Imago Bird (22 page)

Sheila said ‘There's no need to push!'

Mrs Washbourne was saying ‘What are you doing here?'

I realised she was talking to me.

Brian Alick said ‘Let's get out.'

Uncle Bill said ‘No.'

I don't know how long all this took. I suppose only a few seconds. Time stretches: then people are at home again in their environment.

Uncle Bill said ‘Take her upstairs.'

I said ‘I was going to.'

I thought—Till you all came in with your pick-axes and gumboots.

Brian Alick said ‘All right.'

Sheila said ‘What are you doing here?'

I realised, after a time, that she too was talking to me.

Mrs Washbourne said ‘Bert, we thought you'd been kidnapped.'

Uncle Bill said ‘We'd better have a post-mortem; though no one's actually dead yet, are they?'

Uncle Bill said ‘But did, or didn't, anyone see if they got a photograph.'

Brian Alick said ‘I didn't'

Sheila said ‘I saw a flash.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘Flash is the word.'

Uncle Bill said ‘Connie!'

We were in the drawing-room on the first floor. Mrs Washbourne was standing by the window and was holding one side of the curtain back as if she were a secret-service agent in a film Sheila and Brian Alick were sitting straight-backed on the sofa.

‘There was definitely a photographer.'

‘Who was he, do you know?'

‘Not that unattractive photographer.'

‘Connie!'

‘Can you find out?'

‘How?'

‘You've got contacts, haven't you?'

Uncle Bill was by the fireplace holding a glass of whisky. He had handed round whisky to the others. Every now and then he moved as if he had forgotten his whisky, and drops like a blessing flew out over the carpet.

‘Who was supposed to be with Mavis this evening?'

‘No one.'

‘Why not?'

‘Why should they be?'

‘I must make it clear we have absolutely no interest in any of this.'

‘We came here to find out about Bert.'

‘What was it about Bert: Connie?'

I was sitting in a straight-backed chair opposite the fire. I thought—I will be here like a secretary just to take things
down: or like that figure on the banks of the Nile to tell the world what are true and what are untrue messages —

‘I asked our two friends here—'

‘Sheila—'

‘Brian Alick—'

‘To come round?'

‘Does this matter now?'

‘Of course.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know if this aspect worries you—'

‘What about Mavis —'

‘We understood he hadn't been seen—'

‘What about?'

‘—for two days. We came round here—'

Aunt Mavis had been taken up to her room. A doctor had been sent for. One of the secretaries had stayed with her: then the rest of us had gathered in the drawing-room as if in the last act of a play about murderers and detectives.

‘What do you mean he hadn't been seen for two days?'

‘He was here last night. He disappeared.'

‘People don't just disappear.'

‘He was having dinner.'

‘He went out of the front door—'

‘I thought you said a window.'

‘I said he couldn't have got out of the window.'

‘Why don't you ask him then?'

‘Are we here to talk about Bert?'

‘That's exactly what we were supposed to be here for.'

‘Did anyone, or not, see whether they got a photograph?'

I thought—Are Cabinet meetings like this? People say what they want, and seem to listen; then gas or music comes in through little pipes in the ceiling —

‘What happened last night?'

‘I don't know how much anyone could see through that door.'

‘He was in the kitchen.'

‘How far does a flash reach?'

‘I thought you said he was at dinner.'

‘Then when he went out of the front door—'

‘Not out of the window—'

‘You could certainly see in through that door.'

‘Why?'

‘What do you mean why?'

‘Look we're not here to talk about Bert.'

‘But we are.'

‘But things have happened since then.'

‘I thought you said he was in the house all the time.'

‘I said it looked like it.'

‘There was this screech of tyres, and the noise of a car driving away.'

‘A screech and a car—'

‘If he hadn't got out of the window, it looked as if he was in the house—'

‘But he wasn't.'

‘There was a man at the door.'

‘I thought you said it was a car.'

‘I think we're talking about different things.'

‘It wasn't us who wanted to come here you know.'

I thought—Is it the point of a committee that it should just go on? Is that why you don't ask me?

Sheila said ‘Can't you stop the printing of a photograph?'

Brian Alick said ‘What, in this democratic society?'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘I'm glad you think so.'

Uncle Bill said ‘How did you three know each other?'

Mrs Washbourne left the window and came and sat down on the other side of the fire opposite Sheila and Brian Alick.

I thought—It was she who got the information about my friendship with the Trotskyites?

Then Uncle Bill said ‘Where were you, Bert?'

I said ‘When?'

He said ‘Today.'

I said ‘I was at the Annual General Meeting of the Young Trotskyites.'

Brian Alick said ‘He couldn't have been.'

Uncle Bill said ‘Why not?'

Brian Alick said ‘Bert, what happened at the AGM?'

Sheila said ‘We thought you'd been kidnapped.'

Brian Alick said ‘We didn't!'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘What did you think then?'

Sheila said ‘We heard a shot: then a car drive away.'

Uncle Bill said ‘At the AGM?'

I said ‘There was a bomb scare: but nothing happened.'

Brian Alick said ‘That's right.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘But that was when he was having dinner here.'

I said ‘No, that was the evening before.'

Uncle Bill said ‘A shot? A bomb scare?'

Sheila said ‘He was definitely being followed.'

Brian Alick said ‘Not by us. He was with us.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘I was afraid he might do some injury to himself.'

I opened my mouth to say—But I was not being followed! Then it seemed as if I would not stammer, and then that this was not worth saying.

Uncle Bill went to the window and raised a corner of the curtain as if he were a secret-service man looking out.

Brian Alick said ‘Do they know who we are?'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘I rang up Sally Rogers.'

Uncle Bill said ‘Who?'

Sheila said ‘You know Sally Rogers—'

Uncle Bill said ‘Does she now!'

I began laughing.

I thought—We are tickled by glands? By tiny angels pushing pumps like men in pubs?

Uncle Bill said ‘Now let's get this straight. You made contact with our friends here because you thought you had reason to be anxious about Bert. He'd disappeared: out of a kitchen: out of a door: there was a car—So you two came round here—'

I said ‘I was all right.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘I'm sure you were, Bert.'

Uncle Bill said ‘Anyone want some more?'

‘Yes please.'

‘Yes please.'

Uncle Bill handed round the whisky.

He said ‘The point is what do we do now.'

After a time Brian Alick said ‘What I don't understand is, if you thought he was in the house all the time, why you telephoned.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘But the point is he wasn't.'

Sheila said ‘That's the mystery!'

Uncle Bill said ‘How did you put up with your ordeal, Bert, did these fellows give you the electrical treatment, what?'

Brian Alick said ‘I don't know what effect all this will have on you, but it will certainly embarrass us.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘When did you last see him?'

I said ‘Why do anything?'

I thought—Is this like upsetting the chess-table? All the lights in the auditorium coming on?

Uncle Bill said ‘Why do anything about what.'

I said ‘The photograph. Of Aunt Mavis.'

They all seemed to think.

Then Brian Alick said ‘You mean, what can we do about such a photograph anyway—'

I said ‘No, I mean no one will believe it anyway.'

They all seemed to think.

I wondered—Is this what my sister meant when she said I would become insufferable?

Sheila said ‘Surely you can find out.'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘How?'

I said ‘People only believe what they want to believe. Or what it's in their interests to believe. Whose interests will it be in, for God's sake, to believe a photograph like that?'

I thought—Someone magical?

Then—They will think about this for a time: then talk about something different.

I said ‘The whole thing will seem to be a joke: and so in some quite different category.'

Uncle Bill said ‘You mean do nothing?'

Brian Alick said ‘And it'll fly away?'

I thought—Ah, you think you're mocking me!

I said ‘It'll be like one of those photographs you stick your head through on a pier.'

After a time Mrs Washbourne said ‘Bert!'

Uncle Bill walked round the room with his head down, smiling.

Brian Alick said ‘It's true, of course, that one can fake a photograph.'

Sheila said ‘Indeed.'

Brian Alick said ‘Sheila!'

I said “The point is that people aren't interested in what's true —'

I thought—Oh keep quiet, this is not a moral, but a theological problem.

Uncle Bill sat down beside Sheila and Brian Alick. He pulled out his pipe.

I said ‘I mean people have known for years, haven't they, about Aunt Mavis doing things like getting drunk and taking her clothes off? But who on earth has wanted to talk about it?'

Uncle Bill said ‘Yes that's true.'

After a time Mrs Washbourne said ‘Bert, how did you get back into the house then?'

I said ‘When I got out of the kitchen window there was a bit of glass that cracked, so I could put my hand back in through it and get at the latch.'

Uncle Bill said ‘But why did you want to?'

I said ‘Because at the door there was a policeman.'

Uncle Bill seemed to think about this.

Brian Alick said ‘There isn't a policeman at the back?'

Uncle Bill said ‘Well, it was extremely good of you two to come along!'

Sheila said ‘Oh it's been very nice to see the place really!'

Mrs Washbourne said ‘How many other photographs has anyone got by the way?' But no one seemed to want to pay attention to this.

Brian Alick said ‘Well thanks for the whisky.'

Uncle Bill did his trick of suddenly taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking as if he had broken a tooth and swallowed by mistake some poison hidden in it.

I thought—What is magical is when what one is talking about at the same time seems to happen; and we are so unused to this, that it is like seeing ourselves looking down at ourselves in the maze—

Then—But with all this magic, will Aunt Mavis now be able to change: or will Uncle Bill just be all right?

I thought—Now carry me, my dark horse, to my beloved!

Dr Anders said—‘Were it not for your imagery about birds, I would say that you looked like the cat that has swallowed the canary.'

I had walked all the way to Dr Anders' house and it was as if I were slightly above myself like one of those bird-songs which lead heroes through forests.

I had begun to tell Dr Anders something of what had happened; and then had stopped; as if the theatre had packed up and gone home through lack of interest.

I said ‘But I must get out.'

She said ‘Where do you want to get to?'

I said ‘Some university. I don't know.'

She said ‘Which?'

I said ‘Any.'

I thought—And it is because of lack of interest that there are in my mind no more dull stories about pistols going off and papers being stolen and flashlight photographs being taken: or a son's tearing his eyes out behind closed doors, o my mother.

Dr Anders said ‘And what would you read there?'

I said ‘I don't know.'

I thought—But now, don't I?

I said ‘I don't think I want to do philosophy. I think reason is good at saying what things are not, but not good at saying what things are.'

I thought—Do words have to wrap round each other like making love; like poetry?

Then—But I can do this?

Dr Anders said nothing.

I said ‘I think I'd like to do biology or chemistry or physics.'

I thought—Dr Anders' silences are when she is pleased?
She might have been listening to music?

I said ‘There was this idea, you know, that I should wait a year before going to university so that I could come to you; to be straightened out; to be cured Well, of course, I'm not cured; but I don't think my stammer will really worry me very much any more, do you?'

I thought—It can accept, can't it, poor thing, that words might press together like making love, like poetry?

I said ‘The trouble is, if I went to university, I might not be able to go on coming to you.'

I thought—Do I believe this?

Also—I'm not doing this just to be nice to her, am I?

I felt suddenly as if I might cry.

She said ‘Have you heard the results of your exams yet?'