Doris Lessing - Doris Lessing

And, at last, she smiled, then laughed, and could not stop.

Philip looked after her; and Reggie, embarrassed, sat by.

And she was embarrassed: What's wrong with me? I must be sick too.

But Philip was no longer sick. He went off to measure up the broken windows for new glass, and Reggie climbed the stairs to look over the rooms. Alice stayed in the kitchen.

There Mary came to her with a carton of saucepans, crockery, no and an electric kettle. She sat herself down at the other end of the table. She was flushed and elated. Alice had heard her laughing with Reggie in the same way Faye and Roberta laughed; and, sometimes, Bert and Pat. Two against the world. Intimacy.

Alice asked at once, "What are the conditions?"

"It's only for a year."

Alice smiled, and, on Mary's look, explained, "It's a lifetime."

"But of course they could extend. If they don't decide to knock it down after all."

"They won't knock it down," said Alice confidently.

"Oh, don't be so sure." Now Mary was being huffy on behalf of her other self, the Council.

Alice shrugged. She waited, eyes on Mary, who, however, really did not seem to know why. At last Alice said, "But what has been decided about paying?"

"Oh," said Mary, airily, "peanuts. They haven't fixed the exact sum, but it's nothing, really. A nominal amount."

"Yes," said Alice, patient. "But how. A lump sum for the whole house?"

"Oh no," said Mary, as though this were some unimaginably extortionate suggestion - such is the power of an official decision on the official mind - "Oh no. Benefit will be adjusted individually for everyone in the house. No one's in work here, you said?"

"That isn't the point, Mary," said Alice, hoping that Mary would get the point. But she didn't. Of course not; what in her experience could have prepared her for it?

"Well, I suppose it would be easier if it was a lump sum, and people chipped in. Particularly as it is so small. Enough to cover the rates, not more than ten or fifteen pounds a week. But that is not how it is done with us." Again spoke the official, in the decisive manner of one who knows that what is done must be the best possible way of doing it.

"Are you sure," enquired Alice carefully, after a pause, "that there really is no possibility of changing the decision?"

"Absolutely none," said Mary. What she was in fact saying was: This is such a petty matter that there is no point in wasting a minute over it. m And so unimportant was it to Mary that she began to stroll around the kitchen, examining it, with a happy little smile, as if unwrapping a present.

Meanwhile Alice sat adjusting. Faye and Roberta would not agree, would leave at once. Jim, too. Jasper wouldn't like it - he would demand that both he and Alice should leave. Well, all right, then they would all go. Why not? She had done it often enough! There was that empty house down in Stockwell.... Jasper and she had been talking for months of squatting there. It would suit Faye and Roberta, because their women's commune was somewhere down there. God only knew what other places, refuges, hideouts they used. Alice had the impression there were several.

A pity about this house. And as Alice thought of leaving, sorrow crammed her throat, and she closed her eyes, suffering.

She said, sounding cold and final, because of the stiffness of her throat, "Well, that's it. I'm sorry, but that's it."

" What do you mean ?" Mary had whirled round, and stood, a tragedienne, hand at her throat. "I don't know what you mean!" she exclaimed, sounding fussy and hectoring.

"Well, it doesn't matter to you, does it? You and Reggie can stay here by yourselves. You can easily get friends in, I am sure."

Mary collapsed into a chair. From being the happiest girl in the world, she had become a poor small creature, pale and fragile, a suppliant. "I don't understand! What difference does it make? And of course Reggie and I wouldn't stay here by ourselves."

"Why not?"

Mary coloured up, and stammered, "Well, of course ... it goes without saying... they can't know I am living here. Bob Hood and the others can't know I am in a squat ."

"Oh well, that's it, then," said Alice, vague because she was already thinking of the problems of moving again.

"I don't understand," Mary was demanding. "Tell me, what is the problem."

Alice sighed and said perfunctorily that there were reasons why some of them did not want their presence signposted.

"Why," demanded Mary, "are they criminals?" She had gone bright pink, and she sounded indignant.

Alice could see that this moment had been reached before, with Militant. Methods!

Alice said, sounding sarcastic because of the effort she was making to be patient, "Politics, Mary. Politics, don't you see?" She thought that with Jim it was probably something criminal, but let it pass. Probably something criminal with Faye and Roberta, for that matter. "Don't you see? People collect their Social Security in one borough, but live somewhere else. Sometimes in several other places."

"Oh. Oh, I see."

Mary sat contemplating this perspective: skilled and dangerous revolutionaries on the run, in concealment. But seemed unable to take it in. She said, huffily, "Well, I suppose the decision could be adjusted. I must say, I think it is just as well the Council don't know about this!"

"Oh, you mean you can get the decision changed?" Alice, reprieved, the house restored to her, sat smiling, her eyes full of tears. "Oh, good, that's all right, then."

Mary stared at Alice. Alice, bashful, because of the depth of her emotion, smiled at Mary. This was the moment when Mary, from her repugnance for anything that did not measure up against that invisible yardstick of what was right, suitable, and proper that she shared with Reggie, could have got up, stammered a few stiff, resentful apologies, and left. To tell Bob Hood that the Council had made a mistake, those people in number 43...

But she smiled, and said, "I'll have a word with Bob. I expect it will be all right. So everyone will chip in? I'll get them to send the bills monthly, not quarterly. It will be easier to keep up with the payments." She chattered on for a bit, to restore herself and the authority of the Council, and then remarked that something would have to be done about number 45. There were complaints all the time.

"I'll go next door and see them," said Alice.

Again the official reacted with, "It's not your affair, is it? Why should you?" Seeing that Alice shrugged, apparently indifferent, Mary said quickly, "Yes, perhaps you should...."

She went upstairs, with a look as irritated as Alice's. Both women were thinking that it would not be easy, this combination of people, in the house.

Soon Mary went off with Reggie. He would drop her back at work, and they both would return later with another load. They were bringing in some furniture, too, if no one minded. A bed, for instance.

Alice sat on, alone. Then Philip came to be given the money for the glass, and went off to buy it.

Alice was looking at herself during the last four days, and thinking: Have I been a bit crazy? After all, it is only a house... and what have I done? These two, Reggie and Mary - revolutionaries? They were with Militant? Crazy!

Slowly she recovered. Energy came seeping back. She thought of the others, on the battlefront down at Melstead. They were at work for the cause; and she must be, too! Soon she slipped out of the house, careful not to see whether the old lady was waving at her, and went into the main road, walked along the hedge that separated first their house from the road, and then number 45. She turned into the little street that was the twin of theirs, and then stood where yesterday she had seen Bob Hood stand, looking in that refuse-filled garden.