Willard (Ratman’s Notebooks)

by Stephen Gilbert

  So I went in for the rats. Then I remembered something else I needed. I went out again and found a stone weighing about three pounds. I put it into the first box where there was a mother rat and about nine young ones. I turned down the wire-netting so that none of them could get out. I tied a bit of old clothes-line round the box and lifted it up. Neither the mother rat nor the children seemed the slightest bit concerned. They were accustomed to me. I carried out the box and threw it into the rain-barrel. Because of the stone it sank immediately. But I didn’t watch. I had kept hold of one end of the piece of clothesline. I left it dangling down the outside of the barrel and went away. After five minutes I came back and hauled up the box. I peered in by the light from the kitchen window. They were all dead. At least I thought so. But I wasn’t quite sure. One of the young ones seemed to twitch a little. I threw the box back in. After ten minutes I came back again. No twitching this time. I carried the box to the hole. I turned up the wire-netting, and standing over the hole shook the corpses into it. The stone fell in too. I had just meant to use the same stone for all the drownings, but I hadn’t the courage to grovel among the corpses and find it again. So I got another stone for the next box. This time there was no sign of life.

  Nine boxes in all. I used a separate stone for each. By the time I came to the last I’d had to do quite a bit of hunting round to find stones of the right size. Otherwise no trouble. I filled in the hole. It was very late. I brought the boxes into the kitchen to dry. Tomorrow I shall make a bonfire and burn them all.

  So now I have no rats.

  I put on one egg to boil for my tea. Usually I have two, but somehow I didn’t feel as hungry as I had earlier on.

  More dreams. All horrible.

  This morning the boxes were quite dry. I made a heap of them in the garden with everything else that had ever had to do with the rats. I stuck in a lot of old newspapers and set the whole alight at three different points. It made a great blaze, but it didn’t last long. Then I went through the house from top to bottom and picked up every bit of rat dirt I could find. Actually I couldn’t find very much. Only Socrates and Ben had had the run of the house and they were both pretty careful. Next I went round sprinkling disinfectant over everything. I couldn’t smell anything myself, but you never know. Someone else might.

  It’s nearly bedtime. I feel content. No rats. No sign of rats. I might be anyone. A bachelor. Still quite young. Left alone since his poor mother died. Recently come into a bit of money. Contemplating matrimony. A good catch for some lucky girl. Of course it’s going to be . . . Well, you know who. All I have to do now is put the question. I have no doubt what the answer will be.

  At about eleven o’clock this morning the Book-keeper and the Senior Traveller, both looking very important, asked me into Jones’s private office—really Father’s old office. Though what right they have to it I don’t really know. After a great deal of beating about the bush, it turned out that they wanted me to take over Jones’s interest in the business. They must know about my legacy. Perhaps Jones had told Mrs. Jones, and Mrs, Jones had told them after the funeral. It doesn’t matter really. There is now no particular reason why it should remain secret.

  At any rate, when they went back to the house after the funeral the future of the business was discussed. Mrs. Jones wanted to sell out. They thought of me. None of the others has enough money to take over. Not that they actually admitted that to me.

  I bet they all think I’m the very person they’re looking for. Not much good at business. Easy to deal with. I expect Mrs. Jones thinks I’ll give more than the shares are worth just for the sake of getting back the family firm. The other two, the Senior Traveller and the Book-keeper, probably imagine that once I become the major shareholder they will be able to do what they like, that I shall be clay in their hands. They think I’m soft. They’ll learn the truth in due course. Or some of it. I shall drive a hard bargain with Mrs. Jones. As for the Book-keeper and the Senior Traveller, they’ll soon see who’s Boss.

  Tonight I took the girl out to dinner. I meant to do the thing well, but the cost, £4 2s. 6d., exceeded my expectations. However, I am now in a position to be extravagant on occasions. Not that I shall be extravagant very often, and I am quite sure the girl would not wish it any more than I should. If I thought otherwise, I should not have done what I have.

  After dinner we returned to the car. I drove a short distance and then turned into a quiet side road. I parked the car under a tree with two wheels on the grass verge. I turned off the headlights, but left on the sidelights (and of course the rear lights) so that no one would run into us.

  I said, “Will you marry me?”

  She said, “Yes.”

  After that I would hardly have known what to do, but the girl immediately kissed me on the mouth. So of course I kissed her. A most delightful sensation, quite different from kissing Mother good night. We continued kissing in this manner, just our lips meeting, for some time, till it occurred to me to put my arms round her and draw her close to me. This proved even more pleasurable, with its intimations of still greater delights to come after we are actually married. We are both agreed that we should be married quite soon. I have left it to her to “name the day.”

  I have taken the girl over to the house. I know she has been longing to see inside ever since we first became friendly. I bet she’s looked at it from the outside often enough, though you can’t see much from the road.

  I made a sort of apology for it before I actually let her in to explain why I had never shown it to her before. I said, “I’m afraid it’s all a bit of a mess and you’ll find the furniture pretty old and decrepit.” This in spite of the fact that I’d gone to great pains to tidy everything up, and that the furniture’s just the same as it always was. I mean, if it was good enough for Father and Mother—and Grandfathers and Grandmothers some of it—why shouldn’t it be good enough for her? I expected her to admire it in fact, but she said nothing. At last I remarked, “I expect you’d like it refurnished from top to bottom.” Our whole future trembled in the balance.

  She answered, “Oh, darling, you couldn’t think of doing that. It would be far too expensive. Besides I’m sure you love these dear old things. They must have so many associations for you.”

  How strangely the mind works. Immediately I felt an urge to get rid of everything, even the house itself. “I don’t care about the associations,” I told her. “When we get married I want life to start afresh. We’ll sell this house if you like and go and live somewhere else.”

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I think it’s a lovely house. I’d hate you to sell it. It just needs doing up.”

  There’s something about the house. It exercises its fascination on everyone who knows it. From the moment Father died Jones longed to possess it. Mother and I lived on the verge of poverty rather than give it up, while later I almost starved myself to keep it from falling into Jones’s hands. The girl was right I might feel repugnance at its associations, but I couldn’t leave it. If we refurnished and redecorated the associations would be banished—Father’s dominance, Mother’s inquisitiveness, her insistence on always knowing where I was going, Socrates whom I had betrayed, Ben who had forced himself on me . . . Paper, paint, and new furniture would sweep away all these ghosts.

  “I’ll leave it in your hands,” I said. “Don’t ruin me. That’s all.”

  “How much can I spend?” she asked. She’s intensely practical.

  “A thousand,” I offered.

  “A thousand?” She looked doubtful.

  I was surprised, but I remembered the fearful cost of everything these days. I had no wish to appear parsimonious. “Two thousand,” I suggested.

  She thought for a moment. Then she threw her arms round my neck. “Darling, you’re sweet. I won’t let it cost as much as that and I think we might get quite a bit back on the old furniture.”

  I am so happy I could sing for joy. A complete new life of freedom and love. The past wiped out as if
it had never existed.

  When I had the bonfire I forgot about the rat-head mask. I must try to get rid of it at the week-end.

  The girl is amazingly efficient. She organizes everything. She arranged with an auctioneer to inspect my furniture. We met at the house during our lunch-hour today. She drove out with the auctioneer. I went in my own car. This was because our engagement is still secret from the staff in the office. The girl thinks it best to keep it so till my negotiations for the purchase of the shares have been completed. That I am about to buy the shares is, however, no secret. As a result, I am treated in the office in quite a new way, that is to say with great respect. If I return half an hour late after the lunch-break, no one asks where I’ve been.

  The auctioneer is quite enthusiastic about my furniture—so enthusiastic indeed, that for a moment my resolution wavered. Had I not made a terrible mistake in agreeing to part with it? Then I looked at the girl and I thought of the new life we were going to have together, a new life in what would be virtually a new house. I saw that I wanted everything to be fresh and clean and bright. I didn’t want to live with her among the old red-plush upholstery, the tassels on the chairs, or to make love in a rattly iron bed, ornamented with tarnished brass knobs.

  “Victoriana,” the auctioneer calls it. He says it has become very fashionable. He is most anxious that the auction shall be in the house itself. Everything will sell better in its natural setting. I’m quite sure he is right. So I agreed at once. There will be one locked room where we will put anything we want to keep out of the auction—my clothes, for instance. “Personal effects,” the auctioneer called them. I had a feeling that at any moment he might refer to me as “the deceased.”

  My negotiations with the Jones family are proceeding smoothly. They are working through a solicitor and, on the advice of the girl, so am I. Also on her advice, I am only offering to purchase fifty-one per cent of the shares now, with an option to purchase the remainder in four years’ time at the same price. As she points out, fifty-one per cent will give me control so that I can fix my own salary. If the business does well the shares will be worth a good deal more in four years, but I won’t have to pay any more for them. If the business does badly, or indifferently, I can leave them alone or else negotiate a better price. In either case, I shall have enough capital left outside the business to allow us to live in reasonable comfort.

  The auction was a terrific success. I had no idea our old furniture was worth anything like as much, and in fact a year or two ago it wouldn’t have been. It’s just that everything we had has suddenly come into fashion. Just one example. The china from the spare bedroom—two basins, two water jugs, two things for holding toothbrushes, two soap dishes, and two chamber-pots—fetched seven pounds ten shillings. The people just seemed to go mad. I heard quite a respectable looking young woman say that the chamber-pots would be used as punch bowls. Well, of course they haven’t been used much, but they have been used . . . I certainly wouldn’t fancy having to drink anything that came out of them.

  I am writing this in the bedroom of my hotel. I locked up the house as soon as the last of the furniture had been taken away, and moved in here. That was about an hour and a half ago. I was afraid to leave the house unoccupied any sooner. I’ve been nervous ever since the first advertisements appeared in the local papers. They seemed to be just asking thieves to break in and steal—specially when you remember that I was away at business all day. I am going to go on living here, or in some other hotel if I find I don’t like this one, till all the alterations at home are finished. I shall move in again before the new furniture is delivered. To be more precise . . . We are going to furnish the spare bedroom first. I shall then move in and occupy it while the rest of the house is being refurnished. On the day of our marriage an aunt of the girl’s will come in and live in the house while we are away on our honeymoon. You just can’t be too careful these days. Of course the aunt will move out as soon as we get home.

  After all I still haven’t destroyed the rat-head mask. So much of my spare time has been taken up with the girl that I never seemed to get round to it. It’s in a locked trunk in the locked room. It’s safe enough there meantime. I’ll have to get rid of it before we’re married. If there was a locked trunk in the house it would be the very thing she’d want to see into. She’d open it somehow or other.

  This morning, at the office of the Jones solicitors, the share transfer giving me control of the business was completed. My solicitor was also present. We handed over a check and in return I received a certificate for the shares. I was then elected a director of the Company and at once appointed Managing Director. The Book-keeper and the Senior Traveller were elected Directors. The Book-keeper was also appointed Secretary of the Company. Mrs. Jones and Miss Jones resigned their directorships.

  Immediately I got back to the office I transferred all my belongings to the Managing Director’s office, i.e., Father’s old office, latterly Jones’s office. As soon as I felt comfortably settled in, I sent for the Book-keeper. I told him that the girl would take over my duties as Cashier pro tem, but that he should make immediate arrangements to engage someone else to fill the position on a permanent basis.

  “Do you not think she could take it over on a permanent basis?” he asked, meaning the girl of course.

  “No,” I said. “That would not be suitable.” I gave no further explanation. He went out looking rather puzzled. This of course has all been arranged between her and me. She will carry on the Cash for a few weeks, till in fact the new Cashier has been thoroughly trained in his job and can carry on alone. She will then give in her notice. On the day she actually leaves there will presumably be the usual little office party with a small presentation from the staff—she hasn’t been in the firm long enough for it to be very large. At this party we shall announce our engagement. Terrific surprise. Congratulations all round. I don’t think anyone has any idea.

  It’s not all fun being Managing Director. This evening the Senior Traveller knocked on my office door about half an hour before locking-up time. I knew who it was almost before he was in the door and looked up with a kindly, but tired expression. “What can I do for you?” I enquired, pleasantly condescending.

  “It’s about this business of being a director,” he said. “What do I get out of it?”

  I hadn’t intended him to get anything out of it. The girl and the solicitor had both advised me to make these two directors, but I hadn’t been a bit keen. I know quite a lot about directors. Once a man becomes director of a firm he gets ideas of grandeur and needs more salary to keep up his new position. It was different for me. In taking over Jones’s position I naturally took over his salary, but all that was wanted of the Senior Traveller and Book-keeper was that they should just carry on. However, the Senior Traveller is very popular with the customers and I didn’t wish to fall out with him in any way.

  “Do sit down,” I said, oozing cordiality, but really just to gain time.

  He sat down. “I just want to know what’s in this for me.”

  I had a frivolous temptation to answer, “Nothing, I hope,” but I fought it back. “It will improve your position,” I told him, “make you more secure.” I tried to think how the girl would advise me to deal with this situation.

  “I’m not worrying about security,” he said. “How much more money am I going to get?” He stuck out his chin and stared at me across the desk. I’d often heard him say that he had determined not to leave such-an’-such a customer without an order. I felt just as if I was one of these customers. I didn’t like it a bit.

  His eyes were still boring into me. I suddenly remembered. Play for time. “I’ll have to think about it,” I replied.

  “How long do you need to think?”

  “Oh! Well I suppose about a week.”

  “All right. I’ll expect an answer this day next week.” He got up and went out.

  It’s not much good being “The Boss,” if you get treated like that. I’ll get
back on him some day.

  The house is coming on very well. The only really big changes are a second bathroom, with w.c., and a door from the kitchen straight into the dining-room. What is making such a difference to the house is the modernization, new bath and basin in the old bathroom, new sink in the scullery, and then everything repapered and painted in light colours. You’d hardly know the house. It looks so bright and cheerful.

  We’ve spent a lot on furniture, but what we got for the old stuff has gone a long way towards paying for the new. After all, I’m not going to be out of pocket more than about £1,400, which is much better than I’d begun to expect. The girl has a real money sense.

  She says she might want to put in a third bathroom later if there are children, but that can wait. We both want children, but we feel it would be tempting Providence to put in a bathroom for them until we know that the first child is at least on the way.

  I had another dream about Jones last night. He said the business was still his. Even when I awoke I couldn’t get him out of my mind.

  I’ve had to give the Senior Traveller an extra hundred a year and the Book-keeper an extra fifty, with the promise of a bonus if we have a good year. If the whole staff start asking for raises my profit is going to be cut. I don’t see why they can’t be satisfied with what they got when Jones was boss.

  I’m moving back home on Saturday. The wedding is this day four weeks. As soon as I get a bit of time to myself I really must burn that mask.

  Back home. Such comfort! We’ve got an immersion heater as well as everything else. Hot water any hour of the day or night. I’m so busy with one thing and another that I’ve no time to write in my notebook. I never seem to be alone. I mean it’s after my usual bedtime when I say good night to the girl. By the time I get home myself I’m too tired to do anything but just fall into bed. She’s going away next week and I’m really quite looking forward to it. She’s to stay with a friend in London, starting on Monday afternoon, and coming back the following Monday. She finishes at the office on Friday. She gave in her notice to the Book-keeper about ten days ago. Of course I pretended to be surprised when he told me. “I thought she was very happy here,” I remarked.