Serial Monogamy (20 page)

“I was shocked by the last instalment you gave me to read.”

“Shocked?”

“Well, maybe
hurt
is the better word.”

“I've hurt you, my dear? I would never wish to hurt you with anything I wrote. What is it that troubled you?”

Nelly took a deep breath. The remains of their modest supper lay between them. She was never much of a cook but did not like to keep Jane late. They often had to content themselves with plates of cold food. Tonight there had been cheese and salad, and a nice wine. She had waited until they had eaten to speak but she felt she had to say something. She could not keep her feelings secret and lie when he asked her what she thought; surely she of all people had a right to an honest reaction beyond proofreading marks or recommendations about structure.

At first, she had been hugely relieved that he was publishing another novel; it had been almost five years
since she had coaxed him through the excruciating final numbers of
Our Mutual Friend
in the aftermath of the train crash and he had not written anything since. Or, at least, he had not published another novel. Of course, he had made contributions to his magazine, producing the much-anticipated Christmas story every year; he had done some more reporting for his
Uncommercial Traveller
series. But he had not really written. Instead, he had read.

Oh, how he had read, taking Nancy and Sikes up and down the country, travelling to America. The latest tour had almost killed him. She had thought he would expire on the spot that night in Manchester, but he had come back to consciousness in seconds and, despite her pleas for him to remain where he was, had struggled to his feet within minutes. He had brushed off Mr. Dolby's repeated suggestions they call a doctor and would not hear of cancelling the remainder of the tour; they begged him to at least rest for a few days but he had read the next day and honoured every commitment till he finished up the following month.

She sometimes thought the readings were a way of escaping writing, a way of assuring himself that his readers still loved him without actually having to produce any new stories with which to entertain them. He could have retired if he wanted, spent his time at Gad's Hill. No one would have thought the less of him. But she knew that he was too restless to ever stop working and too sensitive to ever be deprived of the delights of his own imagination.

Years before, she had taken a secret pride in
Great Expectations
, published during those happy days at Mornington Crescent, before she had to leave for France. They said it was his best work ever and she felt it was her love, her sacrifice, that had let him achieve it. If others might suspect there was something of Nelly in the heartless Estella, loved beyond reason yet declining to love in return, she only saw something of him in Pip, with his boyish infatuation lasting a lifetime. At any rate, she had rejoiced in that book and she had wanted another. However, the delivery of
Our Mutual Friend
had only proved excruciating, and she saw that their last chance was fast approaching. Perhaps if she were honest she would have to admit that for her to feel her power she needed him to feel his power. She needed him to be vital since neither of them could still pretend he was youthful.

The new story was a mystery. Safer to move in a different direction, not to attempt another sprawling
Bildungsroman
. Unusually, he had neither read out loud to her from his manuscript nor asked her to read the proofs as he began writing; she wondered a bit about that at the time but didn't ask any questions. His work on it seemed precarious enough that she did not wish to risk the balance. Perhaps, she thought sadly, their literary collaboration had been so polluted by the agony of
Our Mutual Friend
, he did not wish to renew it. At any rate, she was busy enough with the house, the dog, her mother's visits, her trips to town, her books and her music. So,
when the first number appeared she had no idea what to expect. The novel was set in a cathedral town named Cloisterham, a place that would be quickly recognized to those who knew it as Rochester, the city of her birth. He himself had spent the early years of his childhood just next door, in nearby Chatham. And there had been a relationship in those first pages that made her queasy. Now, as she caught up with the story in a batch of manuscript pages he had finally left with her the previous week, her fears were confirmed. She was deeply unsettled by the shape the novel was taking. She did not wish to disrupt his progress, change his direction or risk him stopping and yet she felt too aggrieved to remain silent.

“You are telling the story of a man obsessed with a very young woman, still a girl really, and that man forces himself on her despite her obvious distaste and resistance.” Nelly had just read Chapter 19 of
The Mystery of Edwin Drood
.

“You are not going to make the mistake of reading fiction as autobiography, my dear. I have warned you before…”

“No. There is nothing of you in Jasper. He is a man without compassion or generosity, animated only by envy. His pursuit of Rosa is grotesque. It would make me very sad to think you saw yourself that way.”

“I am a storyteller. It's a story.”

“Jasper is a villainous villain, fair enough, but it's Rosa I really object too.”

“What's wrong with her?”

“Well, first of all her name. Rosa Bud.”

“Yes. Rosebud. She is young and innocent.”

“I was young when you met me…”

“Seventeen. Young and innocent.”

“Young girls are not necessarily innocent. I certainly wasn't.”

“My dear. Really. What can you mean?”

“I don't mean I wasn't pure. Before, well, before Mornington Crescent I was certainly a maid.”

“I never doubted it.”

“But I did know something of the world.”

“Did you, indeed? And what did you know of the world?” He took a jocular tone, seeking more comfortable ground. It annoyed Nelly; despite the fancy dinners and expensive presents that marked her every birthday, despite the celebration of her thirtieth the previous year, he seemed to forget that she was no longer seventeen or twenty-one. In her anger, she spoke.

“I knew enough to take precautions, for starters. Otherwise, I might have borne you ten children instead of just one.”

There was a silence between them.

“I'm sorry. That was unfair.”

They never spoke of his wife; he spoke of his love for his daughters—Nelly had met both and was on cordial terms with them even if she had visited Gad's Hill but twice—and of his worries for the sons he had sent off to
India and Australia, but they never even acknowledged that these now adult children had a mother. Charles, seeking a fresh life with his true love, had taken the position that his wife no longer existed or even that she had ever existed; a large fancy to maintain with nine living children to his name. Nelly tended to relegate Catherine to the same forgotten corner of life, although, as the years went by, she came to realize that Charles was not always an easy companion and that his wife, whatever her faults, might have had some justifiable grievances. Nelly became less certain of her own superiority, less certain that she was his natural partner. Still, she did not dwell unduly on Catherine's fate and if it seemed cruel to deprive the woman of her growing children's company, the childless Nelly, who had motherhood so quickly snatched away from her, was only dimly aware of what a bitter punishment this might be. As for her, there was no longer any risk that she might have to remove herself to France again. Charles was old now. He kissed her lips, he stroked her hand and, on the occasional night he spent in the house at Peckham, he leant across to pat her thigh through the thick eiderdown before falling exhausted into what was often a loud and restless sleep.

“I just mean to say that Rosa has no character, no idea about anything, perhaps she has been sheltered and so knows little of the world, but she has no idea of herself either. She is just pure innocence. Such people don't exist.”

“She has character; she is spoiled and petulant with Edwin.”

Nelly dismissed that with a wave of the hand. “That is simply a decoration, like her hair ribbon or her shawl. It helps advance your plot but it is superficial and is a quality quickly abandoned once Eddy disappears. As a character, she does nothing but represent purity. She has no purpose at all; she simply reacts to Jasper. She is too good, innocence just sitting there waiting to be injured. There has to be something in between Estella and Rosa, some kind of real girl.”

Charles drew himself up. Nelly saw his eyes were watering. “I am sorry you find my characters so poorly drawn,” he said.

And, instantly, she felt deep remorse for having hurt him, for prodding him about his failings rather than accepting his gifts. She sat silent for a minute.

“Well, she had the good sense to break it off with Eddy; that shows strength of character, that is purpose,” she said, making a peace offering. “I suppose she marries Neville Landless in the end, does she?”

“Or something like that. Youth will to youth.”

“Perhaps. If there's youth around. You certainly did not take me away from any Eddy.”

“But you will have your Neville in the end, Nelly. I promise you. You are not my creature and you will have your real life soon enough.”

“I'll tell you a story that you'll prefer, shall I? What would you like? Something from
The Arabian Nights
?”

“Certainly.”

“As I recall, you used to like the story about the Prince of Persia.”

“A love story.”

“Yes, but a rather dark one. It must be some years since I've told you…”

“Then tell it to me again.”

“Yes. All right. And you can correct me if I get bits wrong.”

“The Prince of Persia was a learned young man, schooled in astronomy, geography, law and arithmetic, fluent in five languages, trained to play several musical instruments and renowned for his mastery of the art of penmanship.”

“I remember. A veritable prodigy. Proof of the importance of a good education.”

“Yes. Although I seem to have managed without much of an education.”

“Of course you have, dear. I interrupted you. Do go on.”

“Such was his skill that word of it reached his father's ally, the King of Hind, who was determined to invite this young prodigy—your word, my dear—to his court. The King of Persia assented to his departure and the Prince set off with his retinue, loaded with gifts and messages for the King of Hind. Travelling by horseback they were set upon by bandits.”

“I seem to recall they had to cross hostile territory.”

“Don't we all.”

“But there was a name for the place…”

“It hardly matters. ‘Hold, we are messengers to the King of Hind. Harm us not,' cried the Prince, but the bandit chief called back, ‘We know no King of Hind. These are not his dominions.' So, the bandits set upon the Prince, killed his servants, stripped him of his clothes and purse and left him for dead.

“Half naked and half starving, the Prince walked for many days until he arrived at the gates of a city and entered seeking help. There he saw a little tailor…”

“You missed a bit about him stripping the clothes off his dead companions and emptying their pockets for food.”

“That's rather gruesome. Sometimes I leave out those unsavoury bits.”

“Don't leave them out on my account.”

“No? The whole unvarnished truth of it? Is that really what you want, my dear? All right, where was I? The tailor. There was the tailor, sewing outside his shop. The Prince greeted the little man, who, taking note of this stranger's…well, his strangeness, invited him inside and sat him down. When the tailor asked the Prince from what land he came, the Prince was so moved by a sympathetic inquiry that he told the tailor everything of his home in Persia, his father the King, his journey to Hind and his encounter with the bandits.

“ ‘Take care,' said the tailor. ‘Our King is the sworn enemy of your father. You must tell no one here of your identity, but you will need some money to buy food and clothes.'

“ ‘I am learned in law and arithmetic; I can play several musical instruments and speak many languages,' offered the Prince.

“ ‘We have no use of such learning here,' said the tailor. ‘You should take up woodcutting. It is a surer way of providing for yourself.' ”

“The woodcutting, already? I think you missed a funny bit there when he listed all his fancy skills and the tailor dismissed them one by one.”

“Yes. Perhaps that was something I added. I was airing my prejudices against formal education. Look at my boys: I try, but the best schools don't seem…”

“No, no dear, of course. But do go on. Woodcutting, that's where you were.”

“Yes. Right. So, the Prince borrowed an axe and set out the next day for the forest. As he swung at a tree, his axe struck something on the ground and loudly gave forth the sound of metal on metal. The Prince bent down, cleared away debris and discovered a brass ring attached to a trapdoor; he tugged and tugged and succeeded in shifting the door, revealing a hole opening into the ground. He climbed into the hole and discovered that a staircase led away from it, down into the earth. The Prince descended the stairs and found himself in a richly furnished chamber with cushions and carpets covering the floor. And who do you think he discovered there?”

“A beautiful maiden…”

“Yes, a beautiful young maiden stepped forward to greet him. She had skin as white as porcelain, hair as blond as straw and eyes as deep as the earth itself.”

“Surely, if we are travelling from Persia to India, she has dark hair, not blond.”

“Well, I suppose she resembled you, my dear. Except she wasn't half as clever. At any rate, have it your way. Skin as white as porcelain, hair as black as night and eyes as deep as the earth itself. ‘Stranger,' she said. ‘How do you find yourself in my chamber?'

“So the Prince explained the story of his journey from Persia, his attack by the bandits, his rescue by the tailor and his employment as a woodcutter. The maiden
sighed and drew the Prince farther into the room, settling him on the cushions, washing his feet and feeding him dates and pomegranates.

“ ‘How do you find yourself in this cave so deep under the ground, my lady?' the Prince asked, and the maiden explained that she was a princess betrothed to a prince when she was little more than a girl. On the eve of her wedding as she travelled to the prince's land, an evil genie had captured her and brought her to this cave. Every tenth night he took human form and came to her in the guise of a Persian and slept beside her, but the other nine nights he returned to his genie wife and ten genie children, who knew nothing of the maiden in the cave. So he had kept her for ten long years, and if the Princess ever needed anything or found herself in trouble, she had only to touch an ancient inscription carved in the wall of her cave and the genie would appear to her.”

“I don't recall that the genie had a wife and children. You didn't mention that before. Do genies even have children?”

“They must have children. How else would the genie race propagate itself?”

“I suppose that's true. I'd never thought of it that way. Genies are magical beings, after all.”

“Yes, well, this magical genie has a genie wife and ten children. I have no idea if they take after him and are magical too. That would be a different story. So, where were we? Yes, the Princess, as we now know she is. The
Princess says to the Prince, ‘The genie was here last night. You are safe here for nine days.'

“And so the Prince stayed and entertained the Princess with stories and music and by nightfall the pair were in love. For nine days and nine nights, they loved each other with a passion that burned like fire, giving each other oceans of pleasure and mountains of delight.”

“Oceans of pleasure? But surely the Prince calls up the genie right away?”

“No, I don't think so. I think the Prince and the maiden dally…”

“If they dally for nine days and nine nights, she's not much of a maiden.”

“Really, my dear. Shall I continue or do you want to argue about it?”

“No, no, continue.”

“So after the nine days and nights, on the morning of the tenth day, the Princess said, ‘You must leave now, and hide yourself in the forest for the genie will come tonight. Then you can come back tomorrow.'

“ ‘No,' cried the Prince. ‘I will fight the genie and take you from this place.' And so saying, he marched toward the inscription.

“But the Princess stood in his path, pleading with him. ‘My love, why be greedy? What is one night apart when I am yours the other nine?'

“ ‘Fie,' said the Prince. ‘You will be mine for always and forever.' He pushed past her and put his hand to the
inscription. You see? Now he calls up the genie, after the nine nights.

“Instantly there was a deafening roar as though the earth itself was breaking apart, clouds of dust rose in the chamber and when they parted, the genie stood there. He was the size of two men with a bare chest like a tabletop and legs like tree trunks. His expression, as he saw the Prince, was ferocious.

“ ‘Who is this man?' he bellowed and he turned on the Princess. ‘Harlot! This is your lover. Admit it. You have deceived me.'

“ ‘Master, I know not this man nor where he came from,' the Princess replied. ‘He only just arrived in my chamber.'

“ ‘You lie. You have taken this mortal as your lover. Admit it!'

“ ‘O mighty one,' the Prince interceded. ‘I know not this maid. I have stumbled into this chamber less than an hour ago.'

“ ‘It is true, Master. This man only walked in upon me but moments ago.'

“ ‘Very well,' said the genie, eyeing the Princess. ‘If he means nothing to you, you will not mind killing him.' And he drew a mighty sword from his belt, handed it to her and commanded her, ‘Cut off his head.' ”

“I don't remember this part at all.”

“No? It's rather good. Bit gory, but you did say you wanted the unvarnished version. So, the Prince stands
there silently, trying desperately to communicate with the Princess through his eyes, pleading with her to remember their love and spare his life.

“The Princess raised the sword, preparing to strike, signalling the Prince with her eyes that she loved him like no other but could think of no way out of this predicament. She stood for a long moment with the sword poised, ready to strike and then dropped her arm.

“ ‘Master,' said the Princess. ‘Why should I kill this man who has done nothing to me, has not harmed me, has barely spoken a word to me? It is not justice. Whoever this man is, he has committed no crime. I cannot kill him.'

“But the genie replies, ‘You lying whore.' Oh dear, you'll excuse the language. He is an intemperate genie, as you'll recall. ‘This man means everything to you and that is why you cannot bring yourself to slaughter him.' The genie now grabbed the sword from her slack hand and passed it to the Prince.

“ ‘Here, contemptible man. If you have never seen her before this moment, you won't mind slicing off her head.'

“Now it was the Prince's turn to stand with the sword watching the Princess plead with her eyes for her life.

“ ‘O mighty one,' he said to the genie, ‘if a mere woman can argue for a greater justice than this, then what as a man might I answer but that this woman, whoever she might be, does not deserve to die. She has committed no crime; even though she is a stranger to me, I cannot take her life without reason.'

“The genie takes back his sword again. ‘Both of you lie. You look on each other with the eyes of lovers, begging and pleading and promising with your gazes even as I stand here.' He snatched up the Princess now with both his hands and held her up in front of his furious face. ‘You will confess this man is your lover,' he roared at her, ‘and I will torture you until you do.'

“As the genie began to shake the Princess to and fro, she screamed in pain and terror. The room was soon filled with her piteous cries and, with their sound ringing in his ears, the Prince charged up the staircase, and bolted into the forest.”

“He ran.”

“Yes, he ran and ran, until he had no breath to go farther and finally he limped back to the tailor's shop for he had lost both sandals in the depths of the forest.”

“But the Princess? She stays. Just the way she had stayed for ten years. Why?”

“I don't know, my dear. There the story is silent.”

“Does she fight now?”

“Well, not exactly. That's a rather nasty bit. I was just coming to that but perhaps…Should I go on?”

“Well, we've come this far.”

“So, the Prince stayed with the tailor that night and the next day, the man came to him and told him there was a visitor, a fellow Persian, who had come to restore his lost axe. The Prince went into the front room of the shop and greeted the visitor, a well-dressed fellow, a
Persian notable from the look of him but unknown to the Prince. The man held out an axe and a pair of sandals to the Prince and explained, ‘I was travelling in the forest and found these. Are they yours?'

“As the Prince started toward him to reclaim his property, the man was suddenly enveloped in a puff of smoke and emerged as the genie with his chest the size of a tabletop and his legs like tree trunks. He seized up the Prince, delighted at the success of his trick.

“ ‘I took the shape of a man to find you. You will come with me now and see what has happened to your love.' He grabbed the Prince up as a man might pick up a child, tucked him under his arm and flew through the sky toward the forest.

“The Prince found himself in the underground chamber once again and was horrified by the sight that greeted him. The Princess had been stripped naked, her arms and her legs had been tied to four stakes, blood had oozed from her sides as the genie had tortured her, but now she was cold and dead.”

“But he loved her.”

“Yes, madness, I know, but listen to the genie's plea.

“ ‘She was mine,' said the genie. ‘She was mine and she loved me. For ten years, on every tenth night, I left my magic realm, took the form of a handsome young Persian and came to her here in this chamber. I embraced her as a man, and every tenth night we loved each other as much as any human pair ever loved. She was mine until you
ventured into this place. Women were ever perfidious: she betrayed me, so I killed her. You, however, are a man unknown to me; your crime is the lesser. I won't kill you. Instead, I will give you a choice of punishment. Would you rather be a dog, an ass or an ape?'

“The Prince stood there, uncomprehending of the genie's offer so numb was he with pain at the sight of the Princess and the thought that he was the cause of her death.

“But the genie quickly lost patience.

“ ‘So, be it an ape then,' he said, raising a hand and muttering some incantation. Instantly, the Prince was transformed into a tailless baboon and hopped away into the forest.”