The History Man (28 page)

XI

There are people who ask the question ‘How's the family?' and, receiving the answer ‘Fine' are perfectly satisfied; there are other people, the real professionals, who expect the answer in a very different realm. Families are Flora's business; all over the world there are families, nuclear and extended, patriarchal and matriarchal, families cooked and families raw, which pause, rigid, in their work of raising children, bartering daughters, tabooing incest, practising wife-exchange, performing rites of circumcision, potlatching, as Flora enters their clearing or their longhouse or their living room and asks, notebook in hand, ‘How's the family?' It is a serious and searching question about the universe; and Flora is seeking a universal answer. For Flora is famous for questions. When she is not in her service flat in the leafy suburb, or out in the world on fieldwork, she is to be found at meetings and congresses, in small halls in London or Zurich; here she habitually sits in a left-hand aisle seat near the front and, the paper over, rises first, a pencil held high for attention, to ask the initial and most devastating question (‘I'd hoped to bring evidence to show the entire inadequacy of this approach. Happily the speaker has, presumably unconsciously, performed the task for me in the paper itself. As for my question …'). Flora, it is widely known, wherever she goes, is formidable, with her dark serious eyes, her firm manner, her big, intimidating body. And as for her more intimate relationships, well, it sometimes seems to Howard, when he lies, on the happy occasions when the privilege has been granted to him, on her moving bed in her large white bedroom, that Flora has reinvested fornication, an occupation at which she is in fact extremely skilled and able, with new purpose and significance. She has conceived of it as a tactical advance on the traditional psychiatrist's couch; permitting more revelation, more intimacies, it therefore leads, inevitably, to better questions. So he looks up at her serious face, peering at him over his bent arm; he considers; he says, ‘Well, of course, it's the old story.'

‘Oh, Howard,' says Flora, ‘I want a new story. Which old story?' ‘Well, when I'm up, Barbara's down,' says Howard, ‘and vice versa.' ‘When you're up who, Barbara's down on whom?' asks Flora. ‘Flora, you're coarse,' says Howard. ‘No, not really,' says Flora. ‘And Barbara's down now?' ‘Well, I'm up,' says Howard. ‘Things are happening to me.' ‘You ought to watch Barbara,' says Flora. ‘Oh, it's the usual things,' says Howard. ‘We battle on, emissaries of the male and female cause. Barbara says: “Pass the salt.” And then, if I pass it, she smirks. Another win for the sisters over the brothers.' ‘Marriage,' says Flora, ‘the most advanced form of warfare in the modern world. But of course you usually pass the pepper.' Howard laughs and says: ‘I do.' ‘By accident,' says Flora. ‘Oh, Flora,' says Howard, ‘you should have married. You'd be so good at it.' The bed heaves; Flora pushes herself up from her place against Howard, and sits in the bed with her knees up, her hair loose, the bedside lights glowing on her flesh and casting sharp shadow. ‘Isn't it amazing?' she says, reaching across to the table at her side, and picking up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, ‘Why is it that married people always say “Come in” when everything they do says “Get out”? They talk about their miseries and then ask you why you're unmarried. No, Howard, I prefer to stand on the sidelines and watch. I really find it much safer.' Howard laughs; he reaches out, and runs his hand round the curve of Flora's breast. ‘It has its compensations,' says Howard. ‘You're never lonely.' ‘I know you aren't, Howard,' says Flora, ‘but it seems to me that you've demostrated that the main compensation of marriage is that you can commit adultery. A somewhat perverse argument.'

Flora bends her head, and lights her cigarette; she looks down slyly at Howard. ‘Well, have you found out?' she asks. ‘Found out what?' asks Howard. ‘Who Barbara was with last night?' ‘I don't know that she was with anybody,' says Howard. ‘I've told you,' says Flora, ‘you ought to take an interest in Barbara.' ‘Have
you
found out?' asks Howard. ‘No, I've not had time,' says Flora, ‘but I think I can make an inspired guess.' ‘Your guesses are always inspired,' says Howard. ‘It's not serious,' says Flora, ‘just something interesting. You mustn't try her with it.' ‘I won't,' says Howard. ‘You know, I sometimes wonder whether you have anything else to think about besides the fornications of your friends.' ‘I pay attention,' says Flora, ‘but, after all, it's my research. Sex and families.' ‘An interesting field,' says Howard, ‘rather better than Christadelphianism in Wakefield.' ‘Look,' says Flora, ‘do you want to know my guess?' ‘Yes, please,' says Howard, flat on his back. ‘Dr Macintosh,' says Flora. ‘A man gets very competitive when his wife's having a baby.' Howard stares at her face, lit with amusement; he says, ‘That's marvellous, Flora. Though actually his wife seems
not
to be having a baby.' ‘Oh, she's tantalizing him with it, she'll have one in the end,' says Flora. ‘But I mean, what else can a man do at a time like that, except go to bed with the hostess of the party she's so wilfully chosen to leave?' ‘Of course, nothing,' says Howard. ‘It's a very interesting speculation.' ‘Not to be used or quoted, of course,' says Flora. ‘I didn't say it was
true
. Barbara was probably out of sight having a bath or something.' ‘I must say,' says Howard, ‘you're very good at making life sound interesting.' ‘Well, we both are, aren't we?' asks Flora. ‘Presumably for fear it may not be.' ‘Oh, it is,' says Howard. ‘There's always something or someone to do.' ‘But don't you ever find it too much work, Howard?' asks Flora, ‘All this dressing and undressing, all these undistinguished climaxes, all this chasing for more of the same, is it really, really, worth the effort?' ‘Of course,' says Howard. ‘Well, you, Howard,' says Flora, ‘who did you screw last night?'

Howard laughs and says, ‘Well, Flora, it's awfully personal.' Flora turns her face towards him: she says, ‘My God, what kind of an answer is that? Where would the state of modern psychological knowledge be if Dora had said to Freud: “I'm sorry, Sigmund, it's awfully personal.'” ‘Oh, Freud deduced,' says Howard. ‘Ah, well, so did I, of course,' says Flora. ‘It was that student, wasn't it?' ‘Which student?' asks Howard. ‘Oh, Howard, come on,' says Flora, puffing at the cigarette, ‘Felicity someone, the one with spots. The one who came into your room this morning for morning-after recompense.' ‘Another inspired guess,' says Howard. ‘No,' says Flora, ‘this one was absolutely bloody obvious. I never saw two people who looked more as if they'd just jumped off each other. She felt entitled to a new role, you felt compelled to resist it.' ‘Flora,' says Howard, ‘you're jealous.' ‘My God,' says Flora, flicking ash into an ashtray, ‘I don't suffer from these female diseases. Why do you need me to be jealous? So that you can believe I care for you much more than I do?' Howard laughs and says, ‘You do care for me, Flora. And you sounded jealous.' ‘Oh, no,' says Flora, ‘I sounded disgusted. You drift off and screw that scrawny, undistinguished girl, whom you could have had at any time, day or night, just when all those interesting things were going on. It shows a shameful lack of concern in the human lot.' ‘She had her problems, too,' says Howard. ‘Well, of course, she'd have to have,' says Flora, ‘but what were her problems, compared to the kind of problems you'd got at your party last night? How did you get on with Henry?' ‘Get on with Henry when?' asks Howard. ‘You know,' says Flora, ‘when you grabbed him and took him off, after the meeting, so you could get to him before I did. Just now.' ‘So-so,' says Howard. ‘He took me to his local. It's got a barmaid in a bustle. Henry goes there every night to gird his loins before going home to the marital fray.' ‘That's sensible enough,' says Flora, ‘but did he tell you what happened last night?' ‘He said it was an accident,' says Howard. ‘He said he'd slipped on a piece of ice someone dropped from a drink.' ‘I didn't see any ice at your party.' ‘No,' says Howard, ‘there wasn't any.' Flora laughs, and looks satisfied. She says, ‘Oh, Howard, how sad. It's the typical story of those who show a true concern for others. You try to convince them that there are serious psychological factors at work in their situation, and all they can do is talk about chances and accidents.'

Howard looks up at Flora, her elbows on her knees, her face staring ahead at the windows, blowing smoke. ‘Well,' he says, ‘he did begin to agree with me, with us, later.' ‘Oh, did he?' asks Flora, glancing at him. ‘Yes,' says Howard, ‘after I told him that Myra wanted to leave him.' Flora's big naked body heaves and moves; the bed bounces, her face appears above his, staring down into his eyes. ‘After you told him
what
?' she cries. ‘After I told him Myra had come to us last night and talked about a separation,' says Howard. ‘Oh, you shit, you shit, you shit,' says Flora, shaking Howard's arms with her hands, ‘
That's
the essential item you were suppressing this morning. That's what you wouldn't tell me. Why not, Howard?' ‘Flora, Flora,' says Howard, ‘I was saving it for you. Something interesting.' ‘Something interesting!' says Flora, ‘it's the piece I've been looking for. And you knew last night?' ‘Myra came to us before the party, and asked our advice,' says Howard. ‘My God,' says Flora, ‘and you still went off and bedded that spotty student, when all that was going on in your house? I call that a grave dereliction of duty. No wonder you wanted it to be an accident.' ‘Don't you think it's interesting?' asks Howard. Flora lets go of him, and drops her hair into his face, and laughs. ‘Yes,' she says. ‘Of course it's all clear now. Myra leaving, Henry desperate, there's a convenient and tempting window. Smash, you perform the classic appeal. My blood's on your hands, darling.' ‘It's not all clear,' says Howard, ‘which is why I wasn't alert. Myra didn't tell Henry she was leaving him. He didn't know until I talked to him just now.' ‘Oh, there's tell and tell,' says Flora. ‘They didn't even see much of each other,' says Howard. ‘Henry was late and spent most of the evening attending to his dogbite.' Flora giggles; she says, ‘Did he have a dogbite?' ‘Yes,' says Howard, ‘he got bitten on the threshold by a student's dog. Do you think it was an accident?' ‘Oh, Christ,' says Flora, ‘shut up. I'm trying to take him seriously. Anyway, you told him, naturally. What did he say then?' ‘He admitted the marriage was collapsing,' says Howard. ‘That should cheer you,' says Flora. ‘You'll be able to hand out radical deliverance to both of them now. One at the front door, and one at the back.'

‘Henry appears not to appreciate my explanation,' says Howard. ‘Ahh,' says Flora, ‘what a shame. I had no idea he was so sensible.' ‘I knew that would please you,' says Howard. ‘Of course it leaves him in a situation which is in every sense absurd. He doesn't exist, he can't feel, he can't love Myra, he can't even lay his students.' ‘It must have been hard for him to confess all that,' says Flora, ‘talking to a man who can do all those things.' ‘But he was able to tell me he has a belief that sustains him,' says Howard. ‘Does he?' asks Flora. ‘What's that?' ‘He believes in personal relations,' says Howard, looking at Flora, who begins, her breasts bouncing, to giggle. ‘Oh, no, Howard,' she says, ‘did he tell you that? Solemnly?' ‘He did,' says Howard. ‘Poor Henry,' says Flora. ‘If anyone in the world should be banned from personal relations, it's Henry. He's lost all self-conviction. And he's not only in a classic auto-destructive cycle himself; he's also sweeping in everything and everyone around him. Of course this is what Myra can see. Hence her frenzies and extraordinary performances. She's afraid of being sucked in. Brought under the football with Henry.' ‘Oh, that reminds me,' says Howard, ‘the football. It turns out that the football wasn't an accident. A boy Henry had told off threw it at him, and knocked him down with it.' Flora's body, which has been shaking with laughter, becomes weak; it collapses and falls across Howard. ‘Oh, God, we shouldn't laugh,' she says. She pushes up her head, so that her mouth meets Howard's; she kisses him. ‘My dear man,' she says, ‘it's terrible, but for that I forgive you everything. You're a crook and a harm to your friends, but that is just so good.' Howard strokes Flora's back. ‘Something interesting?' he asks. ‘Something interesting,' says Flora, ‘you really earned your place in my bed tonight. Time's up, though, boy, out you get.'

‘It's early,' says Howard, putting his hands out to her. Flora kneels up and switches off the bed vibrator; then she pushes at Howard's body. ‘Come on, Howard, some of us have got work to do,' she says, rolling him off the bed, ‘there's some Kleenex there for you on the bedside table.' ‘You think of everything,' says Howard, getting up and wiping himself. ‘Throw me my pants, will you?' says Flora, sitting on the other side of the bed. ‘So the Beamishes are breaking up.' ‘That's right,' says Howard, ‘catch.' Flora stands up and, one on each side of the bed, they both begin to dress themselves. ‘What did you say to Myra when she came?' asks Flora, pulling her white pants up her legs and drawing them over her dark crotch, ‘did you tell her to leave him?' ‘Not exactly,' says Howard, stepping into his shorts. ‘I'm amazed,' says Flora, ‘no doubt you will in time. Chuck my tights across, please.' ‘We were too busy trying to find out her reasons,' says Howard, pulling on his sweatshirt. ‘Well, those are pretty obvious,' says Flora, fitting her toes into the light, stretchable mesh of the tights, ‘she's a classic female type, who clearly had a good relationship with father, and expects male domination, and sought a direct transference to Henry. Who presumably had an overdominant father and a weak mum, so he wanted a mother surrogate. So both are looking for a parent and neither's looking for a spouse.' ‘Many marriages work like that,' says Howard, pulling on a sock. ‘Fine,' says Flora, ‘my bra. So long as nobody starts growing up.' ‘Is Myra growing up?' asks Howard, pulling on the other sock. ‘No, I doubt it,' says Flora, fastening her bra at the back, ‘she still can't remember to put out the milk bottles. And as for Henry, well, you can get Henry by reading his book. A plea for television to take over all parental authority, so that Henry won't have to exercise any. A silly book, even yours is better.' ‘Well, thank you,' says Howard, drawing up his jeans and buckling them. ‘A pleasure,' says Flora, pushing her arm into a white blouse, ‘it's all of a piece. An inert, compromise, undemanding marriage. They have no kids. They're probably sexually almost dormant. Unlike most of their colleagues, they don't have affairs. But they look around and feel uneasy.' ‘Henry doesn't have affairs,' says Howard, clothing himself in the splendour of his neat leather jacket. ‘Does Myra?' asks Flora, dropping a black skirt over her head, and catching it at the waist. ‘She did once,' says Howard, pushing his feet into his shoes, ‘on one single occasion.' ‘I see,' says Flora, pushing her feet into her shoes. ‘I've hung up a towel behind the bathroom door for you, if you want a wash.'