A Girl in Winter (4 page)

There was a faint cracking, and the dentist stopped the drill to fit in another head: Katherine could see the size of it even from where she sat. The small gas-fire was
burning
her legs, but she did not move them away.

The drilling started again, and the little quavering moans. This time there was a definite crackling sound, quite audible. One of Miss Green’s feet lifted a second from the iron foot-rest, then was jammed back again as quickly.

“Will you wash your mouth out,” he said, ceasing. With a push he sent the drill back to its former position, like the sketched-in shape of a hooded bird watching the scene. Miss Green bent over the bowl, a glass of water at her lips, not at all as she had drunk at the fountain. As she spat out the fragments of the filling she slobbered ludicrously, and was instantly self-conscious, trying to break the hanging thread by feeble spitting movements, searching for the handkerchief that was in her bag, and at last clumsily catching it away with her hand. Katherine quickly crossed to her and put her own handkerchief in her lap. She took it blindly.

In the meantime the dentist was busy in a corner with a hypodermic syringe. Miss Green was watching him, and when she had collected herself sufficiently, asked

“Are you going to take it out?”

“Pardon?”

“If you are going to take it out, I want gas.”

Her voice sounded on the edge of tears. The dentist advanced a few steps.

“Gas?” he said in his flat voice. The sleeves of his white coat did not quite cover the cuffs of his jacket.

“Yes, I want gas.”

“I can’t give you gas.”

A short silence.

“Why not?”

“I can’t give it you. My assistant isn’t here, she doesn’t come on Saturdays. I can’t give you gas without an
assistant
.”

“But I want gas.”

“Pardon?”

“I must have gas.”

“I can’t give you gas.” He stood looking down at her, holding the syringe. “My assistant isn’t here. I am not allowed to administer total anaesthetic without an
assistant
present.”

He sounded as if he were speaking into a telephone.

“But I can’t——”

“An ordinary injection will do as well,” he said, not heeding, “The pain——”

“But——”

Miss Green’s voice broke in a sob. With the filling of her tooth broken down, she sounded near hysterics, as if she might scream. Quickly Katherine said:

“But surely you could?”

“Pardon?”

He turned, head dropped, to face this new attack.

“Surely you could give her gas. Dentists often do, on their own.”

Her own voice sounded unnatural, raised to penetrate his deafness. He said slowly and bad-temperedly:

“Pardon me, but they do not. If——”

“They——”

“No ordinary dentist is allowed to administer total anaesthetic, without a qualified nurse or doctor in
attendance
,” he said loudly.

“But surely it doesn’t
need
two people,” she argued, striking from a new quarter. “Surely you could do it.”

“A local anaesthetic is all I can give,” he repeated crossly, turning from side to side as if at bay.

“But why? What are they afraid of?”

He would not answer.

“There is no danger of heart failure, or that sort of thing. No danger at all. My friend has had gas before——”

He was silent, turning the syringe irritably in his hands. Miss Green was collapsed in the chair, seeming to pay no attention. The tap in the bowl clucked occasionally.

“There is really no danger at all. She has had gas before. But she is very sensitive—an injection might—that is, she might faint or——”

Whether she was speaking the truth or not she did not know. But she wanted desperately to move him, to make some contact. As it was, she could not even be sure he heard what she was saying.

“Well, I have told you the law, that is the law I have to obey,” he said, refusing to add any more to the
argument
. Curiously, he had not grown more human during the exchange: once more the image of arrested
development
occurred to her as he stood outlined against the window. She had no idea what he might say or do next.

“But we never imagined there would be any trouble,” she said, refusing to let the matter drop but carefully
keeping
her voice below any tone that might offend him.

“It’s the law—the law of
this
country,” he snapped. She took heart at this insult, knowing it to be a sign of defeat.

“But what are we to do? Surely, now you have started —now you have got so far——”

“I can’t waste any more time,” he grunted. He turned on Miss Green. “You have had gas before?”

She gave an almost inaudible assent. There was a silence.

Suddenly he put down the syringe and said: “All right,
will you come into the other room.” His anger—if his semi-articulate abruptness had been anger—had sunk out of sight without being dissolved or forgotten: as he
collected
a few instruments together and led the way he was breathing through his mouth. As they followed,
Katherine’s
triumph suddenly flagged. They passed through the blank doorway that had remained locked, and found themselves in a small, permanently blacked-out room, dingier than the first. A dentist’s chair stood in the middle of the floor, with a washbowl and a few appliances, but there was no drill. In a disused rack on the wall were half a dozen old instruments, rusty and disused: in one corner were the long gas cylinders on a trolley. He gave this an impatient tug so that it rolled up silently behind the chair, and shut the door.

Miss Green took less kindly to this room than to the last. She stood by the chair, lifting her hands and dropping them; when he gestured that she should sit down, she balanced on the edge of the seat, and had to manoeuvre herself into the proper position by degrees. Most of the time she kept her eyes shut. The dentist filled a glass with water and dropped a tablet into it, which sank furiously to the bottom. There was no chair in here for Katherine to sit on, and she backed up against the wall.

He had finished his preparations, and turned towards Miss Green.

“You had better take your glasses off, and your
necklace
.”

Uncertainly her hands crept to the back of her neck, unfastening a thin gold chain which drew into sight a small cross. This and the spectacles he laid aside.

“Now lie back, rest your head back, and fold your hands.”

She lay back.

“Fold your hands.”

She did so.

He put a roll of cotton wool in her mouth, then propped her jaws open with a sort of rubber gag. Unhooking the small, cupped, rubber mask, he twisted a small wheel slowly with his left hand. The needle on a dial gave a spasmodic flicker. “Breathe in through this,” he said. Her eyes flew to it. It hid her mouth and nose. “Breathe in slowly. That’s right. Keep on breathing in.” There was a hush, that might have been the tiny sibilance of the gas. The dentist’s voice continued, thick and expressionless. He did not remove the mask. It was impossible to tell whether Miss Green was conscious or not, but the gas seemed to be going on for many stretching minutes. The needle on the dial kept moving unsteadily. Katherine wished he would turn it off.

Yet when he suddenly hooked the mask back onto the trolley, and reached into the open mouth with forceps, gripping the tooth horizontally, she felt an upswerve of terror lest the girl should still be half-conscious but unable to move or speak. Her head stirred as he first pulled, and he put his free hand on her forehead, rumpling her hair, before giving another dragging wrench in the other
direction
. Katherine could almost feel the pain exploding beneath the anaesthetic, and nerved herself against a shriek. It seemed impossible for the girl to feel nothing. As the dentist levered and wrenched again, the muscles in his wrist moved, and as he withdrew the forceps she thought he had failed until she saw the long root in their grip, bright with blood. He dropped it in a silver casket, then tweaked out the wet and bloodstained roll of cotton wool, and removed the rubber gag.

These he put aside and stood watching her.

Katherine watched her too. Without her spectacles her face looked young, perhaps twelve years old, and quite peaceful: there was no hint in it of petulance or distress. She did not look at all the same: this was the face she had once had, but now had nearly outgrown, a face she would
have soon quite outdistanced, that perhaps only her parents would remember. Her hands were still folded, as in prayer or death. She did not come round. The dentist picked up the golden cross, which swung to and fro in the electric light so that it flashed. The water in the glass had quietened to a deep crimson; Katherine found that step by step she had moved right up to the very arm of the chair.

The voice of the dentist broke the silence.

“It’s all over,” he said.

Miss Green’s eyes were open, expressionlessly.

“It’s all over,” he repeated. “It’s all right now. Would you wash your mouth round.”

Slowly her hands began unclasping. She sat up, slowly, grasping for the arms of the chair. Her mouth seemed to move in a smile, or to speak, and a sudden thin stream of blood ran down her chin.

Katherine lived in Merion Street, though she had not said as much to Miss Green. She lived in a room on the top floor above the chemist’s shop. Therefore when she got Miss Green out into the street again, she suggested they went up to her room, where Miss Green could rest.

Miss Green gave her to understand that she agreed, but she was not in an articulate condition. They had gone down the stairs one step at a time, Katherine holding the girl firmly round the waist: Miss Green’s eyelids were drawn almost completely over her eyes, and the expression on her face was as if she had swallowed something decayed. Her footsteps were not steady.

Katherine hardly thought of the fact that to visit her room fell in with her own plans. Most of what she had been
thinking had been wiped away in the last half-hour: she felt she had given Miss Green a bad time, yet it was hard to know if she could have suggested anything better. She was still desperately eager to help her. Outside the chemist’s she propped her against the wall like a piece of valuable china, and hurried in to buy aspirins; then they pushed open the street door and began climbing the stairs. It was an old-fashioned building, with extinct gas-brackets on the walls, and no light on the narrow flights: carpets gave way above the first floor to linoleum. As they climbed higher, the walls looked bare and deserted, until on the top
landing
they emerged onto plain boards, an empty
packing-case
that had once held chemical glassware, a single door with a spring-lock, and a little room, at the end of the passage by an uncurtained window, that held a sink, and had been converted from a primitive laboratory to a primitive kitchen. It held a cooking-stove.

An electric-light connection hung from the ceiling, but there was no bulb in it.

Miss Green leaned against the banisters while Katherine found her key and pushed open the door onto inner
blackness
: they creaked slightly. A bottle of milk stood outside, and the door jammed momentarily on a letter that had been thrust under the door. These things she carried in and put down on an invisible table. A moment later daylight spread from a window inside and revealed a room beyond the door. Katherine reappeared anxiously.

“Come in,” she said.

Miss Green detached herself from the banisters and moved like a sleepwalker through the doorway. Katherine helped her into a small easy-chair with wooden arms, and put a pillow behind her head: this was too big, so she fetched a woollen cardigan instead. She had no cushions. Miss Green’s head rolled unstably, and then settled; Katherine shut the door and lit the gas fire, turning it up as far as it would go. She felt Miss Green’s hands, and they
were cold, so she brought a rug off her bed and spread it over her knees. Miss Green stirred feebly as if in protest. Katherine stood up, and began to set the room in order. She felt surprised it was so untidy.

The attic was under-furnished, which made it look large: the ceiling sloped towards the window. On the side of the room opposite the door was a step up to a little curtained alcove—a doorway with no door—where there was a bed. Here she kept her clothes. In the main room were two tables—a square kitchen table, with the remains of her breakfast on it, and a small thin one along the wall, littered with all sorts of oddments—and also a large
store-cupboard
, two straightbacked chairs, the chair Miss Green was in, and a stool on one side of the fireplace.

Several shabby rugs overlapped each other on the floor, dingy enough to have been ejected from other rooms of the house. The window had no curtains except those of heavy black-out material. Over the mantelpiece a few cheap
postcards
were pinned to form a semi-diamond, and the
mantel-shelf
was piled with empty cigarette boxes. On the
side-table
there were five or six books.

When Katherine had cleared up the surface disorder and made her bed, she lit a gas-ring fitted to the gas fire, and poured some milk in a blue saucepan to boil, absently licking the cardboard top of the milk-bottle. Then she carried the breakfast things out to the sink, and washed those that were not greasy in cold water, bringing back a clean cup and saucer. She looked at Miss Green. The fire was beginning to warm the room.

“I’m making you some hot milk,” she said.

Miss Green turned her head from side to side, as if seeking to evade a dream. She said nothing. Her face was pale, almost yellowish.

Katherine felt really rather alarmed. Obviously the best thing for her would be to go home, but equally obviously she was in no state to go. If the visit to the dentist was
going to make her ill for a few days, and it had surely been disastrous enough, there was no use in her staying here for an hour or two: it would mean taking her home by taxi. That would be expensive. Perhaps she ought to go downstairs and ask advice of the chemist. Since she had forced Miss Green to the dentist, instead of letting her go home as she wanted to, all the responsibility fell on her that otherwise Miss Green’s mother would have borne: really she ought not to have interfered. But since she had, it was up to her to do what she could despite the trouble and expense.

But perhaps she would improve with resting.

When the milk boiled, she poured it into the clean cup, holding the skin back with a spoon. Then she unsealed the bottle, crushed two aspirins, and stirred them in.

“Here’s your milk,” she said.

Miss Green did not reply. Katherine looked at her doubtfully, and stood by her with it.

“Don’t you want it?”

Miss Green murmured something, shifting her head, and her eyes half-opened and shut again, like a doll’s that is lifted and then laid back. Katherine knelt beside her and brought the cup to her lips.

“Drink some,” she said.

Miss Green put out her lips, and took a sip; in a moment she took another, then licked her lips as if discovering there an alien taste. She breathed more deeply. At last she brought up her hands and took the cup herself, holding it against her shallow breast.

After five minutes she had drunk about half of it.

“Do you feel better now?”

“I——” Miss Green’s voice was hoarse: she cleared her throat. “I don’t feel as sick as I did.”

“Did it make you feel sick, then?”

“That, and the”—she hesitated—“the taste of blood.”

“Finish it up, and you’ll soon be all right,” said
Katherine
, vastly relieved. She walked away from her,
smoothing
her hair back over her ears, and suddenly came upon the letter lying by the opened milk-bottle on the table. It was quite obviously from Robin Fennel.

It was not that she hadn’t noticed it the first time, but her mind had been so unreceptive that it had simply glanced off. Now it returned to exact its full impression. She picked it up with a hand that trembled slightly,
noticing
that it bore no stamp and an anonymous
field-postmark
. Her name and address were written in Robin’s sloping handwriting, that had scarcely altered at all since he had written to her six years ago: each character was given its full shape, very occasionally two words would be joined carelessly, but never two words that did not look well when joined. It did not feel as if there were more than one sheet in the envelope.

She laid it down again. So here it was.

She would open it, of course; but not now, not while Miss Green was here. Though she thought she had
prepared
herself enough for its arrival, now she held it she was shy of opening it, as if it contained examination results. For in a sense it would be the verdict of the Fennels upon her. For whatever Robin said, it would be less his own
individual
opinion than the present attitude of the family put into his mouth. If he suggested that she visit them, she would know that they would like to see her again; but if he said no more than his mother—surprised you’re in
England
, why didn’t you tell us, hope you’re getting on all right—she would know similarly that on the whole they preferred to keep her at arm’s length and that she had done wrong to write. This letter would settle it one way or the other. Her forehead rested a second on her right palm, then her fingers trailed away through her dark hair. She shook her head.

“Some more milk?—do you like milk?”

“I can drink it,” said Miss Green, looking like a crippled child in her rug.

“I thought it would warm you,” said Katherine,
hesitating
with the saucepan.

“Yes, I’ll have some more. Only I get a lot at home. Mother thinks it builds me up.”

Katherine took the cup and tipped the last of the milk into it. Miss Green took it with a sigh.

“How do you feel?”

“Oh … better, I think. I don’t feel I could walk yet, though.”

“No, of course not. Stay as long as you like. Would you like to take your things off?”

“No, thank you.”

Miss Green put her small nose into the cup again. Katherine sat on the stool by the fireplace, where she could not see the letter.

“Fancy you living in Merion Street,” said Miss Green after a while. “I had an uncle in business here once.”

“Oh yes,” said Katherine vaguely.

There was a pause.

“Have you lived here long, then?” said Miss Green, presently.

“All the time I’ve worked here, yes. It was all I could find.”

“Oh.” Miss Green considered this. “I thought you’d have lived in a hostel, or something.” As Katherine did not say anything, she went on: “It’s nice to have a place where you can bring people.”

“I’ve no-one to bring,” said Katherine, scratching the parting of her hair with one fingernail. “You’re the first visitor I’ve had.”

“Oh!” Miss Green stared at her with her mouth slightly open. “Not really?”

“It’s quite true.”

“Don’t they allow it, then?”

“Oh, they allow it, I suppose. I just haven’t had anyone to bring.”

“I expect you go out to other people’s—it’s different when they’ve their own houses.”

“No. I mean I don’t know anyone.”

Miss Green stared as if Katherine were trying to deceive her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know anyone—apart from the people at the library, of course.” She smiled at the expression on Miss Green’s face while she was digesting this.

“Don’t you go out at all, then?”

“Not often. Usually I go to bed very early. Sometimes I go to concerts or films.”

“Don’t you dance?”

“I can dance, but I don’t.”

Miss Green considered her as if this was really too much to believe. Talking, Katherine thought, might do her good. Her face was already showing signs of animation, but she still had a yellowish look.

“Oh, but you must know
somebody
!”

Katherine refused to take up the implication.

“I don’t know anybody here at all.”

“Then somewhere else?”

Katherine gestured. “I did know one or two people in London, but I’ve quite lost touch with them now.”

“Who were they?”

“People I worked with.”

Miss Green was silent.

“Pardon me asking, but how long have you been in England?”

“Nearly two years now.”

“You speak it awfully well, really. I mean, people would hardly know except for——”

“I learnt it at school, of course.”

“But you hadn’t been to England before?”

“Well, I had once, I suppose.”

“When?”

“Six years ago.”

“You mean you lived here?”

“No, I came for a holiday.”

“All alone?”

“Yes. I stayed with a family I knew.”

“Well, don’t you know them any more?”

“I suppose I do,” Katherine admitted. She moved her head as if her neck hurt her.

“Do they live round here?”

“No, in Oxfordshire.”

“My grandfather lived there,” said Miss Green. “What was their name?”

“Fennel. The father was an auctioneer.”

“Fennel,” said Miss Green. “I wonder if he’d remember them.”

“They’re still there,” Katherine said. To speak of them made them more real, brought them into line, as it were, with the letter that lay on the table. “I haven’t seen them since I came to England.”

“Do they know you’re here?”

“Yes, they do now. I’d almost forgotten about them. But I was in the Reading Room looking for the time a film started, and I saw something about them in a births and deaths column. It was pure chance, because I don’t ever see a newspaper, hardly.”

“What did it say, then?”

“Well, there was a daughter called Jane. She wasn’t married when I knew her. Her little girl had died.”

Miss Green shook her head in an incomprehending way that meant she was sorry.

“So I wrote, just to say the usual things.”

“Were they friends of your family, then?”

“Oh no. That was the queer thing about it. I got to know them when I was at school.” Since this seemed to
interest Miss Green, Katherine began explaining. “There was a scheme we all joined to improve our English. The idea was, you sent up your name, address, age, nationality, what you were interested in, and what language you were learning. Then they put you in touch with someone. Oh yes, and you had to put how much your father earned. Did you ever do that?”

“Oh no,” said Miss Green, rather offendedly. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

“Oh. Well, that was the scheme. You were supposed to write to each other in the other’s language, and correct each other’s letters, if you were really keen about it. All they did was take your money—there was a charge, though I’ve forgotten how much—and then put you in touch with an English boy. We all said we wanted boys, of course.”

“And you mean—your father and mother didn’t say anything?”

“They didn’t know till the letters came, unless you told them.”

“How funny,” said Miss Green, meaning it seemed hardly decent to her.

“We were very excited for a week or two. But it took so long to get started, we’d nearly lost interest when the letters began to come. And our English-teacher tried to make us do it properly—she asked to read the letters out in class, and that kind of thing. That took all the fun out of it. Most of us wrote a few times and then lost interest. One girl pretended she had stopped writing, but she hadn’t. It was a day-school, so the mistress could never find out. They used to write each other love-letters.”