‘Take your bikini off.’
Naked in the sun in the secret spaciousness of the tall warm green grass, drinking wine, talking, laughing, stroking, feeling, the little transistor singing, flaunting maleness and flaunting femaleness, long sucking kisses, tasting of wine and a little bit of salt, trailing fingertips, playing, rosy with the sun and the flesh and the wine in the tall warm grass, the taste of her flesh and her wide mouth on my mouth, the sweet joy of depth, of sucking flesh, the long slow revel glowing in the sun and the wine, waiting, tantalising, enjoying, stopping, starting, lingering, sipping wine in the sun. Then picking a chicken, hot succulent meat, roast potatoes in fingers, smeary mouths and long sips of wine and beer, then the long animal loving, long legs splayed and interlocked, hips twisting and pounding. Then the long surfeited animal sleep, drugged by love and the sun and the wine.
And then the awakening, the late afternoon, thick with sleep and the sun and the wine, sexless unsexed reality. The brown horizons and the curtainless windows and Suzie’s faraway stare, and the silence again.
‘Why haven’t I had a baby? Then we would have to get married, we’d have to accept each other. Why haven’t I conceived? I’ve tried hard enough.’
Sad, anxious Suzie, worried about getting her baby before it’s too late.
‘I’m going to have a baby.’
Suzie determined. Fussing in the kitchen every night, cooking up an exotic meal – feed the brute. Candles and a tablecloth every night, seductive Suzie coming on to my half of the double bed every night, Suzie with her thermometer taking her temperature every morning, counting days, Suzie telephoning me at the office and suggesting we drive home for lunch so we could make love, Suzie lying very quiet and still afterwards, with her legs raised on a pillow to retain her baby.
And why couldn’t I make the decision for myself?
‘I’m going to get my own flat in town,’ she said, ‘I must make a new life for myself—’
I always let her go, I never held her hand and made her stay.
Oh! Why didn’t I?
Suzie’s bachelor flats in town. The sad empty pretences of making a new life, a home, her own curtains, her own mats, her things spread out along the window-sills. Suzie vowing she was going to stop seeing me, Suzie telephoning to tell me anything important. Suzie telephoning me just to say hello. And my empty house emptier, the evening more silent. Putting my toothbrush in my pocket and driving into town to Suzie’s flat. The relief of her familiar sleeping form against me, the fretful impermanence of waking up in the morning knowing tonight we do not share a bed.
‘This can’t go on. We must make a clean break.’
‘Yes.’
But it went on. The clean breaks lasted a week. Then the weekend, Friday afternoon after Court, Come and have a drink with me, Suzie. The silent week-end stretching ahead, the empty house on Sunday quiet and empty and sultry, crying out for Suzie’s footsteps.
‘Come, Suzie.’
She came, with her things in her week-end bag. Friday night, party night, happy to be together. ‘We get on so well when we don’t see each other every day.’ Saturday mornings, the early African Sunrise, the grass dewy in the big garden, Suzie singing in the kitchen, going shopping in the village, eggs, bacon, sugar, coffee, biscuits, chicken, wine, Suzie humming while she shopped. Sunday morning early morning tea in bed, sharing the newspaper: then the wine in the noonday sun. The drugged sleep – reality. Driving Suzie back to her flat. Sitting silent in the car.
‘Here we are.’
And another week gone. And nothing solved. The unnaturalness of carrying her bag inside, switching on the lights in the dark flat, opening the windows. The unnaturalness of parting.
‘Good night, Suzie.’
Suzie standing in the middle of her little flat. ‘Good night, Joseph.’
Kissing her once, the look in our eyes: this can’t go on. Good night, Suzie. Turning to the door, looking back,
Suzie standing in the middle of her flat, her things on the window-sills.
No promises of phone calls, no dates, nothing said. Driving back to the empty dark farm on Sunday nights.
This can’t go on.
This can’t go on. But it went on. The High Court circuits, the escapes, thinking: next month I go away on circuit for six weeks, we won’t see each other for six weeks, we will break clean then. Suzie’s faraway eyes thinking: next month he goes away on circuit, when he comes back I won’t let him back into my life. Driving away on circuit, the problem shelved for six weeks. Six weeks of sweat, everybody wanting to get home to Salisbury, the Judge, myself, the registrar, the shorthand writer. Six weeks. Six weeks of driving around a jungle three times the size of England, looking forward to getting home. How many cases left, how many Court days?
Circuit Sessions drawing to a close, the last week, the last day, the last case, the last witness, the last judgment. The last party, the last handshake from the Mayor, the Magistrate, the District Commissioner, the Commissioner of Police, the open road. The relief, the excitement, the open road, the small towns, stop for a beer, driving on through the bush, thinking Suzie, Suzie, Suzie. Happy as I drive over the last range of hills, and there is Salisbury. Irresolution, excitement, pleasure, the long silences forgotten. Driving to Suzie’s flat, looking up at the windows. Yes – the light burning! Drive home Mahoney, drive home, have guts, go back to your dark empty house, have the guts to pay the price for wanting a soulmate – but soulmates don’t matter when your heart is breaking for your mate. Running up the stairs to Suzie’s flat, knocking on the door, breathless, waiting for her footsteps. Footsteps coming, the door opening.
‘Joseph!’
Oh, the laughing and the hugging and the kissing, the joy, all good intentions forgotten. It went on.
‘High Court circuits,’ she said. ‘That’s why I haven’t had a baby, you’re always in Umtali or Gwelo or Fort Victoria when it’s the right time for me to get my baby—’
Circuits, homecoming, Friday night parties, wine in the sun on Sundays. The pretences, the attempts. Taking a girl to a movie, seeing Suzie at the movie with a man. ‘We’re finished Joseph, we can’t go on.’ Meeting the boys for a sundowner on Friday at the Long Bar: I saw your ex out with a chap last night, is it really all off between you? Lying awake at night, wondering, imagining, hating, loving. Getting drunk, jealousy. Getting drunk, driving round to Suzie’s flat, the windows in darkness. Jesus! Waking up in the morning in the big empty house – the mornings are very bad. Driving the long way round to the Courthouse, so as to pass her flat. Weeks and months. Seeing her at restaurants, in cocktail bars, at night clubs, nodding to each other across the room, our hearts in our eyes.
‘Suzie?’
‘Yes?’
‘We’re going to try again—’
‘We’ve tried a dozen times.’
‘Who is this chap, what does he mean to you?’
‘Who are all these girls I see you with?’
‘They mean nothing.’
‘He means nothing.’
‘Suzie, I’m picking you up at the office at five.’
Silence.
‘Suzie!’
‘All right, Joseph.’
Another Sunday in the sun, another six Sundays in the sun.
The shock.
Suzie sitting upright in the chair, very sober, very still, her long legs crossed, long golden hair down, very groomed, very beautiful, talking very quietly. My car parked outside her flat hot from the two-hundred-mile drive from Fort Victoria, the dust of the long hot road still on me, my books and my robes and my suitcase still in the car. Shocked, the fear pulling at my guts, believing only too well.
‘It had to come, Joseph. You’ve been back a year, it’s been on and off for a year, it’s been both our faults. But love has been dying. Love must be nurtured, not starved and pulled about, torn apart.’
Standing fiercely in the middle of the room, anger and jealously and fear.
‘But do you love hi
m?’
She spoke carefully.
‘Yes. Not blindly, passionately, restlessly like I loved you. I love him calmly, soberly, I’m grateful to him.’
‘Grateful!’
‘Don’t mock me Joseph. Yes, grateful. He accepts me for what I am, he doesn’t want me to be any different, he doesn’t make me feel stupid, he makes me feel confident, he makes me laugh and I make him laugh, we share things. And he wants to marry me as I am.’
‘But you’ve only known him for five weeks, for Chrissake, how can you love him?’
‘Five weeks is long enough when it’s the right person. I understand now what you mean when you talk about soulmates. Somebody who feels with you. He is my soulmate, he feels with me, I feel with him.’
Jesus. Outrage, disbelief, jealousy. That she could even think about another man was emotional adultery, let alone stop loving me.
‘Jesus.’
Suzie sitting very still. Legs crossed, her chin on her knuckle, speaking evenly as if rehearsed, as if justifying herself.
‘I’m entitled to happiness, Joe. We’ve been unhappy so long. We don’t make each other happy except in bed. We’re happy for a little while, then we get claustrophobia, or you do. Brian makes me happy. And I want a baby soon, soon I’ll be too old to have a baby, it’s like the call of the wild, Joe—’
‘Christ!’ Suzie in another man’s bed with her legs open, another man sucking her breasts, Suzie kissing another man’s loins with her wide mouth, Suzie taking another man’s baby. Outrage, apprehension—
But still I did not seize her hand.
‘But how can you stop loving me in five weeks?’
‘It hasn’t been five weeks, Joseph. Love has been dying for two years, ever since you let me go in New York.’
‘And is it dead, Suzie, dead dead dead?’ She shook her head.
‘I love you still. I am you, and you have killed me. Now I have been brought back to life by another man. And I am going to pursue this life, Joseph, I am going to feed it and water it and give it a chance. I am going to see him, confine myself to him, to see if I can get to love him properly, completely, and if I do I will marry him, Joseph. And you must not try to stop me, Joseph, you must not interfere, you must not create a scene. You are honour-bound to let me try to find happiness, Joseph, if you love me at all—’
Standing fiercely in the middle of the room. Not knowing what to say, what to do, incomprehension. You are honour-bound to let me try to find happiness, Joseph, if you love me at all. Suzie rising from the chair, walking up to me, putting her hands gently on my neck, looking up at me.
‘It had to come, darling Joseph.’
Suzie’s eyes wet with tears, her wide mouth moist. The call of the wild, she said. Her babies. Suzie’s sad eyes, some lines round them now, some lines on her face now, and in her hair some glints of grey. The call of the wild.
‘Joseph, don’t interfere. Don’t stop me. Give me a chance, darling.’
The drinking. The empty house, dead and empty, echoing memories of Suzie. The drinking, coming out of the Court reckless, going down to the Long Bar, meeting the boys, long hard pulls at the beer, heart hard and angry and weeping, ready for fight, images of Suzie: Suzie kissing another man, Suzie kissing another man’s loins. Wanting to fight. Driving home at midnight to the empty dark house, empty. Sitting in a cocktail bar waiting to keep a rendezvous with a girl called Jackie, a man sitting next to me, asking for a match. Jackie sitting down beside me, ordering her a drink, making polite small talk, comparing her to Suzie, wishing she was Suzie, Suzie kissing another man’s loins. Looking up, heart contracting, there is Suzie, sitting with this man, heads close together, whispering. So this is the bastard, the great Brian – Jesus. Good Jesus Christ. Oh Jesus. Suzie looking up, looking straight into my eyes, unblinking, soft, afraid, imploring: Don’t hit him Joseph, don’t bully me, don’t louse it up Joseph. Turning back to Jackie, hands trembling. Jackie putting her hand on mine. Take it easy, Joey, let’s go somewhere else. But refusing to go somewhere else, not wanting to go anywhere else, wanting to sit right here and torture myself, watching Suzie and her lover, hating Suzie and her lover, lover – Jesus – sitting, heads close together, images, Suzie going back to his hotel, Suzie taking off her clothes for him, standing naked for him to adore her. Images of Suzie with her long high-heeled legs planted astride, and her head thrown back as the bastard kneels before her, Suzie spreadeagled on a bed, long blonde hair across a pillow, eyes closed, mouth open – Jesus Christ, I’ll kill the bastard. Unreal, a bad dream, the un-Suzie, the unnatural. The guy turning to me: So you’re Joseph Mahoney, how do you do, I heard a great deal about you, Joe. Jesus Christ, a Yank, such a nice guy, such a nice wet effusive pain in the ass, make one false move you nice wet effusive pain in the ass, and I’ll flatten you right here – Suzie’s eyes imploring: Don’t louse it up, Joseph, don’t be mean, don’t be a bastard, be honourable please Joseph darling – What are you drinking, Joe? the nice wet effusive pain in the ass offering me a drink if you don’t bloody mind. Wanting to say, stick your bloody drink right up your All American Boy ass: but wanting to talk so I can assess him, wanting to be near Suzie, torture myself, somehow win her back, not wanting her back because her wide mouth is soiled with this bastard’s loins. So accepting his drink, getting drunker, the whole time pumping the All American Boy for information so I know what kind of tit he is, Suzie talking nervously, politely to Jackie, the whole time her eyes flickering back, imploring: Don’t humiliate him, Joseph. Protective Suzie, hand on his arm, murmuring something, intimacy, protectiveness, new Suzie, un-Suzie, Suzie another man’s woman now, whispering something unnatural, outrageous, leaving their barstools now – ‘Good night both of you.’ Suzie going home with another man for Chrissake, walking out the door, his woman now, Suzie’s flesh his now, Suzie’s arms and legs and breasts and moles and freckles adulterated – Christ!
Jackie’s hand on my arm, big soft deep eyes, suffering. Take it easy, Joseph.
Everywhere, Suzie, everywhere: crossing a street, Suzie standing on the corner, sitting in the cinema, Suzie walking down the aisle, seeking out new bars where Suzie is unlikely to go, Suzie and lover walking in, Suzie everywhere, in the flesh, in my mind, Suzie lying on her back in my dreams kissing his hairy flanks, Suzie’s ghosts echoing in the big cold empty house in the night. Drinking, moving, drinking, talking, drinking, drinking too much, because when I stand still I hear Suzie’s voice, see Suzie’s eyes, feel Suzie’s flesh, hear Suzie’s steps. Waiting for the telephone to ring, putting my hand out to the telephone, clenching my teeth, holding my head: Be honourable, Mahoney.
And another day, another week, another month went by and it did not get easier.
Sitting in the empty lounge of the empty house, strewn papers, wet empty beer bottles, drunk pen scrawlings, trying to lose myself in the agony of writing, hating, loving, lost – a taxi bouncing up the long dirt drive, long flashes and shadows through the curtainless windows, car door slamming, light running feet. Getting up from the table, going to the door, Suzie running up the dirt drive, long hair swinging, skirt swirling my heart beating – Suzie stepping into the light from the curtainless windows, breasts heaving, tears running down her face, a cry, running into my arms, clutching, crying her heart out into my chest. Oh Joseph, Joseph, Joseph—
Oh why why why didn’t I take her back, why couldn’t I take her back, why couldn’t I open my heart to her again? Oh, would that I had!
The bitter unreal half-life for a week, the sombre silences of sundowners, the half-forgiveness, the anger flaring. Suzie packing up her gear, buying her ticket. Driving in silence to the airport, unloading her gear, black porters carrying it to the weighbay, going up the stairs to the cocktail lounge, sitting in silence, Suzie’s sad hard face, gentle hard, eyes red, sipping a brandy.
‘Suzie?’
Turning her head slowly, looking at me with her steady unhappy eyes.
‘Suzie, I do believe you, that you didn’t slee
p with him.’
Suzie’s little stare then her little shrug. ‘You don’t.’
‘I do.’
Suzie turning slowly away. ‘Maybe in three months when I come back we’ll be all right again.’
‘Yes.’
Suzie staring, then shaking her head: ‘No, it will never be the same.’
The scream of the Boeing coming in, the bustle, the loudspeakers, standing up, heavy heart, pushing through the crowd, people looking at Suzie, one brief kiss, one heartbreak, gone through the swing doors of the transit lounge. Standing back up on the balcony, the big Boeing lying big and heartbreaking in the floodlight, Suzie walking across the tarmac, tall, straight, long gold hair blowing, turning once, a wave, up the steps. The big Boeing screaming down the night tarmac, a hundred anonymous windows twinkling, anonymous Suzie somewhere, sitting in a seat, unidentified, flying away into the night. The Boeing screamed and lifted, up into the African night, up over the bush, up up higher higher, cabin lights gone now, diminishing into the night, further and further, red tail light blinking, blinking, blinking smaller smaller smaller in the black night, smaller, gone. Suzie gone.
Six months ago. No letter, no address.
Mahoney sat in the dark lounge on the roof of the Hotel Victoria, looking over the night lights of Bulawayo. There, far below, was Tregar House. He counted four floors up, three windows along. Suzie’s old flat of long ago, a light burning.
Maybe it was because he was very tired and very drunk, but tears were running down his face.
Part Eight
Chapter Forty-Four
Hold My Hand I'm Dying Page 37