The Dwarfs (13 page)

- Who hath seen the mobled queen?

- She caught a tube, Pete said.

Inside the bus Mark lolled asleep. Pete helped him off at the pond. They lunged down the middle of the street.

- Hold hard, Pete said.

- I have savage cause!

- You’re elected. Where’s your key?

They stumbled into the hall.

- Pete, Mark said, beginnings can’t be observed.

Pete pushed the bedroom door open, switched on the light. They fell inside.

- Get’em off.

-
Oblomov
by Goncharov.

Pete sat on the floor, lifted Mark’s leg and pulled off a shoe.

- Ivan Ivanovitch, lurched Mark, has shot himself.

- Do me a favour. Off!

In his shirt, Mark crawled under the sheets. Pete, sitting on the bed, stared at him.

- Pete!

- Yes.

- There’s no doubt.

- None at all, Pete said.

Twenty-four

- I’ve seen a ghost.

- What? Mark turned.

They were sitting in the Swan café in the early evening. Behind the counter the mother and daughter spoke together in Italian, serving icecream through the window.

- Isn’t that Len, just about to be run over?

- I don’t believe it.

Len made his way between two buses and a furniture van, reached the pavement and peered in through the door.

- We don’t want to know you, Mark said. He walked smiling to the table.

- Merry Christmas.

- I thought you were supposing to be forging new lands, said Pete. What have you done with Paris?

- I left, Len said, sitting down. I’ve only been back two days.

- Two days? Mark said. What have you been doing?

- Recuperating.

- You look as though the police of twelve continents are after you, Pete said. Why did you leave?

Len looked at them.

- How are things?

- Fine, Mark said. Why did you leave?

- Why did I leave? There’s only one reason I left. I don’t mind telling you. All right. I’ll tell you.

- Well? Pete said.

- It was because of the cheese.

- The cheese?

- The cheese. Stale Camembert cheese. It got me in the end. It all came out, I can tell you, in about twentyeight goes. My temperature was fivehundred of the best, without stretching
it. I couldn’t stop shivering and I couldn’t stop squatting. It got me all right. It always gets you in the end. You know what if’s like? Someone hits the ball, you grab at it, and it hits you straight in the eye, or in this case, the belly. I’m all right now. I only go three times a day now. I can more or less regulate it. Once in the morning. A quick dash before lunch. Another quick dash after tea, and then I’m free to do what I want. I don’t think you two can understand. The trouble with Camembert, you see, is that it doesn’t die. In fact, it only begins to live when you swallow it. This particular Camembert, at least. A German I got to know there used to take it to bed with him. He was the master though, I can tell you that.

- He had it taped, eh? Mark said.

- You’re right. He had it taped. He used to treat it brutally, that cheese. He would bite into it, really bite into it, and then concentrate. The sweat used to come out on his nose, but he always won. I never saw him eat anything else, except now and then a tomato and one or two mushrooms. I hate to say it, but his piss stank worse than Old Testament Rabbis.

- You were in Paris for over a week, Pete said. What else happened?

- I can’t remember, Len said. It’s blotted everything else out. Whenever I think of Paris I just think of cheese.

- Look, Mark said. Come on. What else happened? Why did you leave?

Len shook his head and smiled.

- No, he said. It was that cheese, that’s all. It was the cheese.

Twenty-five

She opened the door.

- Ah.

- Isn’t it warm?

- Come here, Pete said.

She sat by him on the sofa and he put his head on her lap.

- Somebody stuffed rubbish down the lavatory at work today, he winked. Blocked up the drain. I was under suspicion for a time. But they’re wrong. Well off the track. I have other ways to work.

She stroked his forehead.

- You work too hard.

- It’s a working world.

He moved his feet on to the sofa arm.

- How are you?

- Fine.

- I popped into the library on the way home, he said. For a solid hour I was looking through books on dogs, horses, anthropology, psychology, poetic works, oilengines, how to be a lifeboatman and the inside story of a werewolf. Have you ever been a werewolf?

- How would I know?

- A vampire bat?

- I suppose you have.

- Me? I’m a cleanliving customer.

Shadows prowled the room.

- Len’s back.

- Len? That was quick.

- He’s keeping something under his hat. Wouldn’t say why, what, anything.

- There’s always this secrecy, this funny business, she said.

- Funny business?

- You never know why, what, anything.

- Oh, I don’t know.

- It’s confusion, she said. I don’t believe -

- What?

- I don’t believe everyone need live like that.

- There’s no need, no.

- No.

- What are you going to buy me for my birthday?

- Oh yes. What do you want?

- I want a book, he said. I want a wellbound book that’ll enlighten me. No long words. Big print.

- All right.

- Eh, I was thinking. Do you ever dream about me?

- You know I do.

- You should put a stop to that.

- Should I?

She looked down at his face, turned her head to the window.

- Pete.

- Yes?

- I want to ask you something.

- Mmn?

- I need a rest.

- What?

- I need a rest.

- A rest?

- Yes.

- What do you mean?

- I’m worn out.

He sat up and swung round to face her.

- I need quiet. I need rest. He stood up.

- Rest?

- Yes.

- What are you talking about?

She sat still.

- Rest from what?

- From -

- From what?

- Us.

Pete scratched the back of his head.

- Why? What’s the matter?

- I’m tired.

- Are you?

He walked over to the window and looked out.

- Only for a little while.

- How long?

- Just - about a fortnight.

- It’s not all highvoltage, all the time? Is it?

- No.

- Well?

- But I’m tired.

- What do you want to do with your fortnight?

- Nothing.

- I can’t see your face.

- Can’t you?

- I can’t see your face in this light. Look at me.

- I am.

- Can you see me?

- Yes. You’re white in the window.

- You’re wearing my dress.

- Yes.

- You didn’t have to do that.

- What do you mean?

He lit a cigarette and smiled.

- OK, Ginny. I’ll chalk it up in the book. Not the black book, the red one.

The match burnt slowly in the pressing dark. He watched it grow to his finger and sharply spun the ashed stick through the open window. Outside, the night was black.

- Anyone would think we’re in Eskimoland, he said. Before you can cut up a corpse the night’s as black as a beetle.

He turned. She was looking at him.

- OK. You want a rest. Have one. I wish you luck.

- Thank you.

- Two weeks. Don’t worry. I won’t fly in at your window like a vampire bat. It’s not my bloodsucking season.

She walked to him at the window and touched his arm.

- No. Don’t kiss me. That I do not want.

III

Twenty-six

- What did you say?

- I never said anything.

- You never said anything. No. But you’re at it again.

- At it? said Mark.

- You’re at it again.

- It’s four o’clock. I’m tired.

- What do you do when you’re tired, go to bed?

- That’s right.

- You sleep like a log.

- Of course.

- What do you do when you wake up?

- Walk down the day.

- Do you look where you’re going?

- I go where I go.

- I want to ask you a question, Len said.

- No doubt.

- Are you prepared to answer questions?

- No.

- But you say you don’t ask. If you don’t answer and you don’t ask, what do you do?

- Walk down the day.

- And sleep like a log?

- That’s right.

- What do you do in the day when you’re not walking?

- Is that the question?

- Eh?

- Is that the question?

- What question?

- Goon.

- What question?

- You were going to ask me a question.

- What about it?

- Is that the question?

- This isn’t the question I was going to ask you.

- What is it?

- It’s another question.

- It’s all another question.

- Well, come on.

- All right. Go on, Mark said.

Len stood up.

- What do you mean, go on? he said. I’ve asked you a question. You haven’t answered it.

- What was it?

- What do you do in the day when you’re not walking?

- I rest.

- Where do you find a restingplace?

- Here and there.

- By consent?

- Invariably.

- But you’re not particular?

- Yes, I’m particular.

- You choose your restingplace?

- Sometimes.

- And that might be anywhere?

- What do you want?

- Have you a home?

- No.

- What did you say?

- No.

- So where are you?

- Between homes.

Len sat down.

- Do you believe in God?

- What?

- Do you believe in God?

- Who?

- God.

- God?

- Do you, or don’t you, believe in God?

- Do I believe in God?

- Yes.

- Would you say that again?

- Have a biscuit.

- Thanks.

- They’re your biscuits.

- There’s two left. Have one yourself.

Len stood up.

- You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.

- Really?

- Do you know what the point is? Do you know what it is?

- No, what?

- The point is, who are you? Not why or how, not even what. I can see what, perhaps, clearly enough. I can see something perhaps, of what you are. But when all’s said and done, who are you? It’s no use saying you know who you are just because you tell me you can fit your particular key into a particular slot which will only receive your particular key because that’s not foolproof and certainly not conclusive. Just because you’re inclined to make these statements of faith has nothing to do with me. It’s none of my business.

Len walked about the room, his hands stabbing.

- Occasionally, as I say, I believe I perceive a little of what you are, but that’s pure accident. Pure accident on both our parts. The perceived and the perceiver. It must be accident. We depend on such accidents to continue, and when we accidentally perceive, or appear to do so, it’s not important then that that might also be hallucination.

He stood in the corner of the room.

- What you are, or appear to be to me, or appear to be to you, at any given time, changes so quickly, so horrifyingly, I certainly can’t keep up with it and I’m damn sure you can’t either. But who you are, I can’t even begin to recognize,
and sometimes I recognize it so wholly, so forcibly, I can’t look, and how can I be certain of what I see? You have no number. What is there to locate, so as to be certain, to have some surety, to have some rest from this whole bloody racket? You’re the sum of so many reflections. How many reflections? Whose reflections? Is that what you consist of? What scum does the tide leave? What happens to the scum? When does it happen? I’ve seen what happens. But I can’t speak when I see it. I can only point a finger. I can’t even do that. The scum is broken and sucked back. I don’t see where it goes. What have I seen? What have I seen, the scum or the essence? What about it? Does all this give you the right to stand there and tell me you know who you are? It’s a bloody impertinence. There’s a great desert and there’s a wind stopping. Perhaps you can convince me. Can you convince me? But you can hardly do that, ever, because you’re always saying you know who you are and therefore I can’t trust you. If you could only say something I could believe or begin to believe I could kill you with a clean blade and not think twice about it. But I can never kill you because you can never give me the answer I want. Neither you nor Pete. You’d both better watch out. It’s all so simple. You may be Pete’s Black Knight. He may be your Black Knight. But I know one thing, and that is I’m cursed with two, two Black Knights, and until I know who you are how can I ever know who I am?

- That’s out of order.

- No it isn’t.

- What’s all this about Black Knights?

- The one there. The Black Knight. Behind the curtains. Pete’s yours and you’re his. You live off each other.

- We get on like a house on fire.

- I’m glad to hear it.

- All right, Mark said, standing. I’ve only got one thing to say.

- Be careful.

- I don’t know what we want. But whatever it is we won’t get it.

- Why not?

- Because we’ve got it.

Len sat down and closed his eyes.

Twenty-seven

- Hullo mate.

- Hullo mate. Come in.

- I thought I’d take a strawzy round to see ya, Mark said.

- Sit down, Pete said. Still raining?

- No. Was it?

- Well, wasn’t it?

- No, not for the last threequarters of an hour.

- You’ve been walking for threequarters of an hour? I didn’t think you had it in you.

Mark laughed and began to fill a pipe.

- Where’d you get that?

- Mine. I thought I’d give it an airing.

- What are you smoking?

- Three Nuns.

- It’s got a good pong.

- Yes, it makes a change.

- You’re gassing me out.

- Yes, it’s in good shape, this pipe. I’ve just given it a good clean out.

- Want a drink?

- Don’t bother.

- Cleaning pipes, stretching your legs. Where’d you get all this energy?

- You know that girl, Sonia?

- Who?

- She was with me at that party.

- Oh yes.

- I’m seeing her tonight.

- What’s that got to do with it?

- Well, I’ve decided a pipe’d be up her street.

- Why?

- Well, Mark said, it emphasizes the old polarity.

- Up your polarity.

- You’ve got to be able to cater, you know.

- Who for, women?

- No. I agree. There’s no necessity. It’s all a lark.

- Mind if I smoke? Pete said, lighting a cigarette. A spurt of rain hit the window.

- There it is, Pete said.

- Look at it.

- Yes.

- It’ll be a quick autumn this year, Mark said. Take my tip.

- I think you’re right.

They watched the rain.

- I’m worn out, Mark said, with the heat. That’s just the job.

- Yes.

Mark poked at the funnel of his pipe.

- Well, how are you? he said.

- Not so bad.

- What have you been up to?

Pete shivered and put on his jacket.

- You’re not looking so good, Mark said.

- As a matter of fact, things are a little topsywhatsaname at the moment.

- How?

- Aah, Pete grimaced, it’s a stupid business.

- What’s happened?

- Have you seen Virginia at all?

- Virginia? No.

- Well, I haven’t either.

- Oh?

- She’s done the dirty on me. It’s finished.

- What’s all this?

- She’s gone down the drain, Pete said. It’s not worth the candle. She’s changed her spots.

- What’s been going on?

- Aah! Pete said. She’s been mixing with some crowd in Soho, that’s all. She’s gone gay. It’s all up.

- I thought I hadn’t seen her about.

- Yes, we agreed she should have a rest. For a fortnight. But she didn’t come back, that’s all.

- Well.

- No, Pete said. If that’s the way she wants it she can have it.

- You agreed she should have a rest?

- Yes. All right. Don’t think I didn’t see her point. I did.

- She needed it.

- Look here, Mark. She needed a rest and she got it. I’ve admitted it. But considering the burden we’ve both had to carry all this time we’d managed more than well, in my opinion. But all right, I agreed she should have a rest. What does she do? Chucks it all out of the window. For what? I tell you, she’s a lost cause as far as I’m concerned. You know the kind of people she’s running about with, the places she sits in? I won’t even bother to describe them.

- But she’s not your territory, Mark said. How can you sanction her actions?

- I’m not, old boy, Pete said. I’m passing my last comment on this situation.

- Yes, I can see your point.

- I’ve driven her to drink. All right. Let’s turn over the page.

The rain slid on the pane.

- I’ve had enough.

- Should I go and see her? Mark said.

- What for?

- Find out what she’s up to.

- I’ve told you what she’s up to.

- Yes, but it may not be as simple as that.

- What do you mean?

- Maybe I can do some good.

- Good?

- Find out how things really stand.

Pete stood up and shut the top half of the window. He
returned to the table and sat down.

- There’s nothing to do, he said, nothing worth doing.

- I don’t know.

- Yes, it’s been a kick in the guts. I admit it. But I’ll tell you straight - I don’t want any more of it.

- I’ll get in touch with her. See how things stand, Mark said.

- In what capacity?

- As your friend.

- That’s your business, if you want to see her. I’m bankrupt. It’ll all be over and done with soon. All I need is a breath of fresh air.

They sat in the room.

- Still raining.

- I think it’s in for the night, Pete said.