Jackson's Dilemma (26 page)

Jackson listened carefully to every word, feeling a deep affection for Owen, his huge head and pale face and thick pouting lips, his often watery blue eyes, his big nose and dangling black, probably dyed, hair. Jackson, tired, was content for that time to be Owen’s captive, his magic housemaid. Owen’s ‘doing over’ consisted first of all in climbing to the very top of the house, past the spare bedroom to the attic, where there was another bed standing upright, just visible, amid a mass of heterogeneous
things
which thickly covered the invisible floor: old moth-eaten clothes, broken articles of furniture, dusty filthy broken-backed books, stones of various sizes, ancient trunks and suitcases, broken glass, old photograph albums falling to pieces, useless lampshades, smashed up china of every description, boxes crammed with innumerable small objects, ancient newspapers in faded yellow piles, broken toys. Into all these Owen waded, kicking them aside with his large feet clad in shabby canvas shoes. He said to Jackson who was cautiously following, ‘I call these my entities, children of Odradek ha ha, little gods, arcane sources of my inspiration, slaves of disorder. Sometimes I pick one up at random and bring him down, a privileged one, don’t you know, like this, he can bring good luck.’ He picked up a small bronze tortoise with one foot missing and put it into his pocket. ‘Now look at this.’ He kicked his way to the window. ‘
See,
beautiful London under a clear blue sky, the Post Office Tower, what a vista, handy for suicide, the Natural History Museum tower, jolly good tower that, the Albert Memorial, the Albert Hall, a dozen Kensingtonian spires, Kensington Palace - let’s go down, mind the broken glass, hold onto me going down, there’s your bedroom, I see you’ve made your bed, a good omen, now let’s look at the Horrors, I’ll put the light on, all right, you’re not amused, I live by their dark passions, those deformed entities, never mind, let’s go down and look at my four-poster bed, and then some real pictures, here in the studio, these are the versions of the Japanese cat, I can see you are tired. I’ll dig you out some old friends and then I’ll stop, here is Mildred when young. Edward with his father, here with his brother Randall, you know that ghastly story, no wonder poor Edward, yes, all done by me, I’m not all that young, that’s Anna with Bran as a baby, how sad that Lewen never lived to see his son...’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Benet, suddenly hearing Marian’s voice on the telephone, had nearly fainted with surprise and joy. He was to take in a good deal in a short time. Marian was very well and very very happy, she was with her Australian
fiancé
at the airport — yes, Australian,
fiancé,
airport, they were to be married at once, over there, she was sorry she hadn’t rung sooner, she hoped she hadn’t caused trouble or anxiety. Here the Australian
fianc
é intervened, only Benet could not understand what he said. Laughter. Marian’s voice again - yes, I am with the man I love and I will love him for ever and ever! Then, dear Benet, do hope you will visit - must go, kisses, kisses.

Benet sat down, holding on to his heart, some tears, then crazy choking laughter. After that seizing the telephone. He enjoyed sending the news about, but only for a short time. The others were ready enough to continue its dissemination. He was relieved to find no answer from Edward. He asked Anna if she would ring him, but she was just going out. He returned to Rosalind who said she would make sure that Edward knew. He returned to his previous grief. Jackson.

Benet had fairly soon repented of the ferocious letter he had left for Jackson. He felt ashamed at his anger and his haste, also distressed by what the others might think. He realised also that he had put Jackson out into a market where he would be readily snapped up! But was it not just that he was making a fool of himself. He had lost not only a valuable handyman, but a potential adviser and
friend.
He had blundered, he had muffed it all, and he could not see how he could ever mend the damage. Already perhaps Jackson had become the servant, or as he now saw it ‘servant’, of perhaps Anna Dunarven, or Owen, or Edward, or Rosalind, or the Moxons, or Oliver Caxton, or crazy Alexander, or Elizabeth Loxon, who had expressed so much interest in him, or Priscilla Conti, only she was still in Italy - but
Italy,
that would be just the place for him to go to! Or perhaps by now he had vanished forever into the depths of London, a London now in which Benet would never ever find him. What on earth would Uncle Tim have said — how right Uncle Tim had been.

Where was Jackson now? Benet recalled how and where he had first met Jackson. He recalled the stages of their, so strange, acquaintance. Jackson near the bridge, following him to his house, the voice behind him saying, ‘May I help you?’ At that moment their eyes had met. Benet remembered those eyes. Then how Jackson had actually
touched his hand,
indicating that he did not want any money, or was that what it meant? Had it indicated some much larger possibility, some
signal
offered to Benet in vain? Then again later once more in the dark: ‘Give me a try, I can do anything.’ Why had it seemed then artificial, as if spoken by an actor? Then when Benet, having moved to Tara, had almost forgotten the ghostly figure, the same insistent person had appeared again, seen by him this time over Uncle Tim’s shoulder! Uncle Tim’s dismay and reprobation when Benet shouted at him. And at last when he had let Jackson in. Why had he done that? It was Uncle Tim who had done it, castigating Benet, so (for him) sternly, for not ‘taking Jackson on’. Yet why should he have, at last, taken Jackson on? Well, was not Jackson as valuable, as talented as he had claimed to be? Even more so. Was it really something like
fate?

Yes, it was Uncle Tim’s doing. Tim had loved the fellow. Nothing could be done about that. Then, at that moment, Benet recalled with a shaft of pain Uncle Tim’s death-bed, and how close he had been with Jackson just for that brief moment. Oh, if only Tim were here. Perhaps, thought Benet, he had
really
belonged to Tim, he had followed Benet because of Tim, he had put up with Benet because of Tim! Still, I met him first, Benet thought, and then reflected how evidently possessive that thought seemed to be after all. Still, it was over now, and his relation with Jackson had never been less than awkward. He should be relieved. If only he had not written that vicious letter. He could easily have done it politely, even with regrets. I don’t think after all, he thought, he would now sell himself to one of
them
— that would be spiteful. Still, it was rather awful of him to run away for so long - but perhaps he had really been finding Marian? Anyway he must have been concealing things and telling lies - perhaps he knew where she was all the time! Most awful of all: Marian and that fellow had carried Jackson away to Australia!

They are all leaving me now, he thought, they are falling away. I can’t even get any company! Edward is depressed and angry and saying he will sell Hatting. Owen won’t talk to me. Anna says she’ll go back to France as soon as Bran goes to school, and she’ll sell her London house. Mildred has run away to India. When I ring Rosalind she is almost rude and puts the phone down. I wonder what - of course, he thought, we have only just been released by Marian, and now there is quite a new scene! Why not
Edward and Rosalind -
is this not now
quite obvious?
At least I can do some sort of work on
this
! Benet had been sitting in his study trying to work on Heidegger, but reflecting upon Jackson and ‘the others’. Now he began to see how incompetent he had been; he had kept on seeing Marian marrying Edward. Now Marian herself had opened a way for Rosalind! There was already evidence upon both sides! When he had come over to see Edward on the awful afternoon of the broken wedding he had found Rosalind with him in the Gallery. She might have been there for a long time giving him tender consolation! Such secret ventures and visits were of course very well, only Edward himself had nobly kept them, perhaps sadly, at a suitable distance; but now that Marian had declared herself
hors
de combat it was open arms for Rosalind! No wonder she did not want to waste telephone time with Benet!

 

 

 

 

Of course Rosalind was profoundly relieved when she received from Benet the news of Marian’s eloping to Australia with an Australian! She had of course been worrying very much about her sister. But she was even more concerned about her other problem, that of Tuan. Rosalind waited for three days. Waiting was agony. She painfully checked, held back, all the violent desires and movements which tore at her heart. She felt, as she had never felt before, her
heart strings.
She sat often during these days, in the chair beside the window, breathing deeply, and trying to read. She had never in her life felt this sort of pain. She thought, this is like the pain of dying must be when you know that you are mortal. She cried a lot at first - later she simply sat with her lips apart, gazing down at where her hand rested, upon her knee, upon her breast. The window was closed and the room was hot. After the first day she did not look out of the window, she looked at things in the room, only intermittently at her book. (It was
A la Recherche du temps perdu.)
Sometimes she tried to think about painting. She had ceased painting. She must paint again soon - in the future - only there was no future, except one which was a dark chasm. To her surprise she slept fairly well, as if her ordinary healthy body had not as yet received the message or realised the possibility of mortal pain. She thought, people talk of dying with love, but they don’t really believe it — at least not many do, I suppose some people - yet not very many - have felt this sort of anguish - when it is really a matter of life and death - though perhaps I won’t die - yet I can’t imagine going on living. What she checked too during this time was the steady powerful violent instinct to run at once to Tuan. Some higher wiser intuition told her to wait. At the end of three days she could endure it no longer.

On the fourth day she woke up early and lay in bed curled up like a snail, her face covered with her hands. She got up and dressed slowly. She had, on the previous evening, selected a particular dress, a very simple brown cotton dress, loose, with long sleeves and no design. She would also take with her a loose black cotton jacket. She assumed that the weather would be warm and the sun would be shining. It was Saturday; this too had entered into her calculations. She sat on her ruffled bed and stared at her watch. She got up and looked at herself in the mirror and adjusted the neck of her dress. She smoothed down her glowing pale fair hair which she had lately cut a bit shorter - she regretted that now. She looked at her eyes - she had done so much crying - she tried not to cry - she must not cry now. The response of this resolution was a rising flood of tears which she could only just control. She turned away and consulted her watch again. She had already decided to walk to her destination. It was just before eight o’clock. She was ready to start.

Tuan opened the door. He said rather vaguely, ‘Oh — hello.’ After a short hesitation he moved back from the door, leaving it to her to enter and close. She had been carrying the black cotton jacket which she had had with her before, she now remembered to put it down on the same chair. He stared at her. ‘Why do you come?’

‘Oh, Tuan, you know—’

‘It’s all the same - ’

‘Could I stay just for a bit, could I have a cup of tea?’

‘Oh, all right — but — ’

‘It’s hot out there.’

Tuan receded into the sitting room and she followed. She evaded the sofa and sat down on an upright chair. Tuan had now gone into the kitchen.

‘Tuan, don’t worry about the tea, I didn’t mean tea, I meant just lemonade—’

After a brief silence Tuan returned and gave her a glass of lemonade, which she sipped then placed on the floor. She said, ‘How are you getting on with your work?’

‘Not very well.’ He pulled forward a chair on the other side of the room, but did not sit down.

‘It’s — what is it?’

‘It’s about - great thinkers - in the past - you know I do other work as well—’

‘Yes, at the shop. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about your thinkers.’

‘Neither do I, I mean I know very little, I’m a dismal scholar.’

‘Surely you aren’t “dismal”.’

‘I just mean I’m an ignorant scholar. Listen, Rosalind—’

Tuan had now risen and was walking to and fro.

‘Rosalind, I’m sorry. Your presence here disturbs me. Please could you go away? Forgive me for the awful performance I put on. I cannot expect you to share or even understand—’

‘But I do understand, I try to understand.’

‘You are made for happiness and freedom, in your own world. I am someone out of another world. I have displayed my sorrow and my burden which I ought not to have done. I have thought about this. You pity me. I feel the great extent, the great ocean of your pity - but you have been overcome by my story and you take this terrible shaking and this shadow to be love, the openness of love - as it cannot be - your destiny is in another area, in
another world
— and now you are duly liberated into its great space.’

‘Why
now—
do you mean - oh
heavens - ’

‘You belong to England, to the beauty and nobility of its history. Here you are at home, you are a princess. You are young, you are free, you have now before you the completeness of your possibility - you can be happy in your own world, with your own kind. And now that Marian is gone—’

‘How does Marian come in? Are you hinting that I am now free to marry Edward—!’

‘I can now see your world, which is not mine. Yes, Edward or another. I am sorry to say such things. Oh Rosalind, how can you!’

Tuan, who had been striding to and fro, sat down upon the sofa covering his eyes. Rosalind came to sit beside him.