Rebecca K. Hahn - Side-Stepping Normativity in Selected Short Stories by Sylvia Townsend Warner

Eventually, as their conversation progresses, the two men come closer without engaging in physical contact. The attendant points out to the narrator and Valentine that his acquaintance had hardly any luggage:

What you’d take away for a weekend – and he was going to America for good and all. But not worried in the least. What’s more, he seemed so pleased with what he had got. Made me feel his suit to see what good wool it was and told me all about a wonderful pair of silk pajamas he’d been given. (51–52, emphasis in the original)

Clothes and fine materials take on the role of intermediary in the conversation between the German and the attendant. From the attendant’s account, it becomes clear that the German takes a delight in clothes and fine materials and is a connoisseur of beautiful things. During the first part of the conversation, the German remains fairly passive, but during the second part he becomes more animated and invites the attendant to feel the high-quality material from which his clothes are made. Rather than using words, he addresses the attendant’s sense of touch. After listening attentively to the German’s description of the material used to tailor his suit, the attendant makes a great show of determining the quality of the material for himself. The attendant does not simply examine the German’s suit; ultimately, he appears to caress the garment the German is wearing. This suddenly makes the scene appear very intimate, suggesting that the two men have found a way to communicate with each other.

With regard to texture, Sedgwick maintains,

To perceive texture is never only to ask or know What is it like? Nor even just How does it impinge on me ? Textural perception always explores two other questions as well: How did it get that way? and What could I do with it? ( The Weather in Proust 84, emphasis in the original)

Sedgwick writes this in the context of the textile art she produces. These deliberations, however, are significant in the light of the pleasure experienced by the attendant. By feeling the suit, he actively engages with the material and participates in its history. He does not disclose any further details relating to the incident but intimates that the narrator and Valentine are aware of the erotic implications of the encounter. After discussing the wool in his suit, the German leads the attendant on to discuss an even finer material, namely silk. The discussion remains hypothetical since the silk garment in question, a pair of silk pyjamas, is not within reaching distance. The German is challenging the attendant to use his imagination and to indulge in the idea of the soft material with a very smooth texture. The attendant must content himself with the animated description of the silk pyjamas, since he cannot feel the material for himself. The German is unmistakeably flirting with him, leading him on to imagine the most luxurious and seductive materials – while denying him the satisfaction of touch.

Finally, the attendant tells the narrator and Valentine, “And you could tell from the way he spoke he was the sort of gentleman who knows about clothes – quite a dandy in fact” (“Mexico” 51). The attendant uses the term “dandy” to describe a man who dresses elegantly and takes pleasure in high quality clothes. The term “dandy” does not always necessarily refer to men who are aroused by other men, it rather describes a lifestyle. As Adam Geczy and Vicky Karaminas write, “Dandyism was a particular way of being in that it combined dress, deportment, attitude and worldview, a worldview that was at once weary but engaged […]” (58). Based on the attendant’s account, the German lacks the detachment commonly attributed to the dandy. The context in which he uses the term to describe the German strongly suggests that he believes him to be gay.

After feeling the fine material the German was wearing and then imagining the silky texture of the German’s pyjamas, the attendant remembers that he has something he could give to the German, “Then all of a sudden it flashed on me he could have my shirt. It was a very nice shirt. […] I always like to buy my shirts in London. You get a better style” (“Mexico” 51). By giving the German a shirt he had bought in London that same day, the attendant seeks to make sure that his new acquaintance will always be wearing something that will connect them both. He is very pleased by the way the German accepts his gift:

But what I liked best was the way he opened the parcel and looked at the shirt most carefully – how the buttons were fastened and all. Examined it all over, he did. If he had just taken the parcel, that wouldn’t have been the same thing, would it? (52)

In the same way in which the attendant examined the German’s clothes, the German now examines the shirt the attendant gave him – the main difference being that the attendant is not wearing the garment. As with the silk pyjamas, the German’s action describes a possibility; that is, the possibility of him exploring the attendant’s body. The two men do not communicate their desires directly but allude to them by means of fine materials. The narrator and Valentine both understand the underlying message of this account and refrain from making any further comments.

Remembering the opening sentence of the attendant’s story (“‘I’ve got a shirt in Mexico’”, 51), the narrator and Valentine both assume that the German graciously accepted the attendant’s gift and took it with him to Mexico (“‘And now he’s in Mexico?’”, 52). Subsequently, however, they learn that the German gave the attendant’s shirt to someone else. The German writes to the attendant, “And the beautiful shirt you gave me, it is not ungratefully that I bestow it to a comrade going to Mexico when he has greater need than I. […] I thank you again” (52). The German sends the attendant a letter in which he acknowledges the gift – in this sense, the gift becomes an object of mutual exchange. First the attendant gives the German a shirt, and then the German sends the attendant a letter. This exemplifies Derrida’s claim that there is no such thing as a genuine gift. Derrida writes, “If he [the receiver] recognizes it as gift, if the gift appears to him as such , if the present is present to him as present , the simple recognition suffices to annul the gift” (13, emphasis in the original). To Derrida, a gift can only be a gift if neither the giver nor the receiver are aware of the fact that one person is giving the other a gift. In the case of the shirt, the giver as well as the receiver have cognizance of the act of gifting. Regifting the shirt, however, interrupts the cycle of gifting between the German and the attendant. As Mark Graham points out:

Exchanging gifts proceeds according to the rules and produces the system of gift giving on which it seems to draw, but, like gender, it might fail to produce the correct effects. […] There are no guarantees what will happen or that the results will be as intended. To some extent, this may even explain the pleasures of gift giving, which lie not in the meticulous calculation or even in the expectation of return, but in the openness and uncertainty of the exchange. (47)

The attendant had not expected his shirt to be regifted to someone else, but it fills him with joy to know that his shirt now resides in Mexico (“‘I’ve always wanted a shirt in Mexico’”, 52). By regifting the shirt, the German disengages himself from any obligations to the attendant; he no longer feels indebted to him and, subsequently, the attendant can no longer lay any claim to the German. Now their connection is no longer based on material objects, but on a mutual history triggered by sensory pleasures.