Maggie Gee - Virginia Woolf in Manhattan

waiting for me with their cackling voices

‘You are ours, child, now’ there was no escape

they were here already there, in her eyes bright and tiny and terrible

the eyes, I perceived, of a consummate actress, there was a Greek word but it skipped out of reach, a chorus of birds were shrieking it, the taxi was stuck, its sides shrank inwards –

ANGELA

‘Virginia, are you all right?’

VIRGINIA

I looked away from her, out of the window, I made myself concentrate, look, listen –

No, just crows. The ‘ Kaar ’ of crows. My intelligent friends from two continents.

They flew like guardians around the taxi. Greyer, less threatening than ever this morning, the colour of socks or grey flannel trousers, they spoke no language besides their own, an animal language sufficient to save me. ‘ Kaar, Virginia. Kaar, Kaar .’

I was animal too. I was sane. I had proved it. Like the birds, I could mate, I could fly .

I would brazen it out. I would not be afraid. Of her, of the Furies, the sad blank void that yawned behind when I looked at her, the lie in her mouth, the sharp cruel teeth protruding under her orange lipstick

and I looked away again out of the window, at the sunlit world outside the glass –

through cracks she had made in the city’s bright surface, the rosy roof-tops, the red-striped stalls, the blue of the sky which had woken me earlier, cloudless, perfect, a perpetual moment, my joy still glittered as it leaked away, liquid silver in the greedy gutters but a child came out and ran up the pavement, what flew above him, a kite on a string? through the hordes of adults with their heavy purpose — no, it was a swallow, in fact, it was two, two bold young swallows looping the loop, dipping, dancing over Constantinople — one of them rose till I could barely see it, hovered, oh where, with its quivit, quivit , then plummeted, my heart stopped, had I lost it

— no, crew-on-the-blue, there were six, a dozen, doing acrobatics as they cheeped and twittered, chideep, chideep , that silver again, the joy of that thin filigree music, and Angela looked up: even she heard them.

I would not be robbed. It could not be stolen .

Yes, I was not afraid of her. I looked again; she was ordinary.

Cross, perhaps, but not unfriendly.

‘Give me the paper. I will read it.’

The cab started again. She handed it over.

ANGELA

I watched her, staring down at my pages, or past my pages, was she taking it in? — her heavy mauve lids more languorous than usual, the orbs underneath them flickering sidelong. Some birds were squeaking like a midget violin, a hair of annoyance tickling my brain. And we stopped again.

Did I know her at all? Had all my reading of her books meant nothing? How much did we ever know anyone?

I’d thought all her characters were part of herself, that by adding them together, you came up with the author, a shifting composite, the details uncertain but the basic shape, against the light, constant.

Now she had thrown the book out of the window, like Becky Sharp and the ‘Dixonary’ — and I always felt uneasy with Thackeray’s Becky, I loved her, yes, but she was so — selfish!

As I watched Virginia, her brow relaxed. After a moment, she started to laugh. ‘Oh I see. I see … what a fool I am.’

Now she was nodding, and reading more swiftly. At least twice, she nodded. My anger dissolved, though my fear was still great. Her long artist’s hands on my vulnerable pages.

But the taxi was jerking down the road again. We were rounding the mosque near the university. Still some time before 11 AM.

‘Angela,’ she said, looking up suddenly. ‘Thank you. You defended me. But really — how heavy-footed critics can be.’

ANGELA

The question ‘What happened that night?’ must be answered. I can only tell you what happened to me. One day, perhaps, wherever she is, Virginia will tell it from her point of view.

What did I expect at the start of the evening? Not a lot. Fun and flirtation. Though I’d invited Kuyperman to please Virginia, I was half-relieved she was out of the picture. I had had the most exhausting day, beginning with the terrible row with Edward — then the ramp in Aya Sophia — then the riot …

Now the consolation of male attention. I was glad I had washed my hair. I decided to wear my Afghan coat, which made me look hippy, alternative, young.

(Was Ray … possible ? I didn’t see why not. He had sought me out at a conference before, he had praised my novels, albeit rather vaguely.)

Long before dessert, I was disabused. Over starters, he first mentioned ‘Jimmy’, who seemed to accompany him on long walks. I was going to ask him what breed he was, but by the main course, I knew Jimmy was human.

‘It’s a bore being categorised,’ he said to me, ‘and things are still a little touchy in Jo’burg, but I realised, of course, in retrospect, after I saw you and your friend in Ida’s, that you were probably there for the same reason as me.’

‘Which is?’ A slight pause. It dawned on me. ‘Oh, I see. No, she’s … No. Yes, the cafe. Yes, yes .’

He carried us over the awkwardness. ‘Jimmy didn’t come with me, on this occasion, but we love Ida’s, we always go.’

I felt obscurely cheated, though, as if he’d taken something away from me, and started laying into the wine. He wasn’t even paying! We were going Dutch! I hadn’t forgotten the conference next day, but by the time we left, I was no longer sober.

It was twelve o’clock. Virginia must be back. Prodded by the same unsatisfied desire for some kind of reward or recognition, a simple nod, a word of praise, I marched upstairs, bumping into the wall because the stairs were stupidly narrow, and knocked on her door. By now she would have read it.

I knocked again, a little louder.

There were noises inside. Laughter, movement.

Perhaps she was talking in her sleep. I did not want to wake the hotel. The landing light was very bright, so I could not see if her light was on.

‘Virginia?’ I called, quietly. I could definitely hear a creaking of furniture, two voices, surely, and someone coughed.

But Room 13 was directly adjoining. Probably the sounds were coming from there.

I took what seemed like the easiest course, though in retrospect, it lacked dignity, and got down on all fours on the floor of the landing to see if there was light under her door.

In that instant it opened, and I was exposed.

Kneeling on the landing like some kind of goat.

In the Afghan coat I had put on to go out.

What did I see? It’s not easy to be clear, for I wasn’t expecting the door to open, it was dim inside, I was hauling myself backwards and scrambling upright at the same moment — the figure who emerged was not Virginia, but the slim pale Muslim girl who’d seen me before, when I’d just poked my paper underneath the same door.

‘Room service,’ she said. ‘I bring your friend tea.’

‘I was trying to see if the light was on.’

We had both talked at once. We stared at each other. She looked compassionate, as if I were insane. It was the second time, to be fair, that she’d found me on the landing with my head jammed against the crack beneath Virginia’s door.

Then I saw a large black shoe on her floor.

‘Are you all right, Virginia?’ I called.

‘Go away.’

The voice that answered was fuzzy with sleep. Or perhaps tipsy, or I was tipsy.

‘She is well,’ the Muslim girl asserted, blocking the door, almost protective.

What was I to do? I was unwelcome. I had been assured that Virginia was fine.