Doris Lessing - Briefing for a Descent into Hell

Are you afraid of me, Charles?

Your anger …

Charles, when you say you don’t remember anything, do you mean that? Not me, nor your children, nor your home?…………………………Not your mother and your father? You were fond of your father, Charles, very fond, don’t you remember?………………………

My mind is full of memories,

Oh you do —but the doctors say …

I don’t remember the things you talk about.

What do you remember then?…………………………Charles?…………………You don’t answer … Tell me, what you remember might link up somewhere with the truth.

Truth is a funny word, isn’t it?

Oh, Charles, you never used to be philosophical!

Philosophical? What’s …

Why is it that some words you know quite well, and others you look blank?

I’ll tell you, if you like. Some words — match. A word falls out of your mouth and matches with something I know. Other words don’t fit in with what I can see.

But what do you see? Charles? Tell me?………….

Felicity — you talk to me. Tell me what you think. Tell me what you know. You are my wife? Well then, tell me about that.

Charles! Very well, then. I’ll try. We were married in London, Kensington Registry Office. In February. It was 1954. It was a very cold day. Then … we went to a farm in Wales for our honeymoon. We didn’t have very much money. We were there for three weeks. We were very happy … Charles? Shall I go on? We went to a flat in Cambridge after that. Later we got a house. I started with Jimmy in Wales. Jimmy is our elder son. We have been very happy.

Why are you so much younger than I am?

But … well, you fell in love with me, Charles.

And I’m not surprised.

Charles, for God’s sake, don’t flirt with me, I can’t stand it. I’m your wife.

I’m sorry.

You were worried, you said fifteen years was too much. But I said nonsense, and I was right, it hasn’t made any difference at all. I was one of your students.

Oh yes, they keep telling me I teach. Teach. That’s a funny word …

Do you want me to go on?……………………………………………………I think I’ll go now, if you don’t mind, Charles. Do you want me to come back? I don’t mean tomorrow, because Aunt Rose is with the boys and she has to go back to stay with Aunt Anna, because Aunt Anna isn’t very well, she has her bronchitis back again, and of course I can’t leave the boys alone, but I could come back in four or five days if I can get Mrs. Spence to come and stay a couple of days.… I’ll ring the Doctor. Goodbye Charles.

Mrs. Watkins spent an hour with patient today. She says he did not remember her at all. In my view the visit was helpful to patient and should be repeated soon .

DOCTOR Y.

I disagree. E.C.T. should be attempted .

DOCTOR X.

Patient had a very disturbed night with recurrence of hallucinations. Have put him back on Equanil .

DOCTOR Y.

DEAR DOCTOR Y,

You asked me in your first letter if I could remember anything at all in my marriage that seemed to me strange at the time. I don’t think I know any longer what strange is — not after seeing Charles in this state. But I’m sending you, after lying awake all night to think it over carefully, the first letter my husband sent me. I did think it very strange then, because he had not said anything about loving me before, although I had been his pupil for seven and a half months. I was only eighteen then. I didn’t think it was strange later, when I agreed to marry him, but perhaps I had got used to him. I don’t know if you would think it a strange letter. The circumstances of the letter were that I had never thought of him like that. I admired him very much of course. One afternoon after a class he took me to tea and he talked. I thought his manner was rather strange, but then falling in love is strange. When I got his letter I didn’t know what to think, particularly as I began to be so happy and proud. And then later, when we agreed to marry, I forgot about thinking him strange, and even now I don’t know what to think. Please send me the letter back when you have read it. It is one of my most precious possessions.

Yours sincerely,

FELICITY WATKINS

Oh my God Felicity, I haven’t slept since I saw you — Yesterday? — I don’t know — I keep seeing your face — your hair is too bright for my eyes. It was your hair first — I always look for your head shining in the dark class — You are a light in a naughty world — yes and it is enough to look — touching too? — That would be too much joy — And yet if I can look touching could be too — for both of us? — How dare I think it — and yet yesterday with you I knew differently — you too — I didn’t sleep — I am old Felicity — thirty-five. You, eighteen? A baby! But girls have no age — they shine in dark corners — if you could — I keep thinking of you in a big forest somewhere with the sunlight coming down through branches and you and your bright shining head and you smiling at me — smiling — will you? — oh I don’t know if — I wonder if I will post this at all — it is one thing sitting here putting words on a paper and your thoughts rushing by fifty at least to a word — so what is the use of sending it if I can’t send the thoughts — one in fifty — so much diluted — is it worth your attention even? — I wonder — you could take the word for the — I love you. Yes, that is it, I know — you would never keep me a pig in your pen — no, I’m sure. She had bright yellow hair and blue eyes too, she must have had — but it is the soul that counts. Not like that dark one, black hair and white teeth and red lips — those are the colours for pig-keepers. And in war time too — The light and the dark of it. But the yellow-hair locked him in her pen and fed him husks. Later a fatted calf? But I don’t dare — Yes. Would you — I’ve never dared, I’ve been alone for fear of that. She died, and so could never lock me in her stye. Must I be afraid of you? Felicity Felicity Felicity Felicity — you have a name like bright sunlight to match your hair. If I see you smile tomorrow I’ll know. I love you. Felicity Felicity Felicity Felicity Felicity Felicity Felicity

DEAR DOCTOR Y,

I can’t say how distressed I am to hear that Charles Watkins is ill and in hospital in your care. Yes, of course I shall be only too glad to help in any way I can. As it happens I heard about his illness when I returned from Italy last night, and my wife telephoned Felicity Watkins.

No, I don’t think that Charles showed any unusual signs of stress or strain this year but he is not the sort of person one would take much notice of, if he did overshoot any marks, but I cannot, I am afraid, explain that without going into considerable detail about our relationship. Which is not, far from it, that I am his “superior”—did Felicity Watkins say I was? If so, then I regard that as painfully and sadly significant — not because of Felicity but because of Charles. He is, and has been since he joined us, the “star” of our Classics Department, even when I was nominally over him, and in theory Head of Department. I hope that doesn’t sound like a criticism. Letters are tricky things, and I certainly would have preferred to talk it over with you, but the term starts tomorrow and, alas, needs must.

I don’t know if this sort of comment is in any way helpful, but recently I sat down to write out an account of my own life, a sort of balance sheet. It seemed a useful thing to do, at the age of fifty, well past the halfway mark. But when I came to read it over, it was more about Charles Watkins than about myself. I have always been aware of the influence Charles has had on me, but not, perhaps, quite how much. Of course, all this sort of thing is beyond me, and particularly when it gets into deep waters with mental breakdowns, that sort of thing, but the essence of the thing from my point of view is this: that I have never liked Charles. I believe that I don’t admire him, or approve of him. Yet he has certainly been the biggest influence on my life.