An Accidental Man (16 page)

It was only very lately, only perhaps when she had received Louis' horrible letter, that she had fully realized how much her love for Austin cut her off from other people, as if she were being gradually cornered by a relentlessness of which he was the almost unconscious agent. He seemed to feel almost any contact between herself and others as a betrayal. If she were to see the Tisbournes, or even Charlotte, he would scent a plot. Matthew of course was out of the question. And Garth was taboo. She would have liked to see Garth, to see him all grown-up and different, but the embarrassment and anxiety which had always attended her relations with him would doubtless have become even worse. And Austin would think they had discussed him. Now even Louis was gone. It was as if something were closing in for the kill.

Dorina knew that many of her thoughts about her situation were ridiculous. But she knew also that she was not mad. When the pictures had fallen off the wall other people were more frightened than she was. These things were, perhaps, chemical. What she most feared was spiritual, some end point where even love died tortured. She feared the final inhumanity of man to man which she saw on the television set in the kitchen. Now the girls were away, she watched the television often, fascinated by these amazing images. She could never get used to it. She knew that there were such cruel things in the world, even her in own little world. Mavis had once suggested that she should see a doctor, once suggested that she should see a priest, but Dorina knew that this was pointless, quite apart from the hurtfulness of it to Austin.

Her only way back to the world was through her husband. Only here could magic be changed into spirit in the end. And now she had run away from him. Or was that what had happened? Was it simply fear of him that kept her here? He had never been really cruel to her, though he had stormed at her often, he had wept at her, he had accused her of destroying him. He had wanted protection, but she was danger. Once she thought that he was drugging her, but that was only imagination. She had felt her whole consciousness battered by him, as if because he so desperately wanted from her what she could not give there was a little less of her left every day. She had had to escape to breathe, to be. And yet in escaping she had made yet another obstacle between them of a quite new kind. For Austin was relieved at her departure. Of course he wanted her back, he wanted some new and better dream of his marriage, but meanwhile he too breathed. He surrounded her with anxious possessive jealous tenderness, but in obedience to what he professed to think were her wishes he did not come to see her. He wandered about outside her prison like a fierce protective wolf. She heard him baying in the night.

Thus they remained utterly obsessed with themselves and each other, and some natural healing process of which Dorina felt she ought to know the secret could not take place. If only there were somewhere else towards which she could look. Mavis talked sometimes, her eyes far away, a little embarrassed, preaching to her, about simple duties simply understood, about obvious needs and obvious claims. But nothing here was simple and obvious, and almost any move was fearful. She might have prayed to God to dissolve the obsession and to show her simplicity if only she had believed in Him. His absence at least remained significant to her, but it was an utter absence of help, an absence of recourse. Worship would have been a relief, like tears.
C'est impossible de trop plier les genoux, impossible, impossible
. Who had said that to her once? The voice of some teacher, otherwise forgotten, came to her from convent days, from earliest childhood. Should she not kneel, and would it aid her, even if there were no God? Sometimes she did kneel in her room at night, but rose quickly, knowing that she knelt to demons.

‘She says she's been attacked by an owl,' said Ludwig.

Mitzi was sitting in her little kitchen, pouring some whisky into a glass with a shaking hand.

‘She's drunk,' said Austin. He had just come in out of the rain, looking tired and bedraggled, his mouth drooping.

‘I'm not drunk,' said Mitzi, ‘and I
was
attacked by an owl. I sat all the evening in that pub and you didn't come.'

‘I only said I might come,' said Austin.

‘If I hadn't been wearing my head scarf it would have clawed my eyes out.'

‘I must ring Gracie,' said Ludwig.

‘Go to bed, Mitzi,' said Austin. ‘I'm sorry I didn't turn up.'

‘Where were you? God, my head hurts. I was so frightened.'

‘I got so bloody depressed I went for a long walk, I can't remember where.'

‘I don't believe you. You've been to visit your little wifie.'

‘Oh shut up,' said Austin. ‘I haven't. And don't talk about Dorina like that. I'm soaked. I'm going to bed.'

‘To wifie, to wifie. You'll hug a pillow and pretend it's her.'

‘Goodnight!'

Austin departed through the sitting-room and slammed the door.

‘Are you all right, Mitzi?' said Ludwig. ‘I must go and ring —'

‘No, I'm not all right. I've been alone all day and then waiting for that drip. I don't know why I bother with him, he's just a scrounger. Here, let me look at myself, it feels funny, it's hurting.'

Mitzi was still wearing her glossy black mackintosh and a damp pink scarf round her head. She got up unsteadily and peered into the little mirror propped on the dresser. Then she pulled the scarf off. There was a long sticky red scar down the side of her face, from the temple to the jaw.

When Mitzi saw the wound she began to wail. She wailed rhythmically like a dog and tears spouted from her eyes. ‘Oh Christ, look at that.'

‘Dear me, you have hurt yourself,' said Ludwig. ‘However did you do it?'

‘I told you, I was attacked by an owl!'

Whatever happened, he thought, she must have been pretty drunk not to notice it till now.

‘Ooh, ooh, ooh,' wailed Mitzi. In a moment it would be hysterics.

‘Sit down,' said Ludwig. ‘Sit down, Mitzi. Here, have your whisky, please don't cry.'

Mitzi laid her forehead on the table and wept, trying to grasp her whisky at the same time.

‘What's the matter?'

Ludwig jumped.

Garth was standing in the doorway, his face wet with rain, his hair blackly streaked about his head.

‘She says she's been attacked by an owl. Look.'

‘Better wash it,' said Garth. ‘Move the chair here beside the sink, come on. Where's the disinfectant? Yes, bring that bottle and a clean cloth — Well, find one, look in those drawers. Put the towel round her shoulders. I suppose the water's hot, good. Take that glass away from her, Now stop that noise, please,
stop that noise
!'

Mitzi stopped her wailing. She sat helplessly, looking up at Garth while he bathed the wound, her mouth wetly open and tears coursing down her face. She looked like an enormous baby.

‘The water's very hot,' said Garth, ‘but that'll do it good. Now a clean towel, please, a
clean
towel. Fine. Now you'd better go to bed. Leave it uncovered. It'll be stiff tomorrow. If it looks at all septic go to a doctor. Now off to bed.'

‘We'll have to help her,' said Ludwig. ‘She's rather drunk.'

Mitzi was whimpering again, very softly, almost droning, gazing away across the room and patting the scar rhythmically with her fingers.

‘
Go to bed
,' said Garth. ‘We'll help you. Where's her bedroom?'

‘Next landing.'

Mitzi, holding her glass, was propelled through the sitting-room, towering over her helpers like the image of a goddess being wheeled slowly along. The stairs were difficult, as Mitzi insisted on clutching the glass with the hand which was also holding the banisters. A trail of whisky followed them up.

‘Just tumble her on the bed,' said Garth. He extracted himself from under Mitzi's huge arm, switched the bedroom light on, and then went away down the stairs and closed the sitting-room door after him.

Tumbling her on the bed was not so easy. Ludwig, suddenly left with all her weight heeling over upon him, nearly lost his balance. Then somehow they both fell on to the bed together. Mitzi's elbow descended on to his chest like a pickaxe. Ludwig gasped. The next moment he found himself gripped in a fierce gorilla-like embrace.

It took Ludwig a moment to realize that the big girl was actually embracing him, another moment to discover that struggling was useless. Mitzi was immensely strong. Ludwig tried to raise his knee up between them, but Mitzi's giant arms, like two sinuous tree trunks, had drawn their bodies close together. He felt her panting whisky-laden breath upon his face and then a huge tongue appeared to be licking him.

Ludwig relaxed and said in a small firm voice, ‘Mitzi, let me go,
please
.'

There was a crying sound, as if somewhere a little girl was weeping. Then the terrible grip relaxed. Ludwig, bruised and breathless, fell off the bed. He found he was kneeling beside it. For a minute he had been in black darkness. Now he was surprised to find that the light was on and that he could see Mitzi's large pale freckled tear-stained face very close to his own, all crumpled up with weeping and curiously spotted with blood from the long scar which was bleeding a little. Big hands touched his shoulders gently. ‘I'm sorry, Ludwig. I must be drunk. I'm so unhappy. And that owl frightened me so.'

Ludwig kissed her on the brow. Then somehow he had dug one arm in underneath her neck. He felt the warm vertebrae. He kissed her on her hot wet alcoholic mouth. He got up, dignified. ‘Goodnight, Mitzi.'

‘Goodnight, darling Ludwig.'

He went out and turned out the light. Unless drink sent her to sleep at once he would almost certainly meet her in her dressing-gown later on. God. He had nearly reached the sitting-room door when it occurred to him that he was sexually excited.

Garth had left Ludwig to put Mitzi to bed, not out of any embarrassment which related to her, but because he was afraid his father might emerge and he did not want to be seen with one of Mitzi's arms hung round his neck like a bolster. Thus he would not appear to advantage. And as he had not seen Austin for some time he felt that their next meeting should be initiated with some due solemnity. He had come tonight to see Ludwig.

However when the door closed behind him he forgot Ludwig and Mitzi instantly and was back again in a little street on the west side of New York. It was in the early hours of the morning and he was alone. It was very stupid to be alone in a small New York street in the early morning hours. He had been to a party and had felt such horror of his fellow guests that he had refused all offers of lifts and had set off by himself and found the way back longer than he had realized. He had met a few solitary walkers and eyed them and been eyed by them. A police car kerb-crawled him and then drove away leaving the scene empty. A little later he saw something happening on the other side of the street. Three people were standing there in a group. Then suddenly they were all in wild motion. Two of them were attacking one. It was all taking place underneath a street lamp, brilliantly lit, perfectly clear, theatrical. The two attackers looked like Puerto Ricans, the attacked was a negro. A knife clattered to the ground. Garth saw another knife entering the negro's clothing at his side, heard him scream. The negro, who was not a powerful man, was flailing with his arms and screaming. ‘Help me, help me!' he cried to Garth, and out of the mêlée he seemed to lean towards him like a child starting from its mother's arms. One of the men had gripped the negro's arms from behind and was drawing them back. Number two had picked up the fallen knife and was pulling the negro's shirt at the neck as if he wanted to take his tie off. ‘Help me, help me!' Garth, who had stopped, watched. While number one held on behind, number two had bared the man's throat and, slowly and deliberately searching with his left hand for the place, drove the knife in at the base of the neck, just above the collar bone, where it would go straight into the subclavian artery. Garth saw the knife blade flash and heard one more scream, the last one, before he turned and walked on. He did not run, he just walked at a fast steady pace, not looking behind him, and took the next and the next. After that he walked till dawn.

Ludwig came in, looking rather red. ‘Gee, she's large. I wonder how she did get that wound.'

‘Is my father in?' said Garth.

‘Yes, but he's gone to bed.'

‘Good. Can we stay here?'

‘I guess so. This is Mitzi's sitting-room really, but we all use it.'

‘Your room's upstairs — ?'

‘Yes, next door to your dad.'

‘Then we're better here.'

‘Look,' said Ludwig, ‘do you mind if I just telephone to Gracie. I was going to telephone to ask if I could come round, but now —'

‘Good heavens,' said Garth, jumping up, ‘don't dream of changing your plans for me, especially not at this hour. I'll be off.'

‘Stop,
please
, Garth. I see Gracie all the time, and I've hardly seen you. I'm not staying the night over there, nothing of that sort, it'd just be coffee. Garth, please stay, I
must
talk to you, please. Gracie won't mind.'

‘All right.'

Garth sat, and heard through the open door Ludwig talking to Gracie on the telephone. ‘Yes, honey, I just got back from the meeting, it went on longer than — No, I guess I won't if you don't mind — That's right, I might get some work done — Goodnight, honey pie, sleep well, sweetie puss, yes, darling, and you — there — dear — um — yes — goodnight, little chicken.' Kisses. Click.

Garth noted that Ludwig was already prepared to mislead his fiancée.