John Berger - Lilac and Flag

As she stood there naked in the door of the wardrobe, Zsuzsa felt this nameless thing running through her. She wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything, to share its promise with Flag. The swinging of her two earrings showed that she was moving. Her whole body was flickering, and yet she appeared to be standing quite still.

Sucus sat bolt upright and then, leaning forward on his arms, walked on all fours across the bed towards her.

She let her arms hang loose. Her body was dancing inside but she wanted to stay still. She wanted every hair and every piece of herself that had grown since she was a woman to be there before Flag’s eyes. Slowly, she raised a hand. She had large hands, Zsuzsa. She touched her belly and then cupped one of her tiny breasts as an offering to him.

Love treasures hands like nothing else. Perhaps other parts are more cherished, more kissed, more dreamt of, but hands are treasured like nothing else, because of all they have taken, made, given, planted, picked, fed, stolen, caressed, arranged, let drop in sleep, offered. At the very end of his life it would be Zsuzsa’s hands Sucus would be looking for.

She walked towards the bed. Together they took off his clothes. Soon the slight stirring of the four carved posts broke a few more threads of the tattered goldfinch canopy and the few grains of silk dust that fell on them were golden.

They were talking in the dark. They lay in one another’s arms and I heard their voices. In the wardrobe mirror there was a dim reflection of the window that looked over the sea. Otherwise I could see nothing. They spoke in whispers.

Come into the tent.

I am.

My poor Flag.

Lilac.

Shall we go?

We could, you know.

Take a sleeper to Paris.

No, no, the big sleeper out.

Far, far away.

My nose in your cunt.

Your nose in my cunt.

One-way tickets!

First-class, and not in a shanty train.

Nobody’ll notice.

We can’t yet. Your mother! Give me time to fill our wardrobe.

Wardrobe my arse!

It’s too soon.

You want to be older? When I saw my dad in hospital I said—

Come closer.

There’ll be nothing better.

Better than what, love?

This.

They’d separate us and take everything away from us.

I’d find you in secret and pass you things through the bars.

My poor Flag.

If not now, when? If not here, where? I remember his words.

Whose words? Was he talking about love?

No, it was Murat. He was talking about the future.

With me!

With my nose in your cunt.

Yes, yes …

They murmured like babies feeding and falling asleep. The next time they spoke their voices came from the foot of the bed.

I’m the tent, I’m the tent!

Open, tent!

It’s night.

Is there a moon?

I can see you in the dark.

Oh, now!

They made the purring noise that women and men make and which ends in a howl like a ship’s siren, like dogs barking, like a hunter’s horn, like an old woman crying. Then they went quiet. The wood of the bed creaked.

Are you awake, Flag?

Is it morning?

No.

Is it still dark?

Keep your eyes closed and I’ll tell you.

Probably it was his eyes she was kissing. Anyway, she was kissing him. Then she said:

Everything’s white, Flag, white, white like the walls of this room where we are marrying each other.

Hold me now.

I HAVE LIVED all my long life in the village. What I know of Troy comes from The Messenger —the provincial newspaper — from television, from my dreams, from my broken heart, and from what those who come back tell me before they disappear for good. I have seen countless men go. They take the noon bus outside the Republican Lyre and they wave through the back window as the bus winds its way down the hill past the dairy. This is the first and easiest step they take. Once they have left the valley and are far from the blue waters of our river — until they become Trojans, if ever they do — there is nothing in the world they can trust or depend upon. They are obliged to become like Fox or Hare.

Sucus bought his machine for taking blood pressure. No sooner was he out of the shop with the box under his arm than a man tapped him on the shoulder. He tapped hard from behind, like a knocker taps on a door. Surprised, Sucus turned round.

You want a tutor? asked the man.

He wore a large felt hat and he was well-dressed. His hands were clean. But he had a face that was slipping sideways, as if running out of its mould.

No, Sucus said, I don’t.

You won’t be able to operate alone, not in this line. The man indicated the cardboard box with two snakes printed in blue beneath the letters MANO and METER. YOU need a tutor.

I don’t, said Sucus, I can learn in five minutes.

But you need a buyer.

A buyer to buy what?

Blood, my boy, blood. You’re in the blood business, aren’t you?

I read people’s blood pressure, it’s simple.

You talk about it like a book. I read! I read! If you want to read, here’s my card. Take it, and read it.

He handed Sucus the card with an absolute surety as if nothing else in the city existed except the little white cardboard rectangle.

I draw off and I buy, he declared.

On the card was written ZIA MEDICAL APPLIANCES, followed by an address in San Isidro.

It’s a new scam for you, you’re a beginner!

I wasn’t born yesterday, said Sucus.

I want a coffee, said the man in the large felt hat. I’ll explain the ground plan over a cup of coffee.

Instead of counting as a weakness, the disfigurement of his fallen face with its one drooping eye supplied him with a kind of conviction. All the niceties of life had fallen away since he was struck by his illness.

Due expressi! he commanded of a waitress in a coffee bar. Cheesecake?

No.

You don’t eat, young man, because you’re not earning enough.

I eat when I’m hungry.

Taking a customer’s blood pressure is dead easy, he explained, provided you’re not deaf. You don’t look deaf to me. You look as if you want to hear. Do you want to hear?

You’re doing the talking.

Some cheesecake?

Zia started to eat his own portion, sticking it with a fork and then biting voraciously from it with his teeth.

You pump up, he said, and you’re listening for where the silence stops and starts. You follow me? The heart goes quiet. Where it starts and stops are what you call your fucking readings. You talk like your father was a teacher.

My father opened oysters.

For your two readings you get one thousand five hundred. Price of two coffees in a nice Italian bar like this. No more. And you’re throwing a golden chance away! You’re missing what’s under your nose. Cheesecake?

Zia had finished his first portion and was about to order another. He wiped his lips with a folded handkerchief.

Do you know what I’m talking about? I’m talking about blood. What the old heart pumps! What keeps the brain connecting, what makes Old King Cole go big. You get it? I sell blood. You could be one of my suppliers. I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime. I pay my suppliers eight thousand per litre drawn off.

So, you’re proposing to buy my blood, said Sucus with a smile.

What did you do before this? asked Zia.

I did flowers, said Sucus.

Wreaths and all that?

White dahlias.

Okay. You don’t want to tell me. In this line you learn to misread, see? When you get a healthy client, you read wrong, you read a bit higher. Then you’re obliged to warn him, or to warn her — women are easier, because they’re more used to blood, more used to losing it. Hypertension is the key word. Hypertension causes varicose veins, strokes, clots, thrombosis, migraines, amnesia, blindness. It can ruin the retina of the eye. The client looks worried. Are there any medicines? she wants to know. You don’t lie. You never lie. Some cheesecake? All right, you don’t eat. I have to eat. I need blood sugar. Yes, you tell her there are medicines but they’re pricey! There’s a much simpler and healthier way, you say. Works like a safety valve! Her blood pressure is way up, you tell her, because she’s got too much blood, she’s too healthy! Being too healthy always gets a laugh out of them! Nature’s own safety valve, you insist … All they need is a little blood drawn off. And you can arrange it, especially for Monsieur, or especially for Madame, straightaway, no sooner said than done.