Mortimer Penelope - The Pumpkin Eater

“I thought you must have friends, hosts of friends.”

“The doorbell rang, so I walked down the hall in the dark, and turned on the light and through the glass I saw this Jamaican. He was wearing a camel-hair overcoat, he was rather handsome, about forty, with a beard. When I opened the door I saw that he had something written down the front of his overcoat in red paint. He said he was glad I wasn’t frightened or alarmed, and that I might like to know that he was the new King of Israel, anointed by Yahweh, the Eternal Lord God, and that he had come to give me his blessing. I thanked him and he talked for a time about the Emphasized Bible and how the name Yahweh appeared well over seven thousand times in the Emphasized Bible and how he had been appointed to fulfil some prophecy in Ezekiel — and this appeared seventy-two times, I think. I didn’t really listen, but I thought why shouldn’t he be King of Israel? Why not? And why shouldn’t Yahweh have anointed him, and why shouldn’t he bless me? I gave him five shillings to build a radio station in Jerusalem and he said, ‘The people are unhappy because they give the gift of their love to unworthy men and unworthy women.”’

“And then?”

“Then he went away, I suppose, to eat on the five shillings.”

“But he was a maniac.”

“He didn’t seem like a maniac. I’m not saying he was sane. But neither was I. I’m not saying he even believed in himself, but neither did I. He got five shillings from me and I … I was comforted. I told you I don’t know who I am or what I’m like, but I know there aren’t any rules — perhaps the kind of person I am believes in Yahweh. Perhaps that Jamaican King of Judah and I need the same thing. Anything’s possible. When I was young — well, you remember — I thought that to need comfort was humiliating, that it was sufficient to be alive, and make love, and have children, and behave as well as possible. Well, it was sufficient. Now these things have been taken from me, but not naturally. I don’t know, and now I never will, but I imagine that the natural way is gradual, that you’re given time, that you’re old enough to accept it, even with relief. What happened to me was sudden and artificial and it was done by people — oh, and by me, of course; I did quite surely to myself what I would never have done to anyone else. But that cruel truth people tell when they’re meant to be comforting someone — the nurse keeps saying it to the children when they fall off a wall or lose something they love or run out of pocket money — ‘You have only yourself to blame!’ It’s far worse of course than being able to blame someone else. ‘Only yourself,’ is terrible. That is what Conway is saying to her. I know. Like a torturer, over and over for the rest of her life, ‘You’ve only yourself to blame.’ What are the good of such judgements, once something has been done?”

“She gets the worst of it. Beth Conway. She’s the worst off.”

“Yes. I know. But … there is a kind of hope for her. She may … love the child when it’s born. She may get away from Conway. My God, why should I feel sorry for her?”

“Yesterday … last night you seemed …”

“What he’s doing to her is terrible, it’s monstrous, but — ”

“You kept crying and saying ‘poor girl, poor girl’.”

“I was drunk, then. I feel pity — pity for everyone. Even Jake, now I’m here, away from him. But I’m not sorry for her. I wouldn’t do a thing to help her … All right. It’s not true. How long can we sit talking here?”

“As long as you like. It’s Saturday.”

“What’s the time?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Your watch must have stopped.”

“No. It’s eight. Look, you’ve been awake all night — why don’t you sleep now?”

“Saturday?”

“That’s right.”

“They’ll all be home. You know … what started as a small affair of Jake’s, nothing at all important, perhaps … perhaps it wasn’t important … has grown so big, it’s involved so many people — ”

“I don’t think it was particularly unimportant if he was busy getting her pregnant while you were being carved up like that.”

“I never said that was when it happened! I never told you that!”

“But it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Maybe he had regrets suddenly — that he’d never be a father again.”

“Don’t! That’s not you! It’s … Conway.”

“You said you weren’t sorry for her. But it wasn’t true. Well, I’m not sorry for Jake Armitage and that’s the complete truth. Now what are you going to do? Stay here?”

“I behaved like Jake, you mean. But you let it happen, you didn’t fight, you didn’t even seem unhappy.”

“It’s over, for God’s sake. Are you going to stay?”

“You don’t love me, do you?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t the ability to love you, or anyone. I can’t offer you anything, I never could. That happiness you talk about all came from you, there was this great, energetic conviction that kept us all bouncing like ping-pong balls on an air-jet. Well, now you’re like this … what can I do? Stay here. Sleep. I’ll feed you, listen to you, do what I can. But respect my inadequacy, if you don’t mind. I know who I am and what I’m like. I wouldn’t want you to mistake me for anyone else.”

“I don’t …”

“Don’t cry. Your Jamaican may have said that we give the gift of our love to unworthy men and women, but he didn’t tell you how to get it back. You can’t get it back, once it’s given. All you can give the Yahwehs is a seven thousandth part of a substitute, because you feel so empty and dead, having given away so much of yourself, that you must try and fool yourself that you’re capable of something . All right. Try and fool yourself. Run about the place for a while saying you don’t know who you are or what you’re like or what you want. You do know. You just won’t accept it. It doesn’t matter, there’s plenty of time.”

“No. There isn’t. I can’t stay, Giles.”

“Go to bed now, and sleep. Later on, I’ll ring them up. I’ll tell them you’re here.”

“But — ”

“Don’t rush into anything. Just sleep. I’ll ring Jake and tell him you’re with me.”

“With you?”

“I’ll tell him I’m looking after you. For the time being.”

I woke in the dark — a small bed, curiously cold air. At first, but for no more than a second, I thought I was back in the nursing home. Then I even remembered where I had put Giles’s dressing gown. I pulled it on as I got out of bed and groped towards the slit of light under the door. Giles was reading. He dropped the book on the floor and held out his hands, welcoming me.

“Did you ring them?” I asked.

“Yes. I spoke to Jake. I told him you were here. I told him not to worry. Do you know you’ve slept for eleven hours?”

“What did he say? Was he …? Did he ask why? Was he … angry?”

“No. Just worried. He thought you might have thrown yourself in the river, or something. That’s what he said. He seemed very relieved to know you were here.”

“Well … I suppose that’s … natural.” I didn’t know what Jake would say under these circumstances. It seemed quite likely that it would be, “I thought she might have thrown herself in the river, or something.” I could hear him saying it, as though I were old tea-leaves, orange peel thrown out of a passing boat. “And the children?”

“They’re all right. Dinah told them you’d gone to stay with your mother, she told them your mother was ill. She’s ringing your mother to tell her she’s ill. You see — it’s all very simple. I lit the geyser hours ago. You can have a bath if you like. Then I’ll take you out and feed you.”