In Certain Circles (8 page)

‘Don't you see what a lift you give them? How would they know they were lucky if they didn't have someone like you to patronise? People like you provide the necessary contrast.'

‘I'm not
people
,' she cried, indignantly. ‘And far from humble. The very opposite. I don't think they're
better
than I am.' She gave him a look of furious pride and self-respect, then said, very slowly, spreading the syllables out, ‘But—I—a–pprec–i–ate—them.'

‘Oh, well. In that case. What are we arguing about? I can stop worrying.'

‘Please do.' After a second, in an entirely different tone, she asked, ‘Do you worry?'

‘Not as much as I should,' he told her, with compunction.

‘I didn't know.'

‘The things you don't know.'

‘And yet,' she said, ‘I think all the time.'

One of the invisible tenants was frying fatty bacon. Anna shuddered and stopped breathing, a useful knack she had acquired.

Looking at the last words she had written:
Don't think
they're like Russell because they're related to him
, she added hastily, ritually,
This is not the whole truth
.

Anna sat down at the table facing the window. Across the street, through the curtains, she could see as though in a looking-glass, ravaged two- and three-storeyed houses identical with those on this side of the street. Once grand, their situation was by this time their sole asset. Behind Anna, in rooms at the front of the house, was the harbour.

Jim at the office, a married man, one of the salesmen, every day brought her yesterday's newspaper, and yesterday's paper said Sydney Harbour was the most beautiful in the world. Some experts talked about the Greek light; others thought the whole country more like Spain; others again thought Sydney was the Paris of the Pacific. It was a far cry from droughty Parramatta, the harbour. It was the chief thing about Sydney to admire, but everywhere, it seemed to Anna, there was a wistful longing to be impressed and a lack of impressive sights. She didn't know what was missing.

For a view of a sailing ship from overseas, or some fireworks, or destroyers, crowds that never thought of ships or fireworks waited hour after hour on the harbour's edge. Afterwards, though these semi-spectacular events in the city's calendar never turned out as heartening and thrilling as hoped, the waiters told each other
they had been there
. Any advertised cause for joining a throng had hordes assembling. The reason mattered hardly at all.

And yet, on certain days, when mist and clouds and light combined ideally, from the harbour the city did have a look of cloud-capped towers. Unsubstantial. A beautiful mirage. And the sky was incomparable.

‘When you're a child, the size of the continent on the map makes you proud of the place,' Mr Howard said. ‘The space and the freedom to move about have a good effect on a young mind. But when you're older, it's a deprivation not to be in Europe. Your links with the human race are there.'

His listeners, Zoe and Anna, gave each other a look, inclined to giggle.

‘That's just snobbishness,' his daughter said. Then, ‘Think of what they've done in Europe! Why do you stay, then?'

‘Because, if you've had that childhood I mentioned, you're an outrider, willy-nilly. But, historically, we're so thin on the ground here that the life would be meagre if you didn't put up a struggle.'

Zoe laughed. ‘What are
you
struggling with?'

‘What's it look like? My fishing tackle for tomorrow.'

‘Oh, that's right. You're going miles out, aren't you? Is it a big boat?' She kissed his cheek, with her eyes open.

He smiled. ‘Big enough. And as for Anna's wistful parade joiners, that's what they're trying to do, if they know it or not. Improve the content of their lives. And that's why others stay away.'

‘If you hadn't been there,' Zoe said later to her young friend, ‘he'd have blamed it all on a shortage of sex. He gets all pompous and didactic when you're around.'

‘Do you think he's right about over there?'

‘What? About everything being better?' She leaned down and dangled her fingers at Marmalade the cat, who patted her with a snowy paw. ‘No. And he'd throttle anyone else who said it. For some people, his “content of life” must be better than it could be for the same sort of person here. It depends on what you're like.
Who
in particular, not where, is what matters to me. My company. My mother says that's unlucky. I don't know why.'

In the diary, Anna wrote:

A card came from Russell today. He often goes to Italy during those long vacations they have at universities. He and his friends work for some civilian relief organisation, and Lily stays in London, concentrating on her career.

Stephen is sarcastic about Russell sending me cards and letters. He says Russell enjoys his own kindness. My brother does damp things down, even though Russell is his best friend. Only because he's afraid to trust anyone much.

I wonder if he does think he's kind, writing? I wonder if it could be wrong to want to please someone?

After a pause, Anna answered herself:
Yes, it could be wrong, if you
were not willing to let that person please you equally.

‘Next question,' she muttered to herself, choosing to pass over the problem of Russell's kindness and what it meant.

The population of her world was tiny, her experience extreme but limited. Even so, Stephen had no need to warn her, as though she lived in a pretty dream, that things were not always what they seemed. But still. One thing was plain as day, and Stephen did not deny the first part of the proposition—that some people intend their fellows harm. The other half was what he objected to—that some people are perfect. Willing though he was to agree to the darkness of life, he would not allow her the light. And he was wrong. The Howards were perfect. Of course, even among perfect people, some are more perfect than others.

She wrote herself several news items.

Zoe says what am I going to do with my life. Must think.

In England, they meet Lily's two sisters now and then. One is at Oxford. The other one is teaching at a university in Manchester. They are both older than Lily. The Manchester sister is married. They all sound very clever.

Jim Brady at work asked me a few days ago how much I was paid. When I told him, he stood quite still. ‘Is that the ordinary rate?'

‘For a girl of my age.'

‘I suppose you live with your mother?'

‘No. By myself.'

He had been eating a sausage roll (it was lunch time), but he stopped quite still again with his teeth sunk in the pastry, and thought. Then he took his teeth out of the pastry. ‘How do you manage then, love?'

When I said I managed very well, he looked relieved. Today, he brought me three oranges from a tree in his backyard. I hope no one minded. He has some little children. And a wife, of course. He is cheerful, so I like him. I hear his stamp, stamp, stamping along the corridor every morning, with his shoes all shined and his toes turned out, and his face and hair polished. He has only worked for this company for a few weeks, but he is so enthusiastic you would think they had made him managing director. Great opportunities for the right man, he says. I don't know. I'd hate him to be disappointed. He is so positive. He is straightforward like a man in an old-fashioned advertisement. He seems to be listening to something that happened a long time ago, when he would have been more at home.

The other man in the office is Tom Crane. Tom is thirty and is married and has some little children, too. We are all new together. This is like Stephen's company, with the main office in Melbourne. They have just opened this branch. They sell office equipment. All over the state, all over Australia, thousands and thousands of men are driving into the country selling things—shoes, soft drinks. Tom's excited about his job, too, but he and Jim are different from each other and pretend when they meet, and put on important looks, like native chiefs trying to petrify each other. Tom is handsome and full of high spirits, but worries about supporting his family. This is what Jim worries about, and maybe this is why they are secretive and competitive. They both need to seem best to head office. For a couple of days they're friendly, then yesterday they tried to squash each other's bright ideas, jumping on words as if they were demolishing buildings.

Have soaked washing. Must hang out under house now. Will then read. Go to City Library every second day more or less for books. Would like wireless. Must make list.

Zoe came in with Russell's latest letter. Lily is having a baby. They are very happy.

Yesterday I went into the Botanic Gardens to lie down on the grass. Here, there is nowhere except your room. In the gardens you see other people alone. You have to walk miles to find flowers, so I looked at trees instead, reading their labels. After that I lay down in the middle of acres of grass. It smelled warm. When you are young, you are supposed never to be tired. Mr and Mrs Howard and all their friends go so fast.