Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

Franklin – she had not immediately recognised this large young man in a good suit – said to the black man with him, 'This is Frances, I told you about her, she was a mother to me. This is Comrade Matthew, Frances. He is our leader. '

‘I am honoured to meet you,’ said Comrade Matthew, unsmiling, formal, in the older style of the comrades, when Lenin-like severity had been the mode. (And would be again, quite soon.) It was easy to see he was ill at ease, and didn't like being here. He stood unsmiling, and even glanced at his watch, while Franklin was being greeted by ' the kids' , now grown up. He stood in front of Sylvia, who had risen, hesitating, then she opened her arms for a hug, and he closed his eyes in the embrace, and when he opened them they were full of tears.

' Sit down,’ said Andrew, and pulled up chairs from where they were stacked around the wall. Comrade Matthew sat down, frowning: he looked at his watch again.

Comrade Mo, who since he had been here last had gone to China to bless the Cultural Revolution (as he had the Great Leap Forward and Let Every Flower Bloom), was now lecturing at universities around the world on its benefits for China and all humanity. Now he sat down, and reached for some bread.

Franklin said to Frances, ' Comrade Matthew is my cousin. '

‘We are of the same tribe,’ said the older man, correcting him.

‘Ah, but you must understand, tribe sounds backward,’ said Franklin. He was evidently a little frightened of confronting the leader.

‘I am aware that cousin is the English term. '

They were all seated now except Johnny, who said to his sons, 'Did you hear, Danny Cohn-Bendit has just said that...' This threatened to send Comrade Mo off again into his fits of Ho, ho, ho, and Frances said, 'We heard the first time. Poor boy, he had a terrible childhood. German father... French mother... no money...hewasawarbaby...shehadtobring up the children alone.’Yes, she was definitely doing it on purpose, while she smiled amiably, and first Andrew, then Colin, laughed, and Johnny said, annoyed, ‘I am afraid my wife has never had even the beginnings of an understanding of politics.'

‘Your ex-wife,’ said Frances. ' Many times removed. '

' These are my sons,’ said Johnny, and Andrew picked up his wine glass and emptied it, while Colin said, ‘We have that privilege.'

The three black men seemed discommoded, but then Comrade Mo, who had been at large in the wide world for a decade or so, laughed heartily and said, ‘My wife blames me too. She does not understand that the Struggle must come before family obligations. '

' Does she ever see you, I wonder?' enquired Frances.

‘And is she pleased when she does?' enquired Colin.

Comrade Mo looked hard at Colin but saw only a smiling face. ' It is my children, ' he said, shaking his head. ' That is so hard for me – When I see them sometimes I hardly recognise them.'

Meanwhile Sylvia was making coffee and placing cake and biscuits on the table. It was clear that the guests had expected more. As she had done so often, Frances fetched out everything there was in the fridge, and the remains of their own meal, and put it all on the table.

‘Oh, do sit down,’ she said to Johnny. He sat, with dignity, and began serving himself.

‘You haven't asked after Phyllida,’ said Sylvia. ‘You didn't ask how my mother is. '

‘Yes,’ said Frances, ‘I was wondering about that too. '

‘I’m coming to that in a minute,’ said Johnny.

Franklin said, 'When Johnny said he was coming to see you tonight, I had to see you all again. I'll never forget your kindness to me.'

‘Have you been back home?' Frances asked. ‘You didn'tgo to university after all. '

' The university of life,’ said Franklin.

Johnny said, ' Frances, you do not ask the black leadership what they are doing, not now. Even you must see that. '

‘No,’ said Comrade Matthew. ' This is not the time to ask that. ' Then he said, ‘We must not forget that I am to address a meeting in an hour. '

Comrades Johnny and Franklin and Mo began pushing in their food, as fast as they could, but Comrade Matthew had finished: he was a frugal eater, one of those who eat because one must.

Johnny said, ' Before we go, I have a message from Geoffrey. He has been on the barricades with me in Paris. He sends greetings.'

' Good God,’ said Colin, ' our little Geoffrey with his nice clean face, on the barricades.'

'He is a very serious, very worthwhile comrade,' said Johnny. 'He has a corner in my place.'

'You sound like an old Russian novel,' said Andrew. 'A corner, what's that translated into English?'

' He and Daniel. They often doss down for a night or two with me. I keep a couple of sleeping bags for them. And now, before we go, I have to ask if you know what Phyllida is up to?'

‘And what is she up to?' asked Sylvia, with such dislike of him that they all saw that other Sylvia. A shock. They were shocked. Franklin laughed, with nervousness. Johnny made himself confront her, and said, ‘Your mother is doing fortune telling. She's advertising on the newsagents' boards as a fortune teller, from this address. '

Andrew laughed. Colin laughed. Then, Frances.

‘What's funny?' enquired Sylvia.

Comrade Mo, finding this culture clash getting out of hand, said, 'I'll nip in one of these days and she can tell my fortune.'

Franklin said, 'If she has the gift, then the ancestors must like her. My grandmother was a wise woman. You people say witch doctor. She was an n'ganga.'

'A shaman,' Johnny instructed them all.

Comrade Matthew said, ‘I agree with Comrade Johnny. This kind of superstition is reactionary and must be forbidden. ' He got up to leave.

' If she's earning a bit of money, then you should expect me to be pleased,’ said Frances to Johnny, who also got up.

'Come on, comrades,’ said Johnny, ' it is time we set off. '

Before he left he hesitated, then said, to regain command of the situation, ' Tell Julia to tell Phyllida she can't do this kind of thing.'

But Frances found she was feeling sorry for Johnny. He was looking so much older – well, they were both nearly fifty. The Mao jacket seemed loose on him. By his dejected air she knew things were not going well for him in Paris. He's past it, she thought. And so am I.

She was wrong about both of them.

Just ahead lay the Seventies, which from one end of the world to the other (the non-communist world) bred a race of Che Guavara clones, and the universities, particularly the London ones, were an almost continuous celebration of Revolution, with demonstrations, riots, sit-ins, lock-outs, battles ofall kinds. Everywhere you looked were these young heroes, and Johnny had become a grand old man, and the fact that he was an almost entirely unrepentant Stalinist had a certain limited chic among these youngsters who mostly believed that if Trotsky had won the battle for power with Stalin then communism would have worn a beatific face. And he had another disability, which meant that his entourage was usually young men, and not eager girls. His style was all wrong. The right one was when Comrade Tommy or Billy or Jimmy summoned some girl with a contemptuous flick of the fingers, and said to her, 'You are bourgeois scum.’And, by implication, leave all you have and come with me.(Rather, give all you have to me.) And this goes on to this day. Irresistible. And there was worse. If cleanliness had once been next to Godliness, then dirt and smelliness was now as good as a Party card. Smelly embraces: these Johnny could not provide, having been brought up by Julia or, rather, her servants. The vocabulary – yes, he could swing along with that. Shit and fuck, sell-out and fascist, a good part of any political speech had to be composed of such words.