Уильям Моэм - The Narrow Corner

“She was nothing to look at. Thin as a rail. Her neck was absolutely scraggy. Tallish. She had a long thin face, with hollow cheeks, and a brown skin, all one colour, rather leathery, if you know what I mean; and she never seemed to take any trouble with her hair, it always looked as though it would come down in a minute; and she’d have a wisp hanging down in front of her ear or over her forehead. I do like a woman to have a neat head, don’t you? It was black, rather like a gipsy’s, and she had enormous black eyes. They made her face. When you talked to her you didn’t really see anything else. She didn’t look British, she looked like a foreigner, a Hungarian or something like that. There was nothing attractive about her.

“Well, I went on the Tuesday. She knew how to dance, you couldn’t deny that. You know, I’m rather keen on dancing. I enjoyed myself more than I expected. She had a lot to say for herself. I shouldn’t have had a bad time if there hadn’t been some of my pals there. I knew they’d rot my head off for dancing the whole afternoon with an old geyser like that. There are ways and ways of dancing. It didn’t take me long to see what she was up to. I couldn’t help laughing. Poor old cow, I thought, if it gives her any pleasure, well, let her have it. She asked me to go to the pictures with her one night when her husband had to go to a meeting. I said I didn’t mind, and we made a date. I held her hand at the pictures. I thought it’d please her and it didn’t do me any harm, and afterwards she said, Couldn’t we walk a bit. We were pretty friendly by then; she was interested in my work, and she wanted to know all about my home. We talked about racing; I told her there was nothing I’d like to do more than ride in a big race myself. In the dark she wasn’t so bad, and I kissed her. Well, the end of it was that we went to a place I knew and we had a bit of a rough and tumble. I did it more out of politeness than anything else. I thought that would be the finish. Not a bit of it. She went crazy about me. She said she’d fallen in love with me the first time she saw me. I don’t mind telling you that just at first I was a bit flattered. She had something. Those great flashing eyes, sometimes they made me feel all funny, and that gipsy look, I don’t know, it was so unusual, it seemed to take you right away and you couldn’t believe you were in good old Sydney; it was like living in a story about Nihilists and Grand Dukes and I don’t know what all. By God, she was hot stuff. I thought I knew a thing or two about all that, but when she took me in hand I found I didn’t know a thing. I’m not particular, but really, sometimes she almost disgusted me. She was proud of it. She used to say that after a chap had loved her, other women were duller than cold roast mutton.

“I couldn’t help liking it in a way, but you know, I didn’t feel easy about it. You don’t like a woman to be absolutely shameless. There was no satisfying her either. She made me see her every day, and she’d ring me up at the office and ring me up at home. I told her for God’s sake to be careful; after all she had a husband to think of, and there was father and mother, father was quite capable of packing me off to a sheep–station for a year if he had the smallest suspicion that things weren’t going right, but she said she didn’t care. She said if I was packed off to a sheep–station she’d come with me. She didn’t seem to mind what risks she took, and if it hadn’t been for me it would have been all over Sydney in a week. She’d telephone to mother and ask if I couldn’t go to supper at her place and make a four at bridge, and when I was there she’d make love to me under her husband’s nose. When she saw I was scared she laughed her head off. It excited her. Pat Hudson just treated me like a boy; he never took much notice of me, he fancied himself at bridge, and got a lot of fun out of telling me all about it. I didn’t dislike him. He was a bit of a rough–neck, and he could put his liquor away rather, but he was a smart fellow in his way. He was ambitious, and he liked having me there because I was father’s son. He was quite ready to come in with father, but he wanted to get something pretty substantial for himself out of it.

“I was getting a bit fed up with it all. I couldn’t call my soul my own. And she was as jealous as hell. If we were anywhere and I happened to look at a girl it would be: ‘Who’s that? Why d’you look at her like that? Have you had her?’ And if I said I hadn’t ever spoken to her even, she’d say I was a damned liar. I thought I’d slack off a bit. I didn’t want to chuck her too suddenly in case she got her knife in me. She could turn Hudson round her little finger, and I knew father wouldn’t be very pleased if he did the dirty on us at the election. I began to say I was busy at the office or had to stay at home, when she wanted me to go out with her. I told her mother was getting suspicious and that we must be careful. She was as sharp as a knife. She wouldn’t believe a word I said. She made me the most awful scenes. To tell you the truth I began to get rather scared. I’d never known anyone like that. With most of the girls I’d played about with—well, they’d known it was just a lark, same as I did, and it just ended naturally, without any fuss or bother. You’d have thought, when she guessed I’d had enough, her pride would prevent her from clinging on to me. But no. Quite the contrary. D’you know, she actually wanted me to run away with her, to America or somewhere, so that we could get married. It never seemed to occur to her that she was twenty years older than me. I mean, it was too ridiculous. I had to pretend that it was out of the question, on account of the election, you know, and because we shouldn’t have anything to live on. She was absolutely unreasonable. She said, what did we care about the election, and anyone could make a living in America, she said; she’d been on the stage and she was sure she could get a part. She seemed to think she was a girl. She asked me if I’d marry her if it wasn’t for her husband and I had to say I would. The scenes she made got me so nervous I was ready to say anything. You don’t know what a life she led me. I wished to God I’d never set eyes on her. I was so worried I didn’t know what to do. I had half a mind to tell mother, but I knew it would upset her so frightfully. She never left me alone for a minute. She came up to the office once. I had to be polite to her and pretend it was all right, because I knew she was capable of making a scene before everybody, but afterwards I told her if she ever did it again I wouldn’t have anything more to do with her. Then she started waiting for me in the street outside. My God, I could have wrung her neck. Father used to go home in a car and I always walked to his office to fetch him, and she insisted on walking there with me. At last things got to such a pitch that I just couldn’t stick it any more; I didn’t care what happened. I told her I was sick and tired of the whole thing and it had got to stop.

“I made up my mind that I was going to say it and I did. My God, it was awful. It was at her place, they had a little jerry–built house, overlooking the harbour, on a cliff, rather far out, and I’d got off from the office in the middle of the afternoon on purpose. She screamed and she cried. She said she loved me and she couldn’t live without me and I don’t know what all. She said she’d do anything I liked and she wouldn’t bother me in future and she’d be quite different. She promised every sort of thing. God knows what she didn’t say. Then she flew into a rage and cursed me and swore at me and called me every name under the sun. She went for me, and I had to hold her hands to prevent her from scratching my eyes out. She was like a mad woman. Then she said she was going to commit suicide, and tried to run out of the house. I thought she’d throw herself over the cliff or something, and I held her back by main force. She kicked and struggled. And then she threw herself on her knees and tried to kiss my hands, and when I pushed her away she fell on the ground and started sobbing and sobbing. I seized the opportunity and made a bolt for it.