Paul Theroux - The Family Arsenal

She could feel the boat’s progress, the splashings at her elbow, the window’s mist on her cheek. The painting had redeemed her and, most of all, that theft was one in the eye for Araba. She had stopped visiting Hill Street. She said she was too busy. But Lady Arrow knew the reason. It was not that over-praised farce and had nothing to do with the Peter Pan business — those rehearsals wouldn’t start for weeks. No, a needless sense of rivalry had sharpened in Araba. She too had money; she had prominence; she had her group, the militant actors who had done little but give themselves a name — the Purple League — and disrupt Equity meetings. Play-acting with costumes and aliases, their substitute for action. A mob of howling fairies, frenzied because the best part went to younger stars who didn’t lisp — amazing how many actors in the League had speech impediments or were too short. They got noisier until they landed a place in some safe repertory company and then they fell silent: politics was a way to fame, Marxism to wealth; the furious little Trots wanted to be film stars! Araba believed in them, or said she did; she staged their pageants, led the attacks on the Punch and Judy shows, chaired their meetings, loaned them money. If they disappointed her she expelled them.

‘You must come to a meeting one day,’ Araba had said. It was not an invitation. Only an actress celebrated as Lady Macbeth could exclude you by seeming to invite you.

But she believed, in spite of her mockery. Of all the people Lady Arrow had ever known only actors had been able to combine power with glamour; and the best were gods, moving easily from world to world. They made you believe in that pretence. More than their friendship Lady Arrow wanted their loyalty. It would be like owning the priests who officiated at the public ceremonies of a popular religion. It was, she knew, an irrational trust that she had, but she could not help it. Actors lived in a way she would have chosen for herself; they could be anyone and they could persuade others to believe in their masks. She guessed they were weak, but she seldom saw their weakness and for them to make weakness seem like power filled her with approval. More than that, she saw how in organizing plays in prisons and assigning roles for herself she was secretly imitating them — and what prisoner would criticize her acting ability? This was her unspoken answer to Araba, and a way of proving to herself that she could act well. The more Araba avoided her, the more she tried to divine how she might make the actress dependent, and then they could conspire together. She wanted to be included, but Araba kept her away, as if encouraging the rivalry. Money did not enter into it — so much the better. But Lady Arrow had gathered that Araba did not trust her, did not quite believe the principles Lady Arrow claimed for herself. She seemed to imply in her disbelief that Lady Arrow had a fictitious ambition. Or was she demanding proof — a tactic for ignoring her — because she was not interested in her? Araba might even be on the verge of expelling her in some casual way. Today, Lady Arrow had invited herself and Araba had allowed it with reluctance, showing interest only when Lady Arrow had said, ‘I’m not coming alone. There’s someone I want you to meet.’

‘Who?’

‘One of my prisoners.’

The river stopped, then her thoughts; the boat was turning, hooting. The spattered windows revealed nothing but the water’s cold light. The engine was still. The boat bumped. Lady Arrow guessed they’d arrived at Greenwich. She walked unsteadily to the ladder and climbed to the deck.

Brodie was at the top of the ramp, waving. Seeing her, Lady Arrow felt a helpless exalted hunger for the girl, something physical tightening in her that made her strength clumsy. Desire seldom activated her mind — it pulsed at her throat and made her flesh burr as with the onset of fever. It was always like this: it broke her in two and one half hid from the other, like shame from pride. She rushed up to Brodie and kissed her, feeling huge, hoping she did not look foolish and yet not caring. She saw she had startled the young girl with her tongue and teeth, and she said, ‘Are you going to be warm enough in that jacket?’

‘I’m all right. I liberated it from a second-hand shop.’ It was a school blazer, with a badge and a Latin motto on the breast pocket. Under it Brodie wore a thin jersey. The wind whipped at her lapels and pushed her long dress against her small thighs.

‘We’ve got a stiffish walk,’ said Lady Arrow, feeling guilty to be so warmly dressed in a heavy coat and long scarf. ‘Why don’t we have a drink at the Trafalgar before we set off?’

‘I don’t drink,’ said Brodie, ‘but I’ll keep you company.’

They walked on the riverside path in front of the Naval College to the Trafalgar, where Lady Arrow ordered a double whisky. Brodie excused herself and by the time she returned Lady Arrow had finished her drink. Brodie was brighter, laughing to herself and staring with glazed hilarity at Lady Arrow.

‘Have you taken a pill or something?’

‘I turned on in the loo,’ said Brodie. ‘You mean you can smell it on me?’

‘Rather,’ said Lady Arrow; then she sniffed.

‘You said we were meeting this heavy actress. I always turn on before I meet people.’

Outside, Lady Arrow said, ‘In my favourite novel there’s a lovely scene here in Greenwich — an outing, like this. Do you know Henry James?’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘That’s much better than knowing his name and not reading him.’ She looked at the young girl’s white face and thought: she knows nothing — she is free.

They cut across the park and climbed the path that led around the front of the Observatory to a road and a little hill. Although it was only mid-afternoon the light was failing and the ground darkening with an imitation of shadows; and the air had thickened, so that the trees that led to the far end of the hill, where some tennis courts were just visible, were dimmed by a mist so fine it was like cigarette smoke. And now the Observatory looked distant, like an old Dutch mansion on a promontory of a grey-green sea.

‘How is my friend Mister Hood?’

‘He’s not around much. I think he’s got a chick.’

‘Has he?’ Lady Arrow was momentarily jealous, then she was calm: she was with Brodie. This was what she had wanted most. ‘He seems quite a remarkable man.’

‘He’s pretty heavy.’

‘You must bring him over to Hill Street.’

Brodie laughed. ‘He won’t come. He don’t like you.’

Lady Arrow stopped walking. She said, ‘Why not?’

Brodie went a few more paces, then turned and said, ‘He’d go crazy if he knew I was meeting you. He told Murf and me not to see you. He says it’s not our scene. You’ll fuck us up.’

‘Do you think I will?’

‘I’m fucked up already. Anyway he’s not my father. He can’t tell me what to do.’

‘Good girl,’ said Lady Arrow, and seeing that they were alone and surrounded by trees she stooped and put her arm around the girl’s small shoulders. Crushing the blazer she pulled her close — even in those thin clothes Brodie was warm. Lady Arrow said, ‘I’d like to adopt you — legally. Then we could be together all the time.’

Brodie looked up and smiled. ‘You’d be my mother. Really strange.’

‘I’d be a nice mother,’ said Lady Arrow, then urgently she said, ‘Let me.’

Brodie shrugged. ‘I’d feel funny.’

‘We could go to bed and have all our secrets there.’

Brodie squinted, as if she had just then forgotten something she had always known.

‘I’ve shocked you,’ said Lady Arrow.

‘No,’ said Brodie. ‘A chick fancied me once. In the nick it was. I done it with her.’