“I suppose not.”
“This is the first time you’ve touched Glonda since we added the balloons.”
“Yes, I’ve had other things on my mind. Please go back to bed.”
“That tower will collapse if an enemy as much as whistles at it.”
Springing up from the sofa Colin screamed, “Leave me alone! Get to bed will you?”
Bill’s pale face grew slightly paler but his expression did not change. Without moving he said, “I worry too when she’s out all night.”
Colin stared at him. Bill said, “I know it’s depressing but one develops a certain tolerance.”
“Have some tea Bill,” said Colin. He filled his empty mug and handed it over. They sat side by side, the boy sipping and watching while the man deftly completed his tower, carried it to the table and fixed it in place.
“Our war plans have been languishing for some time,” said Bill.
“Yes, I really have had a lot on my mind.”
“Well is there any point in waiting for the fifth of November? That’s what I want to know.”
Colin folded his arms, considered Glonda then said quietly, “You’re right. There’s no point in waiting. We’ll destroy it now.”
“We? Aren’t you going to defend it?”
“Not me,” said Colin pacing round the walls. “This is an evil city which has grown great by conquering weaker people outside. But now she has sunk into decadence and corruption. Her defences are neglected. Her balloons are out of gas. This is our opportunity.”
“Who are we?”
“Brilliant but neglected scientists who belong to the exploited outsiders. Carefully, in the secrecy of an abandoned coalmine, we have invented and constructed two aeroplanes. Take this one.”
A recently assembled model Messerschmitt lay beside the Spitfire on the bookcase. Bill took the Messerschmitt grumbling, “There’s no oil on this planet.”
“None, but the engines of these planes are fuelled by alcohol – distilled spirit – a discovery which only a genius like you, Herr Professor Bill Belfrage, could possibly have hit upon.”
“I think someone ought to defend the city,” said Bill though Colin’s purposeful manner had begun to excite him.
“Our planes can carry only one bomb at a time,” said Colin taking books from the shelves and carrying them to a corner, “and since we have only managed to make six of them each bomb must be made to do the maximum damage. We must circle the entire city while picking our target and choose it carefully. I will strike from the north …” (Colin laid down three books with the Spitfire on top then strode to the diagonally opposite corner) “… you will strike from the south.”
“Are three bombs each enough?”
“Your three will be enough. I am giving you Plato, Rousseau, and the most potent explosive known to mankind – Hoffman and MacKinlay’s Outline of Educational Theory. Down on your knees man! Remain in hiding until you receive my signal.”
Bill, trembling with excitement, knelt in the corner with book in one hand and Messerschmitt in the other. Colin went to the window, pulled back the curtains and looked out. In dark-grey light the tiny garden was still indistinct. He looked at his watch and sighed
then turned to the room and said quietly, “Twenty past six. Dawn has not yet broken over the doomed city’s final day as, weakened by a night of debauchery, she writhes in uneasy slumber. But from beyond the horizon (get ready for your first flight Bill) from beyond the southern horizon there slowly rises –”
“Let’s have music like in the pictures!” shouted Bill.
“Good idea,” said Colin. He went to the radiogram and looked along a stand of records murmuring, “Holst’s Planets Suite? Trite. Wagner? Equally trite. Why should destruction be sombre and strenuous? It is building and keeping things up which is strenuous. Destruction should be gay, don’t you agree Bill? All things built get knocked down again and those who knock them down are gay.”
“Hurry up with it!”
Colin fitted a disc onto the turntable, set it turning and after a couple of trials held the end of the arm above the groove he wanted. He said, “I’ll provide the commentary. Don’t drop your first bomb before the music starts, then I’ll drop the next bomb. Where was I?”
“The debauchery bit.”
“Weakened by debauchery Glonda writhes in uneasy slumber until gradually, from beyond the southern horizon, there slowly rises, very slowly Bill, the hitherto undreamed of shape of a deadly aircraft, the first this planet has ever seen! Warily it approaches the fortress city and circles her titanic battlements. A few sleepy sentries observe with wonder as she carefully selects her target. Have you done that? –”
“Yes –”
“BLITZKRIEG!”
Colin lowered the needle into Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. Bill, stalking round the big table on tiptoe holding his plane as high as possible, threw with the other hand a book which rebounded harmlessly from the central tower. Colin rushed to the other corner, lifted a volume with both hands and hurled it with an accuracy which brought down the central tower and several others.
“You aren’t using your plane!” screamed Bill.
“In this phase of warfare all rules are abandoned!” cried Colin shying two more books which destroyed great sections of wall and burst some balloons.
“Then I’m getting more bombs!” screamed Bill, hurling the remaining two and rushing to the shelves. “Throw them spine first you idiot!” roared Colin.
“I’m NOT an idiot! You’re the idiot!” screamed Bill. Taking a heavy atlas he walked round the table, deliberately using the spine to hammer down anything that stood up. He was sobbing breathlessly, Colin thought from exertion, until Bill dropped the atlas, sat down, hid face in hands and wept. Colin realized Bill was sorry Glonda had been destroyed. He switched the record off and went to him across a carpet scattered with blue, yellow and white wreckage.
“Sorry Bill,” he said, sighing and patting the boy’s shoulder, “sorry about that.”
Bill became as silent as if he too had been switched off. Mavis was in the room.
She stood with hand on hip, the other gripping the strap of her shoulder bag, on her face the look of a disapproving schoolmistress. She said, “What are you two crazy infants playing at?”
“War games,” said Colin.
“I’m not surprised at anything you do Colin but I thought Bill had some self-control.”
“I couldn’t sleep either,” said Bill.
“Hm! And now I suppose you both expect me to make a great big breakfast. All right. I will.”
She went to the kitchen.
“She’s not angry with us,” Bill assured Colin in a whisper before following her. After a while Colin followed too.
13
The males sat side by side at the kitchen table while Mavis made omelettes. Bill said, “Will you build another city to knock down?”
“No. It takes too long.”
“What will we do now?”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
“Do you know what our trouble is Colin Kerr?” said Mavis. “We don’t have enough fun together.”
“I’m bad at fun.”
“Well I’m going to teach you to be good at it. We’re going to have a party.”
“What a great idea!” shouted Bill. She said, “Don’t fool yourself Bill Belfrage. This party will only start when you are tucked up in bed.”
“A party,” said Colin, pondering.
“Yes. You must have friends, Colin.”
“I have friendly acquaintances – colleagues, mostly.”
“Invite them and we’ll make them drunk on doped whisky. Dull people can be quite entertaining when they’re drunk.”
“A very bad idea.”
“I was joking Colin! But I know how to make an innocent-tasting punch with a kick like a mule. And what about your father?” she asked, setting plates before them. “I bet Gordon knows how to enjoy a party. And there’s Clive �
�� Clive Evans, you know.”
She sat facing him. He stared at her. She nodded back and said, “He’s great fun – socially I mean. You’ll like him.”
“You’ll let me come to the party Colin? Please Colin?” Bill pleaded.
“No!” snapped Colin. He laid down the cutlery and shut his eyes feeling too tired to think or speak. He heard Bill mutter, “I had almost decided to regard you as a friend, but you act like a friendly sea-lion with unexpectedly vicious traits.”
He heard Mavis say, “It’s strange that you and I have never been to a party together, Colin. I used to go to so many.”
He felt her hand touch his, despised himself for the comfort this gave yet relaxed for a quarter minute into something like sleep then wakened and quickly breakfasted because he must wash and dress for work. As he ate she suggested it should be a dinner party for ten – she could easily make a meal for ten – all Colin need do was ask his father and any six others he liked one Saturday evening a fortnight hence. That would give her plenty of time to prepare. Colin neither objected nor agreed to these suggestions but when he left the table she obviously thought the matter settled.
14
A week passed before Colin asked his father and some other people to the party. Mavis no longer went out at night. Perhaps she met Evans during the day. Since Evans had a job this could only be during his lunch hour, so the nature of her affair had changed and Colin hoped it was maybe dying of natural causes. The party would show colleagues that he and Mavis were living as husband and wife. The Welshman would see this too so when Evans left the party with the other guests his affair with Mavis could decently end. Colin considered suggesting this to Mavis but decided against making a selfish remark while she worked so hard to make him happy. As the party neared she grew more and more domestic, cleaning and tidying the house as his father had done, beautifying it with flowers and candles as his mother had never done. The Kerr candlesticks had been for decoration only but Mavis used them to light the dining-table which had once supported Glonda. Each night she placed there a different, surprisingly tasty meal. Colin showed appreciation by doubling her housekeeping allowance.
“I suppose I deserve it,” she said, kissing him. He decided he need fear nothing from Evans and persuaded Mavis to let Bill stay up for the meal if he went to bed immediately after.
On Saturday afternoon Colin drove into town with a shopping list written by Mavis for more wines and spirits than he thought necessary. She had made him promise not to come home before five because that would spoil a surprise she was preparing. He guessed the surprise would be something she wore so decided to surprise her back. Visiting a gentleman’s outfitter he changed his dark pullover and knitted tie for a red waistcoat and scarlet silk cravat. When he entered the living-room she laughed and said, “You peacock, you’ve outdone me.”
“O no,” said Colin, staring at her. She looked dazzling in white silk pants and white velvet tunic patterned with seed pearls, silver beads and minute mirrors.
“That must have … cost … a lot,” he said hesitantly.
“If you mean did I buy them out of my earnings as a street-walker the answer is no. You’ve never seen all the treasures packed in the cases I drag from lodging to lodging, Colin Kerr!”
“What’s a street-walker?” asked Bill looking up from a comic he was reading. He too was sprucely dressed with well-polished shoes and neatly combed hair.
“I’ll tell you one day when Colin isn’t here – Colin’s easily embarrassed. But Colin, look around! Isn’t the room lovely? Doesn’t the dining-table look inviting? Won’t your colleagues envy you for having such an efficient, loving, beautifully dressed, beautiful mistress?” Colin nibbled a nut from a dish of them on the bookcase and said, “Yes there dawns on me, waveringly, the notion that I will enjoy this party.”
“Of course you will, and Colin!” (she laid a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with a girlish little pout) “I’ve a favour to ask – why are you grinning?”
“When you’re extra cheerful then ask me a favour it’s usually for something I hate to do.”
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for me?”
“Probably not.”
She put her hands behind her back and said slowly, “Well I thought you, me and Bill would have a nice little snack together just now, and after that you might drive over to Comely Park which is where Clive – Clive Evans – lives and bring him back. You see he hasn’t a car, this place is hard to find by bus and … well there would be time for the two of you to go to a pub and have a pint together – before the other guests arrive, I mean. But of course you needn’t have a drink with him if you don’t feel like one. But I think you’d enjoy his company.”
“No,” said Colin.
“What do you mean?”
“I won’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Bill,” said Colin, “Mavis is going to make us a snack. Wash your hands please.”
“Are you two going to have a boring emotional storm?”
“Get lost Bill,” said Mavis. Bill pulled a face and went out leaving Colin and Mavis facing each other.
In a dangerously quiet voice she again asked Colin why he would not go. He replied in a voice which in his own ears sounded absurdly rational and laborious. “Mavis, I do not dislike Evans because he is your lover. In that he has my sympathy because I would like to be your lover. And it isn’t impossible for me to meet him at a party and say the meaningless things people say to each other at parties. But I refuse to treat him as a friend to satisfy either your vanity or convenience.”
“What a small tiny shrivelled ungenerous …” (she paused and grinned mockingly) “… mind you have!” He stared back at her and then sat down. She walked forward and back saying, “What do you suggest I do? I’ve told him to expect you. What do you suggest I do?”
“Phone him and tell him to come by taxi.”
“You do it. It’s your idea – not mine.”
“No.”
He employed his agitation by picking up Bill’s comic and staring at it blindly. After a few more aimless steps Mavis folded her arms and said, “I’ll explain why I arranged for you to pick him up. He didn’t want to come to this bloody party. He thought you would hate him because of me. I told him you were above such petty feelings. I said you would prove it by giving him a lift.” In a very low voice Colin said this showed that Evans understood and respected his feelings more than Mavis did; she should phone Evans, tell him she had been wrong and apologize. She flushed red and cried, “Phone him and tell him I’m ..! What about the party? What sort of time will I have here without Clive, with only you and your friends and your father to talk to? Nobody kind? Nobody who loves me?”
“Our guests,” he said with hard clarity, “will be decent, reasonable men and women.”
“Unlike me, you mean. Tell them I may be rather late as I’ve gone to pick up a friend. There’s a piece of meat in the oven. It will be ready by eight if you don’t burn it.” She strode to the door. He jumped up crying, “If you take the car you’ll have plenty of time to get back before the guests arrive!”
“I’ll certainly take the car,” she said and left.
Half a minute after the front door was slammed Colin heard Bill say, “I suppose I can come back now that people have stopped shouting. Have you a pain there?”
Colin, looking down, noticed his hand was pressing his midriff and was surprised to feel tension there. He nodded.
“It goes away when she comes back,” Bill told him. “Will we look at the meat?”
But Colin knew nothing about serving a complex meal. He phoned his father and asked him to come earlier to help with an unexpected snag, then he went upstairs and changed his clothes for less festive ones.
15
Gordon was the only guest who did not find the party perplexing. The rest expected Colin to be less taciturn than at college but between short spasms of small talk he was more so. He had not told them he was livin
g with a woman yet the place had a feminine look. His father (who they met for the first time) served the meal with eager assistance from a small boy who said he was Bill Belfrage and that his mother had gone to fetch a friend and would turn up eventually.
“Her movements are sometimes slightly erratic,” he explained.
“Bill Belfrage!” said Doctor Schweik thoughtfully. “In my psychology class last term I had a student called Mavis Belfrage. Your mother perhaps?”
“Yes!”
“A good-looking woman who asked interesting questions but, as you say, was a little erratic. Who has she gone to fetch?”
Bill looked at Colin who seemed listening for a sound outside the room. Schweik repeated his question. Colin said, “I think he’s called Evans.”
“Evans? Clive Evans? He used to sit beside Mavis in my psychology class and he too asked interesting questions. I look forward to meeting them once more.”
The other guests knew each other almost as little as they knew Colin. Schweik became the star of the party because he could talk with little or no help from others. After the meal three guests gave reasons for leaving early, the rest gathered near the fire. Bill, refusing to go to bed, dozed on an armchair with his hands in his pockets.
“For years no one has been a more radical critic of the system than myself,” said Schweik, “but an extended bureaucracy is no answer to the problems created by a bureaucracy.”
“I’m glad you said that. It so definitely did need saying,” said another lecturer who was inclined to fawn on Schweik.
“That was a lovely piece of meat Colin,” said the other lecturer’s wife.
“These ego-powered rebellions change a few superficial details and leave us with even more unwieldy superstructures,” said Schweik. “Colin will agree with me.”
“I’m trying to keep an open mind,” said Colin.
“Do you see a solution?” asked the other lecturer.
“None, because I see no problem. Our societies are shaped by technological evolution, the only effective historical manifestation of the human will when religion fails. Since the shaping process is often painful many feel compelled to exclaim and proclaim and campaign, especially in democracies where crushed worms are permitted to wriggle. But nobody is being badly crushed in comfortable little Britain where the Labour Party draws its strength from the support of the trade unions.”
Mavis Belfrage Page 4