Stepping Westward

by Malcolm Bradbury

  ‘No, I will,’ said Walker.

  ‘It’s in paperback. But what happened at Benedict Arnold? What did you have to do with it?’

  ‘Well, you know I liked him, I like him. But it was the speech. The one you read about. He got involved with some protest, not against me really, but against the university’s support of me, and ran into trouble with the President.’

  ‘He’s a marvellous man,’ said Julie. ‘He has all these crazy ideas, he’s so disillusioned, but if what happened to him had happened to me I’d have them too.’

  ‘I know, I feel the same. I feel terrible about the whole thing.’

  ‘But you had to do what you did, didn’t you, duckie?’

  ‘I suppose I did. But the truth is I shouldn’t have postured at being a hero. I wanted to work in with the wheels of history. And I should have left history alone, passed by on the other side. That’s the truth. I’m a people man. The myths of history, these new faiths, they’re all myths of dispossession Take something away from someone and give it to someone else. But I’m for people, people keeping what they’ve struggled to have. I don’t think we can yield up what exists for the possibility of what might. That’s my idea of liberalism; kindness to what is, to those who now exist.’

  ‘I don’t think you can say that, duckie,’ said Julie. ‘Isn’t the fact about our humanity that whatever we are, there’s always a hurt involved? Because you’re on that side of the bed, I’m on this. We all take up space, and the space we take up always deprives someone. You want to take up no space at all. Your answer to the parking problem is a car that disappears when it halts. But that doesn’t happen, you see. You don’t live without hurting.’

  ‘What about love?’ asked Walker. ‘What we have now?’

  ‘You think there’s no hurting there? You think this is a pure situation? I’m here; your wife isn’t. I’d say deprivation was going on here right now. There are no isolated cabins in the mountains. The threads go right back. You don’t stop Yerp existing when you cross the sea. A room of people doesn’t stop functioning when you leave it.’

  ‘But leaving at least takes away the complication of your presence. People are quickly not missed.’

  ‘Is that why we drove out of Party so fast last night? Oh boy, Mr Walker, you’re a strange man. You want to be a shadow. And you can’t be.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ said Walker, looking up at the ceiling.

  ‘And I’m not a shadow either,’ said Julie. ‘I’m here, and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ said Walker, ‘I couldn’t at all.’

  ‘Then know me; make an effort in my direction. Give me all your mind.’

  ‘But that’s what I want,’ said Walker. ‘That’s what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not. You don’t know how you feel. You don’t know what you feel about your wife. You have Jochum round your neck. You’d fill this room with people if I let you. But I won’t,’ said Julie, ‘no, I won’t.’

  Next day they drove on to Salt Lake City, where the main streets are wide enough for a wagon-team to turn in; they spent the night in a downtown hotel and in the morning they visited the Tabernacle and the other Mormon sights. Then they drove on, past the lake, and through the salt flats and then the Nevada desert, to Reno, stopping here in cabins on the outside of town. They visited the tourist traps and the gambling clubs. The following day they drove up into the Sierras, past the dark blue of Lake Tahoe, and in the late afternoon reached the Pacific Ocean north of San Francisco. The ocean broke on the beaches and Walker looked west to east. Here was the furthest point he had reached; to go on was to go back. The sea was grey and stirring; Walker stirred with it. They spent this night in some sea-coast cabins and the next day drove south, through Muir Woods, where the prehistoric redwood trees reached vastly into the sky, across the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco.

  Julie had friends who were studying at Berkeley. So after they had parked in the city, and Julie had bought him two ties, two Oxford button-down shirts and a madras jacket at a men’s store near Union Square, they drove through complicated flyovers and across the long Bay Bridge, past Treasure Island, into the campus country of Berkeley. Julie’s friends had gone, but had left them the keys of their apartment; Walker fixed the heating and carried out garbage while Julie set up temporary house. ‘This is a great place,’ said Julie, ‘I guess it’s the freest place in the States.’ The University of California campanile on the hill sounded out the hours, in deeper tones than Benedict Arnold’s. They shopped in the supermarkets, replacing the stores that had been eaten at picnic tables in the mountains and in the long stretches of desert that had terrified Walker with its solitude and loneliness. But here were people again, and in the evening they drove back into San Francisco to eat a Chinese meal and hear jazz. ‘We ought to live here,’ said Julie. ‘Isn’t this something?’ But Walker, drawn to the city, was drawn even more to the motion of the last few days; to pause even for two nights, as they planned, was to slow down the pace. The city, on its hills, crowned the bay, and when they got back to Berkeley they stood and looked back on it, its lights shining, its bay waters glinting. Shipping moved through the harbour, and the lines of traffic over the bridges were ceaseless.

  Back in the apartment, while Julie made up the divan, Walker tried on his madras jacket. The colours, blue, red, and yellow, turned him into a harlequin. The mirror showed him a stranger. ‘I think maybe we’ll rescue you, after all,’ said Julie when he strutted before her. Walker thought of the days through the desert, and the sight of the Pacific, and the Christmas crowds in San Francisco, where Santa Clauses rang bells on the streets, and knew that something was happening. Julie undressed, showered, got into bed, and read again through the letters she had picked up from General Delivery in San Francisco. But for Walker communication backward had stopped. His letters were piling up in Party, but he had left no directions. Christmas letters must be flowing in, but he would not see them; perhaps he would never see them, for he could not believe now that he would ever go back to Party again. His business there was finished. He was a disciple of solitude and love. He had reached, beyond politics and the working of factions, the ideal city, its population numbering two, its location mobile. Julie looked up; she wore glasses for reading and she peered at him through them. ‘I wish this apartment was ours,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we live like this? I guess we could.’

  ‘Perhaps we could,’ said Walker.

  ‘Anyway we could stay here the rest of the vacation. The kids don’t come back for ten days. Or we could go on, see LA and go down to Mexico. Which do you want?’

  ‘Which do you want?’ asked Walker.

  ‘Oh, I’m easy,’ said Julie. ‘Have we arrived yet or haven’t we?’

  Walker thought a moment and said, ‘No, I think we still have to go on a little way.’

  They piled the luggage in the car the next day and drove down the coastal road to Carmel. They had looked at the Spanish customs house in Monterey and now, here, was an old mission church, where they looked around. They had booked in at a hotel close to the sea, and after they had eaten in the dining room they went out in the darkness on to the cliffs. They crossed the golf course that occupied the cliff-top and as they did so the sprinklers started working, throwing up water in the darkness. The fine spray blew in the air and they had to find their way carefully amid the high spurts of water. ‘It’s like walking in a minefield,’ said Julie. The water rattled on the wind-blown trees. Then they looked down on the sea again, breaking below them. There were lights out in the bay.

  ‘You know what this is?’ asked Julie.

  ‘What?’ asked Walker.

  ‘This day,’ said Julie. ‘It’s Christmas Eve. How do you celebrate these things when you’re not home? Maybe we should have a tree in the car.’

  ‘We could decorate one of these pine trees,’ said Walker.

  ‘Yes,’ said Julie. ‘I’ll put my bracelet on it. It’s only a Woolworth bracelet. All Hillesle
y girls have Woolworth bracelets. It’s anti-conspicuous consumption.’

  After Julie had put her bracelet on the tree, they walked along the cliff. The misty spray from the golf course still blew over them, and once Walker went too close to one of the sprinklers and got soaked, as he seemed to have been getting soaked ever since he had reached America. ‘Hark,’ said Julie, ‘I thought I heard a seal bark.’ And there were noises down below the cliff. ‘You know,’ said Julie, when they got back to the hotel, and Walker had changed his clothes, ‘I think this is one of the best Christmas Eves I ever spent. We ought to come back next year and see if the bracelet is still there.’

  On Christmas morning they drove off early, heading south. The coast lost its cliffs and ridges and turned to flat plain and sandy beaches, and before they came to Los Angeles they reached the section where the oil-rigs stand up and the air is full of fumes. They avoided most of Los Angeles – ‘It’s the world’s worst city,’ said Julie – and it took about an hour to race through and come out the other side. They stopped once, to buy Christmas presents; Julie asked for a pocket tape-recorder, Walker had some bongo drums. In the afternoon they found a coastal motel on the south of the city, and before they had Christmas dinner in the flowery dining room, they took their first swim in the sea. The next day they again drove out early and headed for the border. By eleven they had passed through San Diego, crossing the ferry, and had reached the checkpoint. Walker worried about his visa, but the American immigration men volunteered to take him back in. Across the border they were assailed by salesmen, men holding up tea-services, pottery cows, coloured blankets. ‘Take a present for your neighbours, señ ores,’ they shouted into the car. Julie stopped to buy a one-day car insurance from the office just through the Mexican checkpoint, and then they drove on to Tijuana. Striped donkeys stood in the streets, evidently painted, advertising souvenir shops. These shops lined all the main streets, and the Mexican vendors stood outside shouting at the car. When they stopped, small boys surrounded them. They had dark faces and implacable expressions, and they made Walker nervous. Mexico was conducive to insecurity altogether. The streets were ill-marked, and shawled men sat on the pavements. They went inside one of the stores, laid out with blankets, pottery, embroidery. Julie picked out a blanket and Walker asked the price. The reply the salesman gave was preposterous.

  ‘It’s too much,’ said Julie.

  ‘Give me an offer,’ said the man. ‘You are beautiful girl, I let you have it real cheap.’

  ‘No, you tell me a price,’ said Julie. The man reduced his price by half. ‘I can get it for less than that down the street,’ said Julie.

  ‘You just got out of car,’ said the man, ‘this is the first shop you try.’

  ‘I know, but I can still get it for less,’ said Julie.

  ‘Okay,’ said the man, and he cut his price by half again. Walker paid and they came out with the blanket.

  ‘That was fun,’ said Julie.

  ‘I hate that kind of bargaining,’ said Walker.

  ‘That’s because you’re afraid of losing,’ said Julie. They had stopped outside another shop, which had a notice outside saying, ‘Use a piece of dead cow at moderate prices.’ A boy came out and offered them another blanket; he asked less money than Walker had paid.

  ‘You see,’ said Walker.

  ‘What do I care?’ asked Julie. ‘I enjoyed buying the blanket.’

  ‘Hello, honey,’ said two young Mexicans, stopping and looking at Julie with evident pleasure. ‘Welcome to Mexico.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Julie. The two men laughed and looked her up and down, taken with her neat Bermuda shorts and sweater.

  ‘You want to walk with us?’ said one of them.

  ‘No, I have a man to walk with,’ said Julie.

  ‘Oh, this man? Leave him,’ said the man.

  ‘I love him,’ said Julie.

  ‘Oh, okay, you make love with him then. Goodbye, honey.’

  ‘Goodbye, gracias,’ said Julie.

  Walker kicked a tuft of grass in the sidewalk and said, ‘Well, let’s get out of this place.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Julie.

  ‘I don’t like it. The whole sad place makes me uncomfortable. The way everyone stares; and all these people wanting to sell you things.’

  ‘They’re good direct people.’

  ‘They’re direct all right,’ said Walker. ‘They want my money and your body. They’ve got it all worked out.’

  A sign outside an office said WED AND DIVORCE. ‘Simple and to the point, look,’ said Walker.

  ‘Oh, quit beefing,’ said Julie.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, I apologize for that, but enjoy it, duckie, come on.’ A small Mexican boy was sitting in a doorway; Julie stopped and took a photograph.

  ‘Dime, dime,’ said the boy.

  ‘Give him a dime,’ said Julie.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Walker resignedly, handing over a coin.

  ‘Come on, let’s find a place to eat,’ said Julie. The only place they could find immediately was a bare, dingy café with a sign saying, ‘Welcome Turistos.’ The one Mexican dish Julie knew was chile con carne, and they both had that. It was hot and astringent. ‘Let’s go on a way,’ said Julie. ‘Maybe it’s less touristy out of town.’ They went back to the car and got in. They found their way through the town and on to a rough road that led beyond it, past a big sports arena, into the countryside. The land was poorly cultivated, the road rutted and poor. Walker sat in the passenger seat and looked disappointed.

  Finally Julie stopped the car. ‘I guess you’ve really made your mind up not to enjoy this, haven’t you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it. It makes me depressed and nervous and insecure. It just feels to me like a hostile place. I have no grip on it.’

  ‘You wanted to come here.’

  ‘I know, and now I want to go. I was wrong, we came too far.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll turn around.’ She started the car and turned it round over the rough rutted track. ‘You know,’ she said, driving back toward Tijuana, ‘Mexico is a dreamland for lots of Americans. They come here for truth, you know. But maybe the real Mexico is way down. This bit does look kind of sad. Hey, you hear anything?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought I heard a kind of clanging noise in the car. That would really do it, a breakdown.’ They came into Tijuana again; and there, in the middle of a junction on the main street, the car stopped. ‘I can’t get my gears,’ said Julie, ‘I guess something’s happened to the transmission.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Walker. A policeman began to wave at the car.

  ‘Come on,’ said Julie, ‘we’ll have to push. Oh, boy, I just remembered something. A friend of mine had a flat tyre here and they put him in jail for two weeks for some reason.’

  They got out; Walker pushed the car from the back and Julie pushed on the front door pillar, holding the driving wheel. A crowd of men lined the sidewalks, walking beside them and whistling at Julie’s shorts and bare legs. ‘Don’t just look, push,’ shouted Julie. The crowd laughed and clapped. ‘Garage, garage?’ Julie asked them. ‘Service?’ The crowd laughed again; some of them waved them onward. Walker plodded dejectedly on at the back as this display went on, pushing hard. They went on like this for a block, accompanied by the crowd, until they saw a garage on a corner. Julie turned the car in and they stopped. Walker sat down on the rear fender and tried to regain his breath. Flies landed on his sweating face. The Mexican serving petrol finally came over. ‘Breakdown,’ said Julie. The man apparently didn’t speak English; he went inside and returned with another Mexican, with a bushy moustache, who was covered in oil.

  ‘I think it’s the transmission,’ said Julie.

  ‘No can fix,’ said the man.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Walker, despairing, on his fender.

  ‘But how can I get it fixed? Can anyone in Tijuana fix it?’

  ‘Non,’ said the man.

 
; ‘Won’t you please look at it, then?’ The man brought out some tools and looked underneath and inside the car. ‘Help me to talk to them, Mr Walker,’ said Julie, coming round the back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Walker, standing up, and noticing with horror that there were tears in Julie’s eyes, ‘I was exhausted.’

  ‘You can sit,’ said the man, waving them inside the garage. There was an old Ford under repair, with the engine out; they got inside the back seat. ‘I never had a breakdown before,’ said Julie.

  ‘And I never had a car before,’ said Walker.

  ‘And here of all places,’ said Julie. ‘Why couldn’t it happen across the border? It’s only a few miles.’

  The mechanic with the moustache came back to them after a while and said, ‘You pay plenty money, I send boy to San Diego for part. Only way to fix.’

  ‘All right,’ said Julie, ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘You show me money,’ said the man. Julie took out her wallet from her purse and showed a hundred-dollar note.

  ‘Okay, I send boy,’ said the man.

  ‘How long will it take?’ asked Walker.

  ‘Oh, three hours for part. You pay extra, I work at night. Maybe fix by midnight.’

  ‘Shall we do that?’ asked Julie.

  ‘It’ll be cheaper than taking a hotel here. And I don’t know that I’d like to do that,’ said Walker.

  ‘Okay,’ said Julie.

  They sat in the car and watched the life of Tijuana quieten down. The sun faded and darkness spread in the street. The mechanic had gone. ‘What a day,’ said Walker. Julie said nothing. ‘Are you angry?’ asked Walker. Julie, lying back on the seat, looking up at the torn roof of the Ford, nodded.

  ‘With me?’

  ‘Among other things, yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Guess,’ said Julie. ‘I don’t think I much want to talk about it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Walker. He put his head back too. After a while, he put his hand on her knee. Julie left it there. The embarrassing piece of his cold flesh was without contact, and after a while he removed it. ‘I’m sorry if I disappointed you,’ he said.