Pharisees must have laughed! He overcome Rome?
And the world? A 'prophet' like all the others, wi th the same parapher-
nalia. of disciples and miracles to catch the popular eye and parables and
ominous quotations from the scriptures! Calling himself 'the son of God'?
'Well, they'd laugh the same today, I he thought. 'They want
to see a plan for the future of mankind.'
But ordinary people went on living as they always had done, in


with your mind.. Go into your real life. What experience havé you
had of something. utterly beyond you, for instance?' Wouldn't there
be a clue in that?
The words 'divine presence' came into his mind. But it was only
a phrase. And it had a lofty sound: He was sure the Jews hadn't
meant by God what you could only get from an ecstatic experience.
It must be an experience which came and went quietly, and unawares,
even day by day. Hé had a conviction that he'd overlooked this
experience allhis life, because it didn't fit in with the allowed
concepts/of our epoch.
All of a sudden it seemed easy. Look at the way the room had
appeared to him only a few moments_ago,as being unsubstantial like dust!
we i
Phe-sitence-had-stemed-totturn-everything-into-ome-unity* -He-ld-stooduon
the-baleony-and-felt- thatrèverything was duet-outside, joined together
like one shadow, including e himself. V And at the window on the landing,
overlooking the garden, on his way upstairs, he'd felt he was actually
breathing the stillness outside, and hat the night was part of him!
C L
He'd felt no solitude!
lagots
ae Ahp Srna (
There-was-a presenee
tuarty seemed-
breathel The wind had touched his face when he'd gone-out, on to the
balcony, like a breath from that presence, so intimate! And the presence
was invisible, but always there. One could come and go, and forget it,
but it would always be there. It would be there after he died, and it
wa's there before he came. . It included him. He had come out of it.
And the/presence was inside him as well. He was most_aware of it when
he/felt peaceful. It was a presence he could violate, too. For
instance,
he hadn't wanted to switch the light on, from a sense thatit would


violate the silence. So there was harmony in the stillness. And it
was possible to ruin this. If he'd talke'd or moved, /about noisily he
would have ruined it for himself. The stillness would have become
separate from him. His thoughts would no longer have-followed each
other at their own pace, in their own order. or his thoughts seemed
actually to come out of the stillness. They were quite different from
those thoughts which he had del4berately
at the
instance.
officerfor
So there was a guide in-the stillness', too, which you could follow or
disregard, at wirll!
ne thought back over it/again, quietly. Surely. there
only
primitive, a mere beginning
was the form of 'God'? His sense of a
presence all round him, breathing, surèly that was his recognition of
71 He reupnised something alive,andmyetminside-him, apart from him. and yet the whole of
msidedim
lifef -Surely hat as -fombling-towards a definition-of-Gody-that-thre
Sews-had-been--bi Ersttomake? Orre-God-for the-whotemaniverse-
surely that wast hewfeelingeofwthingsabeing=atunity,-wirth-apreseence
behindit? Thé presence-was-invisiblet--it wasn't-this-treemor-thirs
touch of wind
Thesemwere-ewonky-manifestations ro-So-dod-was-bothinvisible
-and-intimate.
ymt
And it was a presence that lay
penaad after -Gmenhs life, and
tma wr
continued while enemwers unaware of it. sod was- sternet'.
mran
The_presence included bnodgwown life, too. -One-ocemed-bo-.come
wlnsb
fw tka inv A Im
out of it, and in death bo-be-going-back L into it. Maie
hi Yp I He ley
crcaliel,
6 a was-the geato
yal
having
vet
And
the eeeree were-inside- bne-es-well
dnit simply
inelude-ones
t-was-whrote-inside-one: S0-Bod-was-tombe-fourdd-in-
secret.


And if one followed the stillness one was aware of a harmony, in
one's thoughts. That was where the Jews had made a moral connection.
You could follow God at your own free will. You could consult Him, in
secret. You could follow His guidance or not. What was this but Granville's
feeling that the presence was in and all round him, with a pace and order
of its own? What was it but the idea of 'eternal justice'? Only a man
whose conscience was free could 'talk to God, or have harmony!
God didn't take rewards, Moses had said. God wasn't a man, or in
the image of a man, nor was He any thing in our sense. He was 'spirit'.
'Of-course, I though't Granville, 'how absurd it would be for me to ask
the presence all round me to do somet thing for me!' For the presence
wasn't something he could see before him, or feel. It was underneath
everything, the sense of there being. something alive which wasn't limited
to the things you could see and feel, like the balcony or the palm-tree,
though it was in them also. It was pure spirit!
But those words 'pure spirit' had come to mean something lofty,
like 'pure idea'. - And he'd got to think through these words, and through
the snares of the mind. He couldn't deny that when he stood in the
silence he was aware of a force beyond him and yet in him! And men had
given it a name. - Surely 'God' was that name?
For the first time he saw a meaning in phrases that had always been
empty for him
'God is spirit', 'the Creator', 'the God of peace',
'the God of Gods' 9 'the just God'. They could all be tpanslated into
his experience. Only those words had been stripped bare of flesh, and
he had to keep this experience of a 'presence' in mind, to make them real.
But it was impossible for him to keep this experience in mind
without a word of some sort
without using that word 'presence'.


But how could he talk to other people about 'the presence' and expect
them to understand? Was that how the word God had come into being
to cover all such experiences and make them one shared concept for
everybody? Only we had lost the experience: only the empty word remained
to us!
And again, that word : 'presence', in covering only his own
experience, didn't get beyond him, so that really it couldn't' convey
the magnitude of what he'd just come in contact with: he had to show
that it was more than just a passing experience, that it was in a way
beyond all experience. He had to convey the idea that while he'd, been
aware .of a whole being
the 'preserice' - yet it could never be
experienced as a whole. Only a part or moment of it could be experienced -
the darkness on the balcony, a glance from the window : and yet, this part
always suggested the whole. And the word 'presence' alone failed to
convey this.
He remembered, from Exodus, that before the flight from Egypt
Moses had told his people the name of God for the first time. It was no
longer "Lord', meaning simply master, but Jehovah. And Jehovah meant
'I am that I am'.
"I am that I am' gave the idea of an unanswerable will, a complete
being, all that there was. It didn't bring in the spectator as 'presence'
did.
'But even then', he thought, 'a word isn't enough in itself'.
The fact was that he'd still be alone with his experience however many
words he used! But 'Jehovah' had been used by men living together,
with the same hopes. And they passed it on to their children. In this
way it was separate from each one of them in himself. Yet it was still


intimate. So it had exactly that combined awe and intimacy which the
thing itself, the 'Presence', needed. And it did this only by being
absorbed into the lives of men. Only,by being shared among men could
it be lifted beyond one man alone. That was the power of a word, as
Moses saw. A word, like an idea, had to have a communal sanction before
it could seem to have the detachment of the thing it described.
'So,' thought Granville, 'if my word 'presence' was used by people
now, and it entered into their lives, and was passed on to children, it
would take on power; it would carry/a hint in its very sound of the kind
of thing I experienced when, the word came to my mind.'
And so it was with 'God'. It had to be known and felt from
childhood. And if it wasn't, then knowledge of 'God' was accidental.
One stumbled on it here and there' through life, as he'd just done. To
know 'God' you had to see him in Ithe eyes of people round you, and hear
him referred to day after day and connected with the smallest actions,
drawn into the flesh of life, not an idea, so that He always seemed to be
at the edge of things and to be watching you. There was no difficulty
in the knowledge itself, as Granville's experience of the presence'
showed. But our community had no allowance for it. God had slipped
out of life.
The word was certainly empty for him. It was the same as the
pagan 'god', a man in the sky who cast a net round Venus and Mars while
they made love; ridiculous or aesthetic, always untrue. The word 'God'
couldn't convey that dumb and alive 'presence' he'd been aware of.
And this 'presence' was all he had. It came and went, a mere
lonely experience. It dildn't affect anything. It lacked the warmth of


somethingppointer
idhood
Ytme eclipse had been an event in empty space for him, like the len
click of a machine. He couldn't help it. He-would alweye-see-ib-tike
thata His feelings were separate from the event. There were his
feelings, then the weather, then the eclipse, all separate, never in the proper
unitys Ao wase sometimes-awane
a A a iderneeth NEE mbo-be-touchedwse
weasilyristwaiways-seemedd
bhelm-herdwgeen-Gede Bub-formhis-wordd-
tysticalt mearting "strange and gidden, not-belonging-torthe
dight of day or * shared-by other people.
Now even the word 'presence' was becoming empty for him. It
was an idea float ting in his mind, because, he'd got used to the word now.
It was private. It had no echoes beyond him. Yes, you had to see it
in other men 's eyes. Alone yougweren't erough.
The room looked ordinary again, and the silence outside seemed
familiar now, an accompaniment to his thoughts, no longér suggesting a
presence'. He began to feel tired. But he was"determined to get to
the-endu nof his ithoughts. He-heard-Binkie-g Cough-from.next_.door_in.her
sleepr It-occurredto 11
a thererd-be heavy-dary-at-the-office-
some Ciles-were-eoming-in-from-kirom-Kirkuk.
a question-persisted-in-his
mind: how had a person like himself come about,perceiving the sky without
Pr A
anything divine in it? wi-thout-God? Bedause it wasn't the truth
which
that sky he saw! It wasn't the real sky, Éhat-was-mystertouswand-seemed
to breathed.
He saw the sky as a kind of ma themat tical concept, -memyesgmbutawhati
diduthatmeeant-witemeantmhemsaw-i-te as somet thing useful: temon that i
ls be
aof
menscouhd
predict its movementsy C
measure/atr


The eclipse was a. kind of geomet trical action for him: an Object
called the moon moved between an Objéct called the sun and another
tke Catk,
Object/on which he was standing. A dimming of light resulted, lasting
so many seconds. He saw it like a surveyor from another universe.
Yet he hadn't the slightest knowledge of surveying or physicsto It was
ik wan aote wad,
whria Laol
simply in his nature!
FrR
Silal
Ask any ordinary man,and he'd give you the same geometrical
storyofwhat t was 'happening' ih the eclipse. It wasn't that this kind
of thinking was new or unusual, but that in us it was more than thinking
it was actualiy the way we smélt and touched and saw things!
it was unreligious thinking. But why? Well, it laid down the
nature of the sky as somet thing-that could be measured and predicted:
there was nothing in the sky that coylan't be tackled by men's minds;
it was only oxygen, light,, matter 'only objects in space.
A la
Everything beyond mgn's mindg escaped hinfo
the-wortd-wee
full-of-ibt-men's minds were only a slight little tracing on this huge
Xhado
eternity. Yet he'd been brought up to say it was the whole thing/o
As a child he'd always imagined there was a policeman-in the sky who
controlledeverything: not a god but a man,win a blue uniform, with a
tryncheon. And at thef same time this created a terrible/puzzl-ement
bècause the policeman wasnitall that reliable. He had-allowed a war
to happen, for instance, which nobody could seé the reason for afterwards.
What t selse was that but perceiving the worldas if it had been
made only for men's
Al1 asudden
sàw
jambitions?
a confec ting
link
his kind of mind came from a terrific act ofpride, from wanting
to turn the-whole of reality into something yoy/could manoeuvre and use 1
- just as if you were the author of it all!


It-reminded him of that t railway bridge, in Sussex, when he+d
gazed-down-at-the gleaming tracks"belowand realised that all the facts
he'd learned at school were dead facts, because they illuminated a thing
only in so far as it could be used.for-some-purpose; itwas useful touknow
yun 2
wa nuds TC yf I ar. e - d
about expanding metals if you were laying those tracks. But it wasn't the
whole truth! You had to strike the world dead first, in-your-mind, to
see its function, like some thing mathematical, apart from yourself.
And instead of just keeping that as one of our methods of thinking
though a strange and disquieting one
we had let it cloud over our
whole consciousness until there were people like - himself!
people
who saw the. world naturally like that! He saw it with all the heart and
breath and enormous mystical movement knocked out of it! Ves, all that
invisible movement, all that 'presence' 1 round him, had to_be-called
'mystical:
a little cranky!
And to realise this he'd had-to allow his whole self and will to
be engulfed by something-huge and. apparently selfless outside him, first
in Sussex,-when he'd really. seen the country for the first time, and now
in Basrah. 'Islam I meant surrender': he'd surrendered to something
/VMT
both times, he'd been sucked in by the outer presence
he remembered-
that walk along the road to Çhichester when he could-haraly tell the
difference between his body and-what lay all round him in the massive heat.
And wasntthat what Moses had told the. tribes in the desert - to submit?
Wasn't that the first law of all real religion
submit and surrender
not to other men but to the 'presence': listen to it, at night
And this meant forgétting your ambitions. 'You'-were forgotten
only this huge will outside remained, flooding through you!
Christ had to say i -again
he came fifteen hundred years


after Moses. Again there were ambitions in the air
the God of the
Jews was waiting to conquer all the world for Israel. And Christ began
the conquering in his own way, through a-total submission of self that
nobody else understood. He seemed to waver in the garden, the night
before he was taken: no one understood what he was about to do, he was
absolutely alone
on the face of it, he would just die and not be
heard of again; '0, my Father', he said, 'if it be possible, let this
cup pass from me ! Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.' As
the big will outside willed!
While people had ambitions in their minds they were cut off from
the truth
that wàs what Moses and Christ seemed to say!" The little
personal will stopped the big outér will from flowing through them. So
both Moses and Christ had to lift God up abôve men again
away from their
ambitions.
from their itch for rewards!
'Is our role now,' Granville thought, 'the same, to life the sky
up beyond men again?'
That was the meaning of Christ's death: people were shown that
at least one man could give up all his ambitions and go willingly into
dea th.
That was why the/story held, because it was a standing testimonial
from generation to genération of the power of the human creature.
Christ left ho rules for us. Only this silence after his death!
'But was that also/a sign
that we had to look further and further into
the silence until we found our feets Was this what history had been
doing? 'Is,this my interest in history?' Granville asked himself. 'To
find the traces of that: theme?'
The moment the God of Moses was mixed up in ambitions
the


moment temples were put up to Him and a high priest elected, the moment
a society started round it
there was danger. The moment Christ' was
caught up in a church, in ambition andl office and competition, there was
danger. Their truth was smashed. Iittle personal wills got in the way.
We had churches. But not a religious soul in the Christian world!
Nobody could be religious! Nobody had it in him! He hadn't got it
in his nerves, in his mind, in his heart, in his nose or bowels or belly!
All you could do was make a little gesture
strive
try to fight your
way through! But the churches were "just muck. They were little reminders
of what men used to be. Like the ruins of temples! But more than that
they were only little clubs. The Christian couldn't believe in God.
Christ and God had been smashed to pieces. We could only grub in the
ruins and pick up little morsels of the marvellous coloured stone and try
to piece the world together again so that real dawns would rise on our
children's children's children
'If a man tells you he believes in
God,' thought Granville, 'he's a liar or a fool or a swine!' The
Christian was crippled and broken ahd,babbling like an idiot, and God
had almost totally disowned him, the link was only there by the thinnest
umbilical cord. Could one of the idiots suddenly stop grubbing in the
dust and garbage and lift his eyes jup to the sky
eyes that shone
with self
that saw nothing but self even in the. sky - and say 'I
believe in God?'
Perhaps only the middle ages had been really in the image of
Christ. Then, ambitions had been really dead for a time. The old
idiot-show of the ancient Roman world, with its endless armies and its
putrid works.of art and its sewers and straight roads, was finished for


a time. And so they were 'middle' ages for us
after the Roman
empire, which we understood, and before the renaissance in Italy, which
we also understood: between two spectacular worlds, the Roman and our own!
Were they called 'middle' because they wére all uncertainty from
out point of view? Was it that we couldn't read our own ambitions in
them? Nothing had happened in that time from our point of view! Just
as, for our world now, Abu Kath'm hadn't seen the real eclipse!
We looked in the middle ages for our own plans and charters and
personalities and continual fretting struggles between little personal
wills from epoch to epoch, and didn't find them. No trade, as in our
world, or very little of it! No great landowners with their armies of
slaves, no ambitious ruling class! But one great ambitious project
there had been, that held everything else together: the second coming
of Christ.
Well, you could see the germ of trouble there, already. People
would wait so long and no longer. Gradually the old ambitious itch had
started again. The first sign was al revival of trade. Gradually the
towns became important again. Certain people had grown tired of waiting!
The 'burghers' - the men of the towns
were the seed of the new
world that came into being. They planned life, they always had done:
they planned the. education, the law, the drainage. Their trade brought
movement. They looked ahead. They brought refinement. That peculiar
under-stillness of the middle ages, tha t patient waiting mood, came to
an end.
There were long connecting roads again, new ship routes. Venice
was typical of the new world, an independent republic based on trade, not
faith! It sent its ships to infidel ports without a bad conscience.


Then ancient learning was revived. No sign like the cross had
governed the ancient world! There'd been heroism
fabulous stories,
not the bitter stories of the saints, always waiting for second life!
Men had seemed to stand their full height in the pagan world - tragic
figures! Men had even populated the sky, as gods! Happiness had been
a reasonable design, even : if the gods farted at you some times!
So this remaissance was a revival of life as a grand, enjoyable
adventure!" There were great voyages of discovery. The nobles were
again cultivated people living in the towns
not just soldiers as
they'd been in the middle ages. Fortunes were made, courts sprang up
everywhere, there were tyrants, strange whirling careers that went out
like a star.
But it wasn't just a repetition of the ancient world. In a wayk
this new world came from Christ. That was the contradiction! The will
and stature he'd given men by saying they were the children of God; and
therefore free, was precisely the energy behind the renaissance. It
looked like a repetition because of its spectacular movement, but there
was now a different morality from which people acted, there was a new
dignity, there was the sense of one order governing everything. The
old chaos of the ancient Roman world wasn't there
no haphazard myths
and cults and weird 'mysteries'. Theories of an ordered universe started,
a universe governed by laws, and all of life was now searched for its
consistent principles and themes, even the human body.
And the same' thing went on in the church. But the end of the
middle ages the church was as much.a vehicle for personal ambition as
the ancient Roman governments had been. The first real challenge to this
was the reformation in Germany. Again this was from Christ. Again,


like the remaissance, it aimed to lift men up.
It denied that the pope had any mysterious accéss to God.
Confession ought to be abolished, it said. This meant that the church
wouldn't be able to absolve a man of his sins
even for money, as it
had been doing. Only the man himself could do it, in his own conscience.
This took away the church's hold on people
the hold of fear and
interest. It took away the intimate hold, the consoling guidance in
little things.
Both the remaissance and the reformation, without meaning to,
achieved a kind of secular society in which Christ and God were separated
from life. These words fell away from the lips of the poor, gradually:
Men had been lifted up so high
the renaissance made him shine with
intelligence and seem to conquer all of reality, the reformation made
him a priest to himself - - that nothing else beyond them could be seen!
So the two movements had the same leffect. A society came into
being tha't went round like clockwork, serving nothing but itself, not
referréng to anything beyond it. The sky became like an empty ceiling
over it
just space
oblivion.
But people's behaviour wasn't the same as in ancient times.
There was nothing like the greed and chaos of the old empire, in its last
years. Christ seemed to have entered life, but anonymously, in people's
behaviour. There was a'new kind of social order. There were fewer and
fewer slaves, fewer serfs. Women weré no longer servants. That breath
.of' freedom from Christ had come into life. There was the idea of the
dutiful citizen, more and more, especially in the north, where the
reformation had happened. Every man was more and more responsible for
himself. But Christ was less and less recognised as the author. Society


'Christian', but the name Christ began to fall away.
Men chose their own lives. 'Democracy!
demos-kratia, the
power of men, above everything else.
minac
'And so I see hemeeli se as described by men,' he said to himself,
inamiversa spanned-by men measuremente and calculations. I see it
only inside merts capacities. And everything beyorda man's mind
escapes me! I have no words for it. Only when I look into Abu-Kath'm's
eyes do I see it; and realise thow Littdo-open-tobhe-real-workd -
'If I withdraw from something and watch it,' he asked himself,
'what is the activity uppermost in me? Surely the brain? And so,
naturally, if I'm in withdrawal from things
from people -even from
myself
my uppermost activity is in the brain: I see things from the
mpmemahical
brain, the skyl like an empty/ /proposition Hor me
"Phie-se-perhap
f t
Kath'm, that she
ish't in withdrawal.'
He remembered how once he'd said to her jokingly one morning,
"You're getting fat!", and she 'd looked down at herself, at her flowing
robes, with such a funny expression, so mixed and puzzled: she really
never had thought about herself beforei in that way, it seemed; she hadn't
thought about her body, The division of 'mind' from 'body' didn't exist
for her. That was his distinetion! That was the Christian world!
Really his remark tore her outof God's world, where she was
never quite distinct from everything round her, and it suddenly pitched
her into a men's/world, where she was a 'person 1 , where she stood alone, 9
surveying her own body from above.
She never could attain to a 'personality' in our ense. She


IN SERT
khi educalon lad grer
dii ho
uleliup 2 ah ti -
IE had pale R dosyr
namer mE Nauarre A .
men
hama
Korp,
hi unninne 3 e
(o o
P.218.- P.220 bdead uuiune deld been
tayfe
belicue -).
The k P223
rerluied Hav
khe geel Lad bee take nt 2 ey
aen the relni
wan srdals
hv Ha valis den l T
2sm
ele
Men (malasg) He
HeV the
Les
Jetace
Ae helgi
alme
Licsey
hmld le kuen Ttel
us pridls
bame recenenl
2 Loof
fle, sa Ha teik
the
Thol fo enal- Ha siro
like
dreab.
salina
unlh
mtai
END


never could survey the world and herself as if she had really arranged
it all, planning it as she went along! She had submitted, she was
submitted, in all her being, she could be nothing else. She_was blind.
She had no plans for the day, for the next hour
the will of Allah
created her rhythm.
She felt it was unlucky if someone asked after the health of her
children. She made a quick little prayer to ward off the evil eye.
All the common people of Basrah-did that. All the ancient Mediterranean
peoples, the Greeks included, had done it, too. One mustn't pry too
closely into life There was a spell that mustn't be broken. Too much
attention shouldn't be drawn to men. Indeed, the mind altogether was
unlucky.
The dawn began to come through, an 'ever so faint blueness at the
corner of the sky, making thè rush carpet and the door to the balcony
softly clear. And almost to the moment there was the sound of birds.
Their singing seemed to be inside the air, waking with it, in no
particular place. How restful the twittering was, with all the time of
the universe at its disposayfo The birds actually seemed to wake with
thiin trotko 6 salctmme He Won msp
the sky. And men were non-existent, How lovely freedom was!
€€ a hus lntsl
Horror of the mind was An him, too
from Abbott's Road. That
was why Abu Kath'm had stirred So much thought in him. Itwas really
a horror of men
a horror-of them dominating everything, shutting out
the light.
His thoughts came drowsily, hardly connected any more: dim but
with a peaceful clarity underneath, hardly words any mopa, disjointed
and brief.
INSER T HERE
had 9 Bnht


In Abbott's Road, too, life had been blind, like Abu Kath'm.
'They' 1 the absent power
had controlled everything. 'They' came
and collected the rent. 'They' made wars. 'They' made you work.
Movement always came from outside. Outside was the will of men
invisible men who arranged the schedule: not the will of Allah.
Even then the intimate little favric of life was hardly touched -
the winding of the clock, pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, the walk in the
park on Sunday afternoons. It was woven together again at once.
Of course, there wasn't Abu Kath'm's stateliness in Abbott's Road.
Nobody walked like her. That had gone out. Life had a troublesome
edge. There were shill things: 'at the end off life was oblivion, like
the grey sky on a bad morning, eternally. Nobody explained it.
Suddenly there might be a cream-coloured ambulance in the street. Or
blinds might be pulled down. There was a sense of disaster. Death
was unexplained. Just a frightful oddity.
And there was no slow awakening to the world like the birds. À
hard routine had been fixed on every day. One couldn't way where it came
from, and one didn't do it for oneself. It was just there, a jerking
motion you had to join because there was hothing else. Life wasn't
natural there. The face grew. .fixed, too, with set lips and unmoving
eyes. The words became clipped. One's walk was jerky,, too.
But even then; despite the plan that was fixed by somebody else,
the little fabric was kept. People held stiffly away from each other.
Their lives were arranged by men they didn't see. But still the fabric
was untouched.
And Christ and God had gone into this fabric,. it seemed. The
church was just a building in Abbott's Road, but there was a decency


between people, and a quiet belief. The Christian dignity was there.
But the word 'Christ' itself was only a swear-word.
He remembered one Monday afternoon in his early childhood, when
he was sitting on his mother's knee, after she'd hung the clothes out on
the line. He remembered gazing down at thel narrow gardens where sheets
were billowing in the sunshine, and having the impression that this was
peruk
a glimpse of the very centre of life, whichwas a place of/peace. It
was difficult to explain. But it seemed to come from his mother, to be
passed on to him like speech. It was the sense of there being one
marvellous theme that ran through all life and included the sunshine,
the silence, the wind making the sheets billow, and the two of them
sitting there and gazing far beyond each other, while joined together.
Beyond the. roof-tops in Abbott's/ Road there was oblivion. No
questions were asked. There was only a plan of work made by men. Tha t
had to be fulfilled. There was no other meaning.
So you couldn't lift up your héad to the sky, or to Christ or
God. You no longer had the right. There was only the plan of work.
But even then a glow was kept.
The plans always came from above. Of course
those movements
of history he'd just been thinking about, the revival of commerce, the
remaissance, the reformation, the industrial revolution, they were all
from above! That was why there were only books to go by
nothing
was passed from mouth to.mouth about them.
Sometimes people had worked in fields, sometimes in cities,
sometimes for one man, sometimes for several, sometimes for the state
or in the name of God, or in the name of humanity! But it was only a
wind that passed. Life remained substantially the same, with the same


peace.
Otherwise who would have done the work? You can't work running
round all the time.
His fathér loved the dawn. Every morning he went pound the tiny
garden, just after the light càme. Even the houses ofAbbott's Road looked
natural at dawn, like.hills.
And.at King George's dock his father coyld keep his dream. They
couldn't take away the vast river gleaming ip the early light, and the
sound of fog-horns!
Unléss a man had a light in his eyes
of something beyond all
men - he was horrible!
'How horrible to grow up among burghers!" he thought. Wha t
suffering that must be for the children! He remembered something lovely
from before the War: it yas when he'd seen the old Queen pass in her
carriage and a woman, Aext to him had said to her child, lifting him up,
over the heads of/the crows, "There she is, duck! Look, there's the
Queen!" And/the boy had gazed before him, his mouth open, absolutely
rapt, gazing it seemed into everything fabulous that there was in the
world!, It was lovely how a dream could be passed on like that!
He felt satisfied now. His life had joined together. Tha t was
why he"d set out on' these thoughts, perhaps
to join his lifè together.
He could face men better now, he thought. He-had-his-own-world--- -
A clock struck in the distance, for he/couldn't make out the
number of strokes. He felt sleepy for the/first time, and began to nod.
-Would" a godlyearth-come back-again?-he-wondered.drowsily. As-he-thought
this helopened his eyes again and looked across at the window, and saw a
long curling leaf of the palm-tree silhouetted against the sky like a
finger, pointing upwards.
End Gouke W


BOOK V
CHAPTER 22.
He went up to Meedham at the end of the week, and Elizabeth met
him at the station. He'd left the house neat and quiet/- he and
Hanni got. down to some cleaning, as a surprise for Pinkie, and everything
sparkled. It was really a lovely house, if only they could keep it
clean!
This was his first journey since he'd/got back, and he sat gazing
out of the window all the time, contented and drowsy, watching the steam
sweep down in front of the window and hide the countryside for a moment.
He'd given himself a treat with a first-class ticket, and he could
stretch out his legs. The floor was carpeted. Delicious! There wére
the familiar snug stations with their glass roofs, and bookstalls with
lights glowing inside them amid/ piles of magazines and newspapers, and
gloomy halls marked 'Buffet' with steaming windows. And beyond the
platform, trees. Why hadn't he come into the country before? It was
such a relief to see the ong grass and streams, the wooden stiles!
It was a misty, hot day, with the sun trying to get through, and
the fields looked suilen. But it brightened the further north they
went. And by the time they arrived, in the evening, the sun cast a red
glow over the fields.
Elizabeth was like a rush of wind, as always. He'd begun to
feel nervous, preparing for her volley of talk. She was sitting in the
car - a broken-down Ford with a canvas top
and shouted out,


"Philip - come on, you old dear!" She looked tremendously well.
They kissed.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine
jump in, dinner'11 be up in/a few minutes!"
And almost before he'd thrown his bag in the back she'd engaged
the gear and they were off. She had a wonderful cascading generosity:
It was in her body. There wasn't a spare or flinching movement. She
had full, strong, black eyes and dark haif that kept tumbling about as
she talked, and a way of leaning forward all'the time as if searching for
something. She was full of questions and laughter, and rushed in all
the time. But it was never social/ talk. It was like a great waterfall
one was drenched with spray and it made the silence afterwards more
glorious. She'd become plumper' in the last two years but her face was
still clear like a school-girl/s.
"It's ages since I saw you!"
He felt quite jaded and slow next to her, but increasingly excited:
"How are the children?"/ /he asked.
"They're marvellous! Jane's sweet. She gets soft on every
little boy she meets/ - isn't it a scream?"
He began, "I've never seen them, you know! Only
But the words were swept out of his mouth.
"No?" she cried. "I could have sworn they knew you!"
She turned and looked at him with her full, dark eyes: "But you've
been up here before, haven't'you?"


"What? Oh, you poor darling
I was sure
!" She stopped,
biting her lip and frowning while the car sped on, making perilous bumps
near the grass verge. . "Didn't you come up with Pinkie jjust before you
went abroad?"
"No, just Pinkie."
"Really? Oh, well, we'll have to make up" for it this time!"
And she pressed forward over the steering wheelfand increased speed,
making the car lurch and rattle suddenly, then career off like a horse
under the whip.
"She's been telling me all about gou!" she cried, just like a
rider shouting something in mid-gallop. "You have got a swell job!"
And she flashed him a bright glance of admiration, which he hadn't
seen in her eyes before. She'd always given him 'a blinking, hesitant
glance under her eyebrows before, /as if she didn't know what to expect
from him. But now, apparently! he'd proved himself!
The country looked very still in the evening light. They passed
by a farmhouse lying behind 61m trees, and great barns with red, mossy
roofs, and paddocks with fénces. Sometimes the red sky flashed in a
window.
"Red sky at night # he murmured.
"Yes! It lodks marvellous for the beach tomorrow!"
"Oh, I forgot, you're near the sea!"
"Yes, isn't it good? We went down this morning with the kids!"
"It's lotely country," he said, gazing out of the window.
"It's'ny ideal. It's got space, and lots of shade, and trees,
and that sort of thing!"
They began àn ascent between hedgerows, and the car seemed to


hesitate.
"Come on, you old crock!" she shouted.
But it went its own pace while she kept pushing herself forward
in her seat to help it along.
"She doesn't like the hill!" she dded. "Sometimes she does
and sometimes she doesn't" It was a guestion whether they would get to the
top at all. It went slower and slowef. The chassis rattled and
trembled, but then the car just cleared the rim of the hill before it
gave out. "Done it!" The engine had stalled, but after a few tries
with the starter, breaking through the country silence, she got it going
again. "The mixture's too rich! I give her too much peddle or revving
or something, so Gordy says! fhere, now come on and finish your stretch,
you lazy old bounder! Isn't |she marvellous? We wouldn't part with her
for worlds! Gordy always runs about in the shiny thing, but I hate it!
Yes, isn't the country lovely round here?"
And she looked out, blinking, with the most lovely air of discovery.
There were hills stretching on either side as far as they could see; she
suddenly. pointed out to/ the right, where there was a cluster of thick
trees in the distance, a dark green mass touched with red from the
glowing sky.
"We live ovér there!" she cried.
He could mâke out the tower of a church with a tiny wooden steeple
built on to it, and the faded red brick of some houses.
"I say, she added with a laugh, "I hope you're not going to be
bored! I'm afraid my conversation's not up to much! What a pity old
Gordy's not here, he's the brainy type, don't you think so?, It's going
to be a bit/ of a hen party, Philip!"


He said something about finding her intelligent company and
they both laughed. Then he asked, "How is Gordon?"
They'd met once or twice, in a distant-kind of way, through
Pinkie.
"Oh, working too hard as usual!" She shook her head with a
vivacious movement, so that her hair swept across her shoulders. "I
can't relax when he's here! Is Pinkié. like that?"
"Probably."
"You men are so frightfully domineering! She looks sweet."
"Pinkie. I think you're doing her good."
He thought, 'It's Grové you're congratulating, old girl, did you
but know it!'
The country swept past again. They were now in a perilous
descent. Strange, he 'd félt impudent asking after Gordon, using his
Christian name!
He remembered Gordon Bewley-Patton as a tall man with the same
bounding health as Elizabet th but a quieter voice, and a great civility
and shyness of manner. Sometimes he winced if Elizabeth bounded about
too much, Pinkie said, and called her 'Mrs. Bellows-Patton.'
He'd met Gordon at his club, while the women were off somewhere
shopping. He had turned the same gingerly glance on Granville, combined
with warm attention, as Elizabeth usually did. But when Granville showed,
with a deliberate effort, that he was at ease, Gordon settled down as well.
There had been/ a little crisis over the drink. Granville had wanted beer
and asked for 'bitter; please'. Gordon didn't understand this. He'd
apparently thought it was some mumbo-jumbo because he screwed up his eyes


and leaned forward, his hand to his ear, with the same gengerly
expression as before, and said, "Bi---? Bi-- -? Bi-- -? What was that?"
"Bitter." "Bi---? Bi-- -? I'm sorry/I can't understand you!"
Granville had laughed,."Bitter, bitter!f And at last the bar-man had
rescued them with, "He means bitter beer, sir. Light beer!" And
understanding dawned on Gordon's face. "Oh, beer!" he had cried, and
then given Granville a bright, tendér smile as if to say, 'So glad we
don't talk different languages, after all!'
"I don't think she really enjoys it out there," he said as the
car turned into a narrow lane.
"Oh, why ever not?"
She flung him a quick, absorbed glance.
"Well, I don't know, the life's too.small for her
it's no
good for a woman "1
""But she said she adored it! I thought it was just the thing
as long as you didn't stay out there too long and get used to the sun-
downer and come back with a bad liver and all that!"
"Of course, it's exciting for her :1
"Darling old Hester's such a bohemian, isn't she?" she asked with
a laugh. She made it sound so harmless
even good! "Isn't that
the trouble?" she wént on. "She's a bohemian!"
"Yes, I suppose so. But that's the point, she can 't fling her
legs out in Basrah as she' can here. People don't understand it. Well,
you know yourself: it's enough for a woman to bhow her face out there."
"Oh, quite!" Then she added more quietly, "You've got to be firm
with Hester. You mustn't let her wander off."
"Why not?" he asked. And the question surprised him, as it did
her.


"I always say that," he murmured. "By accidentf"
She didn't turn her eyes towards him but went /on. "And the
fourth is 'I'M awfully glad to have met you' or 'Nice to have seen you f.
you must never say that!"
"Really?" Pinkie said. "What t are you to say, then
supposing
you feel it?"
"You mustn't feel it, I suppose!"
"But you really:believe they're give-aways?" he asked her.
"Yes, dear, they work, they really do!"
"But what do they give away?y
"Well, a person's position
"But what exactly?"
She paused, thinking again, in deference to him. It made an
unnatural line come on her forehead. "Well, it proves a person 's
middle class."
"Oh!" He laughed. "You only go down as far as that!"
Pinkie laughed also, and Elizabeth followed them with an innocent
expression.
"Anything under the middle class, "t murmured Pinkie, "is sea-monsters
for Liz. One doesn't even mention it!"
"Well, they do give themselves airs sometimes, :1 Elizabeth persisted
wi th a doubtful expression
"Don/t you sometimes?" hè asked.
She fluttered, not answering.
"Liz is an hon., old cock, so she had the right!" Pinkie said.
"Well, if she's an hon. she ought to try and behave like one, that's
alll I can say
!" Granville started indignantly, flushing, not looking


Toby, was solemn and plump. He liked to go into detail and asked one
question after another while his younger brother, with lovely fair eyes,
sa t listening intently, his mouth open; and Jane looked out of the window,
occasionally addressing a quiet, feminine question to Pinkie, which the
boys pounced on if they could. *
"Do you like driving the car?". Toby asked him.
"Yes, now and then."
"Why now and then?"
"Well, I like to look out.of- the window sometimes and you can't
do it if you're driving."
"Daddy can."
"Yes, He turns round and talks to us while he's driving."
"That's rather dangerous, isn't it?" Pinkie said.
He took no notice. : "He rides a motor bike, too. He's given it
up now. . II
"He says it isn't suitabie .when you have a family."
Pinkie turned round to Kim. "Why isn't it?"
"Well," Toby said, giving her a stern look, "you can hardly take
the family on a motor bike, can you?"
"No, I suppose you can't."
There was a pause and Jane asked quietly, "Hester, do you always
wear your hair short like that?"
"Mummy always has Hers long. You ought to see it when she
undresses and it unravels. I'd'rather like to have plaits but they


don 't let you at school."
"Oh, do be quiet," Toby said without looking at her. "You're
always on about hair."
She leaned across and pinched him on the knee, which was bare:
"Ouch!" He pulled her hair and she screamed.
"Hey, children!" Pinkie cried. "You'll fall out if you aren't
careful!"
There was quiet again.
"That's impossible," David said after consideration. "You can't
fall out if you're sitting in the back because your seats are in the way
and there's only one door."
"How observant of you!"
"Jane hit her head on the top once. when daddy bounced," Toby said
"and she blubbered all the way back!"
"Oh, blubber yourself," she replied; but she was ashamed and didn't
say any more.
They guided him to a beautiful spot among tall, white rocks where
there wasn't a soul; it was a tiny inlet with pools of clear water, some
of them quite deep, with a pebbly bottom; they got the car almost to the
edge of the sea and began taking off their clothes; Pinkie took charge of
the children at once, putting théir clothes in three piles on one of the
smooth rocks shining in the sun; and as soon as they were ready, dressed
in uniform black bathing suits, the three of them dashed off into one of
the deeper pools and began splashing about. Beyond the rocks, about
fifty yards out, because it was low tide, there was the sea, green and
still, flickering in the sun; there wasn't a sound apart from the cries
of the children, not even a bird, and nothing was visible on the sea as


far as the horizon. - Pinkie pulled a whi te swimming cap over her head
and waded wi th him into one of the pools; Jane was swimming apart*from
the boys, waiting for her to come in, brooding a little; Pinkie lowered
herself into the water as she always did, with a gingerly action, flicking
water over her shoulders, wincing and screwing up her face; but the water
was luke-warm. He walked on towards the sea and Toby suddenly rushed
after him, putting his wet hand in his,
"David and Jane aren't allowed to go in the sea without daddy, 11.
Toby said.
"Well," Granville replied, "lét's leave them with Hester, shall
The sea was much colder and they both plunged in at the same time,
coming close to each other with a gasp. Toby called out breathlessly,
"Jolly good, isn't it?" and they both put their heads under. Only the
rocks and the open sea could be seeh, but nothing of the coastline, so
that it felt wonderfully deserted, like an island. He splashed Toby and
ducked away; they chased each other, whooping and laughing; the boy had
freckles on his nose which showed up more when he was wet, and his teeth
had a gap in them; his head woula shoot up in the water right by Granville's
face; they lay full length, floating, only their heads and toes showing;
they stretched and twisted in the clear water. David, on land, had begun
to resent Toby's absence.
"Toby, come back! Daddy doesn't allow it!"
"Oh, you fibber," Topy shouted back without moving a muscle from
his floating position, "you/know jolly well he does! He doesn't allow
you, you mean!"


They swam. in again, panting, and Toby plunged into one of the
shallow pools in an indifferent way, showing off to his brother; David
came and splashed him and at once great fountains of spray went up,
hiding them both. Jane dog-paddled away, from 'them, close to Pinkie,
who also had a: quiet dog-paddle. "Arenft they awful?" he heard Jane
say ina confidential tone.
Afterwards Pinkie saw to the childrens' I hair, combing each of
them in turn; he wat tched her from the car; they took her help quite for
granted, remaining perfectly quiet while bhe was. doing it; she had the
competent look in her face that he'd noticed before. In: the car, when
they all got in, Jane wanted to stayfclose to her, so she was allowed
in front; the smell of hair was greater now and also there was a cherry-
like smell, fresh and clean, from their skins; they all began singing,
"Hickery-dickery dock, the mouse ran up the clock!' as the car bounced
towards the road.
"That was a good swin, wasn't it?" Toby asked intimat tely,
brea thing down the back of his néck.
There was a pause and Jane murmured, "Toby always has been a
boaster."
But to their surprise Toby said nothing; perhaps his knee still
hurt. But after a time he asked his sister, "How's your precious hair?
I suppose you're going to téll us how you'd like to have plaits?"
"No, I'm not!" Jàne paused, gazing out of the window steadily.
"My remark wasn't addressed to you in. any case."
"Oh, listen to that!" he cried. "Where did you get that from?"


"That way of talking?" Toby turned to Pinkie: "She got that
sentence from daddy. He often says,) 'My remark wasn't addressed to you. -
But he's funny when he says it!"
"And she,' ". David said quietly, "just sounds pompous. :!
"Oh, shut up, you!! Jane cried, turning on the smaller brother.
"There's no need for you to butt in!' You're the most pompous little
thing I've ever seen if it çomes to"that!"
David was silent,.and a hush fell over the three of them; he
seemed about to cry.
Jane turned her neck slowly to look at him and said in a gingerly
way, "You aren't going to blubberi, are you?"
"Oh, be quiet, you!" David said as the tears gushed out of his
eyes and he continued gazing before him.
"Oh, dear!" Toby saidfin a glum, adult way, his lips pouting,
turning to look out of the window, away from. his younger brother.
"David!" Pinkie cried. "Come on, old boy, don't cry! She didn't
mean it." And she leaned back and put a handkerchief to his eyes.
Through David's tears
though he remained quite still
came
the words, "She meant every word of it. She always does!"
"Well, what about it?i Toby asked in a solid way, still looking
out of the window. "She doesn't affect me. She can say what she likes.
Girls are soppy, don't you know that?"
"But I'm younger," I David said, reasoning, his eyes clear of tears.
"What's that got to db with it?"
"Quite a lot!"
"I never cried at your age."
"That's a lie!" Jane said.


David turned to her, his eyes almost dry: "Why, can you remember
him crying?"
"Of coùrse, I can! All children cry!"
"All right," Toby 'said in a neat voice. "Chapter and verse,
please."
There was a pause. "What on earth are you talking about?" Jane
asked, actually looking across at him for a moment with her eyes screwed up.
But Toby didn't turn round, only remained solidly gazing out of
the window with his hands on his chubby knees.
"It's from daddy again," David sajd quietly.
"Oh, dear; you are a' copy-cat!" Jane cried, still looking across
at Toby.
"I can, use expressions like everybody else," Toby said in his
usual unassailable tone. "Daddy speaks English, doesn't he? You can
say I'm a copy-cat because I speak English if you like.. That's the sort
of thing you would say!"
"But nobody knows what it means!"
"What what means?"
"That about 'chapters!!"
"Of course they do!" David cried, his eyes light, leaping up and
down in his seat. "You are a dunce! It means 'example'! Give me an
example, it means!"
"There you are," Toby said. "That's what I mean about it not
mattering if you're young. Davild knows far more than you already!"
And Jane was quenched fof a time, biting her lip.
Pinkie turned to her. "Don 't you cry as well."
"Oh, no,' " Jane replied, smiling at her brightly, "there's no


danger of that. They're so silly, both of them!"
"I had exactly the same when I was your age," Pinkie said to her,
her eyes flickering a little.
"Did you?" Jane asked wi th interest.
"Yes. Only I had eight brothers and sisters."
The two boys were silent, absorbed in a game of gripping each
other by the hand and trying to push the other back; at the moment there
was stalemate.
"Eight brothers and sisters!" Jane repeat ted, marvelling. "I'd
like some sisters. Did you like it?"
"What, having sisters?"
"I hated it."
"You hated your sisters? Jane cried with a touch of admiration
in her voice.
"Well, I didn't hat te thém so much, I hated being younger, being
'left out of things." She made it sound like yesterday; the hurt was
still in her voice.
"Did they leave you alone all the time, then?"
"Yes. So when your brothers are beastly, remember it could be
worse!" And Pinkie smiled at her.
Toby won suddenly. pavid's arm was wrenched back and he called
"And. that was my.left arm," Toby said with satisfaction. "So I'm


turned into a low-lying house with mullionéd windows about two centuries
before; nearly all the fields round them, stratching as far as you could
see, with an elm here and there, belonged to the house; it was mostly
grazing land; what little was farmed didn't pay for itself, Elizabeth
told them.
"They're as poor as church mice," she added. "There's just
Tommy and his old mum now
she's completely batty! He's an angel!"
It was windy and uncomfortable by the courts, because it was so
high up, at the edge .of a kind of. cliff, unprotected from the wind that
came straight in from the sea. A number of people were sitting on the
grass by the courts, most of them women and as soon as Elizabeth appeared
there were loud cried - "Darling!" "What a sweet dress!", "Did you get
those cuttings I sent you?", "Elizabeth!" 9 "Liz, old girl!", "How's
Gordy?", "Who's winning against who?" "Never play it myself!" "Liar,
Charles!", "Wasn't that a gorgeous evening?" She was lost among them.
"I say, look out ---!" A bali flew over the net and bounced
among them. "Sorry!" came a cry from! the court; a young. man in tweeds
dashed across and ret trieved it. There were roars of laughter among the
women who'd been nearly hit.
"How's that?" someone cried.
"Out for a duck!"
"Boundary!"
One of the women had a new-born child in her arms and Elizabeth
began cooing over it, completely absorbed and gay, chucking it under the
chin, "Oh, what a booful, loverly, cheeky-weeky darling! You saucy-waucy,
booky-wooky, booful little sweetheart, booful precious!" The young man in
tweeds sat by the court on a shooting stick, crying out when there was a


good ball; but the wind kept, carrying it Joff and there were shouts of
"Damn!" and "Just my bloody luck!" from the players. The ball went
swiftly to and fro, just over the net, making a steady plock on the rackets;
beyond the ccourt there was blue sky, and, below, hills patched with dark
woods, lighted up by the sun for a momént and then dull again as a cloud
raced across. Pinkie got caught in talk by one of the women and he
could hear her saying 'yes' in her bored way so that it sounded like
'yerse'; he guessed that the woman was talking about housework or something,
and moved closer to make sure; it was babies, whether one should have two
or three; Pinkie looked as if she wanted to vomit. Suddenly an older
woman who was only half in the conversa tion barked across at her, "Have you
got stables?" and Pinkie replied in a perfectly steady voice, "No
were
you looking for one?"
There was tea in the library and they went in after most of the
others, because they'd arrived latefand the players had to be fed first.
Elizabeth was helping in the kitchen and didn't join them: there were also
the score cards to mark up and new balls to be unpacked. She dashed here
and there; waving to them or saying, "So sorry, darlings!"
A long table had been laid out for about thirty people, but the
only other person there when they sat down was a plump young man with
pale, loose features, who sat bent over his plate running his fingers
through the crumbs thoughtfully; the only clean place was at his side and
Pinkie went there while Granville sat opposite.
There was a huge book-case behind him, nearly the length of the
room; with criss-cross wire in froht of it, but as far as he could see
there were no books; there were piles of magazines everywhere, and he
noticed gun cartridges, pipes and pipe-racks, billiard-cues leaning against


the wall and, surprisingly,a tall, black case for a double bass. People
passed by in the cluttered ehtrance-hall outside, which was panelled with
the most beautiful stripped oak, hundreds of years old. They talked
heartily and banged their sticks on the wooden floor, laughing.
Then the man at Pinkie's side suddenly spoke; or rather he looked
up and made a sound like, Ah!" His eyes gave the ambiguous impression
of being both piercing and vague, as if the keenness in them had never
been called out properly; he was bald, which made him look older than-
his age.
He turned to Pinkie, after his "Ah!", and asked her in a soft
voice, "Are you interestedj in jazz?"
She ducked her head forward in a characteristic shy way, fixing
her eyes on the table before her with a slight frown, and said, "Quite,
"Do you know the e ah - Thames Wharf Stomp?"
"No," She shook hér head. "I con't say I do."
"Ah!" He gazed at her with a drowsy light in his eyes. "It's
awfully good." He added, "Do you play anything?"
"I play the piano.'
"Oh, jolly good! Join our band. Where are you?"
"I'm staying with Elizabeth Bewley-Patton."
"Excellent!"
"But I live in London." She still had her head ducked attentively.
"Oh, that's a pity, he said. "I learned the sax. I've got a
library of nearly four hundred records from Dixieland up!"
"Yes. All in this rdom." "


"Oh, is this your house then?" she asked, looking up for the
first time.
"Yes!" He laughed in a wheezing fashion and as abruptly stopped.
"You'll notice the lack of books."
I "I didn't, as a matter of fact. Nice place you've got," she:
said looking round.
He said nothing to this, only gazed at his plate.
"Do you get away much?" she asked; but again he took no notice.
"I give myself three hours practice a day", he said, "come fair
weat ther or foul. I go to town for records and sheet-music, I mean town
here, you'll understand, not London!" He turned to her and gave her a
charming smile, and suddenly said, "Have some more tea!"
He then gazed across' lat Granville in a blind way for some time,
silent, and called out at the top of his voice, "Have some more tea over
there!", though they weren't more than two yards apart; and before Granville
could answer he shouted, "What?"
"Yes, I'd love some!'
But he simply turned back to Pinkie: "I'm getting a band up. Five-
piece. Rattling good! I'd like some better drums, that's all."
"You, need a good strong beat, what?" she asked in her swashbuckling
manner.
"Yes!" He wheezed al little without moving. "Sounds rather rude,
doesn't it?" He asked suddenly, "Are you married?"
"Yes, That's my husband across the table!"
Again he gave him a long, blind look and said quietly, "Where's
your husband?"


"You're looking straight/ /at him."
He smiled brilliantly again, the whole of his face waking up,
his eyes piercing and stern, light blue: "Oh, I say, I'm awfully sorry,
I thought you were old Sanderson's cousin! I couldn't make out why you
were here! He's in Mexico!" He laughed again, his shoulders shaking
softly. "Or is it Nigeria?"
"Well, they're both rather hot," Pinkie said.
"That's right!" He laughed even more. "I say, you do come out
with some rude things!"
"Don't you like tennis?f she asked, apparently to divert him.
"Never play it. Damned silly game. Hurts your arm. Pointless,
don't you think so?" He addressed himself to Granville again. "I say,
are you in the City?"
"In a way, I -- 11
"Wish to God I was, sometimes! My pals do. It's the thing, really,
-don't you think so? But old mum'd go crackers, she would really!"
Elizabeth came in like the wind and shouted, "Tommy, you old
bounder! On to jazz again, what?"
"Let's say I've been and gone," he answered quietly, giving her
a little smile.
She began to play up to him, going behind his chair and tweeking
his ears. "Tommy's a darling, an absolute darling, and when he gets on
to that sax he's irresistible!"
Her look was demure and girlish
she seemed completely changed
by the young man. She looked complimented when he said anything to her.
And Pinkie began to be the same infected. She flashed him interested
glances, rather like an actress.


They all got up to return to the courts and he heard Elizabeth
invite him to dinner that evening. - - a last-minute thing
suddenly going to have a party!" she cried. And she went round some of
the other guests, inviting them, until she had a party of about seven or
eight.
Whien they were getting into the car to leave the young man came
out to them and suddenly thrust his hand into Granville's as if they'd
never met and said, "I'm Tommy Bligh! How do you do?" The women laughed
and then they drove off.
"Isn't he a scream!" Elizabeth said. She turned to Granville.
"Did you like the house, old thing?"
"Yes, lovely!" He gave it a last look as they turned out of
'the drive; it looked vast at the top. of the hill, a bright orange mass,
like something done angrily a long time ago.
The fuss and excitement had left Elizabeth. The wind dropped
and the evening now looked quiet and clear.
"Quick! Spuds to peel!" Elizabeth cried as they stopped on the
gravel path, and ran to the house.
A black silk dress was found for Pinkie, with bare shoulders.
When she put on silver ear-rings with it she looked delicate and glittering.
The men weren't dressing, Elizabeth said. He took a bath, feeling a
twinge of excitement that reminded him of London. The bathroom was
wonderful with panelled walls,and huge taps bigger than his foot, and a
creaking floor. He could hear Elizabeth going to and fro between the
kitchen and the dining room, calling out to the children to get a hurry
on. They were just going to bed; splashing about in the bathroom
downstairs and arguing at the top of their voices; Toby had lost his tooth-


CHAPTER 23.
The next morning he woke up early, even before the children.
The- sunlight was baazing into the roon, already hot, and there was a
furry stillness in the air. He went to the window and looked down at
the orchard immediately below. The. leaves were dusty and pale, with
a wilted look in the blinding Jight. And the earth between the trees
was dense-black. Not a leaf stirred, and the chorus of birds, in the
gable above his head and also down in the trees, hidden in the black
shadows, was absorbed intd the stillness as he'd noticed two evenings
before, like sounds that t came out of the earth. Beyond the garden there
was a vast haze across the valley, stretching as far as he could see and
hiding the low hills in thé distance, hot and motionless. Massive
breaths of heat drifted through the window, reminding him of Basrah.
Pinkie was still asleep, only her hair visible above the sheets, and he
decided to have a look at the village before breakfast.
He left the house quietly, tiptoeing down the stairs. The hall
below was dark and dool, with the curtains still drawn. There wasntt a
sound. He carefully opened the front door and stepped out on to the
gravel path. A hot breath came into his face, scented and heavy
so like Basrah! And everything had the same fixed look, the leaves of
the trees like iron. His step made a sharp sound on the gravel as he
turned to look at the house, its windows gleaming in the light, its red
bridk like a marvellous coral reef in the sea, against the utter blue sky.


The real village lay off the road, through a path in the woods
almost opposite the house, and this he found éasily.
Everything was hushed there, with a tall arch of twigs overhead
letting the sun through in tiny dazzling spots. The trees were young,
planted regularly. The floor was damp, with autumn leaves from the
previous year sunk into a muddy, soft carpet. - And in the middle of the
woods a dry turf began, of a dazzlingly fresh green, and he could hear. his
feet thump on it as he walked; it seemed to echo far underneath. There
was a clearing at the end, where the hill dipped suddenly, and here he saw
the ruins of a stone house, just the base of the walls with weeds grown
all over them, and a broken doorway,/ the timber eaten through.
Then he came out over a. clear valley, and immediately before him
lay a squat Norman church, quite alone in its little green plot. The
tombstones gleaming white in the sun, some of them at an angle and others
sunk into the earth, only their heads visible, mossy and worn. A hot
breath of wind went over the grass, stirring the wispy heads. He went
to the wooden porch and to his surprise found the church open. And he
walked into the cool, musty air, letting the' door thump closed behind him.
It was quite dark because of the stained-glass windows. And the golden
altar gleamed in the trace off sunlight, before bright grey stone. The
stone looked like thin canvas, ancient, as if delicate to the touch. The
silence was,quite unlike that of the fields. There were massive pillars
with the brickwork showing. through in places. Some of the pews were
three or four hundred years! old, and had the same frail, dusty-grey look
as the stone, with. initials çarved on them, and signs of the cross.
He heard a bird whistle quite close' to the porch, a brief,
reminiscent sound piercing the silence for a moment. Then all noise was


gone again. At his feet there were tombstones laid flat
Lady Jane
Courtley, daut". of Harry Meedham Esquire, then a/date, 1594. The head
and hands of the copper figure, representing Lady Courtley, were broken
off
Cromwell's work, probably.
He looked up at one of the stained windows. The sky was just
visible. The village felt a great distance away
so did the house,
and Pinkie, asleep. There was a vast silence ruffled by the wind, and
the sky had a look of terrific openness .as over the sea, and seemed to be
intimate with the earth, knowing this church, not seeing the flow of
centuries at all.
It made him feel suddenly taken beyond his own life, rempved
three or four canturies back, to 1594 perhaps, and, gazing at the sky
through one of the windows, he félt he was actually removed into someone
else's body, too, from that time, and caught a glimpse, like being
vouchsafed another life for a moment, of the world then
so that he saw
the horizon outside the window as the horizon of his whole life, while
the hush of the fields outside contained the dead with whom he was
connected in his flesh, and to whom he would go again, with the golden,
still country beyond the'horizon strange to him, forbidden and limitless
as only the sight of thé stars was to us,iin our shrunken world! Ah, at
that time everything at the base of life must have been good, with a
certain sweetness and/local strength! At least, life had started out
right then. Fibre and resolution hadn't had to be learned slowly, on top
of ruins, as now. And again he arrived at the question, but distantly,
as if it concerned someone else, as to whether he would be able to do this
for his own life
bring the early ruins to order. He stood in the
church for nearly half-an-hour, gazing down the chancel between the pews,


listening to the silence with its strange, beckoning depth. Then he
left quickly, returning to the hot air outside with relief.
He went on to the village. Half the street was in shadow - -
closed shop-fronts and windows with the curtains/still drawn. Only at
the inn, with a cobbled yard and stables, was there life 'stirring. He
heard the clang of a pail, and someone coughed. But the street was
deserted, with the sun streaming down its léngth, blacking out'one side.
At the bottom of the hill the road became barer and widened.
The : trees had been felled and there was an estate of bleak newly-built
houses with the mud of construction still round them.. Why did they
always pull the trees down? But the English always did! He'd noticed
it as a child. They even seemed to resent them. Were trees too soft,
with their leisurely bowing and spréading ofiarms in the wind, like a
comment on men?
Beyond, where the trees started again, tall and close together,
he saw the chimneys of what lookéd like a big house.
He found a hole in the fence and went through. Was it the
manor house? At any rate, nobody lived there. The garden was overgrown
'with tall bushes, with the trace here and there of an old rose tree,
pushing its blooms through in a last gesture.
And behind lay the house itself, like a palace, but shuttered,
with weeds up to its doors and climbing all over the steps from the garden,
filling the stone urns that had beén used once for flowers. There was a
fountain in the garden, almost hidden by moss and weeds, quite dry. Here
again roses of every colour peeped through, single bright heads.
Most of the windows were smashed. He looked through a crack
in the shutters and saw a:n magnificent hall inside with a painted ceiling,


its gilt and blue stars still bright. It was bare of furniture. And
just as he looked in a bird flew across, its wings fluttering in a strip
of sunlight for a moment.
He tried to imagine the time when the lawns had been smooth and
the urns full of daffodils and tulips. The meadow would lie beyong as
it did now, rising and falling gently, with a few ancient oaks in the
middle, bent and knarled. People would be strolling up the steps.
The windows would be hining in/ the sun, with immense curtains behind them.
In the hall there would be deep armchairs, a long refectory table, oak
chests.
There was a squat building to one side, apart, that might be the
chapel. It was older than the rest, with that sweet, native look of
mediaeval things. It néstléd more comfortably among the weeds than the
rest of the house.
A fat raven flew up from one of the chimneys, startled' as he
pushed through the bushes.
On the train back from Meedham he kept talking loudly
his
voice seemed to have got used to it. But gradually he became aware of
the other people inf the compartment and began talking in an undertone.
Pinkie, too, underwent the same change in her face. She gazed down at
the floor, some timés biting her lip. The chimneys and slate roofs of
outer London passed. The dream was over. It was a dusty, warm evening.
Elizabeth had said she wanted to 'bring them out'; their lives
weren't grand enough. There was going to be a 'terribly swish ball' in
London', and she'd get tickets for all' of them: Gordon would come as
well. It would be in about two weeks' time. Granville knew this was


conscious triumph had died. Where was it in his iife now? How was
it bearing fruit?
He began to tell himself that, indeed, if he came to think of
it, his life was changing under the influence df that night, though the
effects were difficult to perceive at first. Suppose their Meedham
visit had been one of these effects? Pinkie's cheeks had been flushed
with health there! : Elizabeth, he told himself, had come as a saviour.
And the news of the baby! It began to occur to him, in a slow light
like that of dawn, that this was the first real answer
in the flesh
to his night of thought
the first cônfirmation
a touch from
heaven
the night of the eclipse transformed to flesh, in the, shape"
of a new breathing life! There was his triumph!
At the same time, however, his body, and indeed his wholé self,
was sluggish, as if it couldn't meét this triumph. The triumph,
apparently, hadn't reached his flesh. And he didn't know shy. Nor was
thère a new life between him and Pinkie 'on account of the child. In
fact, it had made no differencé. Her comings and goings were as
mechanical as before. She kept her job. The child was hidden away
under the multiple. noises and activities of London. It was no longer
their property, as it had been in Meedham, for a moment.
And the problem of his return to Basrah hadn 't changed: would he
.be going? Would they go together? Would she really come afterwards
as she promised? Nor /did the child bring them into closer confidence.
They curled up togethér at night with no greater intimacy than before,
nor less. She looked at him
and he looked at her
with no more
promise. If anything, her look was barer than before; sometimes bleak,
when she glanced at him. But the thought of the child always waylaid


There was no moral basis to his life. He did what hé felt
instinctively to be right, or else what other people expected of him:
but there was no clear decision in between - no necessary truthful
course he knew he always had to follow, whatever other people expected
of him and whatever his instincts said.
So, really, he had no self. He was like all the others! Just
products! Their. lives geared and moved by the city outside!
All the moral words were dead.for him: good, bad, evil, wicked,
sinful, virtuous. Meaningless: Imagine telling Pinkie she was 'wicked'.
She 'd laugh! Hanni, too! They'd feel complimented
the 'wild'.
touch, you know! But was he different? There was only one moral
criterion for them all
'What impression did I make on other people?'
That brought a shadow over the mind
that made you stop
that was
the only guide you had, what other people thought!
So they were guiding each other
the blind leading the blind!
But he. wouldn't be blind, and he wouldn't be led by the blind!
Hadn't Dick told him one day that this was how Lady Godiva and King Arthur
lived - doing only what people expected of them? And he was going to
join this disgraceful middle class sort of living? He had to protect
himself
keep himself intact
think things out all the time
stay
apart!
Of course
what was the night of the eclipse but his childhood
sur
breaking through? insisting on thinking the matter? determined to find
a pa th alone? wild for independence? That had been Abbott's Road!
There you had a morality! In Abbott's. Road you didn't follow what other
people expected of you, there you had your likes and dislikes and these
weren't the same.as any other man's and you were allowed this difference!


with Beirut and Cairo: that was, the main part of the report. But now
came his suggestions for the future. There must be changes! And this
was where he got stuck.
'What are you doing,' he asked himself, 'trying to force things
with your mind? Why not rest, wait a bit, idle, let new thoughts form?'
And he forced himself'to disobey his torn; scolding nerves. An'd slowly,
during a concert, a clear question began to form in his mind: "What's
your objection to finishing the report? Why do you hate the idea?' For
all of a sudden he saw that he hated the idéa of making any suggestions
for the future!
He wanted to contract out of the/whole bloody lot! He didn't
want more progress, more machines, morey education
he didn't believe
in it
he hated it
he wanted tol withdraw
and that was the only
suggestion he could make!
I I
But he was in the thick of it all, by his life, by his work:
there was a contradiction he hadn 't worked out!
And he realised that he still didn't understand how or why the
'middle class' as he always calléd them had come into being; nor what
good they'd done, if any. He described them to himself as the instrument
that had killed religion in people. They'd killed it in him! But why
had they done it? How had it been allowed to happen? How had the
movement got such a hold? How' could he write them off historically, or
in any other' way? For he was one of them! He couldn't write off his
own life, his work
it couldn't be done!
And he set himself that task, quietly. He lay awake, his nerves
at rest now, wondering how the answer would come. . Could that be his
last word about the 'middle class', about the new world he'd come into


that it was simply history gone wrong? and one just hoped it would come
better again?
Next day there happened to be an argument between Dick and Pinkie
in the music-room. about the Prince Albert bridge, leading from
Battersea park to Chelsea. There were plans to pull it down. But
complaints had come in to the local council, hundreds of letters; the
bridge was a. fine example, people said, of Victorian design, one of the
best, and there was no need to go on tearing down all Victorian London
just because the fashions had changed. And Pinkie said she liked the
bridge. She thought the upper struts were like wonderful strings of
beads, especially at night when they were lit-up, whereas Dick said they
looked more like a row of 'Edwardian watch-chains.' And then they began
talking about Victorian houses. Pinkie said she got a cosy satisfaction
from being in a real furnished Victorian house
with all the trappings,
it had to be the real job
hideous towering doors and polished door-
knobs, thick curtains and persian carpets, masses of cushions everywhere
and knick-knacks and gaudy: light-shades with tassles, and little inlaid
tables
everything 'purring like a wonderful luxurious cat' so that
you really couldn't believe there was a real world outside
nothing
considered too small or trifling to be worked on carefully
every tiny
coffee cup a special work in itself, every table cloth and nail-file and
embroidery-basket, as if the whole idea had been so flatter people, if
they had money
flatter every little taste and whim and désire!
Dick said he preferred the light and air. He was on the side
of modern architecture.
"Oh, I agree it's suffocating, I1 Pinkie said. nBut then, perhaps
every age finds the last one suffocating!"


And afterwards, when he was alone, , thinking of it again, he asked -
himself, 'What did the Victorians feel suffocated by, to make all that
clamour and extravagance?' Had they felt a similar suffocation with the
world they'd been children in, which had/ made them undertake these proud
excursions? He paused. - Suppose the world before industries hadn't
been so peaceful as he'd thought? Suppose there'd been decay and
suffocation there, too, among certain people?
never, of course,
among most people, whose lves never changed, from generation to generation,
but among the few whose thoughts led to change in the outside world?
Suppose the nobility had collapsed at that time
turned to pleasure
lost interest in running the country, left even their own estates to
clever agents and stewards? And suppose certain men had come to want
the same pleasure
the same colour and light
as it seemed
their own lives
the extravagance? Hadn't they achieved it, then,
these certain men, in the heaty embroidered cloths and their towers and
buttresses and endless knick-knacks, in Victorian times? hadn't that
been the climax of the first industries? Suppose that those hideous
Victorian shops and miniature palaces had renewed people's pride? Did
the Victorians, in fact, give a terrific boost to life, which was
.suffocating and horrible to us? Without them, would country towns have
become silent, deserted jewels, of Georgian architecture?
Suppose that, in a way, industries had been a struggle for the
light?
Suppose that only the gorgeous duke's carriage had seemed to have
colour and light, as it, had sped past, in that world before industries?
and darkness had fallen on certain other men whose minds were nevertheless
active, and who had dréams, ambitions, even visions? Wasn't this how


industries had started? Hadn't they come out of lonely men, as the
revival of trade in the middle ages had çome from the lonely towns, from
those men who weren't in any blind connection with other people, not
knights or serfs, but men who thought things over to themselves, in the
silence of their minds? Wasn't the first machine that started. industries,
the spinning jenny conceived by a weaver, always alone in his work,
separate from the other villagers, af lonely traveller who went from place
to place selling his cloth, contemplative and pale compared with the
labourers?
Wasn't that the character of industries
of our whole world
that they had sprung from men's minds, calculating and dreaming and arguing
things over?
And what did that mean
for his other thoughts
for the night
of the eclipse - where did that connect?
Christ had been alone: was this the answer? He had severed
himself from the blind connections
from the inherited connections!
One by one the blind ties had gone in England - the divine
power of Rome, the divine power of the king, the divine power of the
dukes. Was it the lonely concept of freedom that had been trying to
shine all the time? Was this what Christ had given in his person? Perhaps
this freedom was part of being withdrawn and alone;. it was the hunger that.
went with being alone - impatience of family, of priest, of pope, of
king, nobility, of every blinding power over the mind! Certain men had
done it; always a smadl group, and the others, the majority, had watched,
inheriting a little more freedom, if to lack blind ties was freedom! Was
this what Christ had done
made freedom the only path to God? Was
that in all his movements,
freedom? in: everything he said, a wonderful


lightness? Was that, also, what those certain men had been trying to
realise in their factories? Was it that they'd wanted a lighter world,
where people wouldn't just inherit the life-long task for their hands,
where their thoughts wouldn't only be those that had grown before they
were born? Was it to make a world where people could unbend from blind
work and leave it to the machines? ' Was this behind their greed and
cruelty, without them knowing it, turning them into a movement that
within fifty years of coming to birth had control of parliament and had
turned the country from a rural community into a throbbing factory crossed
with roads and canals and railway-lines? Was it to make a world free
from the dark, pagan shadows as. wéll; a universe without fear 'or guilt, so
that when we looked up at the sky we should feel ourselves separate from
it and clear in our freedom, not haunted by its frowns and storms? Was
that why he'd seen the eclipse as he'd done, mathematically? Had he
simply been projecting the free'dom that was in him, so that he could see
the 'sun change and go dark without the slightest qualm or fear, unlike
Abu Kath'm who did show fear? Was this freedom an unparallelled freedom
so that for the first time millions of people could face the changes and
terrors of the universe with stillness? Was that from Christ? Was that
the stillness he'd hadiin his own person? Had religion penetrated so
much into us that it was now in the pores of our skin and we didn't know
any more what it was like to be pagan and the victim of every omen and
fright in the universe? How much we took for granted! Was this freedom
presupposed in the tiniest things, such as our visits to the doctor, whom
we left without the dark feeling that we ourselves through some fearful
stain were responsible for our sickness and horribly involved, but stood
apart even from our bodiles with a cool stillness and detachment
which


made us seem thinkers and scholars compared jwith the pagans? Everything
had become phenomenon for us! It'was in oùr consciences, which kept a
moral principle as something separate from jus, and stopped out plunge
into dark self-interest; it'was in our sense of the universe as separate;
it was in our sense of our bodies; nothing stuck to us; wasn't that the
fulfilment of an unparallelled freedom? -
And what was this freedom but the spark Christ said could be
found in every person, in his lonely state, apart from his place in the
world, no matter what his blind ties were, even a slave, a woman, an
unbeliever? And what had happened since his death but one struggle after
another against the: blind ties that hid this divinity in which a man was
perfectly free, perfectly alone and perféctly beyond the touch of other
men?
Was this the kind of justification he'd been looking for all this
time in the middle class? How else would he know his own freedom, how
else would he be thinking as he was at this moment, unless what he called
the middle class had done its work, in the nineteenth century, of removing
the last blind tie?
Yes, industries had disinherited everybody! People no longer
had a squire to lean on, to take their glow from, or their punishment.
That had all gone out a century jor more ago. The farmer wi th his homely
face had gone. The village had gone. Everything blind had gone,
everything you could inherit naturally, in the place "where you were born!
What was that but turning people, through the unthinkable pain of upheaval,
into their own masters?
Was that where Christ had been leading us all this time, to where
we could contemplate him in perfect freedom, free even from the dark


weight of religious advice and supervision, from the priests and councils?
Was that what Granville himself had been/trying to arrive at when he
asked himself what life he would have in England, and whether it would
mean joining the old class of authority? Was he seeking a way of
perpe tuating the aristocracy he saw in;these men; their splendid
independence, without their power? Was. that what was going to happen
in England? Would people take the form they had found and admired in
these men, their easy gestures and authority, and perpetuate them in
themselves without. the servants, wealth and influence? Was that what
made this class of authority bearablé to him, that it was pure now,
namely, devoid of power? so that the'se men could only assert themselves.
by what they were in themselves, as,Christ, the everlasting model, had
done? Was it this that rendered the concept of the gentleman real
its being shorn of authority? Was that why aristocracy had existed, to
cultivate the touch of divinity, in.leisure and without any hemming-in by
other men.or by work, in perfect independence, spreading itself to the
utmost in vast rooms and lovely parks? Was the aristocracy the heart
of every country, however dead itAmight be now? was it the soul of a
country? did the soundness of a country come from its aristocracy's
soundness? Had the middle class' made it possible for every man to inherit
it, now that the form had been arrived at and settled, only without the
vast rooms and lovely parks now, ,iwithout the blind authority over other
men? Was the middle class itself only an instrument for freedom, moving
by blind function all the time,,not a visionary body at all? Was its
role to establish the utmost possible satisfactions of power and ambition
for' every man
in speed, comfort, leisure, and marvellous flights
through hundreds of different experiences all over the earth
so that


in the end there would be no wonder left in power at all, only the
contemplation of all the wonder that lay beyond men; so that the last
immenselyy ambitious explorations of space, in cunning rockets travelling
at unthinkable speeds, would end in a marvelling contemplation of the
huge, still, blue empyrean?
Was this why the middle class had destroyed even the blind tie
of religion, so that it would be a conscious one?
Had the great reiterated principle of the middle class been that
men were the uppermost reality, and men must be served; had this been
their function, to repeat it until the stature of every person was assured
and admitted, and the touch of divinity could then be.seen? Were we on
the threshold of that new epoch, in which the stature of a man would be
totally beyond his place and position? I Had the middle class only been
serving Christ all the time in trying to move towards the lightl like a
machine that could only go on until it had disrupted and consumed all
humani ty? Were they the little technicians of Christ, blind to the force
they were creating? Was that why he found no real morality in Dick
but was stirred and thrilled by his daring and intimately exploring
thoughts, that tried to uncover the light all the time? Was that why
he found Dick's ideas 'mental', separate from théelife he led, because
there was no total, driving moral vision? Had the middle class now
performed the great menial task required by Christ? Had they strained
further and further towards the light, away from the dark and marshy
habits of endowing people with divine! powers, and from superstition, so
that at last the human being stood free to contemplate himself apart
from his own fears and his own hopes and interests, as Christ had done
throughout his mission? Was a detachment similar to that of Christ


growing on all humanity? After the shocks delivered by the middle
class to the peace in which most people had/been locked before, as
Abu Kath'm was still locked, as he'd been locked in Abbott's Road as a
child
after the point of self-destruction had been reached in
millions of people - would the most of self-recall come as it had come
in him, through recollection of the previous life of peace and blindness,
and through the sense of having lost a guiding hand? Was it only a
fulfilment of Christ's advice to give up the family, to give up all ties,
for the one tie in which a person was ho longer the victim of interest
or even blind layalty, but chose the light for himself? Were people
giving up the dark, blind, suffocating part of family so as to give their
children the light of freedom; wasn' 't that how the children of the great
houses had been brought up, unpossessed by their parents? Wasn't that
what Jean Philby had talked to him about, when she'd said that a. mother
had no 'rights' over her child? was' it the light in which all ambitions
were dead, - and we were free to contemplate other people, even the children
of our own flesh, in their freedom? Did every man have to become one,
of the disciples
even those working in the fields, even the Samaritans,
the heathens, the fallen women, the Romans! -
Yet it was say, this freedom. He was sunk down. There was so
much responsibility. So littde consolation. A terrible legacy! But
it was there. You couldn't turn away.
And each time, perhaps,; there was a new tie. We, in our world,
had the tie of other men - we couldn't get through to the beyond - to
our single selves
we couldh't hear the silence
that was our struggle!
We had to contract out, in some way
in our hearts !
He was numb with his, thoughts, yet peaceful.


Granville had noticed this'at training school: there was no
brotherhood in Dick. If you asked him for help - it might only be
moving a desk across the room
he did it perfunctorily and left the
room in a kind of dream, as if helping someone put his own self. out of
action. Dick seemed to say, 'We're all |alone, and if we meet and have
agood time together, we do 'SO by conscious social agreement, which:
would be broken if we did anything to displease each other. Our liking
each other means that we have interests which coincide. Dick would
cancel and appointment at the last minute
say, at the cafe in the
Commercial road - and add, "But you go ahead, old sport", as if only
the event
sitting in the cafe
interested Granville. Partly it
was his poor estimation of his own company, so that he gave the impression
both of an agreeable modesty and ar unpleasant coldness.
Granville had stopped trying to make appointments with him. His
pride would-be hurt. by Dick's, "Oh, 11 followed by a pause, "can't quite
manage that, old sport! Another day." Or he might say. "I've got to
cover the annual flower-show at #indhead for the Sperm News and Chancre
Gazette," meaning he was meeting a girl.
And he himself had fallen into a similar mental habit recently:
he fought shy of doing anything which he couldn't construe to himself as
useful in some way, and this meant, generally, useful to himself. It
was difficult for him, for instance, to pick up the phone and pass. the
time of day with someone: There had to be an appointment in mind.
Otherwise he felt 'soft'. Sometimes he would invent an occasion in order
to pass the time of day
he might ring up Glenning for some office-
information which he didn' need. Giving Dick a bottle of wine had been
difficult for him. He'd had to force himself to do it. All round him


he felt a moral vacuum. The reaspn for being nice to people and doing
things for them wasn't clear. There seemed no reason beyond self-interest,
and so it became a habit to present to himself the element of self-interest
to absolve himself of 'softness'. e This 'softness' was a sense that
other people would set him at naught and assume he was idle and without
important commitments. To be natural wasn't enough. He feared being
rebuffed
having the phone put down on him, for instance, if he laid
himself bare to people. He feared people saying they were 'busy'. The
word was coming to have a sting for him. Dick, Hanni and Pinkie were
all 'busy'. So he made an effort to be 'busy' as well.
Dick seemed to like a methodical relation. Once, years before,
they'd 'spent a week-end together at an inn near Reading, and. had agreed
to go half-way with the experses, and at precisely ten o'clock on
Saturday evening, as they sat over the lounge-fire, Dick turned to him
and said quietly, "Well, Petty Officer, I think it's' about time for you
to take over 'mine host'. I think- that's as. fair a division as an
untrained mathematical mindi could devise
we got here about a quarter to
ten last night, I'm standing you " with a twinkling smile
"that
extra quarter of an hour, and we're leaving about that time tomorrow
night, aren't we? So the bills are yom from now on!" Dick had no
dark reserves about money. He always made it light and clear, on an
objective basis which left no unpleasantness.
He spent one evening with Dick at Hampton Court, as during the
first weeks of his leave. But the river was cold and bleak, not as he
remembered it from the summer at all. Only the trees were dovely, on
the other side of the river, golden and yellow, close to the mellow red


name 'Grove' spelled the end of his life with Pinkie for him. Indeed,
the end of life.
Dick also told him more about Lady Godiva and King Arthur
how they'd discovered Hanni was living with him, before they were married.
Lady Godiva had found a pair of knickers on the back of his aimchair.
King Arthur called him down to Harrow for a 'conference' at once; those
were the days when he was still getting an allowance. Anyway, the old
boy cut him off. Lady Godiva said the pants were filthy
that was the
main bone of contention: where was the girl's pride? Dick said he hadn't
located it yet.
"Where does the girl dress and undress?" Lady Godiva had asked
during the 'conference'.
"Well, where we kip down!"
"Good Lord! In front off you? I never undressed in front of
your father for ten years after we were married!"
"Why," Dick asked her with a laugh, "what did you have to hide?"
Nowadays, he said, they jaccused him af taking up with people who
were 'neither fish, flesh 'nor fowl', a favourite expression of Lady Godiva's,
meaning people like Hanni and Granville
nobody knew where they 'came'
from. But Pinkie was 'quality'. From the day Dick told them that she
was 'a real Grysham down to, hér uncut toe-nails' they always asked
questions about. her. Did she 'keep up' with the Aldercote part of the
family? Was she ever invited to the house? Would she 'come into
anything'? Did she know the present Lord Aldercote
'something in
fertilisers', they believed? Everything she did was recited to them,
and they approved of it all even the story of how she got dead-drunk in
Reading and lay out with the tin-cans in a backyard all night. So


'eighteenth century'! Well, the Gryshams had always been famous for
that sort of thing, hadn't they? A real 'buccaneering family'!
As a child, Dick said, he'd always had 'conferences' with the
old boy. His finances were discussed and àn 'accounts book' brought
out, with debit and credit columns. On each page there was a separate
item
'Tuck Shop Allowance', 'Clothes Allowance', 'Income from
Gardening', Breakages and Fines'
he was fined for breaking crockery4
raiding the larder, swearing and whistling and 'passing wind' at table,
and for staying in the lavatory for more than seven minutes at a 'sitting'.
"There was a first-class row last week," Dick went on. "I totted
up the old boy's assets .on a piece of papér, to see what I'd get when he
passed beyond. I wrote 'King Arthur's Assets' at the top, then made
two columns, one for his assets and another for his likely debts and
taxes. And he found it! I went down there for lunch and left it on the
coffee table. He nearly had a fit!"
"It must have been quite a shock," Granville said.
"Well, that's the way he thinks, in debit and credit columns!
He's done that all his life. For every hundred quid he's spent on me
he's thought of getting back a hundred quidsworth of filial duty plus a
five-percent divident. I don't think that man's done a single clean
act off the balance-sheet in his life!"
Granville asked him if he hated him and to his surprise Dick said,
"No, he's an amusing old stick! And he takes after me so much! Really,
he quite liked me totting up his asséts, it's just the sort of thing
he'd do himself!"
Lady Godiva had never liked! cutting Dick off like that. She
tried to persuade King Arthur to pyt him back 'ôn half-pay', but he


wouldn't hear of it. She said the advantage of having Dick on an
: allowance was that it got him dowh to Harrow once a month to pick it up,
whereas now he hardly came at alli. Half the allowance would get him
there 'bi-monthly', at least. - But King Arthur said no, not since Dick
had become a 'bedouin', meaning He lived with Hanni.
And Lady Godiva said to Dick one day with a smile, "You know,
you're so easy to deal with - f only your father knew - because
you're completely selfish, like he!"


vivid and deliberate, the girls in tight trousers and the young men with
ascots, fancy shirts, Italian-style suits. There' was a strange, unfleshly
atmosphere: there was sex
in people's glances E in the vibrant
pallor of some of the girl's faces - but it was detached, odourless,
like a memory, a thought, enticing, brilliant
but almost vanishing.
It was a long, pleasant room with settees the length of.one wall
and a few armchairs, with tall potted plants, behind one of which Dick
had taken his pale girl
she'd got the evening off from the Marquis
specially for him. There was the sound of traffic outside, and a constant
twinkling and glowing of lights from the street. At a distance 'Joe
Clockwork' looked erect and striking; he had a strange presence; Pinkie
said she'd heard he was a 'chronic snob', and he used Hanni by showing
her off at parties as 'exotic'. There was a lingering softness in
Clockwork's manner of addressing peoplé, and in the slow way his eyes
fell on to objects, but his neck and shoulders seemed too thick for this
delicate manner to be natural. His leyes were deep in his head, dark
and unblinking, and without their deliberate softness of expression they
would have been relentless. Suddenly Clockwork lifted his head and
made a brief, high-pitched laugh like a scream, then his face was serious
again; he was talking to Hanni, and she was smiling calmly, having just
said something. When they were all introduced Clockwork took Pinkie's
hand very briefly, with no grip at all, touching only her first two
fingers, and smiled in a bland way, seeming not to look at her at allk so
soft was his gaze; but then, quickly so as to be hardly noticed, he gave
her a quick, flashing glance of scrutiny; and once more the bland,
leisurely smile was -on his face. He turned his attentions to -Hanni again,
and put his arm round her shoulder; "darling, angel, 11 he murmured, but


They were missing the
Sital
real thrill, that of love!
by He-Hnewp phok
coutor-tpeythen price Tor bharty-hemhad-to-hold-himself-apart; that "Was
Dick's discipline
he was a recluse, he was locked inside his own
desires, these raw, ecstatic yearnings! And Pinkie couldn't have risen
to it, either; she, too, had to turn away, into- herself! Only Hanni
could have done it: her shyness was something circupstantial
it could
be broken down; again, she and Granville were on/ one side, Pinkie and
Dick on the other. Pinkie and Dick needed this other, lesser, more
painfully thrilling sex. It was their paganism. But it was too
rarified and subtle, not to say deliberate, to be really pagan; there
couldn't be a lasting glow - noting of the awful splendour that Pinkie's
body had suggested
finally, there couldn't be a real thrill, because
no one really gave himself; the conventions had to be kept, finally,
because of the thrill of breaking them!
And undernea th there was hate; the self was hated, in its
nakedness, and was only offered to the other person obliquely, with shaded
eyes, in silenced the brain always conscious, never succumbing even to the
thrill itself/ except in the terrible last stage of orgasm, that- was like
an agony, jf it ever came.
Aet there wasn't any evidence of hate in Pinkie or Dick! Hanni
showed far more! She looked dark sometimes, with something negative
brooding in her. But she had more of a flow of love, for all that, than
the other two. She was only less sweet because of this flow, which
found no rest. A few' months before, just after his. return from Basrah,
he and Pinkie had sat'in the bathroom at Hampton Court while Hanni lay in
the water, naked. He'd forgotten it! That sort of thing was the form
of love! Yes, he'd forgotten it!


quiet talks; he felt he'd watched those eyes, flickering gently against
the smoke, while she took pause for her next sentence, that was always
strangely muffled and reminiscent, for hours and days in the last three
months. "I don't understand that," he murmured after a time, féeling out
her position. She said that surely if everybody 'let themselves go -
there'd be chaos? He asked why letting oneself go meant çhaos. She -
thought it didn't mean chaos necessarily, but a 'lot of pastiness' came
up from 'underneath'; she' looked at him with raised eyebrows for a
moment, seeming to ask for confirmation. Hé said she must believe
people were nasty underneath; did she think that t? She wouldn't say yes
or no; she put the question back to him; what fdid he think? And he said,
"No"; - She was silent, thinking it over.
"How do you feel?" he asked her
"Rather awful!"
He remembered just in timefthat he wash't supposed to know the
cause; So he tried to go on talking. What would she rather have in a
man, vehemence or cruelty? /But she was silent again; he. asked, would
she rai ther have feelingsf come out' or 'stay brooding inside'? She
replied that she thought 'brooding inside' was better, and the was just
about to make an exclamation of surprise when she silently burst into
tears, sitting quite still, without putting her hand up to her face,
making not afsound. He got up and said, "Come on, let's go for a walk."
She followed him helplessly while he got her coat and put it round her
shouldefs, and she dried her eyes before they got down' to the street;
aftef -en-hour-op-sorduining-whdeh-hhey-were-mostilg-eikontymahenwec-ata
eht-agstie-end-owen-ciniatn-ondahodoondshpls-ow-
There was no reply from Nevinson so far, and Dick gave no sign


he could see Big Ben, its clock shining like a harvest moon; but he was
mostly aware of the silence of the Abbey.
'I'll really live in England, 1 he thought, 'I'll look at it all,
I'll study it, I won't just let all this history stand behind me, I'll
run my fingers through it like through gold! - It suddenly seemed a
terrible waste not to be feasting his eyes on it every day
people
had been laying up treasures here for nearly a thousand years! No more
hours at home, talking and drinking and dreaming!
He went back to the Abbey in daylight and joined a party of
tourists. He resolved to visit every castle and old house near London.
But the Abbey disappointed him. The inside seemed to have no past at
all! It had all been done away with. It was more like a sculptor's
backyard. The' air was full of activities of state - the coronations
and great funerals. But this lacked life. No sweetness was left.
Only outside, where the walls touched the lawn as they had from the
beginning, was there the infinite past. It was the same with the. little
chapel of St. Margaret's at its side, like a, younger sister, lying immed-
iately under the Abbey's towering presence
only outside, with its low
and humble form and its ancient, shining-grey walls, did it still have
sweetness. But inside, where' thére were bright prosperous pews, there
was an air of the 1914 war, of dread and regret and howling mistakes.
It reminded him of the hymn, 'Abide with me', and it brought ridiculous
tears to his eyes just thinking of the way people sang it, in hushed
voices, with a strange helpléssness, as if beasts were climbing all over
them and beginning to crushf them as their voices died' further and further
into the silence. And there were two flags from the time of Napoleon
when he'd threatened to invade England: they were in tatters now, almost


the management 'frowned on it'.
The most puzzling thing about the evening was that Dick showed
not the slightest awareness of his leavef having expired over a week
before! He was quietly genial all the time and didn't oncer mention
the office.
After dinner Dick puffed at a cigar, which looked enormous against
his delicate face; but after a time he jstubbed it out and said it felt
L like 'smoking a business-man'.
The play at the New Studio jarred on their nerves; everything was
said in a sneering vein
bloody-this and sodding-that all the way
through, but falsely, without real life. It was a social 'document'.
The working people were slovenly, foul-mouthed, envious, they talked in
a biting and leering way which he himself had only heard after leaving
Abbott's Road! It was a 'higher Horld' picture of the working masses,
and even without a plot, or point, or power, it went down well. An
American critic had written that t this was 'a heart-felt denunciation of
the British caste-system.' An air of the dead Thirties lingered round
dead social battles. Itf was safe indignation, addressed to a
prosperous society, about conditions everybody agreed on because they
were history.
Dick said nothing afterwards, only, "Sorry it wasn't better!"
and they left each other casuaily, again without reference to his leaving
England.
Later in the week wheh they saw each other Dick said he'd been
surprised that Granville hadn't liked the play; he would have thought
it. was just up his street' since it had portrayed 'a chunk' of his
childhood! Granville openéd his mouth to remonstrate, but he hadn't


There were cries from all over the hall during every dance:
someone would laugh at the top of his voice, or a couple would plunge.
into a table and upset everything. You certainly couldn't describe
these people as the tame citizens of demdcracy! They stood, legs astride,
staring on to the floor with flushed facés, or they raced the women round
without the slightest etiquette; one of the women roared as loud as the
men and kèpt shouting for no obvious reason, "At-a-boy, at-a-boy!" The
giraffe-lady lowered her head during one dance, after another couple had
deliberately 'barged' her, and drove her little hairy horns into a man's
tummy, making him shriek with a laugh, 'Letitia, no, Letitia, bitch!"
From this developed a 'bull-fight' in which one man mounted another man's
back and tried to tear another man off his! But this interfered with the
dancing and the M.C. put a stop to it, saying at the top of his voice over
the microphone, "I'm sorry, there, sirs, I'm sorry, there, sirs, you, sirs,
yes, please, sirs, I'm very sorry, I'm sorry!", which was completely
incomprehensible to those at the bar and on the balcony, who couldn't see
the 'bull-fight'; one of those at the par, hearing the voice, suddenly
rushed into the hall with a half-pint tankard of whisky and soda in his
hand shouting the same words, "I'm sorry, sirs, yes, sirs, you, please,
sirs, yes, sirs, I'm very sorry!", weaving his way among the couples at a
lightning speed, wit thout spilling a drop of his drink, and then ran back
into the bar again; he ended facing one of the rollers, and cried,
"Terminus! All change!"
It was all like an extraordinary pre-arranged performance, one
event fitting with the queerest logif into the next. Laura Lady Maine,
the guest of the evening, appeared for a few moments, looking frail and
dazzléd and bemused by the publicity being poured on her: people got up


képt glancing sideways at Pinkie in an admiring way, but this was lost
on her as she was concentrating on her food. People at the next table
called out to Elizabeth and waved; one of the women also waved to Pinkie,
and Granville recognised one of the guests from Elizabeth's dinner-party
at Meedham, the wife of the Aden man whofd argued about shooting.
Bewley-Patton sat' quietly sipping white wine; he said he 'd got it specially,
and there was'a crate under the table, which was why he had to spend so much
time there; it was lovely Moselle wine with the 'mountain-streams' in it,
only it had got a bit hot. - He was remarkably like Nigel, only a little
older and mellower. Elizabeth asked Granville when he'd be off again,
and he said, "I shan't be, ât all!", wilth à smile. What did he mean?
she asked, blinking again. Pinkie told her he'd resigned, and Bewlèy-
Patton turned to him confidentially.and said, "Did it get you down?" as
if one.could change jobs endlessly. This appealed to Granville and he
replied, "It did, rather - --", in a bétween-us-men tone. Pinkie chuckled
and said to Elizabeth, "I like that 'rather', don't you?"
"Well, I hope you're doing right," Elizabeth said in a grave way.
Granville félt a spasm of irritation; "What's it got to do with
you in any case?"
"Nothing, darling, nothing!" she cried in her light-hearted way,
laughing. "It must be the school-marm in me, I suppose!" And she turned
away with an air of disdain mixed curiously with fluttering respect.
Bewley-Patton sat there and gave him a smile as if to, say, 'They
can be annoying, can't they?' The music started again upstairs, a loud
thumping on the floor, and people began to drift away. He danced with
Elizabeth again while Pinkie danced with Clockwork, who had left the card-
table to look, he told Pinkie, at 'the flesh'. It was a slow dance with


Elizabeth rang up Pinkie that day and told her there was to be a
sequel, a gorgeous boat-party on the Thames with champagne and guitar-
playing, and. they were to come as her guests
nothing to pay this time;
it would be on one of those pleasure-steamers, which would cruise down to
the Isle of Dogs and back again.
He felt this new life theyl were leàding confirmed the rightness
of his resignation; he was moving in all kinds of circles
nothing in
English life was closed to him how! After all, he must learn about his
own country, mustn't he?
Hanni came to the house later in the week and told him that her
zebra costume had won Clockwork weveral 'good invitations'; he 'collected'
cocktail parties. Also she said that a friend of Clockwork's had danced
with Pinkie and exclaimed afterwards, because she danced with such abandon,
"My God, that woman throws herself at you!", with an expression of offended
disgust; she added that one could always tell a 'small' person by what he
thought about Pinkie; this chap was 'an unwholesome little social climber';
she said that Pinkie had looked magnificent danding, and that she doubted
if she'd even been aware of the silly little trout', who had a nasty
habit of knocking his ring against the wood of his chair to show that he
had one. She spoke in her custdmary low, keening way, and he felt a
protective indignation against the young man on Pinkie's behalf, though
he hadn't set eyes on him. They agreed with each other that Pinkie gave
herself to people without discrimination and allowed her 'wonderful dignity'
to be brought within the compass of their pettiness.
She also told him that 'dad' was an invention of Joy.Celeste's to
keep people away from her flat and also for use against those 'like you',
Hanni added with a smile, who were bold enough to penetrate there and make
themselves 'troublesome!'.


against 'brass-hats'at Corps headquartets; a young african nationalist
against a British colonial magistrate; a poor family in Wales threatened
with an eviction-order; an Irishman, drinking wildly and cussing 'the
dirty bloody Limeys', trying to sing for a living; a kind of suffragette
play in which a man's healthy desires caused his wife's suicide. The
trouble was that. when you added all these protests together they made
you hate nearly everybody;, which left no one to address the protest to!
Those people who weren't bosses might be foremen, those who weren't
foremen might be brass-hats, those who were none of these might be
British, those who weren't British could easily be a man
for the
suffragette play it was enough to be a man! *So each new plat knocked the
last one down. Last week -you .might have been morally indignant on
behalf of the working man but this week you would be just as indignant
against him for being a white man. At first Granville came out of the
theatre burning with indignation every time, but he was now inured to it.
He noticed that he didn't sit through the plays in a spirit of
criticism as he had done during the first one about the sailor in
Liverpool; he wondered if a change had come about in his life that had
removed a certain essential fibre Most of theplays he simply sa t
through, hardly hearing them; he took pleasure in the glow of the lights
on the stage, in a piece of scenery that suggested woods or the African
bush; he would doze off in his seat and wake up with a start when the
set protest-speec) began, which it usually did towards the: end of the
second act; after that he could pop off again. As in the first play
there was a lot of swearing. There were deliberately shocking references
to homosexuality, to Laura Iady Maine, to the government. When the play
was dull and stupid he was unwilling to admit to himself that this was sol


because he then felt classed among the renegade people whom the play was
attacking. The protest-speeches covered up for the lack of drama and
truth. In one of the plays a character said of another, "He's always got
his eye on the Maine chance!" and there ware waves of laughter; this
laughter had the tone of the forbidden, as if mentioning the word 'Maine'
on the stage was brave in itself, laying bare the social conventions.
There were regular targets
the royal family, the Church, the 'pukka
sahib' from India; whaterer no fonger had power in modern life. There
were trembling protests against a ruling class that no longer existed,,
against an empire that had been disbanded.
Dick was offended by the 'squealing' in the plays; he said that
a man who suffered shouldn't put the blame on other people, But
Branville only smiled. There wasn't a trace of the 'orang-utang' in
him. He seemed to have little objection to anything.


flesh, so stayed in the floating regions, lulling him and calling him
from the bad life. To verify this he went and heard Schubert's 'Death
and the Maiden' quartet, and waited for the movement of deadly pause in
it, where the outer silence is captured for. some moments, and its rhythm
actually enters life, joined to the music in thorough perfection; and
again when it came he was aware of something passing him by, an awful
procession, like that of a king, thaj T lulled him and called to him and
tried to reduce his flesh, but couldh't take him wholly; again he hadn't
absorbed it into the flesh of his life, turning it to blood.
Aunt Beatrice called and had them over. to lunch; Pinkie had
predicted this - Deryk would tell Beatrice about the river-party and
their social stock would soar up. They had a meal under a portrait of
one of the eighteenth century Gryshams. Beatrice was all: charm and
flashed them glances; her wit was working overtime, but suddenly, after the
coffee, as if he and Pinkie hadn't come up to her new expéctations, her
charm broke
he was in the middle of saying something about the sheikh
of Rubath when she suddenly turned a withering eye on him and got up with,
"Well, I can't stay here all day!!', and swept out of the room, leaving
Deryk to clear up after her, so to speak. Deryk did his best, and said,
"Mummy's so tired these days, popr thing!" Pinkie's theory afterwards
was that the old girl had realised their invitation to the river-party was
a 'fluke': she had a 'nose' for these things.
Again Granville was aware of betraying himself to an implacable
verdict whenever he said anything more than good-evening or "What will
you have to drink?' He tried as hard as he could not to say what came
straight into his head, and never to say anything that brought'a cloud


over people's faces
any thoughtful remark might do this, it seemed
but it was impossible; suddenly a hot thought would break from his mind
and he would feel exposed to the cintempt of others, imaginary as he
knew it was. He feared their conclusions, like iron bars in front of
his real self. He told himself that they were only 'iron bars' if he
attributed importance to them; he tried to think of himself as a small
and insignificant creature who had ho right to people's good opinion;
for only a high image of himself could be taken prisoner by other people
and put into bars; a low image left him free! But when the next occasion
arose his pride would come back like an unbreakable spring. He was
surprised how much pride there was in his life. He had no work, no job,
but he dressed himself up sometimes in his office-togs and sat at his desk,
making quite useless notes on a travel-book or something; he realised
when he did this that it was because he was ashamed of himself but more than
this, he was ashamed because he saw himself as someone else would see him
lying on the bed for hours, listening to the 'Creole Shake 1 for hours
waiting impatiently for the next phone-call; he wasn't ashamed in himself,
left to himself, but he was when le imagined somebody else's eyes on his
life; it was social shame that came from his not being properly alone;
he was' no longer ever alone, really. He remembered feeling just before
Meedham that his. loneliness was now full
his self was full
because
he had Christ; but this thought was quite incomprehensible to him now;
the lonely hours were bleak; he warmed them with music or wine! He asked
himself again and again, 'What has happeiled to the night of the eclipse?'
But he never got beyond. the question.
He would suddenly have a fit of social shame that he was getting
up too late and would set the alarm for an earlier hour, just after dawn;


Pinkie thought he was mad, but he said he liked the dawns! He would get
up briskly, dress and ahave, not linger in his dressing gown. But there
was nothing to do; there wasn't even anything to think about, for he
found that thoughts came easier to him when he was sprawled on the bed
in old clothes, than when he was dressed and shaved for the office and
sitting at his desk.
He went into a cageteria near St. Paul's for a morning coffee,, to
revive his memories of when he'd worked at the head office two years
before, and as he was collecting his coffee from the counter he suddenly
took it into his head
partly because he was glum
to smile at the
girl serving him, as a gracious act to throw off the darkness of his life,
to try to bring a brief, tiny light to another human creature unknewn to
him, without ambitions for himself. And the effect was instant. At
first she was absorbed in the mechanical business of handing out steaming
cups of coffee, but then she smiled back at him in a delighted way, her
tired, worn face awakened in a moment, and he heard her say to the other
serving girl as he walked to his table, "You can always tell a gentleman,
can't you?" He nearly dropped his cup/with confusion and hurried to a
chair behind one of the pillars, hiding from her in case he did something
to'besmirch her image of him,. and to show his real life! After he'd sa t
down he took out a pensil and began writing a definition of 'the gentleman',
with surprising clarity considering his state: 'First, to be true to your
feelings. Second, to be enquiring of others, to show no power, to be
gracious, to harbour no grievances, not to be competitive, not to pay
undue attention to appearances. Third, to call out the good seed in
other people, to forgive and protect, not to judge in silence. Fourth,
to speak fearlessly, to be rash and wild for the truth, not to study


Baorehry-thougtrnhenecberthykecerwmamptentwochundred-mtleesaweyscckndraher
epakerArabterfluentlya
as Y his attwad hodbaen a
yuar apo A
They talked on about nothing in particular/and she got him
another drink. Appananslygsiheccwsasoesigatuthast-cthe-youngmancaittacittacpleasemts
oyenswessecaaedrderabdwzndSheromtearhhecons-eomebhingxin-plestiongcahmorcin
theGibggumandemaszatcousin-ofartherryshemsymktnktels-familys It got
dark and the lights were visible from the street below,rather silver, like
strong moonlight. Then to his relief the guests began leaving downstairs.
The cars outside started up, making an unholy roar in the narrow street.
And Hanni rose, having unconsciously performed her role of nurse.
And
"I'll go and collect Dick," she murmured.
oxreniudeambe
medeiengagagdo wanthetaorinbhundeiradedrawgchookgartymtoemhtery a LaR
ter lewreughedyuredpo
aar
kewersewoad
she
As tes went to the door
avarlac L - un therpetioensemehes
biked-atoxkeegsonvethesgutrgectrratw/haradwhartrsortrofrpeoplerzdogrrosminterprebmfony
HanmiemeBignothwshedichhoseandertbhambmeortreortrofsbnteng?"
"Nadbesseosilevelleohe-navemnredrowenchendhstrhntohpetonwngwaldsthetowazsvaltdr
Cowe
ans
ardegseer8CEEMHERSTADEE HME she added omemes down
voreta
XC e
D dE Ffiep Eday-t"
"We'd love to!"
After a time he heard the front door close, aRe-PIYKIETEtelacfootateps
onathasetadr There, everything was all right after all!


CHAPTER 2.
couldot beash face
But now they were alone together he
- biae her.
That was the pattern between them. He sat on in the attic room in the
acsidsnt
darkness A fom Hanni nad- inolentantihy switched/the light Zrogerm/when
Hereard
shs
whg didit sha Coha uf
she went.,
Pinkie clearpa up downstairs. "he-muet soolise-what
Ka Say A Rudlo ? sauted
L had sanke a holtsinp ? Bur wary
aber ASX d nbod
BurtN
didale fa go downAaird ta
houahd
- otar - mn wtmapaonte omskupedetanqwapparentty
wuchekd saidaberhimsonere enan EnBeSrah stphaotrpenfectpsdarking
Dondbr-expeatousuchcanterfiftemlot FTFOR
spleasekgsmoBrtotchexconddndteface
Arcasualcretatiom He could go downstairs now/
. and
chuck/,lze
her under the chin and have another drink, makéa joke of ito ade the
thweswouddngsobablymhewitieodboehfo It was wha t he actually wanted to do,
with all his heart. But he couldn't!
Later there would be a quarrel; a sudden rash word followed by
tears. He would then pour everything out in a long speech, going into
the whys and wherefores of her errors and sometimes, though more rarely,
the whys and wherefores of his own, while he strode up and down the room
gesticulating, a glare splitting his brow, his shoulders hunched up
SE like someone trying to force his way into a tunnel.
The theme would be
moral: what their lives ought to be like together. Meanwhile her eyes
ste
would begin to flicker monaua andamone and she would stifle a yawn. His
begin is
impriaonad in a lothends 2 wards,
worde would males-her
DHA
mnfoveafel,
feel
foeated E
ACINE
ser
dronring. a
* VE a
Once launched on a theme he was beyond


Strange, his fear of having a child. He was always advocating
children. He remembered doing so once with Dick Pollocke at training
school, and a bitter argument started. Pollocke said he hated,
contraceptives and certainly didn't intend having a child every two years
through not using them: so the easiest thing was to bring/the children off.
Granville said that this was the same as killing them. And Pollocke
replied that it/ was just disposing of an unconscious embryo, like a toe-nail
tha t grew 'without having a mind', and which we pared down occasionally.
How could,murder, much less cruelty, arise in the case of something already,
so - to speak, dead?
"But a woman's spirit changes!"/ Granville cried. "All of her
ayaits the child
milk goes to her/breasts - her thoughts turn towards
it - - then you suddenly cut it off - a you murder her as well!"
"No," said Pollocke crisply, "an embryo grows in her womb, and it's
removed. That's all that happens."
"Well, people get/punished for doing it..."
"By whom?" Pollocke asked.
"I don't know! But the punishment comes: Life has a pattérn
you've got to respéct, you know."
As he was being punished now, no doubt, for not having wanted the
child... Now he valued the child: he'd felt its spirit, for the first
time,. through its being snatched away!
He cooked himself a good breakfast, two eggs, bacon and toast,
a pot of strong tea, and settled down at the table with the newspaper in
front-of him Themsunlight.had-moved-acrosplthe-room-to-the-dresser
where-the-sturdy-Wietorian-plates-gaisttened,
Phere-waen-t-a-sound-from-the-restmof-the-house. It occurred nip,


to him that he hadn't. touched Pinkie' à yet. This meant he hadn't touched her
for a month. Wasn't that strange? Sappose
Well, they were completely out of tune with each other, really.
Their sex was fumbled, on the whole, Sonetineg waor!
Botmustally
E glorified self-abuse.
e got-marrieny then? Because
they-couldn.lt.bear-to-part-Groi-Grom-each-other;-getti-getting-married.was-tho-only
way-ofstaying-together!- They'd marpiedy-reallyrbeoause-thoy-couldnlt
beer-the-thoughb-of-the-other-person-merrying-anyone-elcel-They-had-this
imexpricable-tenderness-for-each-other-that-wae-omethanfciondship-and
Lese-than-lover -But-there-was-no-natural sex-communion:-what. there was
had-grown-ffrom-thewtendernessy-slowa-y. His desire was too direct for her:
she wanted subtle and intricate approaches; even cruelty would have thrilled
her more.
They-approaehed-each-other-from-opposi-te-polesi-te-polee- --She-needed-to
be-beyond-hersel-f-for-her-passions-to-rise- -andy-thuor-beyord-mim.
Everybhing-hadtombemenhanced. She closed her eyes and only got excited
when his touch seemed anonymous to her; when she could
him as he
Sitel
forget
veally
Awas,e asolier-uimess And he, wrecking his chances, obtruded himself,
gazing at her and talking.) siner cont omy ep buE e 1 camer
sEa attve
indimnenss The dim and shadowy excited her; but he was frightened!
faseination.
But once - at Stratford on Avon - he could remember with plensure Ditils
They'd gone up from Reading to see 'The Tempest's and stayed the night at
a small, cosy inn near the. river. The spirit of the room was favourable
to them, perhaps, with its bright curtains and tiny mullioned windows; it
S cenl
might have been the previous occupants 1 a lingering voica of good lust.
Anyway, it was the first time they really abandoned themselves to each other;
her breasts glistened with his kisses in the darkness, her nipples protnuded,


never really got down to anything, but afterwards he felt the loss of his
company.
One eveningDick happened to ask if they'd had any servants in
Basrah. There/were the four of them, with Glenning, in the kitchen
upstairs. And Pinkie answered in her extravagant vein, laughing,-her lips
moist
"Servants?" she cried. "Good, God, yes! We had three, old
cock, and a retainer thrown in who lived at the bottom of the garden!"
Glenning appreciated this, chuckling: But a certain pallor came
over Dick's face; or perhaps it was only that he pursed his lips. He
often seemed to recoil slightly when she was in an extravagant mood or
talked in a resounding and patriçian way like her father. Servants, as
it turned out, were a sore subject with Dick. Hanni told Pinkie later that
he refused even to have a char in, because if offended his principle that
serving of any kind was wrong.
In fact, they'd had three servants in Basrah
Bertha, a girl of
nineteen or twenty, Kath'm, his boy, and Abu Kath'm who did the washing, at
the back and hardly entered the house. And it was odd to hear Pinkie talk.
like this because servants actually frightened her. Bertha was supposed
to/be her personal maid as well as the cook but Pinkie did nearly all the
cooking and gave her long hours off-duty. Bertha was an Assyrian, like
Hanni, and insisted on being treated like aady.
"I can't bear servants hanging/ round me !" Pinkie would say.
She would smile at the gird too much, wanting to disown any
memsahib attitudes Bertha might/attribute to her. Of course, Bertha only
assumed tha t. Pinkie was a fake memsahib, afraid to assert herself, and she


pedestrians. The doctors, lawyers and government officials formed an
impenetrable sink of corruption. There was also a host of small, neglected
men with revolvers in their belts who were said to be in the pay of Russia
and were prepared for a communist revolution, which would come about during
one of the annual student riots. And the students read Das Kapital under
their desk-lids. Then, people said, a communist sink of corruption would
replace the present one!
He'd had experience of two riots. After the first one, when
Mohammed rescued him from the Mesopotamia Hotel,he framed his letter to
Copthall Avenue asking for a change of post: what the devil was he doing
here getting mixed up in somebody eise's quarrels, he asked himself, and,
being identified with attitudes he'd never had? He was furious! But then
the evening came and he yalked with Mohammed down to the river as always,
now that the rioting had stopped, and they gazed across at the glittering
minarets on the other side while oars plunged in and out of the dark water
below themAn a regular rhythm, patient and unconscious, andhe was drawn
back Jike. sometone drugged, lulled and delighted, beyond argument or
reasoning. The.slow, cool wind drove up the river, dispersing the foul
day-smells. They went home and cooked a huge musguf, that tasted like cod,
in the garden, propped it up against sticks, and after the meal they say
clinking beads together in the sitting-room, with the fire dying and the
rush mat making a hissing noise under their feet whenever they moyed.
In the morning he told himself that the necessity of his Baspah-experience
for his own development - purified and justified his staf.
Quite suddenly, in the grounds of Hampton Court one afternoon,
ealen
after they and the Pollockes had hed-luneh together, he turned to Pinkie


problem of definition, underneath all the other problems. It wasn't only
that this was a difficult world but that he had first to decide on what he
was to take as 'the world'.
His thoughts were vague like the water and he reserved them for
another time, hoping he would be able to catch their vague flavour again.
He went to the office quite often these days and had several chats
with Dick there. But they were still not at ease with each other. Dick
was so watchful and alert. 'Does he want to get back to his work?'
Granville always asked himself as he stood by Dick's desk. Was he ashamed
of having a visitor outside the strict office-schedule, in case a director
walked in? Dick covered his hervousness with a bland style and genial
glance, keeping his movements as cool and slow as he could; he seemed
morbidly aware of the immediate situation
the exact time, the work that
lay on his desk waiting to be finished, the impatience or otherwise of his
secretary on the other sidej of the door. He seemed unable to take flight -
from himself. So no real |talk was possible.
CHAPTER 7.
One Saturday Granville woke up slowly and realised she wasn 't
there. .At first, as he roused himself, he had the usual drugged sense of
being melted in with her, without touch or real physical sensation of any
kind, then he began to realise that. his arm was lying on the bed itself,
not on her hip: He moved it, to discover whether it was an illusion, ther
he shifted L further acrass the pedd find out sies
ALy de tered.her
she was gone. He was aware that the Pphone-bell had rungo capp
Tor
awakes She'd got out of bed hurriedly to answer
it; he didn't remember her getting out'as a real event but as something that
had taken place inside his own body, a change of feeling. He felt mortally


CHAPTER 13.
aimathat this inspection of his office
/caf
was unusual. He was frightened.
tee taken-pirate? Did it
hecausche
usuaty happen when-someons was on leave? He asked Dick and he didn't
know.
lmflop
Jrum ke
seemed funny that Tomlinson,
taceds should be allowed to do
ing.
€ inspect/! list
C I a rags Coml ase tes being bent
af-operatiions-altt 65 nen
ut ie: been-in-the-Middke: Eastmevermsince
RHE-WETRIG-KRS
seemed. m Ke e
perhaps they lesfs
were thinking of sending him to Basrah, as an exchange with Granville.
atdn imagine Tominson tolera
Tomlinsen
Cttonmol a ankes he'd met ah once or twice and he seemed E
lcafe
strikingh
capable,emg
tall, spectacled, rather brisk and sharp. Also
he had an Arab wife, from Cairo
not a Christian Arab, either; it
helped matters with some of the sheikhs.
He thought of writing to Mohammed about it and asking him what
Tomlinson had said. What files had he looked at? Did he have the
proper authority? But it occurred to him that he didn't need Jauthority,
Stal
since the Beirut office looked after the whole of the Middle East and it
was only Tomlinson's kindliness and tact that had allowed him to assume
otherwise. He was troubled. Perhaps they knew
at the London office


consciousness of its effect on others
its importance as a counter in
public relations.
me - ne phone and-answerad
touched
with enquiry, as if from a great distance. The enquiry was slightly
worried. "Who's that?"
"It's Philip!"
"Philip? Well, s'help me God!" Her voice,was animated at once,
and as always she said 's'help-me-Gord", -in one word. "When did you get
"Oh, some time ago
God knows what/i've been doing ever since
it. feels like a few minutes!"
"I wondered when you were going to phone! ! I said to dad this
afternoon, I said, he must be home now! y Well, s'help me God!- Talk of
the devil, eh? Well, how've you been keeping?"
"Oh, all right! How are things with you?"
"Well, dad's had a bit of a cold but apart from that things haven 't
been too bad." She always had a superstitious reserve against saying
things had gone very well: he imagined her at the other. end, plump and
slightly flushed in, her cheeks, with eyes a little pinched with worry.
Her voice was always soft and passive-sounding over the phone, and she
seemed to be gazing at things from a safe vantage-point, coolly and remotely,
in a place where she wasn't likely to be noticed, and with a certain sadness,
as if an enormous pageant was passing her by.
"Is dad still getting out in the garden?"
"Oh, yes, trust him!" She paused a moment, waiting for him to
speak. There was always this effort at first, to reach: the other world.
The language was so different. Then slowly he would begin to feel at


emeyrntheg-sacta-gootbyer As he walked away from the phone he,
had a sudden warm, tingling image of the Abbott's Road school on
Sat turday evenings, at the Socials. He could remember the tall jugs of
lemonade on the teacher's desk, and the rows of ham sandwiches. He used
to swing on the bars in the dark cloakroom while the dance was going on,
or creep into the top classroom where his own desk was, silent énd dark,
and strange white signs on the blackboard, and, maps and rows of untenanted
desks, and windows that pulled down with a cord and made a clang. When
they got home, about eleven, his mother would unwrap some sausages and
these would sizzle with tomatoes in the scullery for the next half-hour,
while his father put his slippers on and the cloth was laid, and his mother
totted up the takings for the eyening in her catering book. He remembered
his shudders of elation on-Saturday afternoons when they were sitting in
the cinema at Tatlin Broadway - when he thought to himself, "It's
Social night tonight!", in the darkness. How extraordinary those shudders
were, in childhood; then they died out!
He felt clean and disburdened, and thoughts were no longer crossing
and fighting in his head. He went upstairs and made himself a cup of tea,
contented, gazing before him.
Once his mother had told him that Pinkie reminded her of Aunt May,
in the lavish, golden style she had, in her slapdash generosity. There
was something in their voices, too, that was similar - not the tone
exactly, but a richness that couldn't be described, as if it came from
past generations, like a song with a great ancient depth in it; they had
sing-song voices, floating up and down, far beyond people.


'I thank God you do not come back.
It is too safe.' He meant 'unsafe'; this was a peculiar error he always
made, omitting. negative prefixes. Hers
d a asesne the
renetenteters
Rubath-thes e deases wyer ab sere
Peparyon
osex M a :
wers bOt Krers
MEC creed.: the
nes Manammed
Ie: sast
macir a pr
Me always
kcap
measured. money by his monthly wage, = wheast dmer
GranvilTE
calling thirty pounds 'one month', sixty pounds 'two. month'' and so forth.
endad,
"My dear," he wonkd-say "I think I spend one month on one outsider this
afternoon. I have one good tip!" k
thenes Exere-fluentzattackszonthe-gox dan er
London
bont *es
S SK
aa a a a ppen
tome
Hubeu:
s EG
plane-for tho
d ling-of least fi-steen-schoeds-endwenothenumospitaly
patablichinent-ef-a-doober in-every-village-that-had-a-popula-popaikation
Saue-hundred-people,-and-the-irragation-of-largewareag-of-the
eldeve-the-eppad-ling-high-digease-and-mortaltty-rate-immbhe
Tural=distriets? -Whatrhad-happenedstomthe-money-set-aside-fomthhiss
purpose com-the-verst-oil profe G made-by-the-sheikh?-7 He-had-evidence
whetsoever nd-been-doret -tt-was ibtle-wordery-he-saidy
het eome- - y offir
after-bhe-sheikh-k-bloodi-m --Were-bhe-Brsckoh
gowermment-prepared-notweimpag-bo-etand-by-and-watch-it-but-gob-but-gobively
eondone-ityand-to-eo-support-with-arms-bhe-marder-of-men-yiose-onhy-crime
lad- be n-a-sensewofmsociade justice-suoh-as-waswaccepted-everywhere-in
Earope-as-ekementarywand-unehad-tenggeable?- Hes-Britain-goimg-back-ing-back-tnetead
of-forwarde--And-in-whesewnemeam-Inmthe-namerof-the-Britishy people,-whe
hadenotulessethanwamhundreduyeersmbefore-fought-forrall-thesewri


Rebath-was-now-okaimiengy-end-won-them2-nem2what-mandaterhaduthewbribish
governmentmfor-itseconduct?
Berok-showed-him-thisrspeechy-butweranvi-tlewshruggedwi-ted-iteoffom The
bone-wrmoyyd-hriny --Itewers-thewthemusuelsslickwindignationmyousread-nowadays
Ho-sbuok-bowhec-guneymin-bheekirtchen-ergumentey-flowering-eialentaly.
ESO
NGingerdwasked-iinsmwhy-nentookesuchaa-pakka-sahib-sictstb-sictstudoem-lien afelt
Joneikg-end-mieupdorstoodo-héo-okdr-prioklgd-ao-sd-ho-wmo-under-immimenb
EOIFTP
ehysioal 68 K -and-hewgouidndt-dogk-atmthewothens-cadmay-when-politic CE
ane
Ho-kept-repeating-thet-st-waen-lutwa-mabton-of-moBade-at
amarther 50 Y
a aganoner
sometimess H t
In nearly all the kitchen-discussions England was in the wrong.
And he took this for granted - it did. seem naturad that England should
always be in: the wrong. 'England' meant different things at different
times
sometimes it meant bad weather, at others' war-time restrictions
which were still lingering on, sometimes bad colonial policies, at others
stiffness of character. It was a static descriptive term', pejorative,
automatically so, as if everybody would naturally understand the inference,
waa
'England'. He *become so used to it that when Linger-Longer and Ginger
talked like this in the crisis he found it natural. But what was going
to happen if England was frittered away like this all the time? What
would happen to their little group in the kitchen, and the language thèy
talked?
-cnaigem
e ustests:
bU andws! aE a u
Ore
e an
DEf end - something TI
he nterence
cendless. CCI 1E E1 C. SI
I tat
England
How much frittering away would she be able to bear, in her


hrtla
fiom
Rit Impls
2E1 bopel
unnsad:
wind - aslaed gicd
tho
aum
uan
hire
Magui,
like me. . And I thought I'd get a real explanation out of you."
"It's something I haven't made up my mind about."
"Well, that's how I like you, old sport, so stay where you are!
But this was exactly what Granville didn't intend to do.
What was it to be then,
the 'flame' in people, which he
recognised in Abu Kath'm, or decent lives? He had to say deçént lives!
How could he wish anything else on people? And why should' the two be
incompatible? But he felt they weré; the plans and schemes would be at
the expense of the 'flame'; and/here he was back at/the beginning! If
the price to be paid for good lives was death in the end - a kind of
civic collapse 1 what/was the good, of it? He couldn't resolve the
matter! He realised how far he looked on/the middle class as a total
historical mistaké; he wrote them off; hel couldsee no need for this
historical mistake, much less good! Thé middle-daàss was just a
negative development in his eyes: the fàctories had dome, people had been
herded into them, smoke had filled the/ air, life was violated and made
ugly! But how could/an historical mistake have lasted two centuries?
How jwas it possibie for history suddenly to beit twisted out of its path
and remain distorted ever since? How could he put himself in opposition
to history? Surely that was. romantic? to simply turn his back? What
were' his ideas? What t did distinguish him from a romantic? He couldn't
tell himself! He didn't. know what this experience was that men had
needed. There lay his next real task of thought.
Hanni dropped in làter and an argument developed between her and
sacing rke
Dick. First she looked at thej empty wine-bottle and, cecognising- a
chateau-label, murmured, "Whatia mean bastard you are, Dick! I thought
you said we'd got to cut down on spending?" She lifted the bottle up


CHAPTER 18.
had
He a/got into the habit of reading the mornihg paper over break-
fast more or less column by column. It was an hypnotic activity he 1n Kad
never known beforeo FE tetthis - honks-unready
went tte
R a y THETERSpEEY
M Men go fa
CHE caremat
Coomeridicrtous-head-lin lu
rane dows
B matttomat
meatefast tatable a opened
Se ceftEnandye keepang HO gr
cea aI Cn ex coun
pardereplacemin-thessaicersacer
nou
He always turned to the
middle pages first, where the gossip-column was. It gave him the sense
London
of an inner circle of glittering Jactivity from which he was cut off and
which was going on all the time, spreading a glow over his small life.
This circle involved more or less the same people day by day, but it
wasn't. 'society' in the fashionable senseo - mES ma thetret
that e A
It was a ct special gossip-column society, and
wad
essen though it might be imaginary, it sermer acceptable, in the breakfast-
hour, in a half-dream; a little sickly and squalid, but compulsive. And
adso it was a relief from the dry, tyrannical hold of the other pages;
where robberies, dirty civic crimes, yacht-races and political maneouvres
denle with in
were aked ad out
as E rammagainstmitsewiimlmts a few quick
which seemed prnd of showing no Raare av de slighrese seriens conscm,
phases te
mert
mnc en a
gainn
har
aar the gossip-column was, actnet
intimate /mp/caf
ES like rearing a letter someone had


quiet cohesion of the body, by virtue of its withdrawal from the world;
Pijp
Cramlle had never seen him in repose before, not quite like this. He
only remembered him
mawing 00 ne smiling and shaking hands, gazing
at everyone with eyes that seemed incapable of sharpness. And now.
Grysham had an effect on the trees round him: he made them. seem part of
a magnificent park stl closed to the public. Granville thought of
the gardens of Versailles. Partly it was Crysham's corduroy jacket,
which at first sight looked velvet.
AISA
deweact a sother LZqUEORLTA
mnaen à wender - DEE rprisaler 1 EH ldanozi ideas youswerembarckipseniti"
They shook hands, smiting-atweach-other wand-Granvinle Teplied;
monbhe-ago
Bryehamawae-soweffusivorsthat-hemfélt ashamed-of-birewwendenessmof
hirg owwfagdisngsw-he-endy-féasbwawmislkdraffectikd/affectiony aisowexoitementr-perrhapsn
at s a geingawistheonemofathésGryshams again wabathey-ad-dhhedweuch-asgtow-and
sty ylet Though-Deryksandwhis? mothermBeatricemwererlookedwonraswoutposwoutpoats
ofmathe-famiky
toomtirdy and consciousmoswrank wwPhat-wasebecauses
Beataboemwarg atradel
shéfwme-morevérygham-bhan-th6-erysmaamor-the
familleysaiddyer--She was-d-flashings-wildg-haughty: woman:
butzatso:
raarmstamunderneathehé Estylet- arsnobefromtop-towboer
Gryehames-gaze-nowstheresweremwars-mingledwadmisrabione FOST ry an
disttering-dookmolimbeing=complimented DyA 2 a rtedgo TrE sence
Montwit-lovelys Hs =Granviliretre-saidymodding-towardswwhene-the
sundightwfdickered- on-thewvabér bhrough-iet
co l
ou Adnsorbear: a FHry comxanyamore" E SEN o RES
a i
6 Lare
D M
les
Se a 1


The name "Pinkie' was unknown to Deryk; he and his mother
always said Hester. Granville tried to think of something more. tomsay-
but couldn't; and they continued along-the-path; he added that Hester
had got nice and_sunburned in the Middle East, but stopped there. He
fert quite tongue-tied but yet easy as well: there was something so
foreign to him in Grysham, he himself had been away so long and in such
a different world, that he felt a fascinated curiosity towards the other
man, as-if-he-himsel-f-was-cancelled-out-and-calmly-listening-to-Deryk*s
being, that took-shape at his side, helped by his silence; two years ago
he would have forced the conversation along, believing that this was
expected of him; he'd always been nervous with Deryk's mother Beatrice;
he'd always felt too fired and stimulated socially,-because of her gushing
charmy-for-any--drowsy-,inquisi-tive-calm-to-be-possible. It was like
being drawn into a strange, vivid country now, where he only had to watch
Aunti
and listen; he was no longer involved; wha t/ Beatrice or Deryk thought
naws
of him didn't matter sormch; they had less power to hurto theirwexclusi-on
Of--him,-if-that-had-ever-been--in-their-minds, seemed-not=to-comcern-him,
but-to-be-aboutwan-ideawofwhim.from-awhich_heinchimself-wast-immuney-he
hadn-t-heard-the-word-backgroundl for-two-years-or-more!ret-He-was-thus
less-in-awe-ofDeryk. A glow had come into his own life which he held
intact; he'd tasted friendship; he deliberately remembered Mohammed as
they walked along, as a protective device. He clung to the memory of
Basrah! He felt nervous apprehension threaten to mount in him for a
moment, like a devil inside him which his confidence had tempted to come
Bub olied
outo held-always-feltwfeathers-in.the-belly"before-seeing: Beatrice,
becausewofwher-terri-fic-social-requirements-of-wi-t-and-constant-talky
which-held-aldwalways-found,-onee.held.steeled-himself-to-them, that-he-


enjoyed fulfilling; but now he steeled himself the opposite way, to calm;
with nothing to say he said nothing! And Deryk seemed to sense something
new in him; his tone was more confidential than Granville could remember
it, with less deliberate charm and courtesy; they were on an equal footing.
hew
Granville was aware 'that thisjcalm he had, whieh-he-knewwouldn-lt
etastlong, might be his first glimpse of maturity;as-he-would-have-to-
re in-the-world-held-graduated-to; it had something to do with the
defeat of pride in himself; he would have to learn how not to care what
people thought of him; then he would be able to rest, and watch and
listen; he would allow his own self to reside elsewhere, intact; and that
would take much construction - perhaps years more.
A ke passad
The carriage of Deryk's head/was like a sea-horse's, uplifted,
his eyes half-closed in a sleepy, palé surveillance, his nose long and
Pip
whan
also pale, seeming to overhang his lips. He could remember the-first
mement Deryk had opened the door of-the-top-fhoor-fhet to him, a few weeks
after he and Pinkie were married; he remembered the sense of being
incorporated into some grand and blazing activity, which never qutte came
about however; it was in Deryk's delighted. smile as he stretched out his
hand - to his 'favourite' cousin's husband - with, "How very nice to
meet you! Do come in!"
"What's the work like out there?" Deryk asked him.
"Oh 5- it's fascinating!"
He made the words up, and smiled. And-now a return-question was
required of him: "How's the school?" Deryk worked in. a school where
his mother had a money-interest.
"Oh! I'm always thinking of giving it up - travelling! But ---!
Granville glanced at Deryk quickly
suppose he had failed to


understand Deryk?
suppose they had equal desires, only on two sides
of an immense gulf planted. by history?
"Do you want to travelg" he asked quickly.
"Yes, I'd love to!"
"Why don't you come out: to the Middle East?"
"I've always dreamed about it
but, you know, Beatriee really
couldn't get on without me
at the school for one thing!" I
"Why don't you try it? You could sent the money home!"
"I know!" Then a charming smile,. which seemed to'make it all
make-believe
everything he'd been saying.
"You could easily find some work out there!" Granville want on',
persisting deliberately.
And Deryk's smile faded a little. The little formula of charm
had been disturbed. "Yes!"
"Why don't you do it?" He persisted further, forcing himself
to it with a hard directness while
absurd!-- beginning to quiver ever
so slightly inside, with apprehersion
from breaking the little
formula that the other man' insisted on with all his soft, casual being
like a pale weight in the sunlight.
"Perhaps I will one day," Deryk replied. That was a little
patronising. And/the smile had almost quite faded. There was even
the-ekightest.edge_of
nastiness? But_nox EsE-perhapswawdelicate sour
distaste.
Slowly-the-old-clouds,-which-he'd-all-but-forgotten,gathered
Teart jaromise % -
in-Granvitle-agaille-again. -He-began-to-remember-the-past. Partly itwas
pung sikup
Inge
Deryk's accent, which was like a deltberate-attempt not to speak the Dital
whiilsaid
language of ordinary men, with 'rarely' for 'really' and a painful


wwar
'ee-ow' for 'oh',/an accent that seemed to say, 'I was paid for!"
"Granville-fought-egadnst-ity-reminding-himeelf-of-Besrah-end-tryling-bo
keep-the-idea-of-Deryk-ae-someone-Coreign-to-him,-and-eleo-mysterious.
Perthy-he-succoeded-as-they-walked-elong-togsbher-under-the trees.with
the chiIdrensHOICces.banss_banina-HReme- But the memories became more and
Icap
more detailed
of a slight rudeness here, of a sudden harsh sneering
'Aunt
sentence from/Beatricen, he E ady a look of horror on her face when he #1
nwh
mentioned hisj mother casually in a conversation
the horror meally-had
made her face seem to fall into her chin! Absurd, dead, historical,
uip,
partins tgues b
but here they were coming up like steam from Deryk's phosenoe-at hiemside!
1+ rchade bubone
illusiive
otly
Was-he-stowly-recapturing that oldy sense of
I12
being/favoured by Deryk
was thatVthe web he and Beatrice weaved on their visitors, (was thatkthe /Dilze
costly invisible article they were still trying to sell in a world which
Framethed ho marber dm "7o
had Lung- themoffas-for-as-atrbhority-was=concerned-fifby-years-agot
Behind them was the inner citadel of power, and they held the
keys - that was the idea you were supposed to get. But you were never
let in. So the dream was always to hover before you.
Deryk-had-his-pale-hande-behind-his-back, idly-clasped-together,
They-came-out-into-an-oponing-where ra-millrose "steeply smoothand
green,-and-the-warmthof-the-sun-had-collected-there, in -the-holdow,-full
almotv
DE-hoty-dusty-scents. He seemed/like pther men
lost in thought,
kicking-6lightly at the gravel with his foot, but asif he were off-duty in
some way: his fragility_wasn't that of the drawing foom for the moment,
but more childish--- he might be a chiad kicking at the gravel, rather
boreafo His eyes had a childish, dreamy quality, too, without anything
self-protective in their look. His jacket was a deep wine-colour, and
his grey trousers had lost: their crease; he was uptidy but yet he had an


air of clean, fastidious detachment. His' shoulders were bowed wearily.
Pip.
Granills had an impression of a child alone in his own park, pouting a
little,/sad and frighténlly lonely, wondering what had gone wrong,
because this was a public park and all the world roaged close by.
shadenly-thotr-eyeo-meb-eno-Deryko-gane-changedrat C sonce the-dimness-.
left-his-eyes-likemsomething-Ralling-into-the-sea,ma-sbadow-Treplaced
with-a-kookeof-gentie-solicitude-wwwwyesyrwas-Granvidlerabout-towaskr
question?
Granvilledgwheartawaisemovedeatuonccerestemhadathexsensatior-thert
there"Was"aspecial-recognition-in-Derykte-eyeszat-thatemomentag-perhaps
becausemthewthey-were-ind-awarwel-lgmethexsame-familys-weHleHexsuddenlymebamed
himself=for-the-darkwthoughts-heldmjustmhadysandsfor-thewabsenceminwhis
ldi-fe-of-this-light-Courtesy! When Deryk shook hands with someone his hif.
expression was extraordinaryily gentle and delighted, and humbly
solicitous. His whole body seemed made for courtesy, and one could't
imagine that-he had a dark thought, much less a censorious one. His
eyes filled' with light as if the social command had become the natural
one for him. He-disolaimed-self-whewherrhewtalkedtompeoplermtoow-- mwistwwas
all-Wiow-wonderful-wt-ani-UNoy-readahyQM-asyQM-andw"iow-very-nice-for-youbh.-Aand
when-hewdid-bring-in-hiswOwnzlife-hexmaderit-seem-like-a-gamersomething
youndidnat-bother-aboutramatlele-smoothed.the ppath-all-the-time,-nodding:
and-rsmiling,-calling-the-other-person-on: But - - it didn't go all the
way through! You were left with the feeling that he and Beatrice would
tear you to peices as soon as your back was turned.
He remembered their house eewell
the hushed anteroom of the
citadel of power/- the thick carpets, the white, curving bannisters,
gerd it trogus
the dim and heavily curtained drawing room that beemedato /promise everything,


of cinliinlisn -ture a
the-dead-white wal-ks-because-that-was-bhe-only-colour you-coul-d-furnish
slrisninp
ton the great porcelain bowl from Aldercote that-shore from one of the
wud
ut Shid
and
tables, thé/deep armchairs where you sank dowpthe striped chintz
nde
everywhere, then Beatrice sising from an armchair as / you came in with a
dusss
ighty rustle and sweep, alwaye in a longr-Rowing-gown that shone and
glittered in the dim light. Yet she was robust as well, with thick arms
and a determined chin. Her eyes sparkled at you, gleeful and challenging,
black, with a tiny light of irony in them. Her dress was akways cut low,
and the lights were arranged to take twenty years off her age, which they
did, giving her skin a marvellous, soft, healthy glow, with nothing
nod
pinched or thwarted. She had the habit. of giving you an admiring not
every now and then,
your together with a
wetae smile that had something roguish in it, making her teeth shine.
She had bhone, unruly hair and together with her sharp nose it gave her
an eagle-look, especially as she had the habit of darting her head from
side to side as she switched her gaze. Her lips were full and. open,
yet gripped firmly in synsual will, with something flirtatious and
conniving in them.
She
ee be loved rank ravenously, almost with an n'Ynnocent passion.
Knowfing that somebody was a lord or higher (lower she didn't go) made
them seemextraordinarily beautiful to her, and she really did look at
them with sexually admiring eyes. even-if-they-were-atedy-or-a-duchheser
When she was with Pinkie's uncle, Maimbury, she laughed and threw back
col
her head, and atd hoa-wetmoememoutermwowahewwothd flash him glances, and
were
dim lights seomed unnecessary then, barase her skin vibrated naturally -
with youth. By the same token she hated the absence of rank in people.
She-couldnlt rospoct-thom But, more than that, she couldn't forgive


Stu iiked Crauille lul nldie
din
dogive
them. She simply was unable to. There was no dream there for
her/
She had a wonderful way of talking about the family. Did Pinkie
know that one of her cousins was marrying the marquis of Averdale next
year? Such a clever, charming girl! And had Philip been introduced
to the Wynters girl? That must be arranged! They'd adore each other
she knew that! And she would look across at Deryk and say, "Don't you
think so, darling?" and he would answer, "Yes, mummy!" It never was
arranged. But the promise was intoxicating. Beyond Beatrice you always
saw a country mansion with tail lighted windows peeping through the
cedar trees. Then it would be, "Your grandfather adored you when you
were small," to Pinkie, smiling brilliéntly. "Clive took your grand-
mother down to Aldercote that summer, do you remember, for the last time,
she died the same year Pamela wa's born
I always remember Pamela in
her baptism clothes, she made' such a lovely baby!" Or, "That was before
your father sold everything up, when we always went down to Beeches for
July and August, do you/remember, darling?" And so the web was spun,
closer and closer with every visit.
"Hestér must be looking well after all that sun!" Deryk said.
"Isnyt it rather too hot sometimes?"
"Weil," Granville replied, - "youecan always go for a dip in the
swimming/pool - you don't dream of working after eleven in the morning!"
"Oh! Is that a company pool or --?"
"Well, it's'a kind of club run for the oil people mostly, and
we've got membership cards." He was just about to add that they'd lost
their membership cards when he cut himself short, knowing too well the
hot feeling of regret that might result if he let his words rush on


RoAp
CHAPTER 21.
It had started by accident, just before the eclipse, when he and
kis Rouselnys motkur
Pinkie wandered out on to the porch and found Abu Kath'm/thmorer
She
there AbnrKathtm had a round, very flat face with still, black eyes
set wide apart, her mouth a thick, straight, yellowish-Crimson line.
Thar
a hem of her black abba was usually drawn up over her nose 9 so that
her eyes shone blackly in the slit. She stood hardly higher than his elbow
and walked in a round, fussy way, but always in perfect silence, her back
straight and-her head -up, going forward softly on her toes, hardly
disturbing the sand, her long skirt making a brief circular motion
backwards and forwards.
itere - 54 is eeR REf 15 omEUSSyNEOeontaherbtmelit
Shneyedehinmhimabitges@heswoutrhemankenceremontoterdtttlebowsEhen-shd
Brought-ebhewwashing-over-orandmoncewsheetried-tonkissehis-feermmBurbmit
dirdndst-impairwherwdignitmo--She-had-awdigni-tysthatmwaselikerdwpresence
behindghery-impliredebysher=gesturesmandmingratiating-littte-nodsmand
LEEDILATGCREODetoribdsysingminythem
mrooftermakcig
Frooktngati : a
She-woukd-be-equadding--at-the-ethe-entrance-vf-rer-putd-hut-mending-obotitiocuas
pioking-bugs at ofmohe-herir-of-one-of-h n et grardchtttrene --Gometimeghche
A Ot quickty-as-if-shend teard d-something-and-gaze-before-hery
marrowing-her-eyes-a-rittie-sombhabthey-shoneg-end-no-mo-marttef-where-she
thereatways-seemed-tort bewthre-vast-desert-imfront-ol her.


spocéed-eistence-ghwayoeseemedeto-heng-round-her-huty-however-mach-she
showbed-atethewchiliddren-or-fussed-aboutroHer-husband-camewontymrarely,
onmanrold-bécyele-whieh-he-steane-seared-against-one-or-the-banara-breeoy- -
nad -bhe-oameweilencecandthhe_samedistancemim-hisweyesr-iIt-didn-tob-matter
how-many-awkwardworquickegestures-they-mader-the-stifiness-weress-wers-vatwagys
theregmomanndutheyweren--t=awaware-ofweach-other"s"proximitysseTheyowent-ctose
togetwer-and-sometimeswgpokemitoudhy-intoweachepthertg-facess-m-Bubstheme
estalwaygntHeeazeamesdistantrsterewinsethedr-seyesyesurpassingepeophen
The newspapers had been talking for days about the coming eclipse.
And the time of total obsauration was predicted to the minute. It was
to be a few minutes after three, in the afternoon.
Outside, a atight wind stirred the sand, like before a dust-storm.
The city lay in a great hush. Only this slight breeze touched the sand
on the pathway outside and sent it whirling up in thin yellow clouds among
the palm-leaves. Usually they could hear children playing near by, or
cars in the distance. But today there wasn't a sound.
The sun stall shones HE more and more dimly, as if a high mist
obscured it. There was something vaguely disturbing in the air. Perhaps
it was only the silence.
Thé palm-leaves were still like iron, and the colours of the
garden were becoming more lurid as all brightness left the sky.) Nohadutt
eaoss
estred FarCtA pa
windew. Everything Had seemed to be waiting. The sandy
1Sile
undulations of the waste area outside
looked hard like flint, each
mound' getting more and more fixed, a polished yellow crust. HenSEMIRT
TFH alel gotacheadachewandraddedgatiretslngogowoutsidettr Daseemed
g outsic den cbutmHe-noddedwnpardatheyzwatkedgoutsoneto


bie-porchwoverdookingsthe-gardengawhére-everything-now/layEdeepins
Emmebomingresbenpes The rugged, knarled harks of the banana trees, the
barshad
arat grass and the yellow mud-hut with the endless shimmering desert
beyond, grew more and more contrasted,
ixetedeta - 1 LT as if,
now
though more distinct from each other than before, -them
were =
part of the same hard substance, anishauadrawiatogether in a new,
unwholesome intimacy. There was no wind now, not even a breeze.
un Fees e exe exen
SD MOLARATEZEECTEDOebouglenoked.-The
reoms-of ae house-were-ven à
Insidewand-ouboide-seemed-te-be
drawing-ento-ontouoney-and-sho-phante-andithembrees-hed-bhe-dead-irmmobility
of-Rarniture- -And-thewadsr-feltwlikemthat rnwawroome
Shety-ehoes-made-er-oharp-rustneing-neise-om-the-tileoymandathisswas
covered-up-at-oncembymbhe-sitencewe Pinkcire-wars-frowninggwhermeyesmsemewed
bired-way-He-pbrotted-towardsethemparapetwandmaookedwupwatedwapwatmther
he-surwatrescenteshaped-nowg-aihpostefimishedrmowewhy-whymweremthere lo
nemeounds-frombhewedsby@ewre?Pinkirewmovedmborhis-sidewandeheeheendsher
beenbhing-quisbewdisbincthyrriihesbanena-trees-were-bractewithmehadowy
etreiremarsivestrunms-titke-monumentseofwironswon-Thegorescentyehardly-more
henmambriddsiantirymcurvedmlinegewasegrowingzsmalitrmandesmallers
ecame are an - dark-monpement: etow-inthe: garder a + cooleed
TOMD
A there asommurhe
partmofathesgarderahadesmembecome
assdrawnatp Eehosert
Alu Koth'm
reme o Bera he heard ter say the greeting Allah bil khair to him under
/cap
cloth. He nodded to her. She moved nearer them with her soft,
circular motion. Hermbarer feet made L
au 1gOrE
Thaneatrex S tosdmsti-lilundersthermthesparapetyagazingaupmetmethematmthemywand he noticed Icaf
that her eyes were troubled, blacker than usual, more fiery and pointed.


She-mede-a-long-mexement-of-her-armunder-er-choak-end-nodded
with-an-urgent-expressifon-towardsethe-house;-she-wanted-them-to-go-bark
insidelm-like-the-coloursrofwthe=garden=thescoloursmof-her=facewhad
becomewmorewvividaunderathenstrange-sky.= -Thezhennasmarkswonsher-sbrow
werewaemoresglaring-reddish-browngwandethezskineround-hermeyesewas
suminouslymyellows-NeithefahesnoreRinkie-moved,eonlyawatched-hed-herewShe
nodded-towaras-the-Hojae-againy- herzeyes: sscreweduupsearnestly-Shezwas
standingeperfecthyestih.eEverything=inethe-garden-sseemedmimmovable,
thesseldeebiwherzcloakzikexfolds-of-irons Her-sallowgeslightlightkymsweating
skinacoutdwhavewbeen-waxs-*Thersunswasfalmostrgoone:
Shen-ohevoatdecomethingr-opeeking-very-quickly-sundersthe-croth
immaegutteralyshoarsemwhispere -Itmhardlysbouchedsthersilencersandmhe:
welenebwawarewofeher-actuadlaysmceasing-towspeak,monkyzofsbhewsitencewhaving
mocerbed-irtsed-imagadnh-mmmtw/he-wsoundewasesecretivemend-raspingr-frommaan
entremamdeptheyswltwhadwawrcertaimadrynessywdikertwigs-breaking---Pher
voicesseemedsmotzherrownyogeHerweyess-serewedsupewisth-an-urgent
concertrationyeseemed-themorhywhumar-thing-in-herr-aGeif-bhey-vere-trying
bowsend-a-eseagesof-helpracrossthexsilenceyto-corroboratexthe-wvoice
thatwhad-come-from-underwher-clothe
Herdidn*twcatchwanysofwthe-wordss He-raised-his-eyebrewsysto
imdicate-hewhadnestunderstoodymbutwshestooje-echiseformeurprise-atowihat.
sheadwsad-dyepwandenoddedsqui-ckl-ysagain Then-shemrepeated-themrémarkymeind
this=timerhemmanagedmto=cateh-a-fewsofmtheswords. She was saying something
about the sun being Allah. Then, "Allah is angry wi th men, I1 ERMA
And,
Andethiszwnaratobkearatobtowedstyg-Bksentencesantencesastuething-htiker) en SE situtugetitozeyes"
fromsmentos "He is covering his sight from men. in shame for them!" She
repeated the quick, stabbing word for 'shame', that was like a whip of


punishment itself - aib, two syllables rushed breathlessly together."
= -When-shemsaidwAllaht-she-made-thewslightest-backward-movementmwesony
of her head towards the sky. It was hardly enough to be noticed, only
a faint swaying motion, with a look of gleaming confidence in her eyes.
But there was such an unhesi tat ting intimacy in it that he glanced/up at
the sun at once, almost expecting to see evidence of what she said.
She stood absolutely still, fixed in the garden like the trees. Her
eyes were. unblinking, staring at him with pin-points'of shrewd light.
The sun was quite gone now. Over everything there was this uncanny dusk!
He heard her repeat the words, "Allah is angry", and she drew the abba
closer around her shoulders.
He glanced sideways at Pinkie and saw that she too was looking up
at the sky. For a moment it was quite. believable that Allah was there,
showing his anger!
"How long does it last?" Pinkie asked in a murmur:
He, shrugged. No birds were singing. He noticed it for the
first time. She strolled to the parapet and leaned forward on it, staring
into the bushes under the banana trees. And he yawned.
"I think it's only a few'seconds," he replied.
"When was the last eclipse?"
"I donlt know.
years ago".
He didn't/want to speak at all. It felt out of place. His
voice sounded jagged and unharmonious.
"She/doesn't like us. being out here," Pinkie said softly, watching
Abu Kath'm' again.
But by now the sun was beginning to come back and the weather


revive. The feat seemed to have left Abu Kath'm's_facer She had a
softer look, and the folds-of"her skirt were no longer like iron. The
skin round her eyes had lost its lurid, shining _quality.
TRanil gre ghler and ym
dic Foff e ) could see the weather had changed just by looking at her.
te sea tised somekup
As the sky cleared, so did her face. But he and-Pinkire had-torhook-ap
at-thewsun-and-seemiteappearingy=tombeacentain Thatmwasatiowtheykknew.
But-Abu-Katthm-knew-irtmwisthoutmthemtsenos-herweyesywoSheewaswampartwof-
evenything-edsewinthe-garden. Nordideshe-w-feels-thewchange-in-thewsunwr
as Le wane.
She-was"partwof-it. She was part-of the weather, L It-wae-still active.
ineide-herr wAnnet just as everything else in the garden began to change /cof
its colour, so did she. She was fixed in nature like the trees, whereas
Lim
f A te and Pinkie were-hooking-on-all-the-beme,bheinemindewactixem-far-from
thre-wonid-rouna-them. The world was 'external' toathem. It was 'round'
them. Teay loufed tom a. kistan ce.
Some thing of the silence lifted, too. He heard a bird singing
alone. There was the faintest breath of wind through the trees. And
the light was growing all the time. The desert, stretching farbeyond
the garden, was bright again, like a huge shimmering seaof yellow. He
heard the hushed throbbing of the city again. Why did it come only now?
Perhaps the slight wind brought it.
The colours of the garden were drawing out of their sombre, fixed
darkness and taking on separate life again. A child shouted in the
distance. Pinkie strolled back indoors, yawning.
Abu Kath'm walked away also, back to her hut. The weight and
foreboding had lifted from her. She walked in her usual fussy way, her
skirt swinging with its curiously soothing and circular motion, Her
body turned a little with each step like an element of the air itself.


ree back-to-the-house-and for the rest of the day his mind
lukat'm -
kept wandering to her .. Rentyrshetrcht-trchown-him-the-wfbernoom-wisthout
her-he-woutd-justwhavewseemseen-anwl-eckipsedasam-ewisthenis-eyestmwAnd he
realised for the first time how little part of the world he was.
Abu Kath'm talked about the sky with an air of perfect authority,
and made him and Pinkie look like children by comparison with berself
strange, thoughtful, brooding children!
For them the eclipse was an 'event' taking place in a vast, empty
zone : the moon moves between the earth and-the sun, çausing a partial
obscuration of the light. There wasnothing in,this to involve their
'feelings'. It' had nothing to/do with thems The world was everything
'round' them, as if they were foreigners/to it. And this wasn't a
philosophy or doctrine/on their part, It was a discipline so deep that
it had become their way of perceiving things. And only with somebody
like Abu Kathiman-front-of-them-did-they-become-at-alrconscious of
thic-peculiay -discipline.
had een ke eclipse a
Look at the way he ahought rabout-thing
be-pdechy-quites
naturalky-and-witthout-question-usKath'mwwas-betowmhim,-urr-urdertthe
panapetomTheremwerembarianatreessbehinde-her: Pinkle-was"at-Mismsidde,
Lnre
'Above' them- Lypbce a
the 'sky' (a weather zone, so to speak), and-the
Kt'n
her elit bre h
exel las
'eclipsel va
ere aspredicted-event. mHemwasms='standing'
Itetostice
munnls perv 3
on-bhe-ponch It was a like a physicist's survey. But it was the
'way he perceived things quite naturally. He thought while' he perceived;
and the two were no longer separable in him. Fewe a 0
Promthe
taings-nemmanksionm mey were-in-askind-of-mathematicar" relation--toxhim,
'above' "below" , at the side behindt The-world was like a fixed
chart -It-wasas if
Tinker*sconseiousnesshad-been-imprinted.on.


silence, passively, knowing that things did change -in, the darkness,
like the stirring of new roots.
kasl rin en led,
He heard the tinkling of the palm-tree by his balcony. eIt-wae
about=the=middle-of=the-night-now: The breeze made a hushed sound
outside, touching the window, and he glanced up. Beyendethe-lightmof
the-desk-lamp he could see the window like a square black picture, traming
tha ensllen desekt beyand tc en5
Though-he-could-see-nothing" outside -he -hau-thre-same-feeling-as-before;
Mharts
parbaps-besausemofuthe-sibe-si-henee-m -that Everything was unsubstantial like
a vast
both the
and
nepoonin
dust,
shadow,
room
the night outside. The room
achully hioting
looked fixed and yet vague, its individual things drawn into one unity
La nighu,
a tte
Lad in
the
farden
silence,
fure
Hueckifpse.
ter2e
What did Christ die into? he thought. What lay on the otherside
beig k
sillon ntoes of deat th? What was that silent order one became aware of in life? There
was a gap behind Christ! 'What do I mean by God?' The experience was
missing. But the word 'God' must have sprung from a human experience.
'Can I break through the obstruction of my own mind and get near to that
experience?' he asked himself. 'And so come, to within a shade of
believing in God myself?' Hitherto, he'd always regarded 'believing in
God' with distant awe. How could anybody believe in God? It was
impossible!
Yet all those centuries of men lay behind, refuting him. What t
did 'God' mean? Hitherto he'd glided over the word. Well, he'd once
glided over the word 'Christ'. Now let him see if he could do justice
to 'God', too.
Hethought for a long time in the silence. Then it occurred to
him, :Consult your own feelings. Don 't try to conceive all the time,


"What a question! Don't you really care?"
"I meant why do you think she shouldn't wander off?!
"Well, for your benefit! I don't know ---!" Shé gave him an
uncanny glance, unable to find her. words.
"But if she wandered off," he said, "it would mean she wanted
to wander off, and it's no use forcing somebody's/life off its path, is
it? You can't do it in any case. You'd feel that all you'd got in
return was a fraud. You can alter somebody's will, but the will's got
to be there."
"Does she want to wander, then?f she asked quietly, again biting
her lip.
He shrugged. "It was your phrase. It
"Everybody'd like to wander some time, I suppose. But first of
all you've got to get a family going, don't you agree?"
There was a pausé, and he gazed out of the window again. He had
a sense of giving himself away, just as he would with Dick or Hanni, but
it was gone in a moment. She was so different! The subject had already
passed out of her. Nothing was harboured in her mind. The trees and
grass outside Aooked clear and fresh. 'How paltry life usually is,' he
told himself, 'because of thoughts lurking in peoplets minds like rats!'
Then they arrived. He was astonished that they'd actually driven
about en miles. It had gone like a few seconds.
"Well, here we are!" she said. Then she called out, "Hester!
Chafh 22
Children!"
Mudhom /
Z Yho wlol. Cohue +
Pirkie plouedpon m
sas
Sole did,
amflgidarg a
It was a: lovely house, set back from the road, its porch bhaded


by a dark plane-tree. The red brick walls glowed in the last of the sun.
There were tall windows, their sills within a foot or two of the ground,
so that mane could have stepppa into the rooms. from the gravel drive.
The house spread out wide, two storeys, with pillars at the entrance,
and the roof was uneven, grown over with mosss
moses R tne C asus
tmabd-moemmonsthon-snge
Pinkie came-out-with thow eba Ldmen,-looking-fnesh-and-moh-happier
than-when-sheddwddwbeditrwmShengavewhimyd-smackingekisswandmlaughed
he-chisbdrenwenemToby-Bavidwand-Janez-emTheymlookedshimmowery
abtenbeinging-intgolucedymand-ranwineidewagaing danemhadmawmEdow,
dask-gacer-andmonescould -seemsomething-of-Eltzatethn'-impulsivewwarmthyim
hergahodd-back:
stathey-bpass hy-emaisenZHEEserienk.
"Perfectilywmhorribse, :1 a Binkiezsasdy-gacing-upsodthe-skgyswith
daose-ogesmbblankcingingwagainstethe-tight Hibo-addwthie-medernupbsinginng,
whatoa
The-house-was-apent-apant-fromat thea T age, which-straggied-dowr-the
L dder
rine thick- -treet and-burstesoe Ommthegarden-sidemofethe
h I la
houseathereestretched-amlongeval-levad-ley-wi-bh-endleserfieldszand-pmrangeeasahow
hills-in-themfurthestadistence,-misty-andwbluetsh, -trmlke-geeing"
ewery.thing=fromathe-airThitsawasathemvalley-they-ld-seenufromathezcam
whanmshealdandmpointedemeasburtmstillwitswas-amsurprirse,-awsudderraccess-of
lightmasmonemcame-roundethessidemof-the-house.
F a
Elizabeth made rather a fuss of him,) gatting-himwbeawand-gdencing
arbwPinteirebsirembsirghtlgenowmand heno Pinkie played up to it, abdrowingahim
hissmimportancel It seemed to give her a thrill, as well. She made the
tea, and they drank out of tall nursery muss_thant-tnd-omoe-bekonged-onoe-bokonged-to


sagrammorther Pinkie behaved as if she'd always given him
homely, wogi
tea in this) styie for the time being, she seemed to believe it really
was so.
sEcumOupoTe-aRmEalE-alopyunsienackedHim
"Egactifegddotsniant2us mTheyzlaugheds
6 sgmbendnevingaus-alEtonthembeachinmicnmicatomorrowen
vonegoodas
Elizabeth showed him Gordon's study: WILHC ISECOTTECctionmommot-hooks
that-ooveredseyergwall
MhiswastIrecaser nes otstoredwithetHes wOMenforkA
Strewoaciuirmsmsefhemroom led off the dark hall, long and quiet, with panelled
walls sisiblexhererandathereabehindsthewbooks? and deep leather armchairso
coumbethexheertitilg itewasmrathrermiikexamctubroumrewisthcrshricodcdddswonstire
manbolepirercrezandearracketor-rspipes gPhere-Was-EuTlmmense-dest-gaderrtne
gindowatztiehemend.or-the-rooiewhitheoverlookedebhexvat-Teya He told
Pinkie what a wash-out it made him feel, being a clerk, when he saw all
this.
She murmured uncomfortably, wotereathyzcomingntomnEald,ELonyaD
HorEE kndhzandturnedzaRaymonlinen? perhaps under the influence of the
mellow, EDR house, mcatidet "You don't kave such a bad life. E
goudandtalike-tombecinthenshoessoeswotzsomesrofertheswive eb aknow geanyway
LaNangeingasontevdutbackyardewithresqualtdehtorieshuepaneewcomingeamseane
str-ehmarpaeyeregseoermiangrandggtvingnthemgnoumelttbtonpecksromeatrerchgekts
CHear,chearteelizatetheshoutes Biaynfnlyttromsthernats
layfolryzeinkleuaddeas AAnyway, you've got style, and that's
Dital
what counts/p And after another pause - "And you're not a clerk now,
you're a branch manager!"
Said
"That sounds worseff he replured with a laugh.


That evening; whenstheyewereshayinge-drieadetOremdunert
Hoy
rmthe-bigadrawingrroomahererthersEwerenthreentallewindowsa talked
startad about the value of confessisgsyouresinay Elizabeth was a catholico cap
ghe said,
anduomiseda "It's such a jolly good serviceb It's like going to the
lavatory!" Thenwehesc L PR de gershandroverheramouthmwirthwartangh
bhartmblasphemousyedo-youmthinpemzcpomr-whatmi-meatentstszyou-havessuchectapen
feelangsabtergardsty
asked Rat
"Why, do you have many sins?" ata Pinkie/with a smile.
"Oh, lots! Not
ones
but lots of tiny E 'ones!"
loizl
grave
"I have lots, too," said Pinkie quite seriously. "And grave
na dean L
n Sae-turned. O. ranva
5 apposexshemtsyerabireren
orte are Ck eU à a she - (sked Lonk a nK agatn
Embany-tonyoushavermeanmelonghtssandthhat-sopt rolsthinggasSoretyyanobr?
Pongatorgsed donttencan - nat SOr
rokeds
"WEFT-nowp-oenen
ssnestrcone-gettingro
dewantingmensandsthatssortsofmthings"
rellShemthienkhinkss@gel ontyaiiberested-in-that tersprt-os-tranges
presumablyzbecausewshemis#
RarictsenchuckisaKEBEEZAng-d KOUA-ES-ROR-EIESS -seemingatorieed
complimenteds
Ghy-when-I-go-to-contessIon Cathink-ofswhenenzizsnubbed Somebody
ta SrtdetorGzGordygwardethingssli LKe thette
"Reatogrohomes topa P


are-awisnbuotswbistchte
"Netwawbistmosmisty-theytrmpeal-sins-thosenthings!"
"Small-haty-oldagiry--small-haty Cu-You-swait-until-youscommit-a
real-ky-wopping-singthen-youd11-knowmwhat-guilt-ist#
"Doayoumfeel-guiltgesthen2llizabeth-askedswher,aintrigued,mgiving
hérsone-of-hersawed,-blinking-glancesy
esrt Sherportad,-staring-atztherfloorse atomite-a-ict!"
Shombooked-so-solsisbery-meisbery-compared-yith-Eiczabethyeand-sab-iowen
thewsetteey patey-her-eyes-Hesitart-wnilemshe-thoughbethe-mattermovers
"Fsne-tmit-funnygtheElizabethesaird-inwawbright-wayy-Hhow-serious
peopirembake-themsei-vest- Theysthinkwbheirwrittle-sins-are-somimpor-tantw
Bub-nothingeswtoowsinful-= U tomtelll wThat-sethe-whote-pe-point-ofscon-fessi-on-m
isbe-mekes-yott-see-howm-cow-common-and-ordimary-yotr-sinswarete.
"ireyppose-stwdoeswi-Pinkieewegsrd-wrjschmoremiley-a-pubbie-taipsy-now
obidal-syinling-her-drink-round-and-peering-ertmirbwagadnsb-theyHighby-her
eyos-slighttay-marroweds
Phere-wers-ottemey e -arime:
ewcourd- just-hearethembrees
cutside
he Said,
"what's so grave about
He'd just remembered his outing to the ZOO with the hair-girl and felt
absurdly jubilant about it: he, too, had a sin
a potential one anyway!
And this went to excuse Pinkie's.
She seemed to catch the roguishness in his tone and said, "
R E
D tT
veer e
Dedeilt
R E n-Chemsedwest


"What about your
eittla
Soafifredsways It was ER al tournament of words, reTs
Eligabed
tkough sha wad matu
and strel was looking on like a child, aet
"Mine," he said, "my sins," leaning back and gazing up at the
ceiling, bire glass in his hand vithethe ice clinking against the sides,
"oh, they're like shadows, they come and go It
"How?" Pinkie asked, her chin quivering a little this time
in case he got serious.
"Well, I never know what's going to turn out a sin
something
said
something thought
rarely anything sonefs ReE
/lal
"No, I was talking about ordinary sins."
"Sleeping with people, you mean?"
"Oh, well, a Aterer EH they're not.so big as they seem!"
And he could have kicked himself for saying it, because a look not of
ation
relief exactly but half-excited
eratenes flashed into her eyes,
making them glint for a moment, while the relief was in her mouth, in a
certain sweet repose that settled there for a few seconds. And yet, why
not ...? Why not give away your life with an easy gesture as with any
other?
"I haven't time to be unfaithful," Elizabeth said.
à er you're like the /ap
person who's got no time for reading/" Binkie cried. "Just not intererted"
tht a - eyene
Tex anghen L
said
"When I'm forty and the children are grown up," Elizabeth added
in a demure way, blinking,
a a
"I may
cast my net arouna/s


"Oh, well, if you say a few Hail Maries afterwards, I
that'll be all right. fornimne
The sitting room had cmintz- CO ver eu armenai I arru
all glowing and soft in an old - style. He watched Pinkie stretch out her
legs comfortably. Then, while his thoughts wandered, they got on to the
subject of class. Elizabeth said that at the admiralty you could always
tell the 'new' people who weren't out of the top drawer or anywhere near
it. They alvays gave themselves away!
"And there are four standard give-aways that Gordy. and I have
noticed. They mark a person right off!"
Pinkie looked gleeful. "What are they?"
iWell, first, pouring milk in a.cup before the tea," she replied.
"I always do," Pinkie said. "Nurse says it makes a stronger
"So it does, but that'snot the point! It's allowed if you do
it in revolt, darling, like you, bat one could tell you a mile off
gentry slumming it!"
"I see
well, go on."
"The second one's pardon' - instead of 'I'm sorry' or 'What
did you say?""
"Pardon's ghastly, I agree. But one can't really way 'What?'
can one? It sounds a leetle straightforward, doean't it?"
"But that's what manners are, darling! I think it sounds so
robust!"
"And what's. the third?" he asked her.
"Serviette for napkin," she said without looking at Aim. "That's
a real give-away!"


at-Elizabeth.
"ehr-in-what-wayN-El-izabeth-asked-him-wisth-arquick-lobky-haikf
abashed-and-half-admiring?
"weriy-If-yonrre-ar-honourablemit-ignut-very-honourableweticking
your-nose-into-other-peopieks-liveswas -you-d-been-set-up-as-thein
Judge-by-God-Almighttyme tre - Just-muck r rom-the-past-- -wandwa-deadmpastimto@-
thet-pest-waenlt-ever-alive-so-yhy-bry-end-eadvege-a-lot-of-dant-of-dinty-much
from-itf"
Bhizabeth-tooked-at-Binkise-in-confusion--and-then-they-smilad-a
each-other.
quiet-toice,mmolling
erce
ound I tnher
aat
didn--underetend vere-of hatr
a6 wae-people-givewthemselveswawas-eometimes-wi-blout
meaning te or kizabeth-eth-criede"
"Exaobhydi-Piinkcie-said-with-ar-taughing-gkghancewat-Granvit-ley-who
miled-Hack
aer-sitidemhyen 1L
LSA M yix ngs
"is-he-ehwaystte chetau
zabeth-asked-hrer.
ratto-the-trouble you-marry -brainy-typet"
4 a anite -Gordon-bredmy@"
"Yestand- e
mol"! And-she-gave-Granville-a
MCE
Sor-amorrerst,
They : went up to bed early. S aT Binkie-Had-been Bleeping-iy
DomUdantTonSiAELESpeeE a 20u6y ou waathey ven re-gienh nem Ebedroomor
Konour,-mwierentlzabe0h-and-6ord-COTOOTEUSMausTalyasIGp
It was a wide, low-
ceilinged room with an immense bed, and one of the windows looked straight
douna a wide
acrecnthe valley.


quite a bit stronger.' I1
"Wait tillI'm your age,' "1 David said in a clear, factual way.
By that time they'd arrived. Elizabeth was back, and the
children were swept off tolunch in the kitchen. Elizabeth looked full
of life: "I phened Gordy in Malta, can you imagine that? He sounded
sweet!" They had beer with their lunch and decided on a sleep afterwards.
un 5
The hexk day
Ht evening he went for a walk' alone, taking the road thet-went
/cap
past the house It dipped dan between trees, shadeda e the-waltey
r -one = a
and a tall-gnasey-embankment-onb-on-bhe-other The-suneet
ne prevrous-evevering t-east a -thin-
€ oven
everything,. making the shadows long and clear. Itwas still warm. He
leaned on a fence, gazing across the valley.
Birds wheeled down on the field-before him, most of them invisible,
making a long soaring whistle as the swooped. But theyl didn't disturb
the silence. It was strangé, this silence: if he really concentrated
he could hear noises inside it of which he'd been unawafe before
dog barking in the distance, the sound of leaves moving slightly behind
him, the whistlingiof other birds in the trees.
coutd see ca t - -graning-in-thetistancey arre where-wome-long
black ohadows across the fiold-like-an-immenee-plesne He could smell
newly-cut grass. There - -wab- tiny-flurry-of-wings,-then Aehi crux and
the long-soaring whistle again. Things were so still round him that he
might always have been standing-there. Time was only a movement that
took placeiin his head: itadidn't exist round him. This stillness, like
a breath that çame from another world, didn't develop: it justwas, in
the endless blue of the sky, quite still. One couldn't say it was infinity,


and endless, progression, either. It hadn't beginning or end. Thefe
was just this absolute stillness of space, wi thout time.
He sank into this outer time for a moment, lost, his'own time gone.
A bird sang piercingly in the embankment behind him, actually in
the bushes clinging to the side, where it was dark and enclosed. The
song was poured out with marvellous leisure, every pause seemed fixed from
somewhere else, from the outer spacés, not haphazard or a matter of choice.
And it was like a comment from that outer time, on the things all round.
The comment seemed to point out. this and that, with such reflective
beauty, So leisurelyand calm, without apparent theme, sometimes like a
cry, or like arword of pity, or a sudden, soaring, joyful cry, pausing
to let the song fall into the silence, with a rhythm that was also beyond
time, so bold and unceasing and triumphant that he almost cried out.
He remembered certain scenes from the past
they swept into
his mind suddenly, the names and places forgotten: tea in a garden with
tall grass near by, hyacinths like a blue cloud in a wood, a voice across
the fields. tee unt at denm: And with them came a sense of
suddenly
miserable regret, like darkness/ fall
cehrim as if he'd lost something
staperdous
of terrifie importance somewhere along the path L : - ttta and couldn't say
where. There : It was on the tip of his tongue. He'd nearly got
it: the key! But it didn't come.
The e. XU dmy-wars-socialy, Elizabethtook-them toa castle ae
miles-away, a rugged, glowing pile at the top of a hill, with a long
drive. leading up to it. She knew the-owner. There were tennis courts
behind, and a few people_were playing.
Onlyone turret of the old castle remained, the rest having-been


"No, I didn't mean that! I meant, when would you come' ?"
"When I've had it, I suppose."
Hè nodded in silence and said, "But that's in nine months."
As quickly she changed the argument: "Well, I could come out now
and then come back for the birth."
Later, just before they went downstairs, she said, "Of course. 9
the heat'll be ghastly with a child inside."
He took no notice of this, feeling happy and reckless at the
same time. He could see her as she would have been down at Aldercote a
hundred years ago, in the vast rooms, walking down. the gallery with its
tall, framed pictures, her flickering, lost gaze not out of place. And
Grove didn't matter! Indeed, he added to her stature! He was her
servente, as the Italiahs used to call it; and Granville remembered from
his reading of/the Devonshire memoirs how the fifth duke of.Devonshire
had lived/with his wife and mistress together, and how his wife had
adored his mistress like a sister!. A little voice told him that he
didn't live in a palace, and that he was far from being a duke; also the
duke hadn't lived with his wife's lover! But he told himself it was only
the sense of glitter and space he was after.
Trat
hols 2. jpeople Caha,
Fre evening went well. Pinkie put down a neat gin Bomm mcs and
said in a loud voice St
that she felt
'a world better for it', and strode across to get another. In this sort
Pip
of mood she infected Grankille; he, too, talked loudly6 ommy tigh =
thore-in-a-greenw
aat looking-epsucemthen-a-few-hours-beforew
There was a man with a lined, sunburned face who'd-worked in
Ismailia for five years-and.as just-offto the Aden Protectorate; he
told Granville he knew-Basrah like the back orhis_hand; he said after


aypause, "Hideous, isn't it?", and they both laughed. They agroed that
there was a 'great godly hideousness' in the Arab countries which was
fascinating; this was after the second drink; their eyes sparkled, and
the women were beginning to laugh loudly, especially Elizabeth, who also
had bare shoulders, her dress black and simple, rather tight, making her
look neat and determined, with flashing, black eyes.
At dinner she gave him the place of honour, where Gordon usually
sat. - The talk went along at a smacking pace, hardly pausing but never
pushed deliberately; the table had been pulled out to its full length
and took up nearly the whole room; there was a last yellow glow from the
sun coming in at the window almost horizontal, shining on to Elizabeth's
face at the other end of the table, lighting on her lips now and then;
the wall-panelling was mellow and red-tainted in the light; the women
were all young, and the drink had brought flushes to their cheeks. The
man next to him turned to him with- deference and asked how Gordon was
these days; he'd assumed that they moved in the same world
travelland
politics; Granville swallowed his astonishment and said he'd only met t
Gordon once or twice perfunctorily; he spoke in a careless way as he
hadn't done since his arrival from Basrah.
Ar dinns He heard Elizabeth say something about 'while manners maketh man,
it only maketh an ordinary man, whereas a gentleman maket th manners!"
P f
-The-man-from-Ismailia_who_was-at-her-sider-very-flushed-nowr-pouted-end
said something-objecting to this, and his wife, sitting opposite him, said
that the attitude was 'typical' of him. Elizabeth screamed with laughter
for some reason, while the man glared-across at his wife. and said hotly,
"What a damned,_pttfering lot of bloody nonsense-you do talk sometimes!"
Therewas further laughter, from the other women, but the man's wife


didn't look in the slightest rebuffed; she only pursued her argument a6
if it was quite natural for a man to show indignation; she even showed a
peculiar deference to it, and yet also she stood up to him, only without
defiance; a glow even seemed to come into her as she stood Ker ground,
but it included her husband as well. The argument got/on to shooting,
and the husband ckied out, laying down his knife and/fork, "But the
blighter never brings down a' feather!" and he turned to Elizabeth, still
pouting, with grease from the meat on his lips, and said, "You seen 'im
at it?" The answer was, No, darling!" The wife said quite calmly,
"He got a wonderful bag last season." Her husband made a terrific pah
like a wind across the table, and set t about his food again, murmuring to
himself about how the chap needed 'a sound kick in the arse' - and he'd
give it to him himself if duty, 'that bloody ghoul always showing its
face', hadn't called him out to the Aden Pratectorate. The men roared
at this. He was looked on as a great performer. He had pet hobby-
horses, it seemed, and liked to damn everything up to the prime minister
and down again. Tommy took up the subject of the sax again, sitting low
in his chair with his paunch, sticking out under his waistogat; he showed
no recognition of Pinkie though she sat next to him, and she book this
with a chuckle, raising her glass to him. Granville roared with the rest,
feeling he'd only really arrived in England this moment: the rest, in
Zondon, was dead, grey, neutral matter!
He gazed at the faces_round the table
they were E dramatic
evenln?
- p and full, flushed in the last goatlow
They seemed to have the
lightfo
whole English past in them if not just project their own feelingsgand
Ale wa,
aa -
lleg
ans
There-wa
into
Amamatic-sawk-ot-lag pastz dug
their
Jocial
tar
flesh./ Their/authority was dead now but it still showed in their facas
Tres ueve local land ageh, S
too
afam A
conin


Next morning he sat down at his desk without a momentss thought
and wrote the end of the report in a few minutes, making hardly a pause. -
He wrote that it was simply a question of the middle class getting power.
As its power increased the Arab countries would come to resemble the
Christian countries more and more. It had to be gone through. All
you could do was to help the process on. Proposals flashed into his
mind with terrible swiftness. Where T.ILM. had the power it should
subsidise development-programmes, offer loans and so forth. T.I.M.
should purchase a certain amount of land for disposal among its employees;
a new industrial city outside Basrah might be the result. There should
be a new housing scheme for employees. A health-insurance policy should
be started, there ought to be arrangements with the university of Baghdad
for the officialisation of T.I,M. educational certificates in the
Compound school. How the words clattered out!
He wrote it in afreckless and cynical frame of mind: suicidal,
almost. 'Let them get on with it!' he thought. 'And meanwhile the rest
of us will lie loys keeping what little flame we can alive, until it's all
finished
keéping the flame for our children's children!'
He Buddenly added at the end: 'These developments are part of a
great religious programme
They are the extension of Christ to the
Mered workdo The-middle-cTass Ih C TTE N ITd mstrument-by-means-of
nenr
Next day he took the report to be typed out by the Secret Weapon.
On his way oùt of the office he met Hanni who to his astonishment
said, "Well, how do you like the girls at the Marquis?"
"What girls?" His mouth fell open.


themfoupofmwbmbhemerushingstowandwfromtookciooking-for-coltarmstudspshait-gndypsy
Tarmkeoy-nedsimporhishy and-takingersip-ofmwiriesormbrendy--frommthewbottiresw
A - wi-chone
Themperformanoemwaswarngr successywandmevongngeatminmbhe-ti F
wastakiong-bhe-Hew-Bbudiewwersmeff-Cambridge meireus, er gome
ehopsy-andathe-tongswindowmofmiste-barmeventookedetiboastonatimistwwaewa
comfortable Lopluehgoplece-whise-whaehwarocerdingabo-brclowhad-beerused--for
Mnaughty-showe-lmien--bhe-nineninetiresymosblotsmbhatmbhenpenformancemwss-goods
u the-audioncs thralled-toubhewdaukwekinskinsbhewmomentmthewcuctainswienteape
Joy Celestes tried-towmakemthesoppositemeffectmbomderknesemby
Stu L
I paintine her skin a light yellow and holding in her lips to avoid the
'nigger-look') Her hair-dance was the triumph of the evening and there
alot q
was long clappingg
The choris
Rovibly
bumped into each other and danced maabe aat
phames but the audience loved ito tcl audged-Grenvill
ana augh inking
dat K a aesss Rinkie de athe other side, was,
enthralled and sat there with her chin sticking out' as if the ungainly
people on the stage were vindicating a certain wild attitude to life for
her; she asked Dick in the interval if they and their dances were
'straight out of the village', and Dick spluttered with laughter
said he was astonished at her haivety they were all more likely 'out of
Pimlico by Billingsgate"! During the kair-dance she leaned over to
Dick in the darkness, with Granville between them, and said in a loud
voice, her eyes-fluttering and an abashed but defiant pout on her lips.
"Is this the girl Pip's lost his heart to?" Dick said softly "I think
that about squares the matter off, yes," to which she had nothing to say.
She-only-leaned-back-refiectively. The-hade--gir-girl-appeared to impress


The hair-gire Seaha l: imprees Pinbie
/her in a dark way. But at the end of the dance, during the wild
mote
clapping, she qualified ths by saying loudly to Dick, "She'd be atre
hasl
attractive if she ate a square meal, wouldn't she?"
Thamsconswanmthometagemwas-gami-chepohtingmwi-thwatrewwawwandmpapielr
mache Set showing-aggolderbeerch-withppashm-abposb-and-mardetnbewomomlibr
-ponbomame egene-from-notinson i usve -There-wernes-showbing
renaied
redienee-otapped-endroemed-et
The posters had advertised the 'real Arab dance and
whrcd maant Hat
a chaad.
Nearly every omemofthe dancef was a - t toud If a
Dervishes', -
Je.e
dance began slowly it had to go up to a deafening crescendo. It was a
Sel around.
tiny stage, making it difficult for all the chorus to apmeet aat :
A Kushad,
tuckin
haraatt, "Get off my E toes!" Hésoundy across the stage.
Gmerat
vonmng X mowrt MA
E a S cam DE PUr angao orshirswhakndey
the-piantsdstweat-co01--aie A cierreym Astriped-bitre-oyinr-glemoing
ace bhematergew eveny -few-momembgy Wher-bhre-emourtain-wentwdownwgefter
ene-denee- hewheard-someons si-bting-behindabhemmsaggwtheywre-somenetras
osdimeris myitad-arerlteethey?
The-ountain-stuck nd-pieeeeugfmpedm-dypee-drifbed-down-ers-bhe
denoere-ptehed-end-eweeted-perst-each-otierwand-tra-ppedmupwdikemelrephemben
whike-themmusko-got-touder-ermemdboudenwandemeeemedwtowtose-att-Thythm
Only the hair-girl was remarkable. There was a real ferocity in her
1 b
t Leen ed
dance; and again-he found a asodf eetohing aie-breathofoswfee her head
m gls
woutd go flying off. Andbhrombeedenvofuthonbrowpe-prenced-rourd-hor-in
en-imneffeeobued-wwaywaswaesdenore-in-thewrehearsaiymonky-wirth-arsheepish
dupnession-nonmnowqmasui-uthownewoiving-ofuthowblackwhead-urdernearthrmim-wae
awesxrpaiseamm-wdmsacaalssunpris@wwSomeonetsmdnesermispped-wibhwa-loud
tearingonoisemewwdinthewchorusver-Phe-chniisngm@ptin@ptofmomewotmthengtegehewatagehonde


as VISISTEE Or-aenoment kx A oused a
enc
a MBa BaTI Egh M oconlt
HEAS exc e ak don
pumpo aZy an t
Phesgudience
mdermad
ame
A ba a
aek a 2
merad
She
came out to the bar afterwards where-evergenewwas
eseembbedow ashewwas in a hard mood and talked at the top of her voice,
looking small and shrivelled,' with - pale cheeks, her high cheek-bones
sticking out; mess
saicedahefioretmant she had a short girlish
frock on which made her look fourteenoo
wn rea SEt
Phe-ciub-hed a-nember-of-importamb-eponsoreDiek-boid-himy
and-eome-of-themdainkemwenemon-bhe-troe-houser -Aman-wirthr-shiming-begewender
Miemeyeswandmthanpmeyensboweheris-hire-nech-fatahedmbri-ghtwaeentety-gotwup
onmemchairmendegaidmehe.bmthewmanagemenbewouird-tikewtomoffewtowoffer a-freendrink
oweveryonemleimebhemsedeirshaard-celoutated-hopewothat theymwourd-art't
hecomes embers-DTEtnECiaby
Puikin's Connu,
wa A a Hur
To-his-eetonishmentr Grenvinio-eow Deryk Grysham neat-the-berr
afre a et
graat eeet errer
cryr-was most polite, bobbing up and
down as he took Pinkie's hand, and singing out, "Hullo!", his shoulders
Pib
hunched a little. And, "How nice to see you again, Parip!" he cried. henhe
wen lr in +ke Cnwd, with li pale hose. H
Granville askad a fter Beatrice-and
Berykaskedhim
whenmhis-leave-would-bewouerm-s
thesewwasiens@mmhkglaglawnoieieg-neasuthember
thathes didn-ltwaneweryanotent that. e knew the answamangway Reopte-were
pfeosing-fomsard.for their frea. nks,
centie emwaypmeasing-and-
deening homsalvee-against-each ner smiling-end-melsing-jokesr There
was scent, the smell of hair-oil, smoke, brandy on the air. Meetof
them were good-looking, with clear faces the dresswwa casuarlwarrd ret


Snddenly Joe clockunik, talkinp Is Hahm: tu 643.
srispr, lyja lin Leal made kigt - pirclut laugh, iles scream,
ohich made eeyhds look ro uad
with-amourious-heavy-remotemeteness..fro her and, -gauchenesswesswof-limbs that
warsmiracuiousty-hidden-by-Hars-eoftneser -Phie-sodtness-setup-amstranga
-dramat tic contradtotion semetimes-in-profite-his-fece-tooked-rerptenptwend
shadewyr-wandt uratt
rke am image-in-the-desert:
Pinkie said that the high-pitched laugh
K work nepeated
* Etot
sevopadutimesg-mep-meling-everyone-look-round, was his 'social specialityto
#e did it to mark himself out from other people, but he never did it
more than a set number of times: en-eny-eeesirong for a brief appearance
at a cocktail party he rerety did it mogrethsa once, with perhaps a
parting one at the door; for a long party there would be five or six,
louder as people drank more; at a dinner-party he kept it for the desserto
was meant to show everybody that something very special was going on in
his cornerof te suom.
Dick went on talking to the pale girl behind the potted plant,
leaning towards her, seeming to elect her the only person in the room; ;
his eyes were clear and twinkling; he treated every one else casually,
as if the evening had only one purpose for him.
Afew_people began todosome silly. dancing- in-the-middte-of-the
room, to no music, while onlookers beat out a rhythm with their feet;
three or four couples started it, and Clockwork and Hanni joined them,
leaning against each otherwhile keeping their: hands at their sides; they
moved slightly, their eyes closed, and Clockwork kissed her lightly on
the brow once or twice; this performance seemed a strain to her, she was
steeling herself to it andkeeping her eyes closed, her lips pursed in
a tell-tale way, showing how the display hurt her. But Clockwork was
untroubled, and when he opened his eyes, gazing at the people round him,
itwas with a drowsy expression, as if he' 'd really been asleep. Pinkie,


Pom sextrberbles-bowbenverrderdwourtsymandrepsawnonewmewmenequistly-partchig
pfowhise--paokeertmaseshe-passedy-threnmeskewwasgorewarrd-themroersmwezre
vag-doud-ersmbeforen
Suddenhys there ewwes L ramshiming Ablackesmiding-boofcoof-orroresufsthe
babkegwandeGrandillewwatchedra-flushedyetpthichwset-mafren P wri-thatwimichings
loodehobmblege eyesmekontwateonemof othemwaiteraye wei-ter,-comemheret
an roe-peT inrddl and-he-promptaf dripped-the-boot-on-tt
nen *
ere there-happoned. not
Ir -glaseee
thinabebhshedwbeeneeteremallpesoningobu uto cin-gnepaf-themsidewrooms,
ard-Grenvitirer-having-pul-ledohtswfahrrweightrarbathemberwardherdruankwetwowon
a à gsbhenentosndeparirdonridrfonsby-posting-hrimselfzcloseabomonesof
|whirled her round the floor at a breat thless speed) WO
Eligabatt
c She looked superb, her hair done up in a kind of
mantilla, with long ear-rings; she wore a long black-gown and had made no
effort at fancy dress apart from a flimsy horse-hair tail, also black,
that hung from a lace bow at the back.7 Whon-groupo-formedffor a
ttish
A ploend-eech-tech-herd-to-improvisewe-geelpwi-thwi-thnthowotherewdencing-rosendwhimy
se-coule-geewpinktemin-anotherngroupabobbingmupwanderndedownyheramowbhrwdem
cr mimoreekedingningewheete-Herlmputlktedwatwhersdnessnfromabelrindyaalaughinggatsughting
bresthlesskye The band looked down from their tiers in a gingerly way,
not showing the slightest amusement F881T80mOSerpeg-briroeeparkivespartieny and seeming
to go higher and higher as the evening went on. imee-COLETE
whieh-apparentlymdnotudoduClaekworky
wono -one-os-the-side-rooms-sitting-over-cards-and-champagneswheraskiked
her-bo-pointuthemzoom-outmtowhimy-endwehewbook-him-theremthroughmonemos
bhe-corridors-reading-frommbhewhathey-itrweswastairieroomawithetreheavy-eurteins
anduoudimy-gimp-gdi-ttering-chandelierminerthemmiddier"and-there-wagme-comylete


* a tos
ean
rat
ana a E
aiz
yenmbOmiakemais-move)
that clock wotk's set
Pinkie saidj 7/regarded fancy
fhip,
dress as an 'un-cool' thing to do; they wore dinner jackets and their
expressions were tired and casual, EaMatMRERCadT as if from repletion
she
pullor'
of the senses; Panre : told him that/ this was a 'the thing' now
you couldn't even sun-bathe when you found yourself A
in the south of France; you had to
look 'fainting'lo Hell was more or less in this set but she danced too much;
if she could just sit and 'sort of wilt' at a card-table for four or five
hours in the evening. she would qualify.
Hanni's brilliant zebra costume stood out in the room like a precious
carpet; Pinkie said that this was quite all right because Hanni, being
'exotic', could do nothing 'un-cool'.
Bowns
oggababls
H H + n * a
quiseodarosestingthe
nd-Bowdey-Debton-wefe preedy-thererendhe-end-Pinkier
seme
iselebh gu E remoustomary-blinte-of-bhemeyeemaemét
B ade * ae ng boudog-but-oinee-he-sat-dow--deikemewerymone
Leomdrt-peogedess Chembegarawbentteimg-arb-tihe-top-ofter-votce-ebout-ioweseme:
Labeodtte-be ocdla sapetai-rsmhadwaeleodheswinfwher-blecle-dreeg-was-meenbbmbo
reprosontmandelephebegmsicimhgmtbomginkohkoh-Bewkey-ey-Pattor-saidequiethyoysthart
Ghemigenthemanisemayamhatrewbeenmrederring-bopthremferctrthaet-wher-ehemdanced
eshezdid-so--not-tntike-arpetrpelrephembiy Elizabethteaghedwand-saiddmbe
EB thatentourmdordyehas-had-too-muchewinetp-and-thua-he'd-been-ssying
netn gorgoous pieselohen-Pinkcrerwep-werstmetmwere-tranereaemadort


considering a pay-claim, and left the money on his desk before she went
out in the morning.
a A
SELTOZHERE
kind-of-commi-bte
Oyt et-by-the-etuby-and chatmbheinmadea-wae-bowdead
ith-orre seciad probi-ell-adber-enothergscowmatkewarhorearmsweeptoof-modeptwof-moderp
ti-Sermmo-The- placewhadwatreadymbeem-mickremed-tProtestwHerlhlwformohis
eagon-yerandupeoplemllappedswi-trapt-sewoheremwerewtombe-To-stars ard"t the
blayemwerewneventtomdnawnt atbentionstosethemsenweiveswby-being- Hover-dramartic
ormin-any-way-idiosyncratiogthey-were-eremae-far-armasmpossirleweimple-and-clean
statomente-ot-oompurrent-problem-wi-th-ag-moh-dramswers-it-weutd-needute
susbeimn-bhe-imberest-of-thre-audreneerérenvittovergo-beginming-towfeei-a
sectrte umpoken-indignation-enwhismkinfer-erndhemwondered-ifethege
rytestostwouldwcombain-ist-forwhin-amsommsome-weatyrg-ilis-ipte-werowbeikcinge
emend-more-rootsmie-bondony ge-noticedywandwrd-timetekyshemhoped-bhndwesb
* Tr stilt
tieh as-he-td-enow-im-ther-Stteeen-deryep-aandwfaberandwfebses
hopes-wourodrser ppe
frew woul-dnlbrebhaisntewof-Baszabmaggecindy
Bicko-had-acopywo@mbhewStuchtiowelub-potetcy-septwttorhimpmendwhemtead
dea-of-bire-bhreantresbre-wagewwagmebhne-putyiowof-modem-li-teetowarg
potgeds Na ewwestwrr-commerciat-menagerswhed-keptwmodernehirfewout
ofthe theatrey-isbmaddedsswHembegar-going" mtowthe-studio-clubwonee-or
twigewaaweeky-wisthworsrworswithout-Dick there-wes-gwgecretmpleesupewinmsintbing
énthendarknesswwitthrothexevening-papermin-hts-handymtheestage-giowedmend
te L sintemddneameamgseemebiméswwiherbharppenedonnemthrewstagemwasmmoremreade
olbim-then-ohawortheRoady-kemvorld-dreammaboubwistrymandewetkemup-in-ther
merningsexpectingathesittathation-of-the-playmtomunfoldabeforemhimainstead
EbiSaandmBindmRinkiseteworidem Phereawas-onespiaymof-protestzafitermanother
Beenegroxwinnane-hisegay-through-race-prejudicesmiceswin-a-northern-miningabow,
Gmarkinge-maneevictimisedzbyshisecor C 6 emanszesprivatepsoldierapitching-himsedef


CHAPTER 27.
Eligabeth Rad writton Jrouk oh piss-soaked notepaber
The river-party/was a great success.
Etwasa-superbautum
evening, warmeven, withthe-sunlight- - yellow-and-pure-looking-on-the-
riverysomeome-of-the-roofs-on-ei-then-oide-1oeked-agmthough-they-were-mede
DE-gold-for-a-momentr-andethe-city-made-ore-massive-roar-thet-wee-dike-em
Sme
gellya mexcitingusilence There were meny-of-tho-see facés as-et the
Tail-and-Hoof ball.
aun theadong.
eebine-whito
ted
Ao pougit cr
anket baemest,
a small flushed mayi with blond hair scalled Lord Runnock, tasted one of
the drinks from waiter's tray, holding the waiter by the sleeve as he
did so, and then suddenly muttered with biting anger, turning roundoto
his wife, "fthought so, I bloodywell thought so! Hele-done it again!"
His-wife fried to calm him, smiling at the-guests and even at the waiter
with, "Nhat happened, darling?" "He's opened the champagne!" came the
answery. "I told you_not to!" he said to the man. "I said leaventhe
champagne tilli tell you, but no ---! Oh. Christ!" He shouted,
L TTC
your-bradmor-for-Cheiethlo-eake-2. woknd-the-meek-reply-camey-f
Flizabeth introduced them bett to a bouncy young man Nith-datk
syes whosmname
talked very fasty nas
rken pemrp
and tapped his foot restlessly, n
stenced-ebeuty singing
snatches of old hit-tunes. "Do you know this one?" he would say like a
tke deathly idiotré eorln 1 en 'Rie!
machine-gun; and nesaona launch into
mep
didala-ig-oda-da--
Pip
ead Hs up.
dunmekam!" To Granvillals surprise Pinkie 00 -
a AM


tand saemed-astus
1 C LI ming" herserf orecognise-bhe-bhe-bune nthough
this was impossible because it was too quick. She had none of herousual
forbearance and dignity; and though the singing wasn't singiag, and jarred
on the nerves, there was a smile of appreciation on her" face. They went
down to the lower deck andsat on benches, crammed together, while someone
paayed the guitar. Nearly all the guests,were personal friends of Runnock's
and suddenly from across the gangway, Aunnock threw him a hard, resentful
glance as if to say, 'And who thedevil are you?' Granville turned away,
deciding not to notice it, and said something to Blizabeth and the hit-
tune young man who sai t, opposite him; luckily she smiled back at him in
a vivacious way and/when he glanced at Runnock again there was no malevolence
in his gaze at ail, but even friendliness, a soft and gracious look. All
this went on/invisibly, a little drama unseen. by anyone else. The look in
Runnock's eye was too direct, too intimate; both when it was hard and
when it was gracious, for it to be meant for anyone else. Elizabeth,
neit -
friend of
qad-Henown-by-everyona U
good friere
te-have-there.
There-wae-no-wildmess atthe ball. The river was, dovety
oabeiders
touched with red from the sun. At. the Isle of Dogs
they turned round, the boat kicking up a wash with its paddles, and the
partyrnow-thet-oid-dampsda
een
The
CA 4 Kasn cit chat,
bouncy young man kept up ak oonetant ttor taking his audience for
Hay
granted. Pinkie and Elizabeth seemed rapt, glued to him;never missing
P4p cmlduv make i
Ste t The pnupuf
a syllable or breath.
ei fenos Bhe
gAgifill suddenly
L was)so docile and girlish. She ducked her head tra diffidentigm,te
hep-danghter a ne fo r momenty and kept saying, MOhyyow-boundan,
Goorgetther to Pinkie, "Isn't he
Gren 1 tistened /
TETT extraordinary?"
Le Lad mado, like
agter a Completly flat Aemare
u Igot tha puich tuned.'


A satar
Lasp
forn
hes
oub-bhepe-was-ony a string of references
to odd things like sbreete? aircraft, houses in the country, card-games,
whicl kis y Piike
blae a peyy logie Ea
turf for lawns
all in jumble
bowetwedt.
Aa à the
e Du tame-there was-thisvivacioous wonderment fpom the woment Then
hera ane - t surros a € paz
camemben this one? Ta. ta
dum-sdeam-ti-t
an Then there was the story of how he Nf hitch-hiked
lsokehad
fifty miles across Norway because his car had broken down: trertd stayed
ansthar
at a hotel where the food was good, +H and/one where the food was badjter
sometimes it had rained H44hopp somet times it hadn't. And at everything
Li cand Piakie shoved enthralled wunder. Pipy
bhere-wae-the- same
aau
wondenment
r apueale
eut
tried to listen harder
to get
narrative thread he might
have missed
and he tried to join in, laughing and showing surprise by
lifting his eyebrows. George
A that. was his name
said he'd
been on the grand tour' the previous year: he pronounced it the French
way and Gren
thought this was a joke'and roared with laughter, but
st wan meant k te Lerions- And
he tripped up badly here because bhe-ginto-wemo sodding a -r-oomb06-wog.
mce
George had/played baccarat with a lorry-driver in a bistro at dawn
And tav Py Kealed as senens : La amld denrl
howls of laughter! hrow-didothre knowewken-bowberughmbugether
Jito
neie leasn,
Then,
ring" it-wente
Aa from George, "I was absolutely whacked
the next night, I really was
God, I think I slept about twelve hours -!"
To which Pinkie said in a demure way
it was so unusual for her that
Pypln moutk pell oppun
Gennes
aege
meentwit
"Come, come, I
can't imagine you getting P tired!" Why not? She hadn't even met
the chap beforefo
TRe
a L
frem
yore enten to the
Srew araf
Melbourne,
shi
g emrer a - prmed-quiekly
wert
rg TCOR theit ca
Coming
- Het-bowmne2l,


"We're off to the Melbourne, what about you?" He and Pinkie went in
George's car; Elizabeth was travelling with Runnock. George poke to
Granville for the first time
how did he think 'the old/engine'
sounded? Granville didn't know and didn't care, but he said, "All tight,
I suppose.' I1 "You suppose
!" George cried witha rushed little laugh,
"I only had it decarbonised today!" "Good Lord," Granville murmured,
looking out of the window. He sat trying/to think up something mechanical
to say, and chose carburettors. At onte - George turned to him as if he'd
said something stunning, and went jnto a long speech about the 'double-
carb '
"The double-carb's the job, it really is - fit it in a day
I said, look how does that adapt to the rest and he said, fine, so I said
get to work
you just/have to give it a tickle and whoof! the girl's
off - stands to reason, doesn't it, but there you are
rattling away
I was, the old bus
but very sound, though, don't you think so? Do you?"
He fixed Grapville with youthful, darkly sharp, friendly eyes. "Yes, I do,"
Granville said, trying to give him the same glance back.
At-the-Melbourne there-weo-a-tong table-under-dim-
whare most
more
4 - the-river-party-guesto-eat. And oneemmore there was/champagne. Pinkie
and George danced together
she showed him how to whirl round on the
same spot without getting giddy: you keep your eyes on the other person' 's
gaue drin suel AAn
W 3 a Et wle
eyes! And she swopt-hisnoundwithan oh-you-charming-devil lookgonhoz
facer-apperenthymoreabandonodwbhen-ever-ehre-d-beenr-wirbh-@mosermrend-m
temolh,
custont x hhp
a role Granville couldn't/connect with her a it was just too exbreondinany
tuned
for words; he sat and stared at hem with puzzled fascination. wondering
astrals! diivarchau
sheld gonacuckoa! George wasn't a 'faun't He warsir what she called
V re
. 'oomph-metf4e Grove had oomph, she
George was pleasant,
inconsequential, cheerful
not the sort of person who interested her


o t :
He said nothing about the interview to Pinkie. It seemed she'd
forgotten he was to have it. ThaigalensingeheawenteowavcinemzT
tokingter-errand-was-toomtiredyeten-to-foltow-themploty-therewwas-a-news-reel
in-whe seme-poor Cature
à -hare-wis-char-chased-by-whippetsy-itrleapt
tet aghr -the-ei -franticall -and-atwarys-the-hounds-followedy--decoying-it
: A - a -and-that,-until t-lastwits-strength-gaveroutwandwetmtumbledr
under -thenp-ar-limpsball-of-furv--Behindshim-a-woman-murmuredr-"Poorthing!
hattadummedsshametH-insexactly=thy=the-same-voicewaswhis-mother-wouldwhave
done, ang-teurgwsmarted-in-hisxeyesn
ske
A few days later when his boat-ticket arrived Pinkie murmured
vaguely, "I suppose I'll be joining you in a few months, won't I?" He
nodded glumly and they said no more. Grove came over again. Granille
Ris
was once more struck by the friendly confidence, inahim and felt revived;
the events of the last few weeks, including the question of the child,
seemed unimportant. Re-morlinttr - opagimegdromer
M ROr spisabre
meie
anding
the nearth an gazing-out E morethe
Emow-in-bf s=cur cous bst cract and C L R4 E oca
at cwhe, ovedr Severybody?
he Tealiy-meantr that -avUn--OrOERYE romanyonahghemsaidathattr
pensonsa reusee
> soor
Thoever leswas unlesss hem was Teartyra
Erinelr Heevasktryingsto-gave-Granyirlle-t tomunderstand-that-heva
imtended-trommal1c8-ugahstagainstahior
A party gathered in the music-room that evening. Grove
talked most of the time, making everyone laugh. While he talked,
Pip
rattling away without the, slightest embarrassment, GanTRE asked
himself, why should he leave?) gainethe-absundi
Ba Eing Sdcar
Y Le was la te ane anqway ?
fosmreccurredaborehime: why not be a subordinate
But his thoughts lcab
here?, A


herefoe Ke ernghk wamth a also fe pralin
alai
C /s do chth
clill w an
which
IAseT
exigneli
sTange seed rtr war lweys hiddcn RlA t hrtor tna
went round-in a sickening way, gone almost the moment they entered his
head. He found that Grove conducted a kind of human publicity service:
he brought people together and talked admiringly about nearly everyoneo
hesatirthocentre
ceom-and-already
omsE
kis-sptrit Bul ha hener Taged Jorng. H frouglit propla tagellca
and Hen lege, yP L Rad many seh hi sd rinu l duegre.
He went down to Abbott's Road to say good bye. They knew nothing
about his having resigned, and he left it vague; word-wae-enough-for
bhemp-he-sadd-he-ldhhad-a-few-things-tom rear
with-the-heardoffice,
cahe was-late-ir-going-back. Hewas surprised" Wherrhe-stepped-off-the
bus-tomseo-how-freshwandmcleammeverythrinhing-ag-the-dastrict-tooked..e The
shop-Sronbemwene-newhy-paintedwand-thewhouses-of-Abbottg-Road-looked
Idicembeny-fermhouseermobedingy-abwail but-with-a-warmy-busthing-dife
going-on-in-meidemeaeh-of-thenemesmThemyiendowsuweresbrightawithwcoloured
sarteinsgwandathewhedgeswirf-frombmaterembrimmedr
Ho-sat-with-them-in a Haok-room,-wisth-the-window-overtooketg-the
Had
gardensmopen-atwatwthe-bobtomya His mother divined that something unpleasent /cn
had happened but said nothing. She only asked quietly, "Is Pinkie going
back with you?" From his panic-stricken glance she knew everything.
His father was gracious as always, a little formal, gazing with narrow
eyes into the garden. He-brembled-end-couldeat-nothing- The table was-
laid with cheese and lettuce and celery, and the tea-pot stood under a
cosy in the scullery as it always had in his childhood. He-drenk-one
cap-after a ae
He. alwagsgatumnedmtowthis - world E "Abbotte B Road
atoney-at-seemedy-bor-rtwoowldretwhedpshimpmhisymother-and-fatherghad
roth - torsay astheyecouldsondymwatchehisedistresswandehopesformthe
e8 w-Thectraims-passedwinsthemdistanceyustopping-andustantingnagamimne
1of how-grinding-nodsepm elle-briedmto-tabl-but-hie-dind-waewimeficetdrs


.OTY
jmich
Becanse 2 Liss eublon HOEHt - T -
arte
ahi berstau Yuds tnoriom odt taoris snor rtST suiAnoic E si
omcten
cudl Te :
:90iv1D2
irre
veisildio naani deserly Femdastnte 9VOTE trat. troostins bruot
oar
R r alnt Lim : Om Zua
F9NOTTOVS YITeSa tovarhor tjeds
Cluntt bsrid sar Tont930: eigoog jucpord
kust
Ae kuam - deehad to -2 HEL ka
itiw Lo"Tit osH 9? jor
cbaorls bns -COY erld 1p OTJISD dj ri jBe S1i
mbats
wL turtiip Crr ranilla, hurtap L Lls :
tut Le did i like Loh hene
Eninton WONx Tor's .oyd boo3 Vsa ot brof e'stodd.. os putmiy
Little Krel s>
i- had - hamaol Linn
ToT 43H0119 2ti IOW 5 :9r3sv Ji Az éi bas borgiast grived abt SodL
A C
La canad Lo
2 t f
rooitlo erent
&f LSs:o ct egmid we3 C bon ten 31 LES of LS y +
pain Lia bhi
edt 110 blarods/s.i NO.W
iord
C: ca
Eminkrant orgoles
EniosLi
stste
cnldl
of Vohjaib cili ri
de3z7, yorf 907 os mrd
ond
MEt
9 TEE
bozioof
spibl
:oh toadi ageror gat UNIS bsdainrivea
at C
E mhiey 6
au attra
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Andsha
sad
Tat a E
Binsse/replied, patiently,
as if to a child, "Yes, darling, yes!" And he realised for the first
ewen
time
mokeputhmentigcout in a clear and blinding amd-staggertrg way
Napower emed chagotd.
hadl
that she was in lovefol She couldn'to change-thas. She "/tried, perhaps.
had
Even, she "s/wanted tolo But she couldn'tyo Because she was in love, in
love, in love! The words kept ringing in his brain. In love! It was
like bells! In love! Then why hadn't he recognised it? Oh, why?
For it made her innocent! Sh as tan looe Me ad ay
like
bells! ju laue
L love
walked further down the stairs and had the sense
his
date
of losing,
body so that his steps hardly made an impression on him. Phirs-was-the-
ntghtof-themectipset V on it was
Et-had-come-downe-from-s
Se thoughtsrintowhie-tifed smoAnd he felt bodiless - the stairs were
/cap
nothing to him, his pain was nothing, nor his trembling', Theg didn't
matter, didn't matter! He-soubd-have-walkedodowntoathe-musicmpoomeate
bhat-monent-in-the-mostmesey-and-emsbing-doy-end-pub-biewhande.o.then-
both-and-sat-tailking-tonthenead-beard.them.talling-eechrother-tdarting'
endalswostheertafwisthoutothewslightestssestwsensemoimbeingnconnestedmtowthemy
anyemoret There was a shudder of relief through his body that ansmetato
all the poisons away. Yebwhe-waswetith-inpaintweBurb-tt-wasnet
drain
reallgshissany-morezaceewwIheremwas-sosomething-beyord--lifewinwin-himy-forsthew
firstatimes It was like touching Christ, iss as if Christ was standing
there on the stairs, in him for a moment, bodilessly. He had a sense of
She
h Keslfo sunlight, though he was trembling like a leaf. Ptanse was pure! SR
hin
vanv
waa pure! The tears poured down his face but with triumph
it was
kod
like his own triumph! Hetzy surrendered! # 4 surrendered'hemasugr
MTEER grs wanie lad agto clp, Aa hard -
ii low, in lobe /
Ardl He h


BOOK III
CHAPTER 12.
People started calling at the house again, and-agrompBYEL
aacen tre Glenning, the publicity-man,
was almost a daily visitors n
Some of the other faces he'd seen that
first evening re-appeared; there was a young girl Dick Pollocke had been
talking to; her name was Lucy, and she always came with a girl-friend nick-
named /Ginger/. The two of them sat in the music-room together, long-haired
and quiet, sometimes with a book, sometimes just sittinggtmttne aK
he-himeelf-cameandwent-cauall
tawasrqucte-pleasant Elne-young-man
ate Geraidzwith-theragreeablersurtezalso-camersometimest-the-plustics-
B taer wocked for-wasnotmny-yardssfromcom-thmtlMmplacewardoften.he
a tket er together
For some time there were repeated phone-calls in the day which
came to nothing when he answered them. He would pick tp the receiver and
say Mullor, then there would be silence, followed by a = click at the
other end. It got on his nerves and the idea became fixed in his mind that
it was Grove trying to get through to Pinkie, though why Grove didn't know
she worked in Wembley he couldn't explain. One day he shouted into the
silent phone, trembling, "Stop it, you bloody fool, stop it!" He remembered
afterwards how his voice had echoed up the well of the stairs in the empty
house, like someone else's voice, rasping. and strange; it sounded like
soneone bound and gagged.