‘I’m not thinking of being an expert or a leader or anything –’
‘Of course not, you see yourself as a servant, the lowest of the low! But an untrained servant not in his first youth is not likely to be much use. You just enjoy picturing yourself in some scene of awful suffering! Aren’t I right?’
‘Why are you being so nasty?’ said Jenkin amiably. ‘I can dream, can’t I? But I am serious about it – somehow – not because I think I’d be terribly good at it –’
‘Then why?’
‘Just because I want to. Of course there’s something in your idea of the “picture”, but that’s peripheral, I can’t be bothered with motives.’
‘I know, you want to be out on the edge of things, you want to live outside Europe in some sort of hell.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think that isn’t romantic nonsense?’
‘Precisely. I mean, I think it isn’t romantic nonsense!’
‘I ask you not to go.’
‘Why? I just said I was thinking about it!’
‘We need you. I need you.’
‘Oh, well – you can all rub along without me, I should think – anyway it’s an idea I’ve got – it’s time for a change – I can always come back I suppose. I think I’ll have a drink after all.’ Jenkin disappeared to the kitchen, humming nervously to himself.
Gerard, seeing his back, the set of his shoulders, the particular way that the tail of his jacket was always so hopelessly crumpled, felt a wave of emotion which almost made him exclaim. He thought, this is no good, I’m not getting anywhere. I’ve bothered him already, and I hate that. He’ll refuse to be serious now about anything I suggest, he’ll just shuffle it off.
Jenkin returned with a glass and a can of beer. Gerard said,
‘Let’s go on holiday together, just you and me, it’s ages since we did that.’ And why is it ages, he wondered, I could have asked him anytime, I could have insisted.
‘You mean a walking tour in the Lake District, sharing a tent in the rain?’
‘No. I was rather thinking of a good hotel in Florence.’ But the tent idea was not unattractive.
‘OK, if I’m still around in the spring. But I somehow think I won’t be. I’ve got that now-or-never feeling.’
‘We could travel together. Go to Australia. Go to Africa if you like, or Brazil. I noticed that Portuguese grammar at Boyars. If you’re determined to go I might come too.’
‘Very kind of you, but you’d hate it, you know! I mean if we went where
I
want. Anyway, I have to go alone, that’s part of the deal.’
‘What deal, who with?’
‘Oh, not with anyone – with myself – with fate if you like – or God, only he doesn’t exist.’
‘So it’s a pilgrimage. That’s pure sentimentality, it’s playacting.’
‘You’re making me say silly things. I just don’t want to be too blunt!’
‘Oh, be as blunt as you like!’
What is happening, thought Gerard, are we going to
quarrel
, or have I been imagining how fond he was of me, have I been quite mistaken? I can’t say the things I meant to say now, they’ve been spoiled, ruined. He’ll think ill of me now, and I can’t bear that, in a moment I shall be pathetic! Or in order not to be pathetic, I shall seem resentful. Which is worse?
‘I don’t think you lot need me all that much,’ said Jenkin in a tentative tone. ‘I’ve always felt like the odd man out.’ He had never said anything like that before.
‘What perfect nonsense!’ said Gerard, regaining a little confidence. ‘You’re central, you’re essential, even Crimond saw this. He said you were the best!’
‘Oh – Crimond –’ They both laughed, though a little nervously.
‘It’s not true that I’m essential,’ said Jenkin, ‘Duncan has
never altogether liked me, Robin was always impatient with me, so is Gull, Rose laughs at me, Crimond thinks I’m a fool. Don’t interrupt me, Gerard. Of course this is a stupid way to talk, but you’re forcing me into it. This stuff about being needed is part of an illusion we’ve kept up all these years. I know I’m talking nonsense and making you angry, because of course there is something close, something unique, and perhaps such things are always partly illusion, partly real. It’s just that I’ve felt the illusion bit more lately, that’s part of wanting to go away. I haven’t been
alone
enough, and that’s because I’ve had to play – that game – which of course wasn’t a game, but – You see, I
must
be alone in the way one can be in what you called hell.’
‘You’re wrong about the others, they treasure you.’
‘Like a mascot.’
‘Rose adores you – but let’s not argue about that – I don’t even care about it – and maybe you’re right that such things are hopelessly mixed up between illusion and reality, perhaps all things are –’
‘What don’t you care about?’
‘Them, the others – well, I do care, yes, I do – and I deny what you said about being odd man out – but I could do without them.’
‘You know, Gerard,’ said Jenkin, staring at him at last, ‘I don’t think you could! You’ve been supported by them all your life. You’ve
liked
being chief among us, why not, the cleverest, the handsomest, the most successful, the most loved – and it’s true you have been these things, you still are – but you do depend on it or something like it, and I don’t. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m not thinking of going away because I’ve discovered that nobody loves me! I’m just chucking out your argument about I mustn’t go because I’m needed. I’m not needed. It’s you they all look to, it’s you they all depend on, and so –’
‘They –?’
‘Well, we, I’ve depended on you too, as you know. That’s another thing I’ve got to get away from. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Everything I’m saying now can be misunderstood,
I wish you hadn’t started this conversation, I
hate
this sort of conversation.’
‘You’ve got to get away from me?’
‘Yes, but it’s nothing personal, Gerard! It’s just part of wanting to be properly by myself. I’ve begun to feel I was kidnapped in my cradle, kidnapped by a group of the dearest best people in the world, but –’
‘I’m sorry it’s nothing personal! It isn’t – excuse this, but since we’re being so frank – it isn’t that you’re jealous of the others, or imagine that I’m closer to them than to you, because if that’s it you’ve got it very wrong –’
‘No
, that’s not it! Really, Gerard!’
‘Sorry. I seem to be making rather a mess of some things I wanted to say to you.’
‘Well, I think you’ve said them and no harm’s done, so let’s leave it there.’
‘I
haven’t
said them, I’ve given the wrong impression –’
‘Let’s change the subject.’
‘Do you want me to go?’
‘No, not unless you want to. Please yourself.’
‘Jenkin!’
‘I don’t understand what all this is supposed to be about, and I suggest that we leave it! There are plenty of other things we can talk about, serious things and nice things – I didn’t mean to be short with you – I’m sorry –’
‘I’m sorry. May I start again?’
‘Oh Lord – if you must!’
‘I don’t want you to go away and I beg you not to go away. I need you,
you
, and not anybody else. I love you, I need you –’
‘Well, I love you too, old man, if it comes to that, but –’
‘Look, Jenkin, this is serious, it’s the most serious thing in the world, in my world. I want to get to know you better, much better, I want to come closer to you, I want us to share a house, I want us to live together, to travel together, to
be
together, I want to be able to see you all the time, to be with you – I want you to
come home
– you’ve never had a home – I want you to come home to
me
. I’m not saying this is possible, I’m telling
you what I want, and very very much want – and if you consider what I say and understand it you’ll see why it is I don’t want you to go away.’
There was a moment’s silence. Jenkin stared at Gerard, not exactly with amazement, but with a bright, even radiant, open-mouthed open-eyed attention. ‘Gerard – is this a proposal of marriage?’
‘It’s a declaration of love,’ said Gerard in a testy irritated tone, ‘and well, yes, if you like it’s a proposal of marriage. I expect you find it all a bit quaint, but since you use the phrase –’
Jenkin began to laugh. He rocked. He put his glass down on the tiles of the fireplace and leaned forward, one hand on his ribs, the other pulling at the neck of his shirt, he wailed with laughter until his mouth and eyes were wet, several times he tried to check himself and say something, but the words were overtaken by another paroxysm of mirth.
Gerard watched him sternly, dismayed, but glad that he had managed at last to make something like the clear coherent speech which he had intended to utter. As soon as he had spoken he felt an immediate freedom, an open space, a connection with Jenkin which had been lacking before. That utterance gave him, in his increasing disarray as he watched the effect of his words, a feeling of warmth.
Jenkin at last became calmer, mopping his eyes, his lips, his brow with a large torn handkerchief liberally stained with ink. ‘Oh dear – oh dear –’ he kept saying, and then, ‘Oh Gerard – I’m so sorry – will you ever forgive me – I’m a monster – how can I have laughed like that – it’s disgraceful –’
‘Did you actually hear what I said?’
‘Yes – every word – I took it all in – “come live with me and be my love” – and I’m so
grateful
, I’m so
touched
– I feel really – humble, privileged – you quite overwhelm me!’
‘Cut that out.’
‘A proposal – and sex too? Oh Lord!’ He began to laugh helplessly again.
‘Why not,’ said Gerard, now cold and frowning, ‘but that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter. I’ve said what I mean. I don’t
know you very well, Jenkin, I want to know you better, I want our friendship to become closer –’
‘To blossom like an old dry thorn tree?’
‘But since you find it so overpoweringly funny I’d better take that as an answer and take myself off. I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you, and I shall be very sorry if later on, when you think about it, you find what I’ve said offensive. I daresay you’ll find it ridiculous enough. I hope this curious little episode will not in any way affect the friendship which we have enjoyed so long and which you just now described as an old dry thorn tree.’ As he said this Gerard got up and reached for his damp overcoat which he had draped over a chair.
Jenkin leapt to his feet. ‘Oh but I won’t, I don’t, I can’t find it offensive or ridiculous or – or –
anything
like that – of course I’m so
flattered
–’
‘I daresay you are,’ said Gerard putting on his coat.
‘But – and – you know – of course our friendship is affected, it’s deeply affected, it can never be the same again.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Don’t be sorry, please understand, if you wanted us to become nearer together, well, we’ve come, don’t you see? Shock tactics do things, they break barriers, they open vistas – I’m very sorry I laughed –’
‘I liked your laughing,’ said Gerard, ‘but I don’t know what it meant and I doubt if it’s a good omen for me!’
‘Don’t go,’ said Jenkin, standing where he was by his chair, with his radiant attentive face on which the wrinkles and tears of laughter could still be seen. ‘Oh dear – how can I say it – something here is absolutely
all right
– Why is one so shy of using the word “love”?’
‘I’m not. Perhaps you won’t go away – leave us – leave me?’
‘I don’t know. But don’t worry. I’m very glad that you said all that. You won’t regret it, will you?’
‘I hope not. I expect we’ll talk again about all sorts of things, those serious and nice things you mentioned earlier.’
‘Oh yes – but about these things too – and please – don’t be – don’t feel – Look, Gerard, stay here for a bit, will you? Let’s just sit quietly and look at each other and calm down and have
another drink and listen to the rain. My God, I think I need some whisky after this!’
At that moment, as they stood gazing at each other, there was an extraordinary banging sound. Someone, not finding the bell in the darkness, was pounding on the door with a fist, producing a loud echoing noise. Jenkin sprang across the room and out into the hall. Gerard followed him, instinctively turning on the centre light. He saw, beyond Jenkin, in the now open doorway, a strange figure, which he remembered afterwards as like a tall thin utterly bedraggled blackbird.
It was Tamar, bare-headed, her hair, darkened by the rain and disordered by the wind, covering her brow and cheeks with a dark network, her long black mackintosh shining with water, her arms hanging empty-handed by her sides like broken wings. As she stepped or staggered in Jenkin gripped her and held her. Gerard moved past him to shut the door against the downpour.
Tamar, released by Jenkin, slipped off her coat which fell to the floor. She began slowly, as if every movement were exhausting her, to draw back her dripping wet hair from her face. Jenkin picked up her coat, then materialised with a towel. Tamar began mechanically to dry her face and hair.
Gerard said, ‘Tamar, Tamar! What is it? Were you looking for me?’
Tamar, not looking at either of them, said, ‘No, I want to talk to Jenkin.’
Tamar’s skirt, stained with water, was clinging to her legs. She turned toward Jenkin and seemed about to fall stiffly into his arms. He supported her, then began to propel her into the sitting room.
Gerard said, ‘I’d better go.’ He waited another moment.
Jenkin, at the sitting room door, said, ‘Goodnight then, my dear, we’ll talk again, just don’t worry –’
Gerard went out into the rain, closing the door behind him. He had no umbrella and no hat. He was ridiculously annoyed at having uttered his silly assumption that Tamar must have been looking for him. He walked along with the rain soaking his hair and running down his neck. He was extremely
disturbed by his talk with Jenkin and very sorry that he had not been able to stay longer and, as Jenkin had so wisely suggested, simply sit quietly together. He could not make out what had happened between him and Jenkin and whether it was a good move or a disaster. He felt a separate and sharp pain simply at having had to leave Jenkin’s presence. This was new. He felt a new kind of dread. He tried, as he walked along the pavements where the light of the lamps was reflected in streams of water, to drive away his sudden forebodings and hold onto Jenkin’s laughter as onto something good.