Anna Kavan - Let Me Alone

At last Matthew pushed back his chair.

‘We’ve been neglecting you,’ he said, smirking at her with his curious imitation gallantry that took no heed of her at all, really.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said stiffly.

‘There is so much to discuss,’ said Jonsen, apologetic. ‘And so little time before I leave.’

She could feel the prick of malice underneath his apology. He resented her youth, her assurance, her attractiveness. He was glad that she should be neglected. He wanted her to be taken down a peg. Anna eyed him distastefully.

‘Shall we go along to the club?’ said Jonsen. ‘It’s getting rather late.’ He gathered the papers into an untidy pile, and stood up. Matthew, too, seemed ready to make a move.

‘I had better go upstairs and tidy myself,’ said Anna.

‘You’re quite all right as you are,’ said Matthew. ‘Quite smart enough for Naunggyi.’

Which she felt was even more than the truth. She shivered a little. She went towards the doorway.

‘I should like to go upstairs, all the same,’ she said, coldly asserting herself against the two males.

So up they all clattered, up the bare wooden stairs to the floor above.

The upper floor of the house was simply divided into three large rooms — the middle one, into which the stairs directly led, and one opening out of it on each side. Here also was an absence of doors. Instead, there were in the middle of each doorway two small wooden panels, like flaps, arranged with some sort of a spring, to spring back into place after one had pushed through. Above and below the flaps was a foot or two of vacancy. Anna looked at this arrangement in amazement.

‘Why are there no doors?’ she asked, rather dismayed.

‘Too hot,’ said Jonsen laconically. His small eyes twinkled in the lamplight. Matthew looked on, smiling blankly.

Anna took the lamp and went away from them, into the room which would be hers. It was a biggish room with a wooden floor and whitewashed walls and long windows opening on to a little veranda. There was a tall cupboard in one corner and a brown wooden bed under a mosquito-net in the middle of the room — a single bed she was glad to see. The white mosquito-net was turned up to form a sort of canopy over the wooden poles, giving the bed an incongruous old-world look. The bathroom was a separate closet-place at the end.

It was not such a bad room — barn-like and bare, to be sure: but it had possibilities. With curtains and so on, it could be made habitable. But no privacy, not the least in the world. Anna looked askance at the spring-flaps of doors.

She unlocked her dressing-bag and took out soap, powder, and a hair-brush. Then she went into the bathroom. Here was a tin tub on the floor, a huge earthenware jar full of water, and a shelf with a basin and a tin dipper.

She looked round. There was nothing to do but dip some water out of the jar. It looked muddy in the basin and had a stale smell. It was cold, dead cold, but she washed her hands and face and dried herself with handkerchiefs. There was no towel.

When she got downstairs the men were waiting for her. Matthew looked impatient. He was all eagerness to get to the club. Anna wondered what sort of place it could be to arouse such impatience.

They were now all ready to start. They boarded the Ford car once more, Anna seated next to Jonsen this time as a compliment, Matthew in the back. It was quite dark, with a sky flashing full of stars. The air was fresh, if not exactly chilly.

And so, with two uncertain tentacles of light, the car went jolting and rattling along the pale road which wound in and out of the darkness of the great trees. In a strange darkness like the end of the world they clattered, noisily, and without background, Jonsen crouched forward over the wheel and peering out at the dim road ahead.

Anna sat still beside him. There was an odd, bitter smell of burning in the air, pungent but not disagreeable, almost like incense burning. They cut through long wraiths of smoke which trailed motionless over the ground. Anna discerned only trees and some biggish, scattered houses.

‘Where is the village?’ she asked.

‘Over there.’ Jonsen made a vague gesture in the night. ‘This is our quarter, on this side of the river.’

‘Do the English people live quite apart then?’ she asked, surprised.

‘Oh, yes. Quite separate. One hardly ever goes near the bazaar.’

She cogitated in silence. It was all extraordinary and incomprehensible to her. She did not understand how she had come to be there. It was like a delirium. There were creepers hanging overhead, and huge tree-boles with pale roots writhing into the road. Mysterious little flames flickered sometimes. It was dark, the landscape was quite invisible. The sky sparkled above.

‘How strange it seems,’ she said to Jonsen. ‘I wish I could see the country.’

‘You will see enough of it before you’ve finished,’ he replied, as if joking, but with a nasty intonation.

She wondered at his churlishness.

The car swerved suddenly, throwing her off her balance. They had taken a sharp turn to the right, over some open ground.

A building appeared with lights.

‘There is the club,’ said Jonsen.

The road was better here, and wider. It ended suddenly in front of a quite pretentious-looking entrance. There was a veranda and people moving about.

‘Here we are, then,’ said Jonsen, turning off the engine.

He climbed out. Anna struggled with the stiff, tinny little door of the car. Finally she got it open, and descended. They all went up the steps of the club, with a scraping of feet on the bare boards. And then suddenly they were inside. Someone came up and spoke to Jonsen.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Kavan.’ Anna found herself being introduced to some men dressed in flannels or khaki. There were no women in the room. Everyone stared. There was a great deal of tobacco smoke.

She said ‘How do you do’ vaguely in the direction of the staring faces. After the darkness outside the bright flare of petrol lamps was dazzling. There was a little storm of talk. Anna was aware of several things: that Jonsen was unpopular; that there was a tendency to look with disfavour upon his successor; that Matthew was extremely anxious to ingratiate himself; that she herself was an object of intense, almost inflamed attention. All these things she noted half-consciously as she stood beside Matthew, smiling mechanically.

Jonsen was looking round uneasily. The position of host sat awkwardly upon him. Anna sensed that in some way she was the chief cause of his uneasiness. He did not seem to know what to do with her. She felt herself out of place, but did not know what to do.

‘How do you do! You are Mrs. Kavan?’ came a cheerful feminine voice. Everyone turned to look at a pretty, smiling, slightly-faded young woman who stood in the dark rectangle of the door way.

‘Mrs. Barry,’ introduced Jonsen, with relief. He had got Anna off his hands.

‘Come and be introduced to the rest of us,’ said Mrs. Barry.

Anna went with her along the veranda. They came to a sort of room, like a widening of the veranda, with three walls and a roof, but one side completely open to the night. You could hardly call it a room. In the centre was a table with papers spread out, there were some smaller tables round the walls and a number of wicker chairs. Four women in light dresses were playing cards under the lamp, three others were sitting on the other side of the room. It was like a scene in a play.

‘Here is Mrs. Kavan,’ said young Mrs. Barry, leading Anna to the card table. She introduced Anna to each in turn. The players stared, but were very affable. Anna was led across the room and introduced to the other three. A little stiffness here, she detected. Then back she was shepherded to the original group. The game of cards was abandoned. The women sat round and smiled and talked, watching her furtively with extreme curiosity, and something of the astonishment she had divined in Jonsen. She felt she was making a sensation.