David Lodge (2 page)

“It is, isn't it.” Desmond shook off his bathrobe.

“
And so they make a group that's quite antique
...”

“What?”

“
Half-naked, loving, natural and Greek
.” Joanna blushed slightly. “Byron.”

“Him again! Pretty sexy type, wasn't he?”

“Yes, he was, as a matter of fact.”

“Like me,” said Desmond complacently, stroking Joanna through the sheet.

The next day, after lunch, there was a little embarrassed hesitation on the landing before they separated for the siesta. Then Desmond said to Robin, “Why don't you go in Sally's room this time?” and a few moments later Robin and Joanna passed each other in the corridor wearing bathrobes and bashful smiles. The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that. They formed a silent, thoughtful group over the late-night coffee. The communal cuddle was a rather perfunctory ritual now: all had tasted headier pleasures in the afternoon. Afterwards they found it difficult to sleep in their hot, dark bedrooms.

“Des...”

“Mmm?”

“Have you ever, you know...?”

“What?”

“Done it with a girl.”

After a longish pause, Desmond answered. “I don't know.”

Robin sat up in his bed. “Either you have or you haven't!”

“I tried once, but I don't think I did it properly.”

“What, you and Jo?”

“Good God, no!”

“Who then?”

“I've forgotten her name. It was years ago, I was camping, with the scouts, in the Dales. These two local girls used to hang about the camp at night. Me and this other chap went for a walk with them one night. The one I was with suddenly said, 'You can do me if you like.'”

“Ye gods,” Robin breathed enviously.

“It was sopping wet on the ground, so we stood up against a tree. I kept slipping on the roots and I couldn't see a damn thing. Afterwards she said, 'Well I wouldn't give thee a badge for that, lad.'”

Robin laughed aloud and gratefully.

“What about you?” Desmond inquired.

Robin was glum again. “Never.”

“What made you ask?”

“These afternoons with Sal. It's driving me mad.”

“I know. We nearly went the whole way today.”

“So did we.”

“We'd better give it some serious thought.”

“I think about it all the time.”

“I mean precautions.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it would be risky.”

“Risky!”

“You didn't bring any with you, I suppose, what d'you call 'em...”

“French letters?”

“That's right.”

“Me?”

“Well someone of your experience...”

“What experience?”

“In the scouts.”

“Don't be daft.”

“What shall we do, then?”

“We could try the local shops.”

“Hmm.” Robin was doubtful. “Catholic country, you know. Probably illegal. Anyway, what are they called in Spanish?”

“Let's look in the phrase book.”

“Good idea.” Robin jumped out of bed and turned on the light. Together they bent their heads over
The Holidaymaker's Spanish Phrase Book
.

“What will it be under?”

“Try 'The Chemist's Shop.' Or 'At the Barber's.'”

“Oh yes,” said Robin bitterly, after a few minutes perusal. “They find room for 'I have blisters on the soles of my feet,' and 'Please may I have a shampoo for a dry scalp,' but when there's something you're actually likely to need...”

“Hang on,” said Desmond. “We didn't look at 'Consulting the Doctor.' There's a sort of all-purpose phrase here which says, 'I have a pain in my...' You don't think we could adapt that?”

“No.” Robin turned off the light and groped his way back to bed. Some time later he found himself staring into the light and the eyes of Desmond, who was shaking him urgently, hissing the words “
New Statesman
”.

“Uh?”

“Your
New Statesman
. It has Family Planning ads in the back.”

Robin was suddenly wide awake. “Des, you're a genius,” he said. And then: “But there won't be time.”

“I worked it out. If we send off tomorrow, they should arrive in a week, or just over.”

“That's cutting it fine.”

“Well, have you a better idea?”

Robin hadn't. They found an advertisement in the
New Statesman
, but it offered only a free catalogue. Not knowing the price or specifications of their requirements, they had some difficulty composing an order. But at last it was finished. In enclosing the money they agree to err on the side of generosity. “Let's tell them to keep the change,” Said Robin. “That should hurry things up.”

Meanwhile, however, another conversation had been going on at the other end of the corridor which rendered these labours vain. The girls broke it to them the next morning on the beach.

“Jo and I had a serious talk last night,” said Sally. “And we agreed that it's got to stop, before it's too late.”

“What's got to stop?” said Robin.

“Why?” said Desmond, who saw no point in pretending not to understand.

“Because it isn't right,” said Joanna.

“We all know it isn't,” said Sally.

The two boys were sulky and taciturn over lunch. Afterwards they went grimly to their room for the siesta, and the girls to theirs.

“Oh dear,” said Sally. “I do hope this isn't going to spoil the holiday.”

“What we need,” said Joanna sensibly, “is a change of scenery. Let's go into Ibiza tomorrow.”

So the next day they took the bus into the town. There was a small crowd of people gathered on the quayside, watching a rather rakish-looking, black-painted yacht. Robin caught the name of a famous film star.

“Ooh!” said Sally. “Let's wait and see if he comes ashore.”

They hung around for a while, but the famous film-star did not appear. Once a well-developed young woman in a two-piece swimsuit stared haughtily at them for a few moments from a hatchway and then withdrew.

“No wonder he doesn't want to come ashore,” said Desmond.

“Let's go, I'm bored,” said Joanna.

They wandered round the old town, doing their best to avoid the gruesome cripples who begged on every street corner. They climbed up a succession of steep, smelly alleys festooned with washing, and found themselves on the parapet of a kind of fortress overlooking the harbour. Inside the fort was a little archaeological museum, with flints and shards and some coins and carvings. Joanna and Sally went to the Ladies. Sally emerged first, somewhat shaken by the experience, and found the boys poring over a glass display case.

“What have you found?”

Robin smirked. “Take a look.”

The case contained a number of tiny, crudely fashioned clay figures, with grossly exaggerated sexual organs: huge phalluses, jutting breasts and grooved, distended bellies.

“Oh,” said Sally, after staring at them blankly for a while. “Fancy putting things like that in a museum.”

“What is it?” said Joanna, joining them.

Desmond made room for her. “Fertility whatnots,” he said.

“We don't seem to be able to get away from the subject, do we?” Sally said to Joanna, as they left the museum. The two boys were sniggering together behind them as they walked arm in arm down the hill.

For the rest of the day, and all the next day, Desmond and Robin kept together, leaving the girls to each other's company, implying that if that was how it was to be for the siesta, that was how it had better be all the time. The girls were well aware of this message, and it made them restive and unhappy. At dinner Robin and Desmond talked animatedly about the molecular structure of clay and its possible application to the dating of fertility whatnots, and in the
bodega
afterwards they pursued the same topic over Green Chartreuse. Two young Americans in violently checked Bermuda shorts asked politely if they might sit at the same table, for the bar was crowded, and were drawn into the discussion. Robin and Desmond described the treasures of the Ibiza museum in eloquent detail, while the two Americans grinned at the two girls.

“We can't go on like this,” said Sally that night.

“But we can't change our minds,” said Joanna. “Can we?”

“I've been thinking,” said Sally,” it would be different if we were engaged.”

“Yes,” said Joanna thoughtfully, “it would, wouldn't it.”

So the next day they all got engaged. It was unofficial - they would wait till they got home to tell their parents - but it was quite properly done. Each girl chose a cheap ring, “to be going on with” from a stall in the market, and wore it proudly on her third finger. In the evening they had a celebration dinner in a restaurant, and sentimentally held hands between courses. The two Americans, who happened to be in the same restaurant, noticed the rings and offered their congratulations.

“I'm ever so glad we decided to get engaged,” said Joanna to Desmond the following afternoon. “Aren't you, Des?”

“Oh yes.”

“Not just so we can siesta together?”

“'Course not.”

“It's different, somehow, being definitely engaged. I mean, before, I was never quite sure whether we weren't just doing it for pleasure. But now I know it's for love.”

“Pleasure too.”

“Oh, yes, pleasure too. Oh, Des!”

“Oh, Jo!”

“Goodness,” Sally murmured, averting her eyes, “you look just like a fertility whatnot.”

“I feel like one,” said Robin.

It was not long before they all realised that they had not solved their problem but merely raised the price of its solution. One fateful question hung over their waking hours, and their hours were many, for they discussed it late into the hot nights.

“Sal.”

“Yes?”

“We nearly did it today.”

“We nearly do it every day.”

“No, I mean really. I told Des, 'If you want to, I couldn't stop you.'”

“Gosh, what happened?”

“Well, he was ever so sweet. He said, 'I'll give you ten to think it over', and went and sat on the other bed.”

“And?”

“When he'd finished counting, I'd sort of come round.”

“Didn't you wish you'd counted faster?” said Robin.

“Not really,” said Desmond. “I sobered up myself. I began to think, what if Jo got pregnant? I mean, we're no nearer to getting married than we were last week.”

“It's about time those things came from the
New Statesman
place,” said Robin. “There's not much time left.”

“Well, there aren't many days left now, anyhow,” said Joanna. “It will be easier when we get back to England.”

“Yes, everything seems different Abroad.”

“'What men call gallantry and gods adultery...'”

“It would be fornication, not adultery,” said Sally, who was getting rather tired of this quotation.

The next day, Desmond received a plain brown envelope in the mail and took it to his room, followed eagerly by Robin.

“There's nothing in it,” Desmond said grimly, “I can feel.” He tore the envelope open and took out a letter and his cheque.

“Blast!”

“What do they say?”

“We regret that regulations prohibit us from conveying our goods to the Spanish Republic.”

“I told you,” said Robin. “It's a Catholic country.”

“Fascist swine!” said Desmond. “Inquisitors. Police State.” He worked himself up into a frenzy of anti-Spanish sentiment. “Priest-mongers! Hypocrites!” He leaned out of the window and cried, “Down with Franco! Up Sir Walter Raleigh!”

“I say, steady on,” said Robin.

The two Americans, who were passing in the street below, looked up wonderingly. Desmond waved to them.

“Rob,” he said over his shoulder, “I wonder if those Yanks have got any.”

“They've got Things,” Sally said to Joanna that night.

“I know.”

“We must stick together, Jo.”

“Yes.”

“Why not?” said Robin. “It's perfectly safe.”

“I'm sure it is,” said Sally. “But...”

“But what?”

“Well, I think we should keep one thing for when we get married.”

“But we can't get married for years.”

“All the more reason.”

“I suppose you think I wouldn't respect you,” said Desmond. “Afterwards.”

“Oh no, Des, it's not that.”

“I'd respect you more. For having the courage of your convictions.”

“But I don't have any convictions. Just a feeling. That we'd regret it.”

Desmond sighed and rolled away from her. “You disappoint me, Jo,” he said.

“D'you think we're being unreasonable?” said Joanna that night.

“I think they're being unreasonable,” said Sally. “After all, we've given in and given in.”

“You've got to draw the line somewhere.”

“Exactly.”

“I suppose it's different for a boy, though,” said Joanna.

“Rob,” said Sally, “says it's like holding your thumb against a running tap.”

Lying in the darkness, the two girls silently pondered this eloquent image. Joanna flapped her sheet to make a breeze. “It seems hotter than ever,” she said.

And so, as the holiday drew towards its close, tension increased and found relief in a debauch of talk. They no longer bothered to maintain the convention that each couple conducted its intimate life in private: they brought their common problem out into the open and discussed it - on the beach, at meals, over drinks - with a freedom and sophistication that amazed themselves. “I think we're all agreed that there's no special virtue in virginity qua virginity,” Robin would say, with the air of a chairman who sensed that he had the feeling of the meeting, and they would all nod sagely in agreement. “In fact, I think one could safely say that
some
sexual experience before marriage is positively desirable.”

“Yes, I agree,” said Sally,” in principle. I mean the first time could be an awful shambles if neither of you knew what you were supposed to be doing, and why should the girl always be the innocent one? That's old hat.”

“But don't you think,” said Joanna, “that it's a shame if there's nothing to look forward to when you're married? I mean, if it's just legalising what's already happened?”