The Prize (103 page)

After undressing, he took up his pyjamas, turned off the bedroom lamp, and went into the bathroom. He closed the door softly, and then drew the water, adjusting the taps until the water was exactly right. At last, he immersed himself in the water, not washing, merely soaking, sometimes splashing and rubbing the water over his face, shoulders, and chest.

His writer’s mind fastened on the day, and outlined its wonders in specific categories. The major elements of the day had been Lilly Hedqvist, the Swedish Academy, Emily Stratman. Each had served him with the stuff of life. His writer’s mind went on—the anatomical categories—Lilly had served his torso below the waist, the Academy had served his head, Emily had served his heart—but that wasn’t quite it, and he continued to refine the categories. Lilly had given him sexual release and comfort, and knowledge that he was worthy of love and was not alone. Jacobsson had restored his pride in his work and past, and had given him a solid sense of achievement. Emily had offered him a romantic hope for the future, a vision of normality, a goal for living. And together, unwittingly, all had combined to prove to him that he might survive a day unaided by drink or drug.

After he had dried himself, and pulled on the bottom half of his pyjamas, he was ready for sleep.

He opened the bathroom door, flipping off the bathroom light, padded into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and stretched his bare arms, yawning.

In the dark, he lifted the blanket, and eased himself under it, and then squirmed to the centre of the bed. Suddenly, as he moved, his leg and hand touched a solid object. At once, he knew that it was heated flesh and bone—a human body.

His heart leaped to his throat, throbbing uncontrollably at the surprise and shock of this presence.

‘Who is it?’ he gasped in a strangled voice.

There was no reply, and then there was a reply, almost inaudible. ‘It’s me.’

The voice was Leah Decker’s voice.

He lifted himself to an elbow, waiting for the thump of his heart to lessen and his incredulity to recede.

‘Lee?’ he whispered.

‘It’s me,’ she repeated.

‘What in the devil are you doing here?’ He had recovered his wits. ‘Let me put on the light.’

He sat up in the bed to grope for the lamp, but quickly she rose in the darkness beside him and fell across his chest, fumbling for his outstretched arm. ‘No, Andrew!’ she cried. ‘Don’t, please don’t—’

He was pressed back against the headboard by her body, and felt the weight of her loose pendulous breasts, flaccid and milky, against his eyes and mouth. Their enormousness and sag confounded him, for they had always been bound tight and flat, in the Japanese manner, inside her dresses, and he had never imagined them released. Her hair was undone, he knew, for he felt its mass brushing his forehead as she tried to recover balance. For a moment, she tottered over him, and he smelt the whisky on her breath. Before she could fall on top of him, he reached up in the darkness to help her, gripping her ribs so that his hands were enfolded beneath the swinging breasts. He pushed her across to her side of the bed, and felt her convulsive movement as she slid beneath the blanket.

‘Lee, for Chrissakes, are you drunk or what?’

‘I am not drunk,’ she replied in a shaking voice. ‘I—I had some drinks, because I needed courage, but I am not drunk.’ She paused. ‘Andrew, I have nothing on. I’m naked.’

‘I know you’re naked,’ he said with distress.

‘Andrew, don’t talk, please don’t talk, don’t say a word. Let’s not spoil it. Listen to me. Are you listening?’ She went on breathlessly. ‘You know how hard this is for me. It’s taken me three years to get up the nerve. I know it was wrong of me to be so prim. I couldn’t change my nature, much as I knew you needed me. But since we got here—seeing what’s happening to you, knowing the crisis you face—I made up my mind—I made up my mind tonight—I must think of you—it’s the right thing—’

‘Lee—’

‘Don’t worry about me, Andrew. It’s the right thing, I’m positive now. It’s what Harriet would have wanted. You’re the important one. I’ve found my role in life—
it’s to make you happy
.’

‘Lee, I’m—I don’t know what to say—’

She was not listening, so intent was she. ‘I’m throwing off the blanket, Andrew. I’m naked. You can come here. You can do it. You can show me what to do. I’ve never done it in my life, Andrew. You won’t believe it, but you’re the first. No man’s ever touched me that way. But you can. Now I’m ready.’

He lay back against the headboard, dazed. The darkness had dissipated, now that he was used to it, and the lone sitting-room lamp behind the drapes lightened the room enough, so that he could distinguish the lines of her, the silhouette of her body, on the bed.

He sat up again to speak to her, but she mistook his rise for the complementing passion, and immediately, she extended her legs so that one touched his own.

‘Lee, wait,’ he said. And then he said, ‘Tell me why you’re doing this. In bed, there’s no dishonesty. Be truthful. Do you need it? Is that what you want?’

He heard the intake of her breath, and the horrified tone of her reply. ‘What a thing to say, Andrew! What do you think I am—a nymphomaniac? Of course, I don’t need it. You know better. Women don’t need it. But I know about men, and you’re a man. I came here to make you happy the best way a woman can.’

‘Lee, you’ve got it all mixed up. I am happy. You don’t have to be a sacrificial lamb. You don’t have to offer your body to make me happy. I wouldn’t do that to you.’

‘Let’s not talk, Andrew. I know you’re embarrassed. You don’t want to feel you’re taking advantage of our relationship. I promise you, I won’t think so. But I’ve seen you drinking yourself to death. I’ve seen your misery. No one has seen it as I have seen it. And, here, you seem to be worse than ever—doing strange things—going off by yourself—and starting to look at women—I can see the way you look at them—and then it all came to me—that I’d been a fool—that you were too sensitive to tell me your need. And I thought—I kept thinking—what would Harriet want of me—and I knew that she would approve, she would be the first to call down and say help him, Leah, save him, make him happy and normal. And that’s all I want to do, Andrew. It’s no sacrifice for me. You know how I feel about you. It would be good. And I’m glad, I’m really glad I saved it for you. And tonight won’t be the only night, so don’t worry about that. This is not an impulse. I’ve thought it out. We’ll be gone from here soon, and you’ll have me always there, and you don’t have to worry and have tensions. I’ll be there, and you don’t have to drink any more or be a celibate. You can have pleasure again and be your old self again. Don’t make me talk any more, Andrew, please—’

‘Oh, Christ, Lee, listen.’

‘—because that’s not the way I planned it. I only had the drinks to get up my nerve, and because I was worried I wouldn’t please you, because I’m not Harriet, and I’ve never slept with a man. But I’ll be good, you’ll see. Just have patience, and show me, and don’t hurt me—but even if you do—I don’t care.’ Her voice became smaller, and now it caught. ‘You can take me now, Andrew.’

‘Goddamit, Lee, no. Goddamit, I won’t take you, I can’t.’ He was furious with the predicament in which she had placed him. ‘I don’t want intercourse with you—or maybe I do, I don’t know—but even if I did, I wouldn’t.’

Agitated, he swung off the bed, felt under the lamp, and turned on the light. He stood beside the bed, in his rumpled pyjama trousers, hitching them up, ashamed to have to see her here. Her head, her free hair matted, was on the pillow, and now averted from the light. Her hands knotted tightly on the blanket top, pulling it to her neck.

‘What are you doing?’ she groaned. ‘Turn off the light.’

‘I won’t. I don’t trust myself in the dark. I am a human being.’

She kept her face averted. ‘Then why are you scared?’

He knew that this rejection was terrible, and so he softened towards her, made the fault his own. ‘I don’t want your pity, Lee. This—it’s not good for us. Can’t you understand, Lee? It’s nothing for a man. It’s easy for a man. It would have been pleasurable for me. You’re an attractive woman. I mean that. I think you may even be a passionate woman. But what would be the point? You’re not on earth to accommodate me—to be my bondmaid. I’m not that selfish. That’s all it would be. I could never promise you more or offer you more. So it would be wrong for me to be the first, unless you needed it. That would be another matter. But you don’t. You say you don’t. And if you haven’t up to now, I think you should wait until it means something more, until you have someone. There’s that nice fellow in Chicago—Beazley—Harry Beazley—it would mean something with him. It would mean a whole life for you. But you know me. I can promise you nothing—not love—not even affection. And marriage—I can’t think of marriage. I just won’t have it with you this way. Now, let’s not think of it or speak of it again. Let’s just go on as we have.’

For the first time, she turned her face to him. Her thin lips quivered. ‘Go into the other room,’ she said in a cold, expressionless voice, ‘until I’m decent.’

He retreated awkwardly through the drapes, and then pulled them chastely across so that they covered every inch of the bedroom entrance. Moving to the coffee table, he found a packet of Leah’s cigarettes and took one and lit it. His hand shook, as he held the cigarette, and he could not remember when, since Harriet’s death, he had been more dismayed.

He listened to the creaking of the bed, as she got up to dress, and he paced back and forth across the sitting-room.

Presently, the drape was flung aside, and Leah appeared. She wore a flannel bathrobe over her nightgown, and slippers. Her hair was long, but combed. Her face was composed, but glacial.

She advanced towards him without shame or timidity. He read her attitude at once. Her every movement spoke her thought. She was saying: I am blameless, the fault is your fault. She was saying: I offered, in all charity and kindness, to save you from yourself, and you rebuffed me. She was saying: the Lord will punish you, not me, for I am the handmaid whose name is Hagar.

Against fanatic righteousness, Craig knew that he was helpless.

‘I’ve listened to your pack of lies,’ Leah began stridently, ‘and I just want you to know you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes.’

‘Now, what does that mean?’

‘It means I see through you, better than anyone on earth. All that holy talk about thinking of me, about saving me for someone else, about not wanting to hurt me. I know the truth. I suspected it, but now I know it.’

‘Maybe you’ll let me in on your secret.’

‘You didn’t need my love, which is clean and decent, because you’ve been getting too much these last couple of days from that little Nazi whore-bitch from Atlanta!’

‘Leah!’

‘I could see it from the first minute she set eyes on you. She put her hooks in you fast. She gave you what you needed fast. She’s got one Nobel winner in the family, but that’s not enough. Now, she wants two. She saw you were weak—any experienced woman could tell that—and she played on your weakness, and now she’s got you, and that’s what is wrong. Andrew, Andrew, you’re such a guileless fool!’

He tried to repress his anger, for he knew her hurt, but it was impossible. ‘You’re the fool, Lee, if that’s what you believe,’ he said quietly. ‘Emily Stratman is as much a virgin as you are.’

‘I see, you know that. You found out?’

‘Dammit, Lee, shut up. She’s attractive, of course, and I’m not a eunuch. You bet your life I tried to make time with her. I didn’t get to first base. I haven’t touched her. I haven’t even kissed her.’