deepest desire of his psyche! I stick to the old medical view that it’s our job to save life. Do look after Edward.’
‘Oh God,’ said Midge.
‘It’ll give you something to do. You do nothing. It’s bad for you.’
‘I shop, I cook, all right, I have a char, but she only comes some mornings. I don’t do nothing!’
‘You know what I mean. I wish you’d get yourself some education. You always complain about being ignorant. Why don’t you take a college course, there are all sorts. At least it would get you out of the house.’
‘No college that would admit me would be worth going to!’
‘Then go and help Stuart look after people. I’m serious!’
‘Go home, dear Ursula, go home!’
They rose. Ursula’s stiff skirt, now liberally covered with particles of Midge’s perfume, made its dry sawing noise. They looked at each other. Their clothes were crumpled and their faces, in the bright light which Midge had now switched on, weary, no longer young.
‘You look even more beautiful when you’re tired,’ said Ursula, ‘how do you do it? I wish you’d tell Thomas that malt whisky is better for us than those sugary alcohols. Say goodnight to him from me.’
‘You can’t face him.’
‘He’s withdrawn. God knows what he’s thinking about now. Goodnight, angel.’
When Ursula had gone Midge went into the dining-room where, as she expected, Thomas was sitting in exactly the same attitude in front of the decanter of claret. He liked his wine but was a moderate drinker. He had taken off his glasses and had a milder and more vulnerable face. Without looking at her he stretched out his hand.
The dining-room was on the ground floor, and now that the noisy conversation no longer filled it, the sound of traffic rising and falling like gusts of wind was audible, and at moments the faint shaking of the windows. Midge, standing beside her husband, took hold of his hand which was becoming wrinkled and spotted, older than its owner. As she still held it, his hand quested beyond the touch and stroked her silk dress. She released him and went round the table, leaning across to look at him with her own amazement, like to that with which he sometimes regarded her. Thomas often startled her as if his appearance were subtly changing, and she were married to several men who happened never to arrive together. He looked sad. She gazed at his fox terrier head and blinking narrowed light blue eyes.
‘How tidy your hair is,’ said Midge.
‘How untidy yours is.’
‘Did you just comb it?’
‘No.’
‘It looks like a wig.’
‘Sit down, darling, for a minute.’
‘You’re tired.’
‘Yes. Sit down.’
Midge sat down opposite to him. ‘Ursula is very worried about Edward.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’ll do something.’
Thomas was silent for a moment, rubbing his eyes. He said, ‘It’s like a chemical process, Edward has got to change and we have to be, for a time, spectators of that change.’
‘Tonight wasn’t much good,’ said Midge.
‘It was an exercise, artificial as exercises often are, a formal gesture, perhaps not without value.’
‘Oh — !’ Midge poured herself out some claret into Harry’s glass. ‘I think you could make Edward hate you if you seem to ignore him now.’
‘He’s not ready for me yet. If I tried to corner him now he’d reject me and make it all more difficult later. Anything I said to him now would be an order. People in this sort of shock enact a mythical drama, and circumstances may conspire with them in an almost uncanny fashion. It’s a search for solitude and purification. The thing is that he will run away — but he won’t do so without seeing me first. That is a structure which must be allowed to develop.’
‘Run away?’
‘Yes. I must tell Harry.’
‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know. But soon, when he’s collected enough energy, he’ll run, he’ll disappear. And I want to know where he’s going. That’s what he’ll tell me when
‘Oh God,’ said Midge.
‘It’ll give you something to do. You do nothing. It’s bad for you.’
‘I shop, I cook, all right, I have a char, but she only comes some mornings. I don’t do nothing!’
‘You know what I mean. I wish you’d get yourself some education. You always complain about being ignorant. Why don’t you take a college course, there are all sorts. At least it would get you out of the house.’
‘No college that would admit me would be worth going to!’
‘Then go and help Stuart look after people. I’m serious!’
‘Go home, dear Ursula, go home!’
They rose. Ursula’s stiff skirt, now liberally covered with particles of Midge’s perfume, made its dry sawing noise. They looked at each other. Their clothes were crumpled and their faces, in the bright light which Midge had now switched on, weary, no longer young.
‘You look even more beautiful when you’re tired,’ said Ursula, ‘how do you do it? I wish you’d tell Thomas that malt whisky is better for us than those sugary alcohols. Say goodnight to him from me.’
‘You can’t face him.’
‘He’s withdrawn. God knows what he’s thinking about now. Goodnight, angel.’
When Ursula had gone Midge went into the dining-room where, as she expected, Thomas was sitting in exactly the same attitude in front of the decanter of claret. He liked his wine but was a moderate drinker. He had taken off his glasses and had a milder and more vulnerable face. Without looking at her he stretched out his hand.
The dining-room was on the ground floor, and now that the noisy conversation no longer filled it, the sound of traffic rising and falling like gusts of wind was audible, and at moments the faint shaking of the windows. Midge, standing beside her husband, took hold of his hand which was becoming wrinkled and spotted, older than its owner. As she still held it, his hand quested beyond the touch and stroked her silk dress. She released him and went round the table, leaning across to look at him with her own amazement, like to that with which he sometimes regarded her. Thomas often startled her as if his appearance were subtly changing, and she were married to several men who happened never to arrive together. He looked sad. She gazed at his fox terrier head and blinking narrowed light blue eyes.
‘How tidy your hair is,’ said Midge.
‘How untidy yours is.’
‘Did you just comb it?’
‘No.’
‘It looks like a wig.’
‘Sit down, darling, for a minute.’
‘You’re tired.’
‘Yes. Sit down.’
Midge sat down opposite to him. ‘Ursula is very worried about Edward.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’ll do something.’
Thomas was silent for a moment, rubbing his eyes. He said, ‘It’s like a chemical process, Edward has got to change and we have to be, for a time, spectators of that change.’
‘Tonight wasn’t much good,’ said Midge.
‘It was an exercise, artificial as exercises often are, a formal gesture, perhaps not without value.’
‘Oh — !’ Midge poured herself out some claret into Harry’s glass. ‘I think you could make Edward hate you if you seem to ignore him now.’
‘He’s not ready for me yet. If I tried to corner him now he’d reject me and make it all more difficult later. Anything I said to him now would be an order. People in this sort of shock enact a mythical drama, and circumstances may conspire with them in an almost uncanny fashion. It’s a search for solitude and purification. The thing is that he will run away — but he won’t do so without seeing me first. That is a structure which must be allowed to develop.’
‘Run away?’
‘Yes. I must tell Harry.’
‘Where to?’
‘I don’t know. But soon, when he’s collected enough energy, he’ll run, he’ll disappear. And I want to know where he’s going. That’s what he’ll tell me when
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