Mahoney left the Courthouse at four o’clock that Friday afternoon and got into his hot old box Chev and ground into the queue of hot cars driving down the hot tarmac road. He drove slowly down to Suzie’s surgery. There were the office girls going home, pretty pink girls with panties wet with sweat round the crotch and wedged up wet and sticky in the cleft of their buttocks, smelling at least of meat round there, not sweet and fragrant like the women’s magazines pretend. And he thought: and after the passion has been spent inside them, when you’re lying hot and sticky and enervated and sexless beside them in the awful emptiness of passion spent, what then? Reality. Reality of the sun in the sky shining down on you and there is nothing left, but kidding yourself all over again, till you want it again. Go out to the Club or down to the pub and after a couple of beers you begin to feel better and there is something to talk about again, something. It can even become good fun, even interesting on your fifth beer, and you can look forward to it again. But then there is tomorrow again and the sky and the sun and the horizons and eff-all else but the reality of passion spent. And he saw the office men and women emerging from their offices and driving back to their flats and homes in the suburbs, this side of the horizons, and to their clubs and pubs en route, and he thought: they will do this every day until they are sixty years old, and so will I. And he waited suspendedly for Suzie to emerge from her office so that he could forget the thought in the proximity of her, in the comfort of the relief of having her, so that he thought only of tonight.
‘Where are you going?’
‘For a drink,’ Mahoney said.
‘But it’s a bit early to start drinking. It’s only five past four.’
‘What else is there to do?’
‘Go to your place and have tea.’
‘And?’
‘And talk.’
‘About?’
‘What do you mean, what’ll we talk about?’
‘Well, what is there to talk about?’
‘Same as what other people talk about. Why should we be so different!’
‘Maybe I am different.’
‘Oh Joe! What’s the matter?’
‘I’m sick of spending my time going for drinks, that’s the matter.’
‘But you suggested going for a drink.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why did you suggest it?’
‘Because what else is there to do?’
She sat back silent. ‘Well, let’s go and look at a flat. Mrs. Smythe in my office, her sister-in-law is having a baby and they’re giving up their flat and she says she’s sure we could get first option.’
Mahoney drove on.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘are we going to look at this flat?’
‘We’re going to have a drink.’
‘I thought you were sick of doing nothing but drinking.’
‘That’s right. But when in Rome, you’ve got to do as Romans do, or else you go up the wall.’ He pulled up outside a hotel.
‘Aren’t we going to look at the flat?’ she pleaded, ‘—something constructive.’
‘After we’ve had a drink.’
After the first drink she put her hand on his knee.
‘I’ve read about how you feel. People often panic when they’re about to get married.’
He did not say anything, he did not really know how he felt himself, so how the hell could she know? After the second drink he began to feel better again. She was. beautiful with long smooth tanned legs. He thought of her white breasts, of her soft flat belly and her long naked back. He thought of having her there safe and loyal beside him in the mornings when he woke up, of having her clicking round the flat in the evening in a diaphanous nightie as she brushed her teeth and brushed her hair before bed, he thought of Sunday mornings when they lounged around all morning reading the papers together. When he thought of those things he felt the relief of surrender to security again. Oh what the hell, he thought, why worry and struggle against whatever it is? And he began to be happy with her again.
‘One more drink then we’ll go and look at the flat,’ he said kindly.
And she picked up his vibrations and she was relieved and happy again.
It was a nice flat. Two bedrooms and a lounge cum dining-room. Anywhere in the world it would be a good flat for a young couple. Suzie was delighted.
‘We must go and fix it up with the agent tomorrow,’ she said excitedly.
‘Flats aren’t easy to get,’ Mrs. Smythe’s sister-in-law said, ‘as fast as they put them up they’re full.’
‘You can work on your book in the spare room and I won’t disturb you,’ Suzie said.
As the woman moved away she leaned closer to him: ‘And I’ll be just through the wall waiting for you when you come to bed.’
‘It’s got a lovely view,’ said the woman.
She pulled back the lounge curtains. The flat was on the eighth floor of the block. The lights were coming on in the city, far below.
‘And a balcony!’
‘Yes, a balcony. And you get the sun most of the day.’
‘Isn’t it a nice flat?’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said.
‘And it’s only a few minutes’ walk from the Courthouse. And only a few more minutes to my office.’
‘Yes,’
‘My fiancé is an advocate,’ Suzie said proudly.
‘Oh,’ said the woman, impressed.
As the woman turned away Suzie said: ‘While you’re writing I can lie out here in my bikini.’
When the woman was out of earshot, Suzie said: ‘And we can have our wine and chicken on Sundays out here and not a soul can see us.’
He felt the sweaty security of Suzie and the sun and the wine and he felt happy.
‘We’ve got to give two months’ notice,’ said the woman, ‘and we’re giving it at the end of the month. When are you getting married?’
Suzie said: ‘We’ll probably arrange it to fit in with the flat.’
When they got back below to his car she said: ‘What d’you think?’
‘It’s a nice flat.’
‘Shall we take it?’
‘I think so. But we’ve got a week yet before they give their notice, let’s look around.’
‘But I don’t think we’ll find a better one.’
‘Let’s go and have a drink and some skoff somewhere and we can talk about it.’
When they were having their drink she said: ‘Joe. You do want to marry me, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’ And he meant it.
‘I’m good for you,’ she said, ‘I keep you reasonably on the straight and narrow, I look after your food, I don’t interfere with your writing as long as you don’t take out too much of your irritability on me and furthermore I love you and you know I would never be disloyal to you.’
‘I know, Suzie. Your third gin is going to your head.’
‘In vino Veritas,’ she said. ‘Oh! – it’s a lovely flat. Well,’ she said, ‘I’m going to see the agent tomorrow. You shouldn’t be worried by such things.’
And he felt Suzie close to him, beautiful loyal Suzie of the long legs, and he saw, felt Suzie in that flat, Suzie in the morning doing her long gold hair, Suzie organising Samson, Suzie telephoning the grocer and ordering food and plenty of wine and beer, Suzie lying naked in the sun on the balcony warm and slippery and glistening in olive oil, Suzie’s wide red moist mouth smiling happily and lasciviously in the sun, Suzie tiptoeing into his study while he was writing and pressing her breasts against his shoulder and her face against his cheek. Suzie jacking up the movie tickets, Suzie arranging the parties and accepting invitations, Suzie being very proud of him, Suzie standing between him and all outside irritations, Suzie sliding into his bed at night and twisting herself around him. Forever, it will be Suzie, Suzie giving him everything, beautiful Suzie. And he would never have to fret and struggle and resist again. He would never wake up on Sunday mornings feeling worthless and empty and besotted again. And she wo
uld give him a family and he would become immersed in happy stable respectability and go from strength to strength, he would in due course become Attorney General thanks to her for being a good wife and stable influence, and they would mature in prosperity together and look back upon successful lives together.
They thought and talked about these things together over their drinks in the pinks and greens and inbetweens of the cocktail bars and they got very warm and loving and grateful towards each other and the world was very safe at last. And they went on to another cocktail bar and they laughed and made jokes and they drank more and danced and they had dinner and champagne and got rather drunk and very happy and then they went to his flat. And without bidding she bent her arms up behind her back and unzipped her dress and slid it off over her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She unhitched her stockings, fiddle fiddle front and back and she peeled them off and she looked steadily into his eyes the whole time she did it. Then she put her hands up behind her back again and unhitched her bra and slipped it forward off her shoulders. She stood still looking at him for a moment then she took a step towards him and stretched out her arms and brought his head down on her.
‘Come, my love. My love, my love, my brooding love.’
She kissed him long on the mouth and then while she kissed him her fingers went to his shirt and undid the buttons, and then his tie and she pulled it off him and then she stood on tiptoe and pressed her breasts against his chest while she kissed him. Then she took his hands and pulled him to the bed and she leaned over him and brushed her breasts over his face and pushed her nipples into his mouth and then her fingers felt for his belt and they made love.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next day was Saturday, the last week-end of October. Saturday, oh Saturday, the best day of the week, the end of a week of heat and work, jolly good show. Hangover tomorrow, but no bloody office, chaps. Nooners at Club and pub, a few beers and gin-slings until closing time at two-thirty – then go home and, well, you know what. A bit of Rhodesian P.T. See you later at the Club, see you later at the Jonas’ party, good show, it’s going to be a whirl, I hear. Too bloody hot to play golf but maybe meet you at the Clubhouse.
Saturday. Leave the office at eleven-thirty, down to the Sheridan for a few cold ones waiting for Suzie to come by from her shopping. ‘The town’s like the madhouse, I couldn’t get parking within four blocks – Phew! Ah Suzie! – The most beautiful thing in town, have a drink my love, what the hell. You know Pete and Mike and Sarah, sure you do, what’ll you have, a cold one? What’ve you got us for lunch?
Lunch. The desultory sounds of Suzie padding round the kitchen in her shorts and bare feet fixing lunch, the bottle of Lieberstein in the fridge getting good and cold, the paper napkins and cutlery ready and waiting on the two occasional tables, sitting in swimming trunks on the verandah overlooking Fort Street and thinking beautiful thoughts on your sixth cold beer while Suzie pops in and out reporting on lunch. Don’t hurry lunch, Suzie, come and relax and have a beer. Switch off the oven and get into your bikini and sit down out here and relax. That’s right. Bring two more cold ones while you’re up. Good girl, darling. I’ve had some red hot sure winner ideas for my book sitting out here. This book’s going to be a best bloody seller, you know that? It’s bloody brilliant, that’s the only way to describe it. Brilliant. I think bloody well on Saturdays. You’re a beautiful girl, Suzie. You’ve got the best pair of titties in the whole flat world. And the best pair of legs. Take off your bikini top, darling.
Saturday morning, the last Saturday of Suicide Month. Mahoney woke at seven o’clock – the sounds of Samson in the kitchen making coffee. Saturday. Every Saturday from now on, for ever. The sun was pressing down on to his bed out of the mercilessly blue sky, not one wisp of cloud. The sky was hot and empty and it went all the way to infinity. Seven o’clock in the morning and he was sweating under the single sheet. The room was white and dry and he knew the parquet floor was warm. He remembered the flat they had seen the night before. It was a lovely flat with a wonderful view. A view of the hot flat town and the flat brown horizons. And after a while your own horizons became circumscribed, flat and brown too, only you don’t realise it because you have nothing to measure horizons by except the long flat brown one though the window and the cushy aristocracy of the Club and the cocktail bars. A big fish in a small pond, big fishes all of us, the pigmentocracy. And Suzie will have a baby and then another and another and for ever after you will be a big fish in this pond and you will never know any other pond except once a year when you drive down to Margate for your holidays. And every Saturday will be like this, nooners at the Club and pub and wine in the sun. And Mahoney wanted to start running down to the sea.
At eight o’clock Suzie drove him to his office. She said: ‘Shall I go and see the agent about that flat?’
‘We had better wait,’ he said.
Later they lay naked and panting on Suzie’s bed in her boardinghouse, thick with the sun and the wine, but his mind was very clear in the calm of passion spent. She stared at the ceiling, numbed from the words she had heard, believing but not daring to believe, and her heart breaking and crying out.
‘Et tu, Brute,’ she said dully. ‘That’s the only bit of Latin I know. That and in vino veritas.’
He said nothing.
She sat up quickly. She pulled on her shorts and blouse. She sat down on the armchair and rested her chin on her hand and stared out of the window.
‘For God’s sake go, then. Give up your bright job. Give up being a big fish in a small pond. Go and widen your horizons. Escape the quagmire of suburbia as you call it. Escape me.’
‘Suzie, it’s not you. It’s marriage.’
She shrugged and didn’t look at him.
‘Oh yes, it’s me all right. It’s me. I’m not big enough to contain you. I just think you’re wonderful, I just admire and applaud you, but I don’t keep up with you. I can’t. I’m just an ordinary simple girl who wants a home and babies and who’s quite happy to let you get on with running the world. I’m just a nice little suburbanite at heart and you’re not. I’ve been kidding myself I’m all right for you, that we can be companions like you want a woman to be. But the only way I give you anything is by getting drunk with you and having these orgies.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is. Half your dissatisfaction with the way of life here is because that’s the only way of life a dreary suburbanite like me can offer you.’
She sat perfectly still, her tanned legs crossed, resting her forehead on her hand and she looked at him with blue sphinx eyes.
‘What if you’re pregnant?’
‘I don’t think I am. But even if I am it would be folly to marry you. I’ll go away and have it and keep it and call myself Mrs. Joe Soap.’
She sat still, waiting for him to go.
‘Please go now. Where is your courage? You’ve always wanted to escape this quagmire of suburbia, so have the courage to do it. Go but don’t come back unless and until you’ve found out what it is you want, or whether you are in fact a real bum.’
‘Suzie.’
‘Yes?’
‘I love you.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
He stood, not knowing what to do, not believing that it could all be as simple and devastating as that. He wanted to cry out in loneliness and fear and in pain for hurting Suzie and also himself.
‘Please go.’
‘All right. Good-bye Suzie.’
She continued to sit still, her head supporting her chin, looking past him across the room. ‘Good-bye, Joe.’
So there was nothing more to do, just walk out of her room and go.
He closed the front door and started walking down the steps. He heard one loud stifled sob from behind the door. He stopped and listened but there were no more and he walked on down the stairs. The street was empty and hot and bright and dull and dusty under the sunshine. He climbed into his car and it was hot and the seat burned hi
s bum. He drove down to the Victoria and he drank a row of cold Lions and there were tears in his eyes. At eight o’clock a hand tapped his shoulder and he turned and there were Max and the boys and he did not get back to his flat until two o’clock in the morning. There was a girl in his bed when he woke up and he had a hangover which only another row of cold Lions at the Club would cure.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
November was very bad. It was the month of waiting, waiting for the rain to come, waiting for the cattle to die, waiting to leave. In the hot flat city of Bulawayo it was very dry, but there was beer. Out there in the brown horizons there was no beer, and the earth was hot and hard and bare, bare-arsed hard-arsed baked dusty gritty bare and as hot as all hell and no grain left in the grain huts and the cattle and the goats which the wise men and the strange black gentlemen from the city had said should not be sold stood thin and weak with their heads hanging down and then many lay down under a naked thom tree and they never got up and their bones pressed up against their hides. And the men whom the wise men and the strange black gentlemen from the city had advised found that there was not enough to eat and they packed their little goods in bundles and they set off on the long hot roads to Bulawayo to look for work, and they came to Mzilikazi and Mpopoma and Tshabalala townships there on the fringe of the brown horizons outside the white man’s town and they sought out their tribesmen and their relatives and friends who already were accustomed to the ways of the city. They shared the blankets of their tribesmen and their porridge and every day they went out into the city and they looked for work. They walked the hot wide streets of Bulawayo and they went to the back of the shops and the offices and they climbed the blocks of flats and they waited outside the factories, but there was not enough work, not nearly enough.
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