by Paul Theroux
‘Nothing. It’s just private.’
Lady Arrow had become calmer, acquired the serene smugness of ownership, though for moments she fell silent, remembered, and laughed. The situation was under control. She sat down, jamming her hips into the chair, and she had the immovable solidity of a householder in her own drawing room, as if her bottom was cemented to a plinth.
Murf said, ‘You better go now.’
‘But I haven’t had my tea,’ she said and motioned for Brodie to bring it. She took the cup and smiled at Brodie over the rim. ‘You didn’t tell me you lived in such a fascinating house.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Brodie.
Lady Arrow drank her tea, smiling between sips.
‘When she finishes,’ said Murf, ‘she’s pushing off. I’m not taking the blame for this.’
‘Dry up, Murf, it don’t matter.’
‘Blame? For what?’ said Lady Arrow.
‘Sneaking around upstairs. Sticking your nose where it don’t belong.’
‘Did I see your precious room?’
‘You wanted to.’
‘What a lot of balls you talk, Murf,’ said Lady Arrow. ‘Brodie, isn’t there anything you can do with him?’
‘Brodie knows the rules,’ said Murf. ‘No visitors. She didn’t want to tell you, so I’m telling you straight.’
Wules, strite: she almost laughed. She said, ‘You came to my house, didn’t you? Did I make a fuss? I’m simply returning the visit, doing the civilized thing.’
Murf had no reply. He glared at Brodie and repeated, ‘She knows the rules.’
‘It’s not even five o’clock. You can’t chase me away so soon.’
‘Maybe when you finish your tea,’ said Brodie. ‘Murf’s right. We’ve got this stupid rule.’
‘That rule cannot possibly apply to me,’ said Lady Arrow. She raised her cup and drained it.
‘Right,’ said Murf, ‘that’s it. You’re finished – out you go.’ He stood up and advanced on her; he was more belligerent in his own clothes – faded jeans, a black jersey, an old waistcoat – than he had been in Brodie’s. He tottered near her, but even standing he was not much taller than Lady Arrow, who was seated.
‘I adore bad manners,’ said Lady Arrow, smiling at him with her long sallow face. ‘Yours are quite terrible, Murf, but I assure you mine are much worse.’ She turned to Brodie. ‘I think I’ll have more tea.’
‘No more bloody char,’ said Murf.
‘Brodie,’ said Lady Arrow, holding out her empty cup. Murf put his hands on his hips and glowered at her. She said, ‘Oh, do sit down and stop being such a ham.’
‘They’re coming back,’ said Murf to Brodie. ‘They’re not going to like this –’
Lady Arrow looked abstracted for a moment, then burst out laughing. Wonderful!
‘– and I ain’t sticking up for you this time. It’s your look-out.’
‘It’s this bloke that lives here,’ Brodie said, turning from Murf to Lady Arrow, who was beaming at the blank wall. ‘He won’t like it if he sees you here.’
‘I’d very much like to meet him,’ said Lady Arrow. Another competitor – who? And what hold did he have? But she was unconcerned. Brodie was slim, with a fawn’s small coy face, and short hair – so awkward and small-breasted she could have been a boy. It was a type Lady Arrow especially desired, the light uncertain body, the clear skin. She wanted Brodie in a boy’s beautiful suit and velvet tie, and to make love to her before an enormous mirror, undressing her slowly and hearing her clamour for breath as she slipped the clothes from her skin.
‘He’s got this bad temper,’ Brodie explained in a monotone, tucking her white arms against her side and hunching her shoulders. ‘Like he breaks things.’
Murf was close to Lady Arrow. He showed her the pegs of his teeth and said, ‘He’ll break your neck, lady.’
‘I’ve got a very strong neck, my boy,’ said Lady Arrow, and she thought: Brike your neck – they can’t hurt me, I own them. She was buoyant. Upstairs she had proven herself unassailable. The boy with dowels for teeth stood near her mouthing threats, but there was nothing more he could do, and she pitied his helplessness. ‘I would love another cup, Brodie.’
‘There’s no more tea,’ said Brodie.
‘Don’t deny me.’
‘Take a walk!’ cried Murf, working his shoulders menacingly.
‘Dear girl,’ said Lady Arrow, ‘I do believe he’s frightened you. But you have nothing to fear – you’ll see.’
Brodie was being obstinate, and Lady Arrow saw she would have to fight to have her – she would win, but she didn’t want to destroy Murf. She hated the way Murf nagged – he looked so silly trying to threaten her with that face and those ears, the scrawny shoulders, the grubby waistcoat. She believed she could have knocked him over quite easily, but she only laughed. Seeing how she was enraging him she rose to give him room.
There were bangings at the back entrance, the slam of a door, the thud and pause of boots.
‘It’s ’ood!’ said Murf, and now he looked desperate. ‘Get out, get out!’
‘Take your filthy hands off me,’ said Lady Arrow. To free herself from Murf’s pushing she simply stood up. Then she was out of reach, and again she felt sorry for him. His anger was so futile. Perhaps it was futility, nothing more, that made him angry.
Brodie said, ‘Please go.’
‘I don’t think I shall,’ said Lady Arrow, but she had barely finished the sentence when she saw the door open and the hawk-faced man enter. He was tall, with stiff black hair and he almost frightened Lady Arrow with his squinting eyes. He wore a black raincoat and black boots, but what disturbed her most was that he said absolutely nothing. Through his posture and his fixed expression of sullen enquiry he communicated threat. She saw him as her equal, and in Brodie and Murf’s cringing she saw his hold over them. But she would not be sent away. This was her competitor for Brodie. She was glad he looked strong, and yet to win was no victory – the advantage was hers. He shut the door and stared at her.
‘I told her to get out,’ said Murf, his voice becoming a quack. ‘She wouldn’t go. Brodie let her in. But don’t worry – she don’t know anything –’
‘Shut up,’ said Hood, without turning to look at Murf’s little gestures, his accusatory leaps at Lady Arrow. Hood bore down on her with his narrowed eyes.
‘This here’s Lady Arrow,’ said Brodie. ‘She’s a friend of mine.’
‘A very old friend,’ said Lady Arrow.
‘You said it.’ Hood smiled.
It took a moment for this to register. Then Lady Arrow straightened: she would make him regret saying that.
He said, ‘Anything I can do for you?’
‘Yes, you can tell Murf to stop accusing me of spying. He won’t listen to me.’
‘He’s just doing his duty,’ said Hood. ‘We don’t want strangers here.’
‘I’m hardly a stranger to Brodie,’ said Lady Arrow, slurring her words to load them with sexual intimacy. ‘But if you insist, I’ll go.’
‘I insist.’
‘It wasn’t Brodie’s fault at all. I invited myself. I didn’t realize you had such strict rules. But I quite understand. Under the circumstances, it would be rather awkward if you had people dropping in.’
‘Under the circumstances, I think you’d better get your ass out of here,’ said Hood evenly.
Lady Arrow smiled. ‘They warned me you were naughty.’
‘Piss off,’ said Murf, standing just behind Hood, seeming to shelter from the gaze of the tall woman.
‘Don’t get excited, squire,’ said Hood. ‘She’s going.’
‘What a pair of monkeys you look,’ said Lady Arrow. ‘But I know you’re perfectly harmless. You wouldn’t touch me.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Murf stepped forward and crouched as if preparing to pounce on her.
‘Easy, squire.’ Then he spoke to Lady Arrow. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘I’d like a word with you
before I go. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’
He told her his name, then he said, ‘I don’t have anything to say to you.’
‘Perhaps not, but that’s beside the point. I have something to say to you. Do you think we could be alone?’
‘No,’ said Murf. ‘Tell her to get out.’
‘Run along!’ said Lady Arrow impatiently. ‘Brodie, be an angel –do take him away.’
Brodie said, ‘Come on, Murf. Let’s go.’
Murf appealed to Hood: ‘Don’t listen to her. I caught her snooping, but she didn’t see nothing. She’s Brodie’s mate – I didn’t want her here, but Brodie said –’
‘Upstairs, squire,’ Hood said softly. He had not moved. He had entered the room and folded his arms; his posture was unchanged, nor had his eyes shifted from the tall woman’s face. Murf muttered a complaint, and he kicked at the floor, but he did not reply directly to Hood. He screwed up his face at Lady Arrow, then turned and swaggered out of the room, still muttering. Brodie shrugged and without a word followed him. Her abruptness hurt Lady Arrow, who until that moment had expected the girl to return with her to Hill Street. She wanted her and she resented whatever hold this dark man had over her.
But she said, ‘How very Victorian you are – what a stern parent. You remind me of my father. You walk in and they flutter like doves. I suppose they accept it because they know so little, but when they know that you have no right to order them about they’ll hate you. I’m sure you don’t understand Brodie at all.’
‘If that’s all you have to say, you can go.’
‘Mister Hood, I believe in freedom.’
‘That’s fine with me, Mrs Arrow.’
‘Never call me that – Susannah, if you like,’ she said, and went on in a different tone. ‘Freedom must be taken, snatched if necessary, whatever the cost. Do you think a woman like me has no interest in such things?’
‘A woman like you is probably interested in a lot of things,’ said Hood. ‘But take my advice – don’t get interested in us. You might be disappointed.’
‘I find all of you fascinating,’ said Lady Arrow. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’
‘Don’t bother. You’re not going to be here very long.’
‘Now you’re being stern with me, and I’m twice your age. Do I know your father?’ She smiled. ‘Really, you shouldn’t take that tone. I’d like you to visit me sometime. I think you’d enjoy meeting my friends, exchanging ideas with them. They have more in common with you than you might think.’
‘No thanks.’
‘I think you’ll change your mind,’ she said with playful malice.
‘Look, sister,’ he said, ‘I don’t think you’re my type. If you’re through you can hit the road.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Lady Arrow in admiration, ‘I wish I could say that like you.’
Hood moved, and Lady Arrow reacted, startled by this slight gesture of Hood unfolding his arms. He took off his raincoat and threw it over the back of a chair.
Lady Arrow strolled to the small fireplace and said, ‘Yes, I think you will change your mind and visit me.’ She selected one of the carvings, an insect worked in ivory, and weighed it in her hand. She said, ‘I’ve been admiring your art collection. It’s really rather beautiful.’
‘Presents from people I happen to like. Put that down before you break it.’
‘They’re hard to get in England – very scarce nowadays. I imagine you were in Asia – they’re the sort of pieces one finds there, aren’t they?’
‘If you say so.’ Hood took the carving from her hand and put it back on the mantelpiece.
‘Brodie and Murf haven’t the vaguest idea. Oh, I’m sure they find them pretty, but they don’t know their true value. Brodie is so sweet. She thinks that brass ashtray is some sort of treasure. That scroll. It’s silk. Ch’ing Dynasty, is it not? It’s late, but it’s lovely. No, they don’t know how valuable things can be. Children are unmoved by sham and humbug. But they are unmoved by sincerity and beauty, too. Such simple creatures – not blind, but so short-sighted.’
Hood was going to speak, to prevent her from saying anything more he agreed with. She had come close to echoing his own feeling in calling them children and defining their simple slowness. But Lady Arrow interrupted him. She said, ‘May I say you are a most fortunate man, Mister Hood?’
‘Your time’s up,’ he said.
‘But I’m not finished!’
‘Now,’ said Hood, raising his voice to insist.
‘Yes, I’ve been admiring your art collection. In these rooms –’
‘Listen,’ said Hood.
‘– and upstairs,’ Lady Arrow went on. ‘That painting. Your little man was awfully cross, but in the event he didn’t seem to know I’d seen it.’
‘You’ve got a nerve.’
‘Not me, Mister Hood,’ said Lady Arrow. ‘It’s you who have the nerve. But I admire you for it. You see, I own that painting. Yes!’ She laughed in long mocking shouts, trumpeting in his face. ‘It’s mine! It belongs to me!’
Hood relaxed; he stepped away and smiled. ‘Which painting are you talking about?’
‘You know! The one in your cupboard.’
‘I painted that myself. It’s called “Death Eating a Cracker”.’
‘It was my father’s. You can call it anything you like.’
‘ “The Widow”, “The Jailer”, “The Saint”,’ he said. ‘It’s just a copy.’
‘The Rogier self-portrait,’ she said. ‘And you needn’t try to deceive me. I can assure you it’s the original.’
‘You’re lying, sweetheart.’
‘No, I’m not. I was ashamed to admit it – it was so valuable. How can you own a thing like that? It was on loan – that got me a tax deduction, for charity, believe it or not. It was so embarrassing I loaned it anonymously. I’ve had so many calls from the curator – he wanted me to make a statement. Weren’t you surprised by the silence? The lack of response? And do you know, I was glad it was stolen! Relieved – I can’t tell you how relieved I was. Now this! It exceeds my wildest dream. It is magnificent!’
‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Absolutely nothing. One can’t be burgled by people one admires. You can trust me, Mister Hood, I won’t tell a soul. I might even collect on the insurance – my accountant’s been insisting on it. You’re welcome to that, as well. I do feel it’s a bit out for you to want to chase me away. You see, when I saw that picture in your cupboard I suddenly realized what a family affair this has all become. I wish I had planned it this way – arranged for someone to steal my own painting. But that sort of thing takes genius. However.’
Hood said, ‘I’m going to check on everything you say.’
‘Do that, Mister Hood. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.’
‘Okay, now beat it.’
‘Not so fast, my man,’ she said. ‘You can’t order me now. You see, your project very much concerns me. I support you! I believe we can be friends at last, and I consider this house as much mine as yours. Frankly, I was rather hoping Brodie would come back with me. She’s not yours, you know.’
‘She’s staying here.’
‘She’ll come to me eventually,’ said Lady Arrow. ‘And you’ll visit me now, won’t you?’
Hood pursed his lips, but said nothing.
‘I’m sure of it,’ said Lady Arrow, and she picked up her handbag. At the door she said, ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am that things have turned out this way.’
‘Keep going,’ said Hood in a flat threatening voice.
He banged the door and locked it, but when he went back to the parlour he clapped his hands and laughed – a yell of gladness, and still chuckling he sat down and waited for Mayo. The picture stirred him from its hiding place at the top of the house.
14
At midnight there was still no sign of Mayo. He wondered if she could be teasing him with her more frequent absences; she knew he was waitin
g and was deliberately hiding herself. She made her inaction secret to give it drama. She was whining in Kilburn over a pint of beer or in bed with an Irishman – for her a political act. She had deceived him over the passport, tricked him into forging one for the well-known actress, whose single attribute, so far as he could guess, was her theatrical ability to alter her face. You had access to a wig, so you were a conspirator. Araba had struck him as hysterical and insincere, a fraud, persuasive only to those who didn’t know the real thing. The trick had made him doubt his own judgement – the victim losing respect for himself when he knows how easily he has been victimized. But he said nothing to Mayo: he would have his own secrets.
He had drawn the cushions to the centre of the upstairs room and he lay on them in his bathrobe, with the cupboard door open wide and the lamp tilted to face the painting. He pondered it and smoked a pipe of Navy-Cut sprinkled with hashish grains. He had a feeling of wealth, the comfortable security of resting in undisturbed solitude. For the moment he wanted no more than this, and the self-portrait only added to his pleasure: now it could not be snatched away; he didn’t need to hide it; the owner didn’t care. It shone on him. Its greatness lay in the way the cubes of colour gathered to match his own mood. It was consoling: it did not reproach him – perhaps the greatest art never did – it exalted the eye. It shimmered with certainty, it was the surest vision, an astonishing light. What Mayo and the others did to enrage him the painting corrected: it was the only solace he had received, this illumination. And like a light it printed a small white star on his retina that stayed to remind and console him long after he turned away.
There was a knock at the door. Mayo never knocked. It was Murf.
‘You busy?’
Hood pulled the pipe out of his mouth and blew a grey-white cone of smoke at the lamp, watching it untangle in the light. ‘Come in, squire. Where’s Brodie?’
‘Watching telly. She thinks you’re narked. She said she’s sorry.’ Murf bobbed nervously and pushed at his ears. ‘I don’t know what that old girl told you, but she’s lying. She didn’t see nothing.’
‘It’s okay. But you can tell Brodie she’s got some pretty hot-shit friends.’ Hood puffed the pipe. He felt high, happy, a buzz inching down his ears like a centipede with sparking feet. ‘Don’t let me catch you bringing any lords and ladies down here, squire, or I’ll have to change my socks.’