Doris Lessing - The Sweetest Dream

When Frances and Sylvia had reached the foyer Rose arrived, bursting with her triumph. Franklin had promised her an interview with Comrade Matthew. Yes, at once. Yes, yes, yes, he promised, he would speak to Comrade Matthew who would be in London next week and Rose would get her interview.

'See?' Rose said to Frances, ignoring Sylvia. 'And so I'mon my way.'

‘Where to?' was the expected reply, and Frances made it.

‘You'll see,’ said Rose. ' All I wanted was a break, that's all. '

She went off to resume her duties as a steward.

Frances and Sylvia stood on the pavement, while happy people unwilling to part from each other, milled about them.

'I have to see you, Frances,' said Sylvia. 'It's important – not just you, everybody. '

' Everybody!'

‘Yes, you'll see why. '

They would all meet in a week, and Sylvia would come home for the whole night, she promised.

Rose read every article she could find on comrade Matthew, President Mungozi. Not so much on Zimlia. A great deal was being said, and most of it complimentary, by people who had often written unpleasantly. For one thing, he was a communist. What was that going to mean, in the Zimlian context, was being asked. Rose did not intend to pose such questions, or at least not in a confrontational manner. She had written a draft of her interview before even meeting The Leader, all taken from other interviews. As a freelance journalist she had written little pieces about local issues, mostly on information supplied to her by Jill, now on several committees on the Council. She had always fitted together information, or other people's articles, to make her articles, so this job was the same, only larger in import and – she hoped – in consequences. She used none of the criticism of Comrade Matthew, and ended with a couple of paragraphs of optimistic euphemism of the kind she had heard so often from Comrade Johnny.

This article, she took, in draft, for her interview to The Leader, at his hotel. He was not a communicative interviewee, at least to start with, but when he had read her draft he lost his suspicions, and gave her some helpful quotes. 'As President Mungozi told me...'

It was a week later. Frances had extended the table to its former state, hoping people would say, Just like old times. She had cooked a stew and made a pudding. Who was coming? Told that Sylvia was, Julia said she would come down, and bring Wilhelm. Colin, hearing of the subject of what Sylvia was calling ' a meeting'said he would certainly be there. Andrew, who had been on a honeymoon with Sophie – his word, though they were not married – said they would both come.

Julia and Frances waited together. Andrew arrived first, but alone. One glance was enough: he had a depleted, even haggard look, and there was no sign of the debonair Andrew. He was sombre. His eyes were red.

' Sophie might be in later, ' he said, and poured himself copious drafts of red wine, one after the other. ' All right, mother, ' he said. ‘I know. But I've taken a beating. '

'Has she gone back to Roland?'

‘I don't know. Probably. The bonds of love are hard to break, quote unquote, but if that's love then give me the other thing. ' His voice was already slurred. ‘I’m really here because I never see Sylvia. Sylvia – who is she? Perhaps it is Sylvia I love. But you know what, Frances, I think she's a nun at heart. ‘And so he ran on, the stream of words slowing and thickening, until he got up, strode to the sink, and splashed water on his face. 'There is a superstition...' – he said thuperthtition – 'that cold water subdues the flames of alcohol. Untrue.' His head fell forward as he sat down, and he got up again and said, ‘I think I'll have a bit of a lie down.

' Colin's using your room.

‘I’ll use the sitting-room. He went noisily up the stairs.

Sylvia arrived and embraced Julia who could not prevent herself from saying, ‘I never see you these days.

Sylvia smiled, and took the other end of the table from Frances, and spread papers around her.

' Aren't you having supper with us? asked Julia, and Sylvia said, ' Sorry, and pushed the papers to one side.

Colin came down the stairs in big leaps. Sylvia's pale face warmed to him in a smile and she held out her arms. They embraced.

Wilhelm knocked, as he always did, enquired if he might join them, sat near Julia, having first kissed her hand and given her a close enquiring look. He was worried about her? She looked the same, they both did. He might be on his way to ninety but he was hale, he was hearty.

Having heard that Andrew was sleeping it off upstairs, Colin said, ' La belle dame sans merci. I told you so, Frances, didn't I?'

At which point Sophie herself arrived, full of apologies. She was in a loose white dress, her black hair cascading over it; her face seemed unmarked by love or by pain, but her eyes – now that was a different matter.

Frances was serving food, her hands occupied. She turned her head so that Sophie might kiss her cheek. Sophie slid into a chair opposite Colin, and found him gravely examining her.

' Darling Colin, said Sophie.

'Your victim is upstairs, he's flaked out,' said Colin.

' That's not nice, said Frances.

' It wasn't meant to be, said Colin.

Sophie's eyes were full of tears.

Wilhelm said to Colin, 'Beautiful women should never be reproached for the damage they do. They have the permission of the Gods to torment us. ' He gathered up Julia's hand, kissed it once, twice, sighed, laid down the old hand, and patted it.

Rupert arrived. Without a word of explanation offered or asked for, he was a fixture, and – Frances hoped – accepted. Colin was giving him a long, not unfriendly look, but it was a bleak one, as if loneliness had been confirmed. Rupert sat in the place next to Frances, and nodded to everyone.

' A meeting, ' he said. ‘But it's a meal. '

Frances was laying filled plates in front of everyone, family style, and setting bottles of wine down the middle of the table.

' This is marvellous, Frances, it's so wonderful – like old times, oh I often think of them, all of us sitting around here, wonderful evenings, ' Sophie chattered. But she was on the point of tears and was destroying a piece of bread with the long thin fingers that were made for rings.

Here the little dog, having escaped from some confinement, rushed into the kitchen and up on to Colin's lap, where it stayed, its feathery tail like an energetic duster.

' Down, Vicious,’ said Colin. ' Down at once. ‘But the creature had settled on Colin's lap, and was trying to lick his face.

' It is not healthy to let dogs lick your face,’ said Sylvia.

‘I know,’ said Colin.

' That dog,’ said Julia, ' couldn't you call it something sensible? Every time I hear Vicious I need to laugh. '

' A laugh a day keeps the doctor away,’ said Colin. ‘What do you say to that, Sylvia?'

‘I wish we could just get on with the supper,’ said Sylvia. She had hardly touched her food.

'This is so wonderful,' said Sophie, eating as if starved.

Now Andrew appeared, ill but upright. He and Sophie exchanged miserable glances. Frances put a plate of food before Andrew, who said, ' Couldn't we just begin? Sophie and I have to rush off.' His look at Sophie was a humble enquiry but she seemed embarrassed.

'Do we have to recapitulate?' asked Sylvia, pushing aside her plate with relief, and arranging her papers in front of her. 'I sent everyone a resume.'

‘And very good it was,’ said Andrew. ' Thank you. '

This was the situation. A group of young doctors wanted to start a campaign to get the government to build shelters against fall-out; that first, and then possibly against a full-scale nuclear attack. The trouble was, the organisation in the field, the Campaign for Unilateral Nuclear Disarmament, a noisy, vigorous efficient force, opposed any attempt to provide shelter of any kind, or even inform the populace about elementary protection. The tone of their polemic was scornful of criticism, was violent, even hysterical.