The Go-Between (38 page)

  This is what I think now, but it is also what I felt
then, and my feelings were of a substance thicker than thought and
pressed more heavily on my tired, bewildered mind.

  In my attack upon the deadly nightshade I had gone a
step too far, even for myself. Supposing someone had seen me
“savaging it”! Supposing someone—the imaginary listener I had
evoked—had heard me chanting “
delenda est belladonna”
to
the night! He might well have thought me mad. It was bad enough to
have been seen by myself.

  The grey, liquid light that lay like rain-water on
roofs and trees flowed softly into my small, tall room. Henry had
taken away the Eton suit I wore for dinner (sometimes he took away
my braces too, and I had to ring for them), and put out my green
suit on the chair, with my underclothes, stockings, and garters
neatly piled above. Having by forced marches reached the final
stage, I was just about to put the suit on when suddenly I thought
I wouldn’t. Not because of its colour or because it reminded me of
Marian’s duplicity—no, it was a suit like any other; but it was
also my motley, the vesture of my make-believe. I was prepared to
be called a green boy, which I was, but I didn’t want to be taken
for Robin Hood, which I was not. So I got out my Norfolk suit,
which already had the appearance of having been put away for a long
time, and the stockings that went with it, and my boots. Very odd I
felt when I put them on, with all the pressures coming in new
places and very odd I felt when I saw myself in the glass. But at
any rate it was myself I saw, not a sea-green, corruptible
parody.

  During prayers I was anonymous, a worshipper, exempt
from mortal notice, but when we rose from our knees I was a
birthday boy in a Norfolk jacket; and when I had been congratulated
on being the one, the other, my costume, came in for comment: there
was a return, a gentle, innocuous echo, of the teasing of earlier
days. I wondered why I had ever minded it; but Lord Trimingham, who
clearly thought I might mind, said: “But he’s quite right, and he’s
the only one of us who is. A Norfolk jacket in Norfolk, and
besides; it’s going to rain. We shall all have to change, but he
won’t.” Except for me, everyone at the table was dressed for a fine
day. “Yes,” said Marian, whose eyes had a mischievous gleam, “but
he looks as if he was going away, that’s what I don’t like. That
suit is labelled Liverpool Street.”

  Beside my plate were two long envelopes, one in my
mother’s handwriting, one in my aunt’s. Ordinarily I should have
waited until the end of the meal to read them in private, but today
this withdrawal had an air of furtiveness; I wanted all my
movements to be public; so, making the excuse that grown-ups made,
I opened my mother’s missive. At what was wrapped in tissue paper I
did not look, but I took out the letter. It was full of loving
messages and apologies. “I have been so vexed with myself for not
sending the telegram,” she said. “At the time it seemed more
sensible
not to; but now I wonder if you weren’t quite
well, and didn’t like to say so. You would tell me, my darling,
wouldn’t you? I didn’t know I should miss you so much, but I do, I
miss you dreadfully, and ten days seems such a long time to wait.
Still, they will pass. I hope you are quite happy again, I wish I
could feel sure you were. If you are still taking the messages, and
find it tiring, do take my advice and ask Mrs. Maudsley to let
someone else go. I’m sure she
gladly
would. And I was
afraid, my darling, you would think I wasn’t nice about your new
suit, because I said it wasn’t the right colour for a boy. But of
course it is, why, soldiers wear it now, poor things—khaki’s a sort
of green, and so I’m giving you a tie to go with it. I hope it will
go with it, greens are a little apt to clash, but you wouldn’t know
that.”

  Here I peeped into the envelope, not meaning to take
the tie out, but when I saw a corner of the stuff, I couldn’t help
it: out it came, a long green serpent. “Oh, what a lovely tie!”
exclaimed several voices. “And what a lucky little boy you are!”
said one of the new visitors, whom I immediately disliked.

  “But it won’t go with that Norfolk suit, you know,”
said Marian.

  Blushing, I dived back into my letter, which was now
only a shallow water, gently a-ripple with my mother’s
farewell.

  The other letter was longer, for my aunt had much to
tell about herself, much to surmise about me. She was an
imaginative guesser and knew what one was likely to be doing, but
did not always get it quite right. “Norfolk is famous for its
dumplings,” she said, “I expect you are having plenty of them.” As
a matter of fact, I don’t think we ever had one. “I knew some
Maudsleys once,” she hazarded, “and they lived close to where you
are; at Hanging Brandham or Steeple Brandham, I forget which. I
expect you will have met them.” But, alas, I hadn’t. On another
matter she was better informed: “Your mother tells me you have a
new suit, a green one, rather an unusual colour for a boy, perhaps,
but
I think men’s clothes are far too dingy, don’t you
!
They say a woman can never choose a tie for a man, but I think
that’s all rubbish, so
here goes
!”

  Again I had to break off and peep into the envelope,
and again a peep was not enough. A glance warned me that whatever
shade of green w”as right for a boy, this shade was not, it was too
mustardy. But as against that, it was already made up into a lovely
bow, such as no human hand could tie, while a neat loop at the back
made it, even for a hasty dresser, almost foolproof.

  But this tie did not have the success of the other.
Approval tarried, doubt spread through the room. A cloud was
gathering on Marcus’s brow, when suddenly Lord Trimingham said,
stretching his hand across the table:

  “Can I have a look at it?”

  I pushed the tie across to him.

  “I think it’s charming,” he said, “so gay. Wait a
moment and I’ll show you what it looks like on.”

  He pulled off his blue and white spotted tie and
after a little fumbling (“I can’t quite get the hang of it”) looped
mine to his collar-stud. On him it didn’t look the common thing
that Marcus’s deepening frown told me it was; it looked
outré
but elegant; and he sketched a little flourish with
his hands and gave a smile meant to suggest some carefree occasion—
Goodwood, perhaps? Even to me it was pathetic how little his face
would answer to his thoughts; but he seemed unconscious of that.
“What do you say?” he appealed to Mr. Maudsley. “What do you say,
Marian?”

  I kept the tie for years.

  “And now,” said Mrs. Maudsley, pushing back her
chair, “
today”
—she paused—”
today
is Leo’s day.”
She smiled at me, and the smile broke against my face like a cool
wave. “How would you like to spend it, Leo?”

  I was completely tongue-tied: I could not think of
any way of spending it. Mrs. Maudsley tried to help me out. “What
do you say to a picnic?”

  “That would be very nice.”

  “Unless it rains,” said Mrs. Maudsley, scanning the
heavens. “Or a drive to Beeston Castle, after luncheon? You haven’t
seen it, have you?”

  “That would be very nice,” I repeated,
miserably.

  “Well, shall we do that, if it doesn’t rain? I
expect you’d like the morning free to play with Marcus.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “And at five o’clock you’ll cut your birthday
cake.... Yes, Denys?”

  “I was only going to say, Mama, that we still don’t
know what
Leo
wants.”

  “I think we do,” said Mrs. Maudsley, mildly. “That
suits you, doesn’t it, Leo?”

  “Oh
yes
,” I said.

  Mrs. Maudsley turned to her elder son.

  “Are you satisfied now, Denys?”

  “I only meant, Mama, that on his birthday he ought
to choose for himself.”

  “But hasn’t he chosen?”

  “Well, no, Mama, you’ve chosen for him.”

  His mother’s face expressed a prayer for patience.
“He did not offer an alternative, so—”

  “I know, Mama, but on his
birthday
—”

  “Can you suggest anything yourself, Denys?”

  “No, Mama, because it’s not
my
birthday.”

  I saw Mrs. Maudsley’s fingers clench. “I think
you’ll find the arrangements are satisfactory,” she said evenly.
“Now, for us
grown-ups
—”

  As soon as Marcus and I were out of the room he
said:

  “No, Leo, you can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Wear that tie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” explained Marcus, speaking slowly and
spacing out the words, “it is a made-up tie.”

  After we had scuffled a little, Marcus said: “It’s
all right for Trimingham, of course—he can wear anything; but you,
you have to be careful.”

  “Careful, what of?”

  “Not to look like a cad. But I won’t say any more
about it because it’s your birthday.”

  I had plenty of time during the morning to savour my
sensations. My new true personality tasted rather flat. For one
thing it had no birthday spirit; it would not admit that this was a
day different from other days, with special privileges of feeling
and behaving. It was always warning me not to get above myself.
When I had made a fool of myself in the eyes of other people, I
fought against their judgment even while I smarted; but I could not
so easily fight against my own judgment. My new mentor would not
allow me to inspect the place where the crime had been committed,
which, in common with other murderers, I hankered to do; it would
not even let me visit the rubbish-heap to see if the corpse of the
plant had found its way there. When the sun came out, as soon it
did, shining between heavy piled-up clouds, I would not let my
spirits rise to greet it. When we saw Marian and Lord Trimingham
strolling together, heads bent towards each other, I strove to
repress the uprush of delight I felt. All my relationships, with
both people and things, seemed to have lost their edge. Even with
Marcus, whose place in my regard had always been ambiguous, one
thing at school and another at his home, I did not feel at ease;
our friendship was the product of many fine adjustments, of many
feelings nicely balanced, and I saw a round-headed boy a little
shorter than myself, being specially nice to me, refraining from
talking French because it was my birthday.

  My birthday! It all came back to that. But I didn’t
feel it was my birthday: I felt I was an indifferent spectator at
someone else’s—someone in a Norfolk jacket buttoned across his
chest, belted across his tummy, wearing thick stockings and laced
boots whose serrated hooks grinning upwards were like mouthfuls of
serpent’s teeth swallowing his legs.

  I did not realize that this attempt to discard my
dual or multiple vision and achieve a single self was the greatest
pretence that I had yet embarked on. It was indeed a self-denying
ordinance to cut out of my consciousness the half I most enjoyed.
To see things as they really were—what an impoverishment! Chafed in
my flesh, chafed in my spirit, I wandered aimlessly about with
Marcus, half wishing that he would barge into me, or call me names,
or practise his superior French on me, instead of wrapping me in
the cotton-wool of his society manner.

  Just before luncheon I stole up to my room and
changed into my green suit, after which I felt more normal.

  23

  LUNCHEON was seldom over before three o’clock, and
our drive was timed to start at a quarter past. But the clouds had
gathered again. This time they had an ominous look, white upon
grey, grey upon black, and the still air presaged thunder. One
after another we went outside, stared at the sky, and came back
with our verdicts.

  It was the first time we had had to wait upon the
weather, and the first time I had seen Mrs. Maudsley undecided. It
did not show in her face, which, as always, bore the generalized
expression of a portrait; but her movements were uneasy. At last
she proposed we should wait a quarter of an hour to see what
happened.

  We were standing about the hall in the uncertainty
that a provisional plan brings, when Marian said:

  “Come with me, Leo, and tell me what the weather
means to do.”

  I followed her outside and conscientiously turned my
eyes up to the lowering sky.

  “I think—” I began.

  “Don’t trouble to,” she said. “What about a walk, if
we don’t drive?”

  I don’t suppose that anyone nowadays would dare to
look as innocent as she did.

  “Oh yes,” I said eagerly. “Will you come with
me?”

  “I wish I could,” she answered, “but it’s not that
sort of walk, it’s this.” And as she spoke, her hand touched mine,
which opened on a letter.

  “Oh no!” I cried.

  “But I say yes.”

  She wasn’t angry this time, she was laughing, and I
began by resisting her half-heartedly. I was handicapped by having
to hold the letter. Between us we must have made a great deal of
noise, for I laughed too, louder than she did, louder than good
manners permitted, as loud as any spooning holiday-maker on the
sea-front; and I didn’t want to stop, I wanted to go on to a
conclusion. Daring each other with our eyes, we lunged and dodged
and feinted. I suppose she was trying to make me say I would take
the letter; I had forgotten how the scuffle started and hardly knew
whether I was defending myself or attacking her.

  “Marian! Leo!”

  At the sound of Mrs. Maudsley’s voice we broke away,
Marian still laughing, I panting and ashamed.

  Mrs. Maudsley walked slowly down the steps.

  “What were you fighting about?” she asked.