COV02 - A Proper Marriage

by Doris Lessing

  ‘I want roast chicken, roast potatoes, vegetables, and some jam tart,’ said Perry. He looked steadily over the bar.

  The Greek said, ‘I’ll go and ask my father.’ He hurried out.

  ‘Ruddy dago,’ said Perry. ‘Bad as kaffirs.’ He lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to Civvy Street.’

  They all drank. Douglas looked over at Bobby with a tinge of grave reproach. The thread of sympathy that had held them was snapped. She could not take her eyes off Perry. Douglas moved his chair back to the wall, and comforted his glass between both hands. He was beginning to feel the alcohol.

  Bobby took a moment’s alarm at being left to Perry. She drank hastily, and spilled some. Perry reached out his large paw and brushed drops off her shoulders. She shrank away.

  ‘Well, and how’s the war been treating you?’ he asked, on a personal, insulting note.

  ‘Oh, fine, fine. But it’s mucking boring here, though.’

  ‘Mucking bad luck, muck everything, hey? You should meet the Ities. They’ve got a far wider range. You should hear their language when they get going. Shouldn’t she, Douggie?’

  Douglas looked away, dissociating himself.

  ‘You mucking well should meet the bleeding Ities, then you wouldn’t have to restrict yourself to bleeding mucking.’

  She looked at him with a helpless fascination still, and let out her short gruff laugh.

  ‘Let up, man,’ said Douglas again, disgusted. ‘Stop it.’

  Perry took no notice. ‘Still, you’ve not done too badly here, there’s the Major and the doctor and the sergeant.’

  She took his direct gaze and said, ‘You don’t do too badly, either. There’s nothing you can tell me about what the boys do away from their wives.’

  ‘But I’m not married, so that’s all right. Thank God. She’d be lining the beds of the Air Force.’

  She forced out another laugh. He leaned forward, gripped her wrist and said, ‘Remember Christmas night three years ago at the Club - remember?’ ‘And so what?’ she said, laughing.

  He released her, frowned and said softly, ‘We had a good time then, didn’t we?’

  Those were the days,’ said Douglas, half jocular, half wistful; they instinctively lifted their glasses to the good old days. Then Perry reached out his enormous arm over the bar, tilted the whisky bottle standing on it, caught it as it heeled, and brought it triumphant to the table.

  The young Greek entered with a tray. Roast beef sandwiches, mustard pickles, Marie biscuits, Cheddar cheese. He set it before them and retired silently behind the bar.

  ‘Have some roast chicken,’ said Douglas cheerfully.

  They ate. Perry, steadily watching Bobby over his busy knife and fork, began reminiscing about the bang they’d had this night last week. Douglas played along with him. When it came to how Perry and half a dozen Australians had wrecked the brothel, Douglas smiled uneasily, but Bobby was laughing her good-fellow laugh. Perry stopped, and said disgustedly to Douglas, ‘What do you think, she’d have liked to be there.’ He leaned over, pushed his face against hers and said, ‘So you’d have liked to be with us, hey?’

  She pulled back her head, and said, ‘Oh, cut it out, Perry, you’re getting me down.’

  ‘Nice girl,’ he remarked companionably to the roof. ‘Nice girl, this one.’

  Douglas leaned over to her, and whispered, ‘If you want to make your escape, then go, Bobby. He’s been kicked out of the Army, that’s all that’s wrong with him.’

  She turned a small, rather offended smile. ‘I know, poor kid.’ She at once drew back towards Perry. Her lips were parted. She passed the tip of a pink tongue across them.

  Perry was looking at the doctor, who had just come in. The doctor nodded at them all, and stood by the bar.

  ‘Come and join us, Doc,’ said Douglas.

  Thanks, but I’m on duty.’ He asked for a brandy, and stood leaning by the bar, watching Perry. He said nothing, however.

  ‘How are the boys, Doctor?’ asked Bobby, one professional to another.

  ‘Bedded them all down for the night. The plane’s leaving at six tomorrow morning.’ He looked steadily at Perry and Douglas.

  Perry ostentatiously tilted back his glass, emptied it, filled it again.

  ‘Six o’clock,’ said the doctor sharply. ‘And anyone who’s not ready can spend another three weeks here. If that tempts you.’

  ‘We’ll be ready, Doc,’ said Douglas.

  The three were set in hostile defiance against him; they were looking at him across a barrier of half-drunkenness.

  ‘Parsons everywhere,’ said Perry to Bobby intimately. ‘Have you noticed it? Everywhere you go in this world - parsons. Hate their guts. Only to smell a parson half a mile away gives me guts-ache.’

  She looked apologetically but defiantly at the doctor.

  ‘An English parson - they breed them in England.’ Perry jumped up, and grabbed her wrist. ‘Come for a walk?’

  She hesitated, then rose, brushing down her tunic. He flung down four pound notes on the table, and pulled her by the wrist after him onto the veranda. Outside there was a steady beam of moonlight.

  Douglas watched Perry and Bobby walk unsteadily over to the gauze veranda opposite, heard the gauze door slam. He looked pathetically at the doctor. ‘Let’s have a party, Doc,’ he said. ‘Come on, Doc, let’s give it stick.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve got a raving lunatic on my hands tonight. I don’t know quite … If I send him down on the plane with you tomorrow’ - he looked, exasperated, at Douglas - ‘surely five of you ought to be able to look after one boy like that. He’ll be under drugs.’

  ‘Oh, let him cut his ruddy throat,’ said Douglas cheerfully. ‘Who cares? Do you care? Do I care? No one cares.’ He reached out his arm to stop the doctor as he went past. ‘Come on, Doc, let’s all cut our throats.’

  ‘If I were you, I’d get myself to bed,’ said the doctor from the doorway, with a harassed but pleasant grin. ‘For God’s sake - you’ll be in hospital if you drink like that.’

  ‘Who cares?’ began Douglas again. ‘Do you care …’ But the doctor had gone. Douglas turned his head carefully and focused at the Greek. ‘Do you care?’ he asked him.

  The Greek grinned unhappily.

  ‘Come and have a drink.’

  The young man hesitated, then came over.

  ‘Sit down, man, sit down.’

  He sat, and poured himself a drink.

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘No, I’ve got a girl at home.’

  ‘Where’s home?’

  ‘Greece,’ said the Greek apologetically.

  ‘You don’t want to get married - what do you want to get married for?’ Douglas laid his fist on the shoulder opposite him and thumped it. The Greek continued to grin, watching him uneasily.

  ‘Nothing but bitches, all of them.’

  ‘I’m not married - sir.’ In a country where all white men are equal there are perpetual problems of etiquette.

  ‘Call me Douggie.’ He kneaded the fat young shoulder a little more, then held both hands around his glass and stared in front of him. ‘What’s your name?’ he inquired at last, with difficulty.

  ‘Demetrius.’

  ‘Fine name, that, very fine name.’ He lapsed away into a glass-eyed stare, then recovered himself. ‘Let me show you my wife,’ he said, fumbling with his breast pocket. ‘I’ve the finest wife in the whole of Africa.’ He produced a wallet and dropped a bunch of snaps on the wet table. ‘Tck, tck, tck,’ he clicked his tongue reproachfully. ‘Now, now, Douggie, that’s very clumsy.’ He fished a photograph of Martha out of a pool of whisky, and laid it before the Greek. Martha, in shorts and a sweatshirt, had the sun in her eyes and was trying to smile.

  Demetrius courteously pulled out his wallet, and laid on the table a snap of a dark beauty sitting on a rock and dangling her feet in a pool. She and Martha lay side by side while the two men concentrated on them.

  ‘You’ve got a fine wife, I’ve got
a fine wife, we’ve both got fine wives,’ pronounced Douglas. He hiccupped and said, ‘Excuse me, I’m going to be sick.’ He got up, and went out to the veranda, holding on to the wall.

  When he came back, the Greek was back behind the counter, and the table in the corner was wiped clean. Douglas sat, looked about, finally located him and said, ‘You’ve gone. They’ve all gone.’

  ‘It’s getting late, sir.’

  ‘I want to have a party,’ said Douglas obstinately. His eyes swam, focused together on a bit of white on the floor. He bent, retrieved the snap of Martha from beside his feet, wiped it back and front on his tunic and put it into his top pocket. He remained sitting and swaying. He stared at the wall and blinked.

  Demetrius wiped a few more glasses. Then he went out. In a moment he came back with himself twenty years older. The two Greeks conferred for a moment, then the father came over and said, ‘You’d better get to bed, sir.’

  ‘I’m staying here!’ The table jumped as Douglas crashed his fist down.

  ‘But we’re closing the bar. I’ll help you across to bed, sir.’

  ‘I’m staying here. I can’t go to bed, because my best friend is in bed with my wife.’ His lower lip swelled and trembled.

  The two men looked at each other, at him, and shrugged. Demetrius reached up and turned down the lamp. They went out. Douglas let his head fall forward on to his arms, His arms slipped forward until the upper half of his body lay over the table. It was now dark in the bar. A dim square of moonlight lay on the floor. It moved slowly back towards the door, slipped through the gauze and became one with the blaze of moonlight outside.

  Later, Demetrius came in wearing striped pyjamas, carrying a candle. He shook Douglas twice. Then he left him, closing the gauze door with a simple hook on the inside, and sliding over a heavy door of wood.

  A few minutes later Douglas sat up. It was very dark, and rather chilly. His head was clear again. He shook the wooden door in its groove, then went to the window. It was shut on the inside with a hasp and a hook. He fumbled at it a little; raised his fist and smashed it into the glass. A low tinkle came from outside. He heaved his shoulder into the pane; it flew out. He fell out with it and rolled over on to the earth four feet below. He got up unhurt under a big tree that filtered moonlight all over him. He turned himself till he faced the small gauze house, and concentrated on getting his feet to take him there. There was a small yellow glimmer coming from inside it. Overhead the moon was a great sheet of silver light. He gained the steps, climbed them, pulled open the gauze door, went in. It was light. Moonlight lay like white sand over his bed. On the one next to it he could see Perry’s big body. It was in movement. He went through into the inner room.

  The orderly was sitting drowsing at the table. His head was nodding and swaying over a book. Douglas focused his aching eyes to see what the book was. It was a child’s reading primer, soiled and dog-eared, open at a page with a cheap coloured picture of spring lambs frisking on an English meadow and a little yellow-haired girl offering them some pink flowers. The large clear print opposite said: ‘Maisie is six. Mai-sie likes to go for a walk in the spring meadow. She loves the lit-tle lambs. They love her. When Maisie gets home, she will do her lessons. Mai-sie works hard at her les-sons. She can read. She can write. Mai-sie lives in a cottage on the hill near a sheep-fold. Her fa-ther is a policeman.’

  ‘Poor sod,’ remarked Douglas aloud, with a mixture of compassion, contempt, and a sort of twisted envy.

  A small cheap alarm clock on the table said it was half past eleven. He had slept for about two hours.

  He went back to the veranda. He sat on his bed. Perry was murmuring with sentimental exasperation, ‘Oh, come on, give us a break, kid, give us a break, kid.’ Bobby, invisible except for one khaki-covered arm lying across his shoulder, was quite silent. A hand, fat and very white in the moonlight, looked innocent and pathetic.

  It gave Douglas vindictive pleasure that matters were not going entirely to Perry’s satisfaction.

  After a while he felt his head roll; he let himself fall over on the bed and was asleep at once.

  He knew he was dreaming unpleasantly. There was danger in the dream. He was in the aircraft with Perry. Perry was at the controls. They were at an immense height. Looking down, he saw pretty rivers, peaceful green fields. That was England. Then he saw a tall brown purplish mountain. That was Africa. It was important to keep them separate. He saw that Perry was hunched and straining over the controls. The aircraft was slipping sideways through shrieking wind. Perry was grinning and saying, ‘Give us a break, give us a break, give us a break.’ The ground was slanting up and very near the purplish hairy mountain. Douglas woke as they crashed, immediately rising on his elbow and shaking his head clear of the dream. It was dawn. Through the gauze a clear greyish sky lay like a stretched sheet. A few yellowish streaks fanned out from the reddish hushed glow where the sun would rise. Perry was lying on his back, asleep.

  Inside the room the orderly moved about, and a primus stove hissed.

  A lorry stood outside the administration building opposite. Bobby leaned beside it, apparently waiting. The white ambulance car came driving around the edge of the building and parked beside the lorry. Some native orderlies and the doctor came out and began sliding stretchers into the ambulance with rolls of blanket on them that were the casualties.

  Douglas lay down again, rolling his dry and swollen tongue around his mouth. Today he would go home. He would walk into the flat and greet Martha. Tenderness for Martha and his small daughter filled him. The gay flat with its books and flowers seemed very attractive. And he would be back at his desk in Statistics in a week. They would be pleased to see him. He was a kingpin of his section, and everybody knew it. He dozed off for a moment, thinking of Martha and how that night he would be lying in bed with her. Voluptuous fantasies slid through his mind. He was asleep again; but almost at once someone shook him.

  ‘Come on, get up, kids,’ said Bobby’s bluff voice.

  Douglas sat up. Perry was leaning on his elbow looking at Bobby, who refused to meet his eyes. She said hurriedly, ‘We’re leaving in twenty minutes,’ and went down the steps with her free manly stride, pale hair bobbing on her fat white neck.

  ‘Mucking bitch,’ said Perry dispassionately. He got up. Douglas was already stuffing things into his pack.

  The orderly came out with boiled eggs on a tray. ‘Good morning, baas, good morning, baas,’ he said cheerfully. The reading primer was sticking out of his breast pocket,

  ‘Morning, Jim,’ said Douglas, rubbing his hands. He felt elated and optimistic.

  They were eating their eggs when the doctor came over.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Fine, fine.’

  ‘You don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Doc.’

  The young English doctor smiled. ‘If I put the schiz on to the plane, will you keep an eye on him? He’s well and truly drugged.’

  ‘The ulcers will look after the schiz,’ said Perry. ‘Leave it all to us.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve got to get him out somehow. There isn’t even a nurse to send with the stretcher cases. They’ll be all right. They’re not too bad. It’s only a few hours. You’ll be there before lunch. This place is packing up soon, anyway.’

  ‘Bloody silly place for a hospital,’ said Douglas.

  ‘It isn’t a hospital. It’s a transfer casualty,’

  ‘Whatever it is.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t choose it,’ said the doctor, automatically clearing himself of responsibility like everybody else. ‘Could you get yourselves into the lorry, gentlemen. Please.’

  Douglas and Perry slung their packs on and flipped some silver to the orderly, who caught it with one hand.

  ‘Thanks, baas, thanks, baas.’

  They strolled over the dust to the lorry, which was now throbbing gently all over. Bobby was already in the driver’s seat.

  ‘You can have her,’ said Perry to Doug
las. ‘I don’t want her.’

  Douglas hesitated. He did not want to drive the four miles with Bobby. But he went round to the front and climbed up beside her. She was being curt and official this morning, so he did not have to talk.

  The lorry at once bounced off and away past the tin shanties into the bush. The sun was just coming up. A large red ball clung to the edges of the trees, stretched like a drop of water, then floated clear. By the time they reached the airstrip it had grown smaller, yellow, and was throwing off heat like a flame thrower. They were sweating already. Bobby drove them straight to the aircraft. The ambulance was driving away from it as they came up.

  Bobby shook them all by the hand. Perry last, in an offhand, soldierly way. She at once got back into the lorry and drove off, shouting, ‘Give my love to the home town.’

  In the plane they had to wait. At the last moment a large saloon car drove up. The doctor got out, went round to the other door, and helped out the sleepy limp-looking youth. He half pushed him up the steps into Douglas’s arms. Douglas and Perry hauled him in, and slumped him into the seat by Perry. He slept at once, looking very young and boyish, with his ruffle of damp fair hair on his forehead.

  The doctor came in, took a last look at the stretcher cases, and said to Douglas, ‘Keep an eye on them, there’s a good chap.’ He saluted and skipped thankfully down the steps and off to the car.

  At once the plane swung round and began lumbering away to the end of the strip. It turned. Over the brick shack a funnel of white silk rippled out. As the aircraft roared past and up they could see a cloud of fluttering butterflies around it, like flying ants around a street lamp.

  In a few minutes the bush was stretching empty beneath them. Perry was sitting beside the sick youth. He slipped sideways. Perry put his arm around him. The young flushed face was lying back on his shoulder.

  Perry was watching a drift of wet cloud making rainbows in the bright sun, and humming ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ between his teeth, the shrewd hard blue eyes narrowed and abstracted, the mouth tight, the jaw solid. He shifted himself once or twice carefully to take the weight of the boy more comfortably, then settled down himself with his eyes shut. Douglas went back to talk to the stretcher cases.