Catastrophe Practice

by Nicholas Mosley

  He said ‘You have to do it then?’

  She said ‘I think so, don’t you?’

  He said ‘I mean now: you.’

  They were coming towards a cross-roads. She had slowed. She took her head from his shoulder.

  She said ‘Here we are.’

  She thought — But of course I don’t want him to come in with me.

  She put her hand across her eyes. She thought — There is a fog, sometimes, in the brain, like a curtain coming down.

  He said ‘Of course I can’t say — What about me.’

  She said ‘I’m sorry.’

  He was standing slightly apart from her. He began to walk in a circle.

  She said ‘Will you come in?’

  A police car had appeared at the cross-roads. It had a blue light going round and flashing. There were four policemen in the car. They sat like toys. She thought — Like those toys with spikes up their arses.

  Anderson took her by the shoulders and put her with her back against a tree. Then he leaned with his arms on either side of her.

  He shook his head.

  She thought — Now at last he will kiss me?

  The policemen were looking at them out of the window of the car. One was speaking into a walkie-talkie radio.

  Anderson looked up towards the rooftops. He seemed to be observing some event there.

  A door in the police car opened. A policeman got out.

  She remembered, suddenly, that Anderson had in his pocket what might, or might not, be a hand grenade.

  She wanted to hit him with her fists and cry — Oh fool! fool! you want to destroy yourself!

  She put her face up to be kissed.

  They, and the policemen, seemed to be the only people in the street. There were leaves like broken glass between them.

  The policeman who had got out of the car was coming towards them. Then he stopped. He looked up at the rooftops in the direction in which Anderson was looking.

  Anderson said, quietly but distinctly, ‘Go away!’

  The policeman looked at Anderson.

  Then the radio in the policeman’s breast pocket began to make a crackling noise. He took it out and held it to his ear.

  Then there was a crack in the air as if of a rifle bullet: then from far away, the report as if of a rifle.

  The policeman hesitated: then began to move at a run back towards the car.

  Anderson put his face down to Judith’s and kissed her.

  She was trying to bang her fists against his chest.

  The engine of the police car roared.

  She wanted to shout — You can’t get away with things like that!

  The policeman had clambered back in the car: the car skidded and drove away.

  Anderson took his face away from hers. He said ‘That was a lucky one!’

  He looked up again to above the rooftops. There was a glow in the sky, as if part of the town were burning.

  She said ‘It was nowhere near us!’

  He took his arms away from her.

  She walked across the pavement. She put her hand on a garden gate.

  She thought — It is strange I was not frightened!

  She said ‘Will you come and get me? I mean, afterwards.’

  He said ‘No.’

  He was still looking above the rooftops.

  Beyond the gate, there was a path to a detached house on the corner.

  She said ‘Why not?’

  He said ‘I don’t know.’ Then — ‘I’ve got to do something about my film.’

  She pushed on the garden gate and went through.

  She said ‘Goodbye then.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  She thought — We are children: trying to build something like coral inside us —

  He had turned and was walking back the way they had come.

  She thought — Or in the streets outside, like a honeycomb.

  3

  The Professor stood outside the door of his flat in the corridor of a modern apartment building. He felt in his pockets for his keys. He found — wallet, pencil, wall-nails, notebook. The doors in the row were almost identical with just a different number on each. He thought — In memory there are these corridors: you search; turn away; then a door is opened for you. He felt in the lining of his jacket. Sometimes his keys fell through a hole in the pocket and hung there: he thought — Like Gandhi, his balls above the dust.

  The door in front of him was being unlocked quietly. First there was a noise of a chain, then of the mortise lock, then of the Yale lock above. He thought — I will stand with my hands through my pockets and try to dominate the world. The door was being opened slowly. He had once seen Gandhi like this; his legs apart as if he were peeing.

  A woman’s face appeared through the crack in the doorway. She was carrying something large and round and white beside her neck. He thought — Atlas was a woman?

  He said ‘I told you not to open the door!’

  The round thing at the side of the woman’s neck was a baby. It was facing backwards over her shoulder, wearing nappies.

  The woman said ‘Are you all right?’

  She turned and went ahead of him into the flat. The head of the baby came round and beamed at him. He thought — If you are the sun and moon, and I am gravity —

  He said ‘Of course I’m all right!’

  The Professor closed the door behind him. He put the chain back in the slot. Then he followed the woman and the baby into the sitting-room.

  She said ‘I thought they might be trying to break up your lecture.’

  He said ‘They were.’

  The baby stretched out its arms to him.

  The Professor tickled it under the chin.

  The baby said ‘Awa, awa, goo goos.’

  In the sitting-room there were books on the floor, on chairs, in bookcases. Along one wall was a window that looked out on to a garden.

  The woman said ‘We were anxious, we thought you —’

  When she turned to him again there was pale hair, brown face, dark eyes; a slight bruise at the side of one eye as if she were an apple.

  He said ‘— might have been murdered.’

  She said ‘Yes.’

  He thought — When she doesn’t finish her sentences she is like a fisherman; or like God, in thigh-length boots, with a hook —

  He said ‘I might have been.’

  The baby’s behind was now towards him: its head, at her back, seemed to struggle to get round.

  He sat down on the sofa and held out his arms to it.

  He thought — If the baby were a god it would be like Janus; two-faced; seeing both in and out —

  He said ‘Nobody loves me!’

  He thought — Or with herself at the centre, a pivot, like Atlas, they would be three —

  He took the baby. He threw it up and down. It held its arms out like a bird.

  She said ‘He loves you.’

  He said ‘I’m old.’

  He thought — A baby is like an earth, breaking away, but being held, by its sun —

  She said ‘What happened?’

  He said ‘They played Beethoven at my lecture.’

  Each time he caught the baby, and held it, the baby crowed, and beamed.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They didn’t like what I said.’

  ‘But did they hear what you said —’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The baby had leaned down and was trying to put its fingers into his ears, his eyes.

  He said ‘Awa. Awa. Goo goos.’

  He put the baby down. He held it by the hands, as it stood on the floor, as if to see if it would walk.

  He said ‘You can’t fly?’

  The baby held out its arms to its mother.

  He said ‘I told you not to open that door.’

  She said ‘I heard you outside.’

  He thought he could say — You heard someone.

  She took the baby. She undid her blouse. She sat on the sofa behind him
. She took out a breast, and gave it to the baby.

  He thought — From that breast, like a planet, I used to hang.

  They were in a group, side by side, with the baby between them. He thought — Like a piece of sculpture; or in someone’s mind.

  He said ‘You two had a fight —’

  Yes.’

  ‘What about?’

  She was holding her breast and pulling it to help the baby. He thought — A breast is like a penis?

  She said ‘Oh well he had that girl, you know, coming for a sort of audition —’

  He said ‘What girl?’

  ‘Judith. Juliet.’

  He thought — Do I say: But she was at my lecture!?

  She said ‘But it wasn’t really that.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘I was horrid.’

  ‘How?’

  The baby was pulling at her breast. He thought — Do women now have everything — breasts, penises, truth?

  She said ‘I wanted to hurt him. I said — You think you can do everything! You think you’re God!’

  He said ‘Ah, and that was horrid?’

  She said ‘Yes. And so he hit me.’

  The woman, who was called Lilia, was some thirty years younger than the Professor: with her pale hair, brown face, dark eyes, she was something hot, looking out, like a squirrel.

  The Professor got up and went through into a bedroom, where there was a four-poster bed. The curtains of a small window were drawn. The room was slightly airless, as if people had been sleeping there.

  He picked up off the floor a rattle, a toy hammer, a woollen sock, some plastic pants. He sat on the edge of the bed. He thought — These fragments she takes with her into each of her different worlds —

  He called — ‘What shall we do to your mum to keep her? tie her to a bedpost?’

  Lilia had come to the bedroom door. She said ‘I know it might have been him outside in the passage.’

  She came and stood close to the Professor. He put his arms round her. He put his head against her skirt.

  She said ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For putting us up.’

  He said ‘For not putting it up.’

  She said ‘Do you want to?’

  He thought — Is there a Madonna like this; at a deposition, with a breast out?

  She said ‘You know I know how to make him angry.’ Then — ‘Perhaps I wanted to see you: it was awful when you weren’t here.’

  He said ‘Your baby will look after you.’

  She stroked his head.

  Looking up, past her, but still holding her tightly, he said ‘Where is your baby?’

  ‘On the floor.’

  ‘Well, look out for the window.’

  As he said this there was a slight pressure, going in and out, as if from a distant explosion.

  He said to himself as if quoting — A sort of terror, breaking —

  Lilia left him and went into the sitting-room.

  Lying on his back, and looking up at the canopy of the four-poster bed which was like a baldacchino above an altar, he thought — But am I not godfather, if not god, to both the girl and the child?

  Lilia called — ‘There’s a fire.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Come and see. It’s in the direction of the Old Science Buildings.’

  He sat up. He said ‘Well it’s nothing to do with my lecture.’

  He went through into the sitting-room where Lilia had drawn back a corner of a curtain. She was looking out into the night. She had picked up her baby.

  She said ‘Who is it then?’

  He said ‘The Liberation Army.’

  He held a finger out to the baby; who took hold of it, and beamed.

  She said ‘What do they want?’

  He said as if he were quoting ‘— The destruction of everything: or that something new may grow —’

  He thought — What will the baby learn then?

  She said ‘I’d better go back.’

  He thought — Coloured lights, shapes, music.

  He said ‘No, stay here.’

  He thought — Cherubs: gods and goddesses on the ceiling.

  He went round the flat opening windows. Then he came back into the sitting-room and drew the curtain shut. Then he went round closing doors.

  He said ‘Go into the bedroom and get under the bed if there are any more explosions.’

  She said ‘What will you do?’

  He thought — Oh these enormous events elsewhere! like eels, like turtles, breeding.

  She had sat down on the sofa. It was as if she were about to cry.

  He said, tickling the baby again, ‘What goes on in that huge head!’

  There was another explosion; from closer; the curtain blowing in and out.

  The Professor had the impression — he was tired — of some presence, or presences, entering the room; taking up their position round the walls; saying to himself, to Lilia, to the baby — Look, if you feel yourselves prisoners, with one great jump —

  Lilia said ‘I hope they all kill themselves!’

  He thought — Perhaps mothers can say this.

  He sat down again beside Lilia. The baby was lying across their laps.

  He said — ‘Promise —’

  ‘What’

  He thought — To be here when I get back?

  Then — Promises are not true!

  He put a hand up and touched the bruise on her cheek. He said ‘Did it hurt?’

  She said ‘No.’

  He thought — We should be out in the streets like hostages — myself, the boy with fair hair, the girl, the one who is like Cleopatra —

  He said ‘That girl was at my lecture.’

  She said ‘What girl?’ Then — ‘Oh.’

  The baby, with its dark intelligent eyes, looked up at him. He thought — Turn with that bright eye on them, and your enemies will fall dead.

  He put a finger on the centre of the baby’s forehead.

  He said ‘Get it out, get it out, don’t be frightened.’

  She said ‘Get out what —’

  He said ‘That little eye, the third one, with which you see inwards: with which you look down on yourself from the ceiling.’

  He stood up. He went to the door. He turned and smiled at her and her baby.

  She said ‘If you throw him up, he always knows there’s someone there to catch him!’

  He said ‘I’ll be at the Old Science Buildings.’

  4

  A man in a high-necked sweater and corduroy trousers sat on top of a radiator with his hands under his thighs and his toes pointing inwards. Occasionally he lifted himself as if he were over a slow fire. He looked down at Judith, who sat cross-legged on a carpet in front of him. He said ‘Just murmured —’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘— Go away —’

  ‘Yes.’

  Judith was taking puffs from a cigarette and was backing away as if the smoke were coming after her.

  ‘Then there was a shot —’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then —’

  ‘It was terrifying.’

  The man, who was called Jason, pushed himself up off the radiator and hung there as if on parallel bars.

  He said ‘You don’t seem terrified.’

  Judith beat in the air at the smoke coming after her.

  Jason thought — I am pretending that I am on fire from the heat of the radiator; as if I so much desired her?

  He climbed off the radiator. He picked up a typescript from the floor. The room was furnished with just carpet, lamp-stand, curtains and cushions.

  He said ‘Well, you’ve got to speak as if you know that you are acting.’

  Judith stood. She took the typescript in one hand. She held out her other with the cigarette in it as if she were on a tightrope.

  She said ‘Why can’t I play the girl?’

  ‘Because I want you to be an older woman.’

 
‘Why.’

  ‘Because you’re so powerful.’

  She held the typescript out in front of her. After a while she seemed to read —

  ‘— Ariel, will you tell your father, I’ve done his socks and they’re in the oven —’

  She flicked the ash from her cigarette on to the carpet. She looked down at it.

  She said ‘She’s trying to get him —’

  ‘Who.’

  ‘Jason. Ariel.’

  Putting a toe out to the ash on the carpet, she began to giggle.

  He thought — This fire in my head, heart, balls. Then — Lilia, have I hurt you?

  He came and took the typescript from Judith. He wrote with a pencil in the margin.

  She said ‘Who plays the girl?’

  He said ‘You want to?’

  ‘Not Lilia?’

  ‘I can’t write about Lilia!’

  He handed the typescript back to her. He had written in the margin — They know they are embarrassed.

  Judith said ‘Why can’t you write about Lilia?’

  ‘She’s good. She’s not trying to be powerful.’

  Judith said So Lilia could play —’ Then—‘And I’m not good?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She held the typescript. He stood watching her. He thought — Get it out, get it out: on the carpet —

  He said ‘But you may make good things happen.’

  ‘How.’

  He thought — Lilia, Lilia, it is myself I am hurting!

  She said ‘And Lilia may make bad things happen?’

  ‘If one lets them be bad.’

  She looked at the typescript. He stood watching her.

  After a time she seemed to read ‘— And would he never, never, do this to anyone again —’

  Then she said ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lilia.’

  ‘With her older lover.’

  ‘You had a quarrel.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Judith lowered the typescript. She seemed to be blushing. He thought — With her mind running down into her jeans —

  He said ‘And you had a quarrel with your boyfriend?’

  She giggled.

  He went to the window. There was a tree, a road, a red glow above the rooftops.

  After a time he said ‘You go to and fro; between yourself, and what is going on elsewhere.’

  She said ‘What is going on?’