In Pursuit of the English

by Doris Lessing

  At this point Dan bellowed up the stairs for his dinner, and exactly as if I could not have heard him, Flo murmured politely: ‘Well, I can see you want to go on working. I don’t blame you, dear, not at ail.’ She grabbed Aurora by the arm and demanded: ‘What are you doing here stopping the lady from working?’ Aurora went quite limp, and Flo shook her like a rag doll, saying: ‘Ah, my Lord, and who would have a child?’ She pulled the unresisting child, who was still sucking at the bottle, along the floor and out of the room. Aurora took her bottle out to grin at me as she was pulled round the side of the door.

  Rose came in. ‘What did Flo say about me?’

  ‘You know what she said.’

  ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘I told her to tell you herself.’

  ‘I suppose you agree with her. Well. I’m telling you both that if that’s all he cares about me, then he can lump it.’

  ‘Meanwhile, you haven’t seen each other in weeks and everyone takes it for granted you’ll get married.’

  ‘Well, so I should think. If he doesn’t I’ll take him to court for breach of promise.’

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I bet I wouldn’t either, I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The trouble with him is, he doesn’t know what’s good for him. No one with sense likes living in a furnished room when they can have their own home. There he is, sharing a room with two other men, playing poker and never eating proper. That’s really why he cooled off, see? I told him it was time we got married Flo with her dirty mind, she thinks it’s because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted.’

  Rose’s unhappiness had now reached the point where she could not rouse herself to go down to the basement to eat. She drank cup after cup of tea in my room, heaping in the sugar and saying it was food. When hunger assailed her so that she really couldn’t ignore it, she went out for sixpence-worth of fish and chips. Even in this low condition her natural fastidiousness stayed with her: she was a connoisseur of fish-and-chip shops, knowing every shop within a mile. She would take a bus to a place that used good oil, and fried the fish the way she liked it. But having taken all this trouble, she would push across the packet to me, and say: ‘I don’t fancy it.’

  ‘But you’ve got to eat sometime.’

  ‘What for. I’d like to know?’

  She had grown so thin that her skirts were folded at the back with safety-pins, and her face was set permanently into folds of grief, so that she looked like a woman of forty.

  Meanwhile, Flo had worked on Dan, who had told Dickie that Rose was pining for him. One dinner time Dickie marched into the jeweller’s shop with a covered plate of salad and salad cream, which he knew Rose liked, and placed it aggressively on the counter in front of her. He told Dan afterwards he intended this as a peace-offering; but Rose, without looking at him, carefully wrapped plate and food in newspaper, and went to the back of the shop where she slid it into the rubbish bin. She then returned to the counter where Dickie was waiting, and resumed her former position, palms resting downwards, staring past him into the street. At which he swore at her and went out again.

  That evening my radio was playing: ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ and she burst into tears. ‘Men are all mad,’ she told me. ‘What’s he think he’s doing, throwing food at me like I was something in the zoo.’ She went into her room and tossed Dickie’s photograph into the waste-paper basket. Half an hour later she put it back on her table, saying: ‘Well. I suppose you’re born stupid, you can’t help it.’ Rose talked to that photograph as if to Dickie himself. When I went into her room, she might be sitting with a towel pinned around her shoulders, making up, chatting softly to him thus: ‘Yes. And here I sit, wasting my time powdering my nose. Do you even notice if I put a new dress on? Not you. All you notice is, if I don’t look well, you complain about that fast enough.’ The photograph was of a hard-faced, arrogant man – Dan without Dan’s good nature.

  Night after night Rose sat slumped into my big leather chair, sometimes until long after everyone else had gone to bed, which in that house was very late. She would not bear if I spoke to her. She lay back with her eyes closed, and under her eyes were heavy black bruises. If she spoke, it was to grumble steadily in a monologue: ‘On my feet all day with that blasted Jewess. I said to her today. Look who does the work, you or me? Then get off that chair. Or buy another chair. Can’t you afford five bob for a chair? Can you believe it, she won’t get another chair into the shop in case I sit on it. She likes to think of me wearing out my feet for the money. And as for that husband of hers …’ Rose was always anti-Semitic, in a tired tolerant sort of way. She was convinced that ‘the Jews’ were all like her employers, who were the only Jewish people she had ever met. But now she was depressed, she talked like a minor Goebbels, and it was queer and frightening to hear the violent ugly phrases in Rose’s flat, good-natured, grumbling voice. ‘But I got even with him today. I called him a dirty Jew to his face. He didn’t like that. I said, I know about you, don’t think I don’t. You eat babies, you do, if the Government doesn’t keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

  ‘I’ll believe it if I want to, I’d believe anything of that pair.’

  ‘Then I’m not going to listen.’

  ‘Please yourself. But I’ll sit here a bit, if you don’t mind. I’ve got the ’ump.’ Incidentally the aitch in ’ump was the only one she ever dropped; the radio had made her self-conscious. She even said: ‘I’ve got so silly, listening to those lardy-das on the wireless, if I drop an aitch I go right back and pick it up again.’ But having the ’ump was a recognized spiritual condition; Rose dropped the aitch humorously, as a middle-class person might.

  I began to read. Rose watched me. I suggested it might be better if she read, instead of worrying about Dickie.

  ‘What I want is a book to tell me how to get sense into a man’s head.’

  A few evenings later we were walking back from the pictures when she stooped to pick up a paperback that had been dropped on the pavement. ‘Oooh, look,’ she said derisively. The picture on the cover was of a woman in a low-cut white satin dress, leaning back against a table in a state of urgent defence, clutching at the folds of her dress. ‘Look at that,’ said Rose. ‘She’s as good as being raped, but she’s got time to worry about keeping her clothes clean.’ The man in the picture looked as if he were biting the woman’s ear. ‘That’s a man all over,’ Rose said. ‘He’s going to bite her ear off if she doesn’t give him what he wants. That’s love all right. I’m going to read it.’ She read the book as we walked home, remarking ‘Just push me the way I should go. I can’t keep my eyes off this, and that’s a fact.’

  At home she arranged herself in my big chair and said: ‘Just make a nice cup of tea and don’t talk. I want to see if Lady Godiva gets into bed or not.’ From time to time she’d look up to say: ‘He’s just given her a watch with diamonds. He loves her for herself, he says.’ ‘Now she’s his secretary. She wants to help him with his career.’ Late that night she left my room saying: ‘We’re up to page 97, and he’s already given her chocolates, a watch, a car and a mink coat. She’d better watch out. Well, I’ll finish it tomorrow night, so don’t you decide to go out. I like to have company when I read.’

  Next evening she snuggled herself into my chair with the book. I said: ‘If you like those books, why don’t you buy some?’

  ‘What, waste money on this silly stuff? No, it came my way, as you might say, so I don’t mind. Besides, it’s giving me ideas about putting sense into Dickie’s head.’ At midnight she put the book down with a yawn, ‘Well, believe it or not, they got married in the end. They didn’t get into bed until the last page either. He said, your beautiful body, and she said: I want to feel your strong arms about me. I could do with a pair of strong arms myself, after all that. But I tell you what, I’ve got an idea. You remember I said about my policeman? But it’s all right thinking about it, when it gets to saying yes to going ou
t with him, I can’t bring myself But if I get off a little with Jack, Flo’ll tell Dickie, and no harm done. I can handle Jack.’

  ‘Don’t you be too sure.’

  ‘He’s a kid. But I’ve learned a thing or two from this book. She got diamonds and mink coats all right, but no ring, not until she played him up proper.’

  Rose descended thoughtfully to the basement. A few minutes later there were yells and raucous laughter from Flo. Rose ran upstairs, chased by Jack.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘what’re you scared of?’

  ‘Think I’d go to bed with a kid like you?’

  ‘Then why were you kissing and hugging me just now?’

  Rose slammed the door. He swore. A few minutes later he scratched softly on my door and came in, ‘Lend me some money,’ he said in an offhand way, not from rudeness but because he was hardly aware I existed. He took a pound, thanked me perfunctorily and crept out, his terrified little-boy eyes fixed on the door where his stepfather might emerge.

  Rose came in, ‘Flo’ll tell Dickie,’ she said, ‘so that’s all right.’

  ‘Not if she tells him the truth.’

  Rose giggled. ‘Dan’ll be mad now. He always goes on and on about never having paid a woman yet, as an example to Jack, so as to keep down the cost of living.’

  Next day Jack and Rose would not speak to each other, Flo watched the aloof faces with an appreciative grin. She kept winking at me and at Dan, and when Dan did not respond, raised her eyes and shrugged at the ceiling. She had not yet realized that Dan was really angry, particularly because she had taken her son aside and made him tell her the details of his night’s adventures. ‘Children have got to grow up,’ she kept saying, but Dan scowled and moved his feet under the table like a bull pawing at the earth. He sat in grim silence, his great powerful arms resting on the white cloth, and his heavy head turned to watch his wife, who flitted as usual at the stove end of the room, looking like a shaggy little dog with her bright inquisitive eyes under the tangle of hair. When he looked at Jack he was murderous. But Jack apparently did not notice, or pretended not to; he was glistening with triumph, taunting Rose, saying with an aggressive but pleased laugh: ‘Who’s a kid now?’

  At last Rose, who had been quiet and listless, said: ‘I’m going out to get some fresh air.’ She went out without looking at Jack. Flo ran after her and kissed her with a simple affection rare in her and said: ‘Rose, don’t take on so about everything. You take everything so serious.’

  ‘I’m going to the pictures,’ said Jack. It was much too late for the pictures and Dan raised his head loweringly to ask: ‘And who’s paying?’

  Jack said: ‘She lent me a pound.’

  ‘Who, Rose?’

  Jack looked at me and laughed.

  ‘More fool you,’ said Dan to me. And to Jack: ‘If you do that again, you know what’ll you get.’

  ‘You’re not my father,’ said Jack, defying him.

  Dan got up and slammed out of the basement. ‘I’ll kill the pair of you yet,’ he said.

  Flo began to cry. ‘Oh, my God, he’s gone, he’s left me, and it’s your fault,’ she said to Jack.

  ‘We’ll do all right without him,’ said Jack.

  ‘My God,’ said Flo, ‘My God. And I’ll kill you if you upset him again.’

  Later Jack came to knock on my door for some more money. I refused. He had expected this, and now knocked on Rose’s door.

  ‘Get away,’ came her muffled voice: she was crying.

  ‘Lend me a pound,’ said Jack, shaking with triumphant laughter.

  ‘Go and hang yourself.’

  Next morning Flo was so angry she smashed a cup on the draining-board setting it down. ‘That kid. Last night he pretended to go to bed as usual, then he took my coal money and went out. I’ll give him women. But don’t tell Dan, darling. Please don’t. He’ll hit him again and then lack won’t be a nice witness for our case.’

  ‘What is this case you all keep talking about?’

  ‘Oh, my Lord!’ said Flo, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘Dan’d kill me if he knew I’d said anything to you.’

  ‘Now you have, why don’t you tell me.’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask me. We’ll tell you. Really we will. But don’t ask me. There’s enough trouble with Jack and Dan without Dan’s getting angry with me for opening my mouth when I shouldn’t.’

  That evening Rose asserted her rights as a neighbour by saying: ‘I’m going for a walk. And you’re coming, too.’ Her mood had changed. She was aggressive and challenging. ‘We’re going to take a bus, and then we’ll see.’

  She got off the bus at the Bayswater Road. It was summer, and it was lined with dusty trees and so thick with prostitutes they stood in groups along the pavements. ‘I don’t like coming here most times,’ said Rose. ‘But tonight I feel different.’ We walked slowly along, and Rose glared angrily into the faces of the waiting girls until she got a defensive stare back.

  ‘What’s this for?’ I said.

  ‘They make me sick,’ said Rose. She was trembling with rage.

  I tried to turn her off into the Gardens, but she held my arm tight and made me go with her. ‘Dirty beasts,’ she said. ‘Look at them, hanging about, a pound a time, when I think I want to vomit.’ At last she got tired, and turned spontaneously off into the Park. We went to the Round Pond, which was nearly deserted: a few small boys waded along its verges with nets and tins full of tiddlers. It was dusk now; the pond lay in a dull leaden sheet; the trees stood quiet and leafy; and Rose stared into the water and said: ‘Sometimes I think I’ll throw myself in.’

  ‘Better go down to the river,’ I said. ‘You’ll only hit your had on the bottom here.’

  I’m not going to laugh. I don’t feel like it.’ She began walking around the edge, leaving me to follow. She walked right round the pond, until she got back to where she had started.

  A policeman came sauntering towards us. ‘There’s a cop,’ said Rose. ‘Well, he needn’t think I’m scared of him now. Can’t they ever leave us alone? I suppose he thinks we’re those dirty beasts. Well. I know about cops now, since that one that’s chasing me, and they’re just like everyone else.’ When the policeman came up and looked keenly into our faces, Rose said, ‘We’re just having a walk, dear,’ and slipped him a shilling. ‘There go my cigarettes again,’ she said, as he remarked: ‘Good night, miss,’ and sauntered off again. We could see him standing in the dark under the great trees, watching us while we made another complete circuit of the pond. ‘Can’t ever leave us alone, can’t ever leave us in peace,’ Rose was muttering. ‘A shilling. Well, Jack can throw a pound away two nights running and what for … did I ever tell you about my Canadian?’ she enquired suddenly, as the policeman, deciding we were harmless, wandered off through the trees. ‘No. Well, I’ll tell you now. I’ve been thinking of him the last few days, thinking about life as you might say. Love, it’s all nonsense. I was really in love with him, too. I thought I’d never get over it when he got himself killed by those Germans, But I did get over it, and so what am I wasting good salt over Dickie for?’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He was a sweet boy,’ she drawled, her voice changing. ‘He used to take me out every time I had a free evening from the factory or the blitz. If I said I was busy he’d hang about the house until I’d finished washing and ironing for my mother. Then he’d take me for a walk. He’d even do the ironing for me – can you believe it? – a man doing washing and ironing. He’d come right across London to wash and set my hair for me. He was a hairdresser in Canada. He’d go down on his knees to tie my shoelaces for me. Yes, it’s true. I used to unfasten my shoes sometimes before he came to watch him do it. Well, Dickie may be a bastard, but he’d never go down on his bloody knees to tie my shoes.’

  ‘You must have been in love.’

  ‘Oh, if you’re laughing, it’s your mistake. I was, too. I was so miserable when he was killed I committed suicide. First I cried and cried, and my stepfa
ther said he’d beat me if I didn’t stop. That was before he threw me out. Well. I thought I might as well die, with my boy dead, so I put my head in the gas-oven but the gas ran out, and they found me and poured cold water on me. Then my stepfather said I was no good and threw me out.’

  ‘Lucky the gas ran out.’

  ‘Lucky nothing. I only put sixpence in. Well, it made that old so-and-so my step sit up and take notice, didn’t it? But what I mean is, I was so in love, just like the films, I even committed suicide, well nearly, and now I’m in love with Dickie, so what’s the sense in anything, can you tell me that? And so now I’ve decided. I’m going out with that bloody policeman. Still, I suppose someone has to be a policeman. I’m not going to hold it against him.’ By now the wind was stirring black branches, and pale clouds streamed across a black sky; it was not at all the domestic little pond of the daytime with small boys and toy boats. Rose gave a fearful look back as we left it and said: ‘So now that’s all done. I’m finished crying, and you’re not catching me committing suicide again for any bloody man, and I’m going to be hardhearted and on the make, just like that silly bitch in that book with the picture on it, well, it’s not my fault if men like to be treated bad, now is it?’

  Next evening she spent two hours dressing herself, and came into my room to show off. She was wearing a new grey suit she had bought from her boss’s wife, high black ankle-strap shoes, and heavy brass jewellery on her wrists and ears. ‘Look at my bosom,’ she said, ‘I’ve stuffed it all out with cotton wool. Dickie hates it when I do that, but this one’s not going to get near my bosom, so it doesn’t matter.’