The Longest Pleasure (33 page)

He gazed at himself in the mirror. It was cracked, and a piece had broken off the edge, so that his face appeared distorted. One eye was still surrounded by a dark rim, clinging to the bone, one cheek was still discoloured, his lips were still cut and swollen. But it was his face. 'There ain't nothing quite so resilient as a face.' Jerry grinned at him. 'Another week, man, and you won't know nothing ever hit you.'

Another week. Lying here, listening, and watching. Trying to understand. But understanding was obviously no longer possible. If they amused themselves in the afternoon, they slept all the morning. He
discovered that by arriving at
daw
n
he had not awakened them as he had supposed, but rather had disturbed them on the point of going to bed. At night they worked. They worked as and when they chose, which meant as and then they needed money. Bill washed dishes in a cafe situated a few miles up the road. He was the most regular worker, as he was the acknowledged leader of the group, in so far as they possessed a leader at all. Bill also supplied the daily newspaper,
The Times
when he could find a copy, but always a paper of some sort; the daily newspaper was more important than the daily food.

Jerry was a mechanic, and once or twice a week took the night shift at a garage. Janet went out one night, and came back three nights later, with a great deal of money. Neither Jerry nor Bill seemed to object, and her earnings went into the common pool. From the conversation Galitsin gathered that she had hitched a ride into London, and hitched a ride back again, when she was ready. No doubt Wendy's earning capacity was on the same level, but she had not left the hut since he arrived. She was his nurse, his mistress, his mother and his friend, rolled into one. Her failure to contribute to the common pool did not offend the others, nor did Galitsin's presence. They asked no questions, shared the daily ration of bread, beer, and whatever scraps Bill brought home from the kitchens. 'It's better in the summer,' Janet explained, as if they had lived this way all their lives. 'In summer we pinch fruit.'

'How do you feel, inside?' Wendy asked.

'I feel good,' Galitsin said. He could even articulate, through his broken lips. And most of the pain was dull.

'Then I think you should try taking a walk.'

'He'll have to wear something.' Janet lay on the floor, her head on Bill's lap.

'Something of mine,' Jerry decided. 'We're about the same size, I figure.'

'Lengt
hwise,' Bill said. 'It'll be a ti
ght fit'

'Well, let's see.' Wendy took control, and suddenly they were all interested, helping Galitsin to stand, holding him upright while they draped garments on him. He became a doll, and they were children, playing. They
w
ere
children, playing.

'There we are,' Wendy declared. 'How does that feel to you?'

The jeans gripped his legs like rubber tights. But the loose shirt fitted quite well, and the leather jacket might have been tailor-made. Jerry was a wide-shouldered boy. The boots were tight.

'Sorry about the socks,' Janet said, 'but they're in short supply.'

Galitsin smiled. 'I have no need of socks,' he said. 'For years I wore no socks.'

'No kidding?' Jerry remarked. 'You'll be telling us next you were once a Russian soldier.'

The others frowned, and Jerry shrugged. 'Sorry, man.' _

Did they know, or was prying forbidden? Did this strangest of communities have any rules at all? How much to learn. But learning might mean thinking, planning, wondering what came next.

Wendy pulled on her windcheater. 'Save us a bottle of beer, Jer!' She opened the door, stepped outside.

Galitsin followed, shivered. But it was not so cold as he had expected. It was a February afternoon, the sky was blue, and there was a suggestion that spring might not be so very far away, now.

Wendy walked across the first runway, and then another. Galitsin followed. He looked over his shoulder, and the huts had dwindled. The hut, dark and warm and smelly, gave safety. Out here, he was too alone. Even with Wendy. But out here they were only two dots on a mile of runway.

She skirted a hole in the ground, filled with stagnant water, thinly coated with ice. She stopped, her hands in her pockets, gazed into the water. 'There's life down there. Already. Isn't that bloody marvellous? In all this cold?' She glanced at him. 'How do you feel?'

Galitsin smiled. "Bloody marvellous.'

She blew him a kiss. 'We'll make an Englishman out of you yet, Bonzo. If that's what you want.'

She walked across the next runway, and now there were more trees, damp and dark, com
ing closer. Galitsin followed. ‘
You know I am not English?'

'With an accent like that?'

'Then you know I am Russian.'

She looked over her shoulder. 'Nobody really knows anything, do they?'

‘I
don't know. That is stupid. I mean, that is a stupid thing to say. That I don't know. I want to know, about you.'

Wendy reached the trees, looked up, and a drop of water fell on her face. 'Brrr. Let's walk down the runway. About me? I'm Wendy. I'm eighteen. What do I like? I like Augustus John. Don't ask me why. And I like Evelyn Waugh. I like big men, and old cars. And I like large shaggy dogs. Do you think all of those are vaguely related? I do.'

'And that is all that is important.?'

'Oh, well, I have dislikes, too. I dislike mothers. Intensely. Mine, anyway. Fathers I can take or leave. Big fathers are all right Mine was a little fellow. I don't like soldiers. Not because they're soldiers. Because they're arrogant I don't like bombs. But I'm not a pacifist Jan is. I think there's a time when you must stand up for what you believe, even if it means fighting, even if it means killing someone. Only you should do it in person, with your hands and whatever you can carry in your hands. Actually, of course, even Jan believes that. That's the odd thing about pacifists.'

Galitsin quickened his stride, caught up with her. That is not telling me about you, Wendy. Everything you say indicates that you are intelligent Educated. Yet you are living like a tramp.'

She stopped, faced him, frowning. 'Correction, Bonzo. I am living. No qualification is necessary. Haven't you ever paused to think how stupid it all is? Not life. Life is the most marvellous thing there is. But think how we spoil it. Think about the business of eating and drinking. Isn't it fun, to take a mouthful of food, When you're good and hungry, and chew it up, nice and slow, and feel the saliva burning as it starts to flow, and know you're doing yourself a bit of good, and enjoying it as well. So what do we do? We force ourselves to eat four meals a day, whether we're hungry or not. Most of the time we're so bloody stuffed beforehand we have to douse the food under God knows how many sauces and invent God knows how many nauseating ways of cooking it just to force the stuff down our throats.
We
do that, while millions starve. And schedules. In the name of God, why should everyone have to work from nine to five? Why shouldn't you be able to work when you feel like it, as we do, or when you need to? And have fun, ditto.'

Galitsin scratched his head, winced. 'Surely, discipline, work, is necessary? Surely man has always been dominated by time? You cannot harvest in mid-winter, just as you cannot sow grain in late summer. Nature imposes the discipline, Wendy. The necessity to work.'

'I wonder if that isn't where all our troubles began,' she said, thoughtfully. 'Prehistoric man didn't bother with all that nonsense. He ate when he was hungry, slept when he was sleepy, screwed when he was sexy. Settling down to grow things, to domesticate .animals and plant corn, that was his big mistake, And do you know why he did that? Because he got acquisitive. Greed is man's besetting sin.' She walked away from him, stopped, turned to face him. "You're the first person I've quarrelled with in over a year.'

'I'm sorry,' Galitsin said. You saved my life.'

'I've told you, I'd have done as much for a dog. If it was a big, shaggy dog. That's why I like you so much, I guess. You're sort of halfway. A bit of both.' She smiled, wrinkled her nose.
‘I
could grow very fond of you, Alexander Galitsin.' She checked herself, gazed at him, frowning.

'So what are you going to do about it, Wendy?'

She thrust her hands into her jeans pockets. 'I didn't mean to say that. Oh, of course we know who you are. There's a TV set in the restaurant where Bill works. They had something about you, about how the police were looking for you, the night you appeared. And there's been quite a lot in the papers. I'm sorry.'

'About what?'

'About upsetting you. There's only one thing I'd like to ask you. Why did you attack that man. The one who gave you a lift? He was only trying to help.'

'I think .you are right. The more I have thought about it, I have come to that conclusion.'

'Have you thought about it a lot?'

'A great deal, trying to understand. But at the time I could not make up my mind what he was trying to do. I was drunk, you see. And I was afraid. Alcohol and fear are a bad combination. And I was confused. And I could not make myself believe that an Englishman would wish to help a Russian for no reason at all. I was afraid, you see, that he might belong to some anti-British organisation, in which I would become invol
ved. And my life was sufficientl
y involved already.'

'I'm glad you thought about it. Worried about it Because we talked about you, you know, one night when you were sleeping. The boys were afraid you might be a nutter. You know, someone who just flies off the handle. They aren't nice to have around. But I said I was sure you weren't.'

'Tell me how it started, Wendy. For you.'

Wendy sucked air into her lungs, steadily and intensely, for over a second, released it again in a sigh. *No. It's not right, don't you see? So I'm fed up with society, or I'm running away. We all are. But what fed us up, or what frightened us, that has to be our business. Because it would affect how we feel towards one another. Don't you see? You're a perfect example. You were hurt, and we liked you. We all do, really. But because we found out one little thing about your past there we were sitting in judgement over you. Nobody has any right to do mat to another human being. Nobody knows enough. Nobody can ever know enough about someone else. So it's better to know nothing at all.'

'People are what they are now because of what they were yesterday,' Galitsin said. 'And the day before that, and the day before that. You like me, because I am hurt and afraid. You may not like me when my bruises are better and I have regained my courage.'

'Then I can kiss you goodbye, can't I? But while I'm living with you I'll like you.'

'You are existing in a vacuum, Wendy.'

She shrugged. 'I'm sorry you don't approve.'

'It has nothing to do with me. And I am grateful that you were there at all. I worry for you. How long can you stay here? They will not let this place remain derelict forever.'

'We're not staying forever. Soon as the weather warms up we're on our way. Down to the south-west Cornwall. St. Ives, or somewhere around there. We can sleep on the beach, and there's the sea, and other people like us, and we can earn a bit of money helping in the hotels. We only shacked up here for the winter.' She halted, glanced at him. You can come with us, if you like.'

'Would
you
like?'

Her chin came up. Yes. I would like.'

'Suppose I kept on talking at you like this?'

'That's your privilege. I still like you.'

You see,' Galitsin explained, 'living like this, I can see that it's fun. I can see that it is the sort of freedom you want, and I respect your principles. But you're only what, eighteen? You can't live like this when you're twenty-eight And when you're thirty-eight you're just a dirty old whore.'

'Now you tell me, Bonzo. Why should I be any different at thirty-eight to how I am now? If I stay the way I am now. People get changed by their environment, by their promotion, if they get any, by their lack of promotion, if they don't get it. By their wealth or their poverty. By the behaviour of their husband or their wife. I don't have anything like that to worry about'

'You still won't be able to stop changing, Wendy. You will grow old, and that means your back will start to hurt, and you won't be quite so keen on roughing it Sleeping on the ground won't seem so much fun. Your breasts will sag and your belly will pout and your hair will start to go grey. You won't even smell so good, unless you bathe every day, and use lots of perfume. It's just one of those facts of life.'

She frowned at him. 'How old are you, anyway, Bonzo?'

He had to think to remember. 'Thirty-one.'