A Proper Marriage (54 page)

Martha frowned. She was thinking uncomfortably that she was doomed to be, not attracted to - she would not admit that yet - but
with
people who administered other people; more, people who were the dissatisfied administrators whom Fate or - and here she carefully tested the new phrase - The Logic of History did not recognize for what they were, by nature far more efficient than those whom Fate or Logic actually chose as its servants. There are people, warmhearted and enthusiastic, but unfortunately liable because of these very qualities to a prolonged juvenescence: Martha could not bear that people tended to fall into types. It was to Douglas rather than to William that she remarked grudgingly, ‘Well, that may be so, but perhaps you wouldn’t have done any better yourself if you’d been running the show.’

He stopped himself in a long sentence which dissected the reasons why Harry Pollitt was right and not wrong in his first assessment of ‘the line’ – he used the phrase with a sort of jaunty respect - and his look at Martha changed. That warmth and enthusiasm of hers must be met. He wavered, and fell over on the wrong side of his barrier of caution. It was in a new voice, humorous, light and intimate, that he said, ‘No, Matty — I would have been
much
more efficient.’

She laughed at once. They looked at each other - and then away. It was too early for either of them to acknowledge that their hearts were beating fast.

He rose, and said, ‘I must be downtown in half an hour.’

‘I’ll run you down in the car,’ she said at once.

He refused quickly - it was imperative that he should be alone to think. But he smiled intimately at her before he left,
swinging his pack over his shoulder, and cramming on the little cap which made him a soldier again.

He walked rapidly off, as if really in a hurry, until out of sight of the house, and then strolled comfortably under the trees. He was thinking that he had been irresponsible to encourage Martha about that Communist group she had set her heart on. The truth was that he did not know himself what was happening.

Some months ago, when Hitler attacked the Soviet Union, the left wing of the old discussion circle had suggested setting up Help for Our Allies. This was given immediate approval. Quite soon there was an organization with an office, typewriters, filing cabinets and a letterhead on which appeared the names of about fifty prominent citizens. On the committee, which was very large, were all the members of the discussion circle, from Messrs Perr, Forester and Pyecroft down to Boris Krueger and Jasmine.

But no sooner was this running satisfactorily than the minority - Boris, Betty, Jasmine and their allies - seethed into activity with a new organization, Sympathizers of Russia. These two organizations, even to an unsophisticated eye, offered food for thought. The left wing of the Help for Our Allies formed the committee of the Sympathizers, together with a whole ferment of new people, chiefly from the Air Force, who regarded the first committee with calm contempt as cautious temporizers. For a while Jasmine had been secretary of both organizations. She was so efficient that it was a pity to waste her.

About two weeks ago, a new dissatisfaction had set in.

It had begun at the moment when Mr Perr, in a humorous voice which nevertheless reeked of suspicion, remarked at a meeting of the Help for Our Allies Committee that the said committee had no intention of being run by a Communist faction. At this, eyes had met all around the long table, some hurt, some puzzled. No one knew of a Communist faction. As for the majority of the committee, simple people who were unpolitical on principle, they were upset, and found it all unpleasant. For they did not understand the law that people like Mr Perr who have been called Communists in
popular gossip spend nine-tenths of their time proving their bona fides by attacking Communists. That committee meeting left an unpleasant taste in every mouth. As for the left wing itself, Jasmine, Betty, Boris and William, they made inquiries of each other, and concluded that Mr Perr was suffering from the mania only to be expected of him. At this point, a certain Jackie Bolton, sergeant, administration, recently posted to the city from another down south, took them to tea at a certain café downtown, and informed them they were a lot of skulking petty bourgeois who refused to face up to their responsibilities. He, Jackie Bolton, was about to form a Communist group, and invited them to join.

But, while all their hearts leaped to this proposal, they did not at once agree. ‘Matters should be discussed,’ said Jasmine. That was three days ago.

Since then there had been a tense atmosphere in all the committee, and people tended to go off in pairs talking earnestly, looking at other couples similarly engaged with suspicious inquiry. No one knew what was going on; but they felt instinctively that Jasmine was the key to everything. Jasmine patiently cautioned them all: They must be responsible and sensible, they must not do things in a hurry. As for herself, she felt a Communist group to be premature.

Sergeant Jackie Bolton waited for twenty-four hours, and then spoke to William in the mess. ‘That crowd in town are all useless,’ was the burden of his message. He invited William to meet him at Black Ally’s Café to talk it all over.

It was to this interview that William was going. He was feeling very uncomfortable about it. To a young man like William, who, as has been said, was sensible and matter-of-fact, there was something disagreeable about Jackie Bolton, who was the tall, dark, hollow-cheeked, saturnine man whom Martha had noticed exuding sarcastic disparagement at the Help for Our Allies meeting. William did not like heroics - Jackie was heroic on principle; William did not like intrigue - Jackie breathed out conspiracy with every word he spoke; he did not like drama — Jackie was dramatic. But he was going to meet him nevertheless; he could not refuse, because of that bond which, during the war, was
stronger than any other, that between men wearing the same uniform.

Black Ally’s was filled with aircraftsmen – it was by consent a place for the Air Force – and William entered the sordid little café with a feeling of being at home. The two men removed their caps, unbuttoned their jackets, and settled down to plates of eggs and chips.

Jackie was confidential and conspiratorial, with his large urgent black eyes, his hollow bony face, his manner of silent laughing - he would heave with laughter, without letting out a sound. He wanted to start a Communist group, led by himself, from certain men in the Air Force and a few sound types, from town, excluding ‘all the Jasmines and Bettys and Borises’, who were nothing but social democrats of the worst kind, and infected with Trotskyism to boot.

William listened in silence. He wanted to commit himself. The phrase ‘those types in town’ was a bugle of solidarity. He was strongly bound to Jackie by the feeling of being in exile, and their good-humoured contempt for this city. He almost agreed. Then Jackie remarked that he had never been a member of the Party. He added that he considered himself a freelance of the revolution. William was chilled by that phrase. He hesitated and temporized and tried to change the subject.

He said that Matty Knowell was ripe - meaning politically; but the sergeant gave it another meaning by heaving his hollow shoulders soundlessly; and William smiled stiffly - he was on the borderline still; Matty was not yet his girl, but on the other hand he felt a strong current of sympathy for her. He frowned and said he thought Jackie was altogether too sweeping; there was Jasmine, for instance: ‘She’s a good type.’

‘Better than the others,’ admitted Jackie. He added, laughing, ‘I had supper with her last night.’ William felt no sexual loyalty towards Jasmine, so they were able to pursue this point. They remained there for about two hours, taking the taste of the camp food out of their mouths with repeated orders of eggs and chips, drinking cup after cup of very strong tea. By that time it had been agreed that Jasmine had
possibilities; Matty was to be sounded by Jackie that evening. They were both capable of education; so were all the men in uniform who had ever shown the slightest interest in politics. The male civilians, however, were all beyond hope.

They would have, they reckoned, some fifteen or twenty people as a nucleus. But still William would not commit himself. He left the sergeant with the promise that he would think it all over. He walked away uptown from the café, and already Jackie’s influence was waning. He found himself distrusting the man. He decided to ring up Jasmine herself, and abide by her decision.

He rang her up from the nearest telephone. She was due at a meeting in an hour, she said, but could give him twenty minutes of her time afterwards. The calm sense of the girl’s voice satisfied William that he had done right.

On the same afternoon there was another encounter, between two men who have not yet been mentioned.

The Help for Our Allies Committee was sitting. Mr Perr was chairman. The proceedings were harmonious and orderly. But there was one item on the agenda which might cause friction. The secretary of the Sympathizers of Russia – the signature was Jasmine’s - had sent a letter proposing that the two organizations should hold a joint meeting to celebrate the anniversary of the November Revolution. Mr Perr spoke strongly against it. Four others, all members of the old discussion circle, were equally upset at the thought that Aid for Our Allies had anything to do with politics or revolutions. The majority of the committee - housewives, clergymen and so on - could see nothing against it. The heroism of Stalingrad made even the November Revolution respectable. Besides, it had happened a long time ago.

The two men in question were both silent until the end of the discussion, though Mr Perr repeatedly looked towards them, inviting them to speak. One was a Scotsman, a bulky bluff corporal with a broad sensible face and shrewd grey eyes; the other was Anton Hesse, a German refugee, a young man of about thirty, of middle height, very thin, very fair - he had that extreme Northern fairness, hair so blond it was
almost white, very keen blue eyes of the kind which look as if there is white ice behind the iris. Anton Hesse had been on the committee since its formation. Andrew McGrew had been posted up from G—, a small southern town where he had served on the counterpart of this committee. His sensible, calm appearance inspired confidence; when he rose to speak, Mr Perr visibly relaxed.

He said that, speaking for himself, he could see no reason why the Help for Our Allies organization should not celebrate the revolution, which after all had contributed a great deal to the defenders of Stalingrad and Leningrad; on the other hand, the function of the committee was to raise money for medical supplies, and he was quite prepared to waive his personal feelings in the interests of harmony and good feeling. With this he sat down, crossed his legs, put his pipe back in his mouth and looked - as did everyone else - towards Mr Hesse.

Who rose, in his stiff deliberate way, and said he agreed with the last speaker. He would like to add, however, that in his personal opinion it would be better if a vote was not taken. It was clear from the discussion that the majority of the committee were in favour of joining in the celebrations; if a vote were taken it might embarrass Mr Perr and those members who felt so strongly about it. Such embarrassments should be avoided wherever possible. He then sat down, and lit a cigarette, giving his full attention to the process.

This caused a short silence. Mr Perr was agitated. Such was Mr Hesse’s manner that it was impossible to know whether he was being accurate and helpful or airily offensive. Mr Perr looked uncomfortably around the table, and suggested they should pass to the next item on the agenda. Once again the unpolitical members of the committee had been made to feel that there were unpleasant undercurrents which they ought to be understanding. They all proceeded to discuss how best to produce a pamphlet, while Mr Hesse smoked in silence, satisfied with the barb that he had left to rankle.

It was noticeable that he and Corporal McGrew watched each other for the rest of the meeting; and that afterwards
they left together, apparently fortuitously. At which Mr Perr said avidly to Mr Forester that that damned German got under his skin - he didn’t trust him an inch.

The two men walked away in silence, each waiting for the other to speak. Then the Scotsman took the initiative by remarking, ‘I met a friend of yours in G—. He met you in London in 1938. Barry, the name was.’

‘I remember Barry - the Committee for Spain.’

Andrew took his pipe from his mouth and remarked, ‘I was on the Northern Committee during that period.’

‘You were?’ This had a suggestion of stiff amusement.

The two pairs of eyes met frankly, and both men grinned. All the same there was a small hesitation before Andrew took the plunge: ‘I take it you are in the Party?’

‘Since 1933,’ Anton said, and looked questioningly towards Andrew, who said, ‘I’ve been in since 1930.’

There was a pause. Instinctively, the two men moved closer together as they walked down the pavement under the trees towards the business centre.

‘I’m not quite clear as to the situation here,’ observed Andrew. ‘I only came last week.’

‘There’s nothing here - we’re the only two members that I’ve discovered.’

‘There are a couple of dozen in the camp. But as to the local situation, I would appreciate it if you would clarify my mind a little.’

They both stopped. It was at a street corner. The traffic fled past noisily in two streams.