Anna Kavan - Guilty

It was our first misunderstanding, the first time I’d heard that chill in her voice, and a sort of desperation made me exclaim, ‘I don’t care if I never set eyes on the fellow again’, continuing more calmly, ‘He was only important to me once because I was so lonely. Since I’ve known you I haven’t even thought of him. That’s why you haven’t heard much about him.’ She looked at me gravely without speaking; and I, conscious that I was no longer being strictly truthful, said no more, glad that she didn’t pursue the subject.

For the rest of the evening we went on as usual as if Spector hadn’t been mentioned. But our gaiety was a trifle forced; I was afraid we’d called up a ghost that wouldn’t be easily exorcized. And in that I was right; this was proved afterwards by our mutual inability to speak naturally of the man. Carla rarely uttered his name at all. And, though I refused to revert to my former reserve, I was incapable of talking about him simply and spontaneously; whatever I said seemed to have unintended implications, the most trivial remark developing undertones of startling significance.

The day after our conversation, capitulating deliberately, I admitted there was no real reason I shouldn’t ask my employer’s permission for the two of us to live here, except that I was already in disfavour and felt certain it would be no good. She answered calmly that I must know what I was talking about — there must be some good reason for thinking he wouldn’t help us. Her face was composed and cool-looking, gentle, still, inexpressive. This unchanging composure of hers was sometimes faintly disturbing. It made me wonder now what she was really thinking. But I was glad of it, too, relieved that she didn’t want me to approach Spector.

I had, I told her, a much better plan. Why shouldn’t we occupy some of the rooms in her home, replacing the present tenants? I’d inherited a little money from my father, and, with this and my salary, I could certainly make up the full amount they were paying, so that her mother wouldn’t lose by the arrangement. I smiled, thinking our future already as good as settled, as I put forward this simple and obvious suggestion, wondering why neither of us had thought of it sooner.

To my surprise, Carla shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid that can’t be done.’ I thought she must be joking, imitating my objections of the previous day, until she went on to explain quite seriously that the rooms were let to officials of the highest grades, who couldn’t be asked to leave. ‘But, surely, in the circumstances …’ I began protesting, to break off hastily as I fancied I caught a gleam of amusement in her dark eyes. I seemed fated to make a fool of myself — or was she making a fool of me? Again I was struck by the singularly unrevealing serenity of her expression, her pale, smooth face perfect like a mask, at which I could gaze for ever, it was so clear and lovely. Yet something strange had looked out of her eyes for a moment — strangely disturbing. I’d believed there could never be any misunderstanding between us, but I’d been wrong, and now for a chilling second I seemed not to understand her at all. There was a suggestion about her of something obscure, secret and impenetrable. It was gone almost before I’d seen it; but not before it had brought about a change that proved to be permanent in our emotional climate. It wasn’t possible to go back to where we’d been before; nor did I really wish to revert to a stage I seemed suddenly to have outgrown.

Summer was ending. In the sharper, cooler days that ensued, my former languid passivity seemed out of place. Though I loved Carla if possible more than ever, and still experienced in her company hours of relaxed happiness beyond all compare, my contentment now began to develop a reverse side that was correspondingly painful. Uneasy restlessness possessed me all the time we were apart. I was like a nervous traveller waiting for a train, existing in anxiety till our next meeting. If a day passed without seeing her, I became quite distracted, for without her I was lost and incomplete.

With typical spite, life afflicted me with these distressing sensations just when I couldn’t possibly be with her as much as before, because I’d started to look for a house for us and saw her only for a short time after the day’s search was over and sometimes not even then.

I remember very well how I started searching, diving headlong into the hateful business before my good resolutions had time to cool. This was the day after Carla had said indulgently, ‘What a child you are still’, stroking my hair while I sat on the floor at her feet. I wouldn’t disturb my dream-state to ask what she meant but assumed she referred to my undignified posture, which was one I loved to assume. Resting against her knees, feeling her hand on my head, I was sublimely happy, supremely content. This was all I wanted; just to lean on her, lulled into perfect peace by her rhythmic touch, secure in my dependence, relieved of every responsibility, almost of every thought, existing in a drowsy dream.

Vaguely I contemplated the carpet on which I was sitting, remotely puzzled because its blurred pattern seemed so very familiar, though I’d never consciously noticed it till this moment, when the dim flowery thickets and tangled scrolls seemed to transfer themselves to the covering of something more resilient than floorboards. Suddenly it was a sofa I was sitting on. The warm protecting body I leaned against was clothed in tweed, through which I could feel the hard muscular masculine flesh, the underlying structure of the male skeleton. My child’s face, tingling from outdoor cold, was now beginning to burn in the heat of a fire long since reduced to ash. Yet, at the same time, words just spoken echoed confusingly in my head. Suddenly they ceased to be mere sounds, and I understood them, the floor hardening under me as time moved forward again.

Somewhat bewildered, I thought: But I’m not that child any longer. There was something I certainly shared with the boy so dependent on Mr Spector: thinking of the passive attitude I’d all along adopted towards Carla, as if her original act had fixed our relative positions for all time, it occurred to me that I’d merely exchanged one dependence for another. Perhaps I could only exist under a stronger nature’s dominion. But then I insisted to myself that my relationship with Spector had been quite different. There was no comparison; the two couldn’t be said to resemble each other in any way.

I jumped up abruptly, pushing a wisp of hair out of my eyes and, seeing Carla sitting there quietly, seized her in my arms. She struggled, laughing, protesting that she couldn’t breathe and, when I let her go, looked at me teasingly. ‘What’s the matter? I believe you were asleep down there — what were you dreaming about?’ My only answer was to embrace her again, forgetting my odd little journey into the past, which left me a disquieting legacy, nevertheless. My dependence had suddenly started to make me uncomfortable. I wasn’t a child any more. I knew I ought not to hide behind Carla’s strength. I ought to go out and grapple with life and find a home for us both. For her sake, I believed I could do anything, even turn myself into a responsible adult person.

This was how I came to start searching for somewhere to live. The prospect of getting involved with the phoney mysticism of the Housing Bureau was so repugnant to me that if I’d had to go far to get there I doubt if my resolve would have stood the strain. But the place happened to be almost next door, down a dreary side street I’d never explored.

Considering its fantastic reputation, and the interdependence of individuals in city life, it was only to be expected that fragments of stories I’d heard should keep coming to me on the way there. I told myself that these tales of frustration and failure had all emanated from people in an abnormal state; no wonder they failed, when they were so agitated, incapable of the thoroughness and perseverance essential to success in any undertaking. It was up to me to avoid their mistakes, to keep cool and above all to make myself impervious to whatever suggestive techniques had induced their semi-hysteria. But wasn’t I already falling into the very trap against which I was warning myself, attributing mysterious unknown powers to the Bureau, even before I got there? Thank goodness I still had a sense of the ridiculous. Smiling at my own absurdity, I suddenly felt more confident, very much better. Carla loved me, and that was enough; I needn’t fear anyone in the world.