Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

'You could introduce a few kangaroos into Zimlia,' said Johnny. He raised his glass. 'To the liberation of Zimlia.'

Franklin looked among the debris on the table for a glass, held it out to Rose to be filled, and drank 'To the liberation of Zimlia'.

This kind of joke both excited Franklin and scared him. He knew all about the terrible war in Kenya: they had ' done' it in class, and he could not see why Johnny – or for that matter the teachers at St Joseph's – were so keen on Zimlia's going through a war. But now, happy with food and drink and the kangaroo, he drank again to Derek's toast, ' To the Revolution' , while wondering which Revolution and where.

Then he said, ‘I’m going to give this to Frances, ' and was halfway up the stairs with it when he remembered that it was stolen and that Frances had ticked him off that morning. But he didn't want to return to the kitchen with it, and that was how it found its way to Sylvia, who was carrying a big loaded tray up to Julia's.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said as Franklin tucked the kangaroo under her arm, her hands being full. But she put the tray down on the landing, and admired the kangaroo. ‘Oh, Franklin, it'sso nice.’And she kissed him, with the warm close hug that made him expand with happiness.

In the sitting-room were now Andrew, asleep in a chair, stretched out, his hands on his stomach. Colin, with Sophie on the divan, arms around each other, both asleep.

Franklin stood looking at them while his heart took a dive again, and he remembered how puzzled he was by everything. He knew that Colin and Sophie had been ' friends' but were not friends now, and that Sophie had a ' friend' who had gone to his own family for Christmas. Why then were these two in each other's arms, Sophie's head on Colin's shoulder? Franklin had not slept with a girl yet. At the mission there were no girls, and the boys were watched by the Fathers who knew everything that went on. At home with his parents it was the same. Visiting his grandparents he had teased the girls and joked with them, but no more than that.

Like so many newcomers to Britain, Franklin had been confused from the start about what went on. At first he had thought there were no morals at all, but soon suspected that there must be. But what were they? At St Joseph's, girls and boys slept with each other, he knew: at least that's what it seemed like. In the meadow behind the school, couples lay together in the grass, and Franklin, solitary, listened to their laughter, and, worse, their silences. He felt that the females of this island were available to everyone, available to him, if only he could find the right words. Yet he had seen a Nigerian boy, just arrived at St Joseph's, go up to a girl and say, 'Can I come into your bed tonight if I give you a nice present?' She had slapped him so hard that he fell down. Franklin had been turning over in his mind similar words, to try his luck. Yet the same girl who had done the slapping cuddled on the bed with a boy who had a room in the same corridor, leaving the door open so everyone could see what went on. No one took any notice.

He went back down the stairs, stopping to listen at the door to the kitchen, where Johnny's lecture on guerilla tactics to destroy the military imperialistic complex was similar to Derek's: shoplifting was apparently considered a major weapon. He went down to his room, and to the drawer where his money was. It looked less: he counted it: there was less than half. He was standing there counting when he heard Rose behind him.

' Half my money's gone, ' he said wildly.

‘I took half. I deserve it, don't I? You got all the clothes for nothing. Ifyou had bought clothes you couldn't have got anything as nice for that money. So you've gained, haven't you? You've got new clothes and half the money.'

He stared at her, his face puckered up with suspicion, sullen, angry. That money, to him, was more than a gift from Frances, who was a mother to him. It was like a welcome into this family, making him part of it.

Rose was cold, and full of contempt. 'You don't understand anything,' she said. 'I deserve it, don't you see?'

He gave a helpless shrug, and she stood there for a moment, staring him out and then went up the stairs.

He looked for a place to hide the money in this room that had no place where one could hide anything. At home you could slide forbidden things into thatch or bury them in the earth floor, or in the bush. At his parents' house were bricks that could be loosened and fitted back. In the end he put the money back into the drawer. He sat on the edge of his bed and cried, from homesickness, for shame because Frances was angry with him, and because he did not feel at home with those revolutionaries upstairs and yet they treated him as one of themselves. In the end he slept a little, and went up to the kitchen to find the two men gone, and everyone doing the washing-up. In this he joined, with relief, and with pleasure, one of them. It seemed there was going to be supper, though everyone joked it would be impossible to eat a thing. Rather late, about ten, the turkey carcass appeared again, and all kinds of stuffings and relishes, and there was a big tray ofroast potatoes. They were all sitting around, drinking, tired, pleased with themselves and with Christmas, when there was a knock on the front door. Frances peered through the window, and saw a woman on the pavement, uncertain whether to knock again or go off. Colin came to stand by his mother. Both were afraid that it might be Phyllida.

‘I’ll go,’ said Colin, and went out, and Frances saw him talking to the stranger, who was swaying a little. He put his hand on her shoulder to steady her, and then brought her in, with an arm right around her.

She had been wandering in the dark or half-lit streets and now stood blinking at the bright hall light. Frances appeared. The stranger said to her, ‘Are you the darling ofmy heart?' She seemed middle-aged, but it was hard to say, because her face was grimy, so were the rather beautiful white hands that clutched at Colin. She looked like someone rescued from a fire or a catastrophe. Colin's face was wrenched with pain, the tender-hearted youth was in tears. 'Mother,' he said in appeal, and Frances went to the other side, and together she and Colin took the poor stray up the stairs and into the living-room, which was empty now, and tidy.

‘What a lovely room,’ said the woman, and nearly fell. Colin and Frances laid her down on the big sofa, and at once she lifted her soiled hand and kept time while she sang... what was it? -yes, an old music-hall song, ‘I dillied and I dallied, I dallied and I dillied and I... yes, I did dilly, darlings, I did, and now I'm far from home. ' She had a light clear voice, accurate, sweet. The clothes she wore were not poor, and she did not seem to be poor, though she was certainly ill. There was no smell of alcohol on her breath. Now began another song, ' Sally... Sally...’ The sweet voice rose true to the high note and held it. ‘Yes, darling, yes,’ she said to Colin, ' you've a kind heart, I can see that. ' Big blue eyes, innocent eyes, even babyish eyes, were turned to Colin. She was ignoring Frances. ' Kind, but be careful. Kind hearts get you into trouble, and who knows that better than Marlene?'

‘What's your name, Marlene?' asked Frances, holding a grubby hand which was too cold, and lacked vitality. It lay weakly trembling, in hers.

‘My name is lost, dear. It's lost and gone, but Marlene will do.’And now she spoke German, endearments, in German. Then more singing, fragments of songs. World War Two songs, with Lili Marlene again and then again, and more German. 'Ich liebe dich,' she told them, 'Yes, I do.'

Frances said, 'I'll get Julia.' Up she went and found Julia having supper with Wilhelm, on either side of a small table set with silver and bright glass. She explained, and Julia said, meaning to be jocular, but it was a complaint, I see this house has acquired another waif. There are limits to hospitality, Frances. Who is this lady?'