Kingsley Amis - Dear Illusion - Selected Stories

Macdonald grinned a little fixedly. ‘Do you mean all that seriously?’

‘What, that the Devil exists, et cetera? You bet I do, mate, and I’d advise you to take the same line yourself if you know what’s good for you. All right, I’ll do Barry. You’d better send me a xerox, if you would, of what he actually said or wrote. Can I get you a drink?’

Daniel went and came back with another ginger beer for himself and another whisky for Macdonald, who asked, ‘How long is it now?’

‘Oh, it must be… Sorry, it’s some time since I worked it out. Well, it’ll be eight years this coming 10th August. No, actually that was the day I took my last drink, so it has to be the 11th I started on the ginger beer.’

‘Was that before or after you met Ruth?’

‘I’d just got through my second week off it when she turned up. That was the way round things were in those days.’

There was no trace of staunch cordiality in Macdonald’s voice or manner when he asked, ‘How is she these days?’

‘Much as usual, but there are signs she’s starting to get a little more cheerful.’ Daniel always said something along those lines anyway when people asked something like that, merely to avoid spreading gloom.

‘Good,’ said Macdonald when nothing more seemed to be on offer. ‘I hope I didn’t…’

‘Absolutely not. It’s just that no news is no news.’

When Daniel got back home he thought several times of telephoning Eric Margolis to make quite sure that as regards Ruth’s state of mind there was indeed no news, but each time he decided against it. The Davidsons’ bottom two floors of the house were empty. They had lived there since a few weeks after their marriage, and for some time after that he had wondered occasionally how a baby might have been fitted in there, but he never wondered about that now. He made himself a pot of tea and waited for Ruth to come back. When sufficient time had passed, he decided she must have gone on to see someone, perhaps her sister in Westbourne Park. The couple who lived on the upper floors were both out at work, and the only sounds he could hear came from outside the building. When he had finished his tea, he went up to the ground floor and into his workroom above the kitchen. There, in a spot beside the desk from which he could see the trees at the end and along the side of the small garden, he knelt and prayed as he did a couple of times every day. After thanking God for his mercies, he petitioned as always for removal or alleviation of Ruth’s sufferings by any fitting means, spiritual or physical or a blend of the two. Then, with a few reminders from his notebook, he appealed for the various forms of divine help needed by some of his parishioners. Finally he went through his list of late afternoon and evening visits, telephoning to check one or two doubtful cases.

Before he went out to start his round, Daniel rang Eric after all and was told Ruth had seemed to show no spectacular improvement if indeed any had been measurable. But, said Eric with ferociously guarded optimism, the possibility of some turn for the better some time in the future should certainly not be ruled out.

II

Over the next few weeks nothing changed much. Ruth’s state continued to give grounds for modest hope that it might one day mend. Daniel’s article on the utterances of the Bishop of Kesteven drew some correspondence in the newspaper and an approving reference in the Spectator . Daniel himself officiated at two weddings and several cremations, gave a communion service on the Thursday mornings, read the Church Times every Friday, attended the monthly meeting of the Parochial Church Council, prepared and delivered a weekly sermon.

One Saturday morning he was typing out such a sermon when Ruth came into his workroom and said, ‘There’s a man watching the house.’

He got to his feet. ‘Sit down and tell me about it, darling.’

‘I haven’t started going mad,’ she assured him cheerfully, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. There just is a man watching the house. Most interesting.’

‘What sort of man?’

‘The funny thing is, I haven’t been able to see his face, he’s got sunglasses on for one thing, but I’ve got the feeling I know him. You see what you think.’ On the way to their bedroom, which was on the same floor at the front, she said, ‘I suppose he might be waiting for somebody or have decided he could do with a bit of a read, but to me he looks like a man watching the house. I don’t know, perhaps having mistaken it for another house. There, see?’

What Daniel saw without difficulty was a man of about his own size and shape, wearing sunglasses as noticed and holding a newspaper that hid another part of his face. After a short inspection it became hard to believe he was actually reading his newspaper and quite easy to agree with Ruth about what he was up to.

‘How long ago did you spot him?’ Daniel asked her.

‘It must be getting on for ten minutes now. He hasn’t moved since.’

‘I don’t think I know him.’

At that point, the man on the pavement tucked his paper under his arm and took off his glasses and wiped them. Daniel moved to get a better view, perhaps over-abruptly or unduly fast; anyway, just then the man looked up and at last showed his face, or enough of it to be recognizable by somebody with good eyesight at that sort of range. This Daniel had. He also had strong nerves, which helped him not to respond to what he had seen in a way many might have, with a cry of surprise or alarm. As it was he gave a violent start and drew in his breath sharply.

Ruth caught him by the arm. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Oh God, didn’t you see? Surely…’

‘Daniel, what is it?’

‘You didn’t see.’ With great reluctance he looked again where he had been looking before, and saw no one. ‘The… fellow seems to have gone now.’

‘Who was he? Did you know him? Please tell me.’

‘In a minute. Let’s go back next door first.’

In his workroom once more, he made straight for his desk-chair and sat, thinking to himself that if there had been drink in the house he might very well have made straight for that instead. Ruth took the only other chair in the room. When he was breathing normally again, he said,

‘I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I had a bit of a scare myself. Just for a second I could have sworn that the chap outside was me, or the dead spit of me, or very nearly, to an uncanny degree. Quite a shock in a way. Of course I realize now he was just very like me. Nothing terribly odd about that. My face is the sort of face a lot of chaps have.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Ruth, ‘but then I’m biased. Anyway, I’ve got it now, he wasn’t just very like you, he was the absolute image of you, he was your double. You were right the first time: he was you.’

‘I thought you didn’t see his face.’

‘I didn’t have to. I could tell by the rest of him and the way he was standing. I almost got it the moment I saw him the second time because I’d seen you in between. You thought he was only, how did you put it, very nearly the image of you because all the millions of times you’d seen his face before it was the wrong way round. In your mirror.’

‘Maybe,’ said Daniel. ‘Well, plenty of people have doubles. But…’ He paused abruptly.

‘But why should one of them come and spy on the other?’

Before Daniel could have spoken, the front-door bell rang.

‘Don’t answer it,’ said Ruth.

‘It’s all right, darling, I promise you.’

Daniel went and opened the door. His double stood on the step, fair hair worn a little shorter than his own but still left long and parted in the same place, bright blue eyes, generally healthy looks, perhaps half an inch shorter, dressed differently but not so differently.