Jackson's Dilemma (11 page)

The legend was that Benet had discovered Jackson curled up in a cardboard box late one night and had adopted him as a weird animal which he imagined he could tame! There were various versions of this nonsense. Benet himself was not at all sure, when later he reeled back his memory, how exactly it had begun. Had he really seen strange eyes looking at him in the dark? That area near to the river had been, ever since Benet could remember, some sort of gathering place of various people. Benet randomly, sometimes against the advice of the police, gave money here to people whom he pitied but felt he ‘could do nothing for’. The idea ‘it is fate’, was taken up later by Mildred. Had Benet, much earlier, unconsciously, seen those eyes? Can it be that one particular person, sent by the gods, is singled out for another particular person?

Benet had quite recently given up his job and was feeling free and happy. He was more often at Penn, where the house, and now (though not urgently) Uncle Tim, was needing his attentions. He was also being urged by London friends to move from his narrow noisy little abode to some larger and quieter house elsewhere. It was winter, January. After spending the evening with some friends, including Owen, he had become unusually drunk and arriving back by taxi had found some difficulty first in finding his key, and then inserting it in the lock. After some futile struggles with the slippery key he became aware that he was not alone, a man was standing behind him on the pavement. He turned round, annoyed, then alarmed, by the silent unknown figure; then turning his back he returned quickly to his unsuccessful attempt to insert the key. Then a voice behind him said, ‘May I help you?’ Benet had not heard or dreamt of hearing this voice. The voice was hard to place. All Benet instantly took in was a cool calm voice. A moment later, standing motionless holding the key, he somehow in the dim light of the nearby lamp-post seemed to recognise the man. Without a word he handed over the key. The man neatly inserted it in the lock, opened the door, and, preceding Benet, entered the house and turned on a light. Benet followed him into the hall. At that moment, surprisingly as he thought afterwards, Benet felt no fear. He reached out his hand and the man returned the key. Benet instinctively produced his wallet. Then, and this was a strange moment, the stranger reached out his hand and for an instant rested it upon Benet’s hand. Benet, now sobered, took in a great deal. He understood that the fellow was not attempting to steal his wallet, but simply indicating that he did not want any money. Benet said,

‘Thank you for helping me.’ He moved to the door, which was partly closed, and opened it wide. He wondered if the fellow would say something. But he simply looked at Benet and went out. Benet closed the door and leaned against it.

A great tidal wave of emotion overwhelmed him. He turned and attempted, but failed, to open the door again. In the next instant he decided against this. He was suddenly terribly upset. He should have acted differently, but how? Should he have asked him to stay? Or offered him a drink? Was he waiting for Benet to come back, did he know someone who knew Benet? Anyway he would resent Benet’s prompt farewell. It was now impossible for Benet to run after him - how did he even imagine such a thing! He would have to wait until tomorrow. But what for? It was just as well Benet was soon leaving this house and this neighbourhood. He eventually went to bed and slept well.

He woke in the morning with a hangover. He got up. Then he remembered the extraordinary little scene on the previous day. He felt distressed but more clear-headed. Now only a short time remained before he left for a new and larger house, in a safer neighbourhood. Also, during this interlude, he went to Paris to view an exhibition, and stayed for a while. He returned, not having entirely forgotten the matter, but by now feeling free and jaunty. He went out that evening to the opera with Mildred and Elizabeth and a musician friend of Elizabeth’s called Andy Redmond. He returned by taxi. It then occurred to him, as it was a warm spring night, to exalt himself further by walking down to the river. As he walked he thought vaguely about ‘the poor chap’ and wondered if he would be there. A last farewell. A monkey in a box. That was how he had thought of him at the start. One or two others were there but not him. The river was there. He turned back and sauntered slowly up the street. Then he realised that he was not alone, a tall figure was behind him. Benet turned round. He said, ‘What is it?’

A soft voice said, ‘Perhaps I can help you.’

Benet said, ‘Sorry you can’t,’ and walked on.

A soft voice behind him said, ‘I can do many things.’

Benet entered the house and closed the door noisily.

He went slowly up to bed but for a long time he could not sleep. He felt he had been behaving badly. Could he not have been polite? Was he not really
afraid
of the fellow? It was also possible, and this occurred to Benet later in the episode, that the fellow was gay and thought that Benet wasl He decided that this was unlikely, and that perhaps the man simply wanted a job. Altogether Benet decided not to think about the little drama in which he himself was playing a rather silly and shabby part. In any case he was now moving to another part of London and could leave the whole weird scene behind him.

In the days that followed Benet was engaged in the chaotic but satisfying task of packing up all his belongings, deciding where the furniture was to go, making sure that nothing was left or lost, and supervising his arrival in a larger and altogether more delightful house with quite a large garden not far from Holland Park. After he had arranged the furniture, inspected the rooms, admired the large garden with its little summer-house, and put all crockery and cutlery in their rightful places in the kitchen, he left, locking everything up carefully, returned to Penndean where he stayed for some time, returning to his books and his work, and entertaining Uncle Tim who was longing to see the new house. Benet was so pleased with his house, he actually delayed his return, gloating and dreaming over it, until Tim kept pretending that by now the house must be gone, at any rate all the furniture must be gone! At last, when Benet had actually allowed himself to reflect upon the possibility that the furniture might really be gone, he drove to London with Tim, and with a fast-beating heart, he opened the door. He could breathe, all was well, the house was beautiful, silent, everything was in place where Benet had left it. Uncle Tim followed him. They wandered together all over the interior, and over the garden, admiring the summer-house and discussing the possibility of a fishpond. The sun was shining, it was April. They returned to the house and examined the kitchen and discussed the oven, the fridge, the little scullery with the washing-machine. They laughed and danced about like boys, they had brought a picnic lunch with them. Then the front door bell rang. Tim went out into the hall and opened the door. Benet was struggling, opening a wine bottle. He heard a murmur from the hall. At last the cork emerged from the bottle. Benet came out into the hall to see whom Tim was talking to. Over Tim’s shoulder he saw
the man.

Tim turned round. He said, ‘This chap wants to know if he can help you with various things, he says he’s talked to you before. Actually we
have
a problem -’

Benet strode forward, Tim moved aside. The man stood in the doorway. The sun was behind him. Although it was a bright day, he was wearing a blue mackintosh with the collar turned up. It was the first time Benet had seen his face by daylight. The sudden glimpse was of a man with dark sleek straight hair and a slightly dark complexion. Benet said hastily, ‘No, we’ve got other arrangements. Please don’t come again.’ He shut the door.

Uncle Tim said, ‘Really, why did you shout at the poor fellow -’

‘I didn’t shout.’

‘You shouldn’t have been so rough. I rather liked the look of him, why -’

‘I don’t want him. I’ve met him before.’

‘We could do with some help -’

‘Tim, please don’t
bother
me, I just don’t
need him,
that’s all.’

‘You said you’d like someone to look after the house when - ’

‘Oh do shut up, Tim, the man’s been bothering me, now let’s have some lunch!’

Tim said no more, but Benet could see that he was upset by Benet’s curt behaviour. Perhaps in that brief exchange at the door Tim had
seen something?
But what? Some old Indian intuition? They had lunch, the wine cheered them up, and they spoke of other things. But Benet was deeply distressed. He wished that Tim had not seen the fellow.

Tim and Benet spent the night in the house; the house was number twenty-eight, and was called Tara. Tim liked the name which reminded him of Ireland. Benet was at first not sure that he liked it, but in any case the house held firmly onto its name and was so called by all. Tim went back to Penndean, and Benet stayed another night alone to be sure he could. Of course he could, the house was cosy, friendly, benign, altogether the right size and shape. He felt that he could work in the house. He returned to Penn and to his book on Heidegger. When next he came to London he brought writing materials, notebooks, his second fountain pen. He felt a sense of liberation and new life. He felt he was rediscovering London.

Only later as the autumn came and the days grew shorter and colder did he think once again about ‘that man’. How had he found Benet’s new house? Where was he now? Uncle Tim, who appeared to have imbibed quite a lot of the visitor during the brief visit, occasionally enquired about him. Uncle Tim was getting old. One night in London, Benet had a dream, indeed a nightmare, about a snake curled up in a basket floating in a river. The basket was sinking. Benet thought, of course snakes can swim, he won’t drown. Then he thought but perhaps he will drown, the basket will pull him down, he won’t be able to get out. Swiftly hustled by the stream, the basket was disappearing among the muddy reeds near to a bridge, it was becoming dark, Benet peered down into the water, he thought I
must
get down into the river to make sure that the snake is all right, only I can’t get down, it’s so
dark
down there, and I shall have to
jump!
As he was hesitating he woke up. His first movement was to turn on the light beside the bed. Then he thrust away the bed-clothes and sat up gasping. He thought light, yes I must have light. His watch said three o’clock. He rose and put the centre light on, and began to walk to and fro breathing deeply. Then he put on his dressing gown and sat down in a chair. Supposing all the lights in the house were suddenly to go out! He got up and went onto the landing, turning the light on. He stood and looked down the stairs, gradually controlling his breath. He listened for some time. The house was silent. He put out the landing light, returned to the bedroom putting out the centre bedroom light, and finally, as he got into bed, the bedside light. He lay stiffly, at last dozing, then sleeping.

When he woke in the morning he remembered first the light, then the dream. He put on the bedside light, then got out of bed, checking the centre light in the bedroom, then the light on the landing. Why was he doing this? He returned to the bedroom and pulled back the curtains, blinking at the bright sunshine. Shaking his head he got dressed and set about his usual day. He had taken over a room, adjoining the drawing room, wherein he now continued his work. His work was, just now, very pleasant, since he was giving himself a rest by continuing a study, abandoned some time ago, of Holderlin, essential, he now told himself, for an understanding of Heidegger’s soul! However even here his concentration failed. He soon got up and walked about. There seemed to be a positive silence in the house, even though he could hear sounds from outside. He wandered out into the garden and went into the summer-house. The summer-house was empty but not tiny. Someone could live in it. It consisted of quite a large room, a small room, a bathroom, a little kitchen bereft of utensils. Benet proceeded down the garden looking vaguely for a place for the pool which Uncle Tim could have fishes in. He had a small lunch, he was not hungry. He considered returning to Penn in the afternoon but decided not to. He read The
Times.
Was he
waiting
for something? He wondered if he would have dinner at a nearby restaurant, but decided not to. However he felt an agonising desire to leave the house. He waited. It was perceptibly evening; he wandered out. He found himself sitting in a tube train, and getting out at a familiar station. Had he just come to look at his old abode? He went along the street, passing his old place, then returning through the station and crossing the road to look at the Thames. He looked about but saw nothing but the evening crowds. He cursed himself. He had dinner at a familiar restaurant where the waiters received him as a friend. He came home by taxi.

As he opened the door he reached his hand sideways to put on the light in the hall. There was a click but no light. Annoyed, he left the door open and strode across the hall to find the switch on the other side at the foot of the stairs. Again there was no light. He stood there in the dark. He moved cautiously toward the dining room. He found himself groping about. He retreated toward the door, which was only partly open, and opened it wider bringing in light from the road. He walked quietly to the stairs and mounted. He felt for a switch. There was light but only from the floor above. Benet stood still. He could now feel and hear his heart. Leaving the light as it was he went cautiously down, crossed the hall and closed the door, fumbling cautiously for locks. Then moving slowly, holding out his arms, as he recalled it later, ‘like a ghost’, he mounted the stairs towards the light, which he felt might vanish before he reached it. When he reached the second floor he encountered more switches, and successfully turned on other lights. He stood there breathing deeply. He looked back at the dark below. He decided to get himself to bed as soon as possible. He turned on the centre light in his bedroom, he turned off all the landing lights. He went into his bedroom and closed the door. He undressed hurriedly and put on his pyjamas and turned out the centre light. Damn! Where was the bed? He put the centre light on, put on the bedside lamp, returned to put out the centre light. The bedside lamp remained. Good. He struggled into bed and lay down, then sat up abruptly to put out the lamp, knocking it over in the process. Hell! He lay back. He thought he would never sleep, but he did sleep. Was it all an accidental freak?