The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [136]
However he had meant to finish, she would hardly have listened. She had turned to grasp his bed-end, to bend her forehead down on her tight knuckles. Her body tensely twisted in this position; her legs, like disjointed legs, hung down: her thin lines, her concavities, her unconsciousness made her a picture of premature grief. Happy that few of us are aware of the world until we are already in league with it. Childish fantasy, like the sheath over the bud, not only protects but curbs the terrible budding spirit, protects not only innocence from the world but the world from the power of innocence. Major Brutt said: "Well, cheer up; we're in the same boat."
She said, to her knuckles: "When I thought I'd be older, I thought Eddie'd be the person I would marry.
I saw I'd have to be different when that happened, but not more different than I could be. But he says he knew I thought that; it is that that he does not like."
"When one's in love—"
"Was I? How do you know? Have you been?"
"In my time," declared Major Brutt, with assertive cheerfulness. "Though it may seem funny to you, and for one or another reason I never cut much ice. For the time being, of course, that queers everything. But here I am, after all. Aren't I?" he said, leaning forward, creaking the cane chair.
Portia almost gave him a look, then turned her head to lay the other cheek on her knuckles. "Yes, you are," she said. "But today he said I must go. So what am I to do now, Major Brutt?"
"Well, it may seem tough, but I still don't see why you can't go home, after all. We've all got to live somewhere, whatever happens. There's breakfast, dinner, so on. After all, they're your people. Blood's thicker—"
"No, it isn't; not mine and Anna's. It, it isn't all right there any more: we feel ashamed with each other. You see, she has read my diary and found something out. She does not like that, but she laughs about it with Eddie: they laugh about him and me."
This made Major Brutt pause, redden and once more turn his head to look out of the window behind his chair. He said, to the parapet and the darkening sky: "You mean, they're quite hand in glove?"
"Oh, he's not just her lover; it's something worse than that.... Are you still Anna's friend?"
"I can't get over the fact that she's been very good to me. I don't think I want to discuss that.... But look, if you feel, if you did feel there was anything wrong athome, you should surely stick by your brother?"
"He's ashamed with me, too: he's ashamed because of our father. And he's afraid the whole time that 1 shall be sorry for him. Whenever I speak he gives me a sort of look as much as to say, 'Don't say that!' Oh, he doesn't want me to stick. You don't know him at all.... You think I exaggerate."
"At the moment—"
"Well, this sort of moment never really stops.... I'm not going home, Major Brutt."
He said, very reasonably: "Then what do you want to do?"
"Stay here—" She stopped short, as though she felt she had said, too soon, something enough important to need care. Deliberately, with her lips tight shut, she got off the bed to come and stand by him—so that, she standing, he sitting, she could tower up a least a little way. She looked him all over, as though she meant to tug at him, to jerk him awake, and was only not certain where to catch hold of him. Her arms stayed at her sides, but looked rigid, at every moment, with their intention to move in unfeeling desperation. She was not able, or else did not wish, to inform herself with pleading grace; her sexlessness made her deliver a stern summons: he felt her knocking through him like another heart outside his own ribs. "Stay here with you," she said. "You do like me," she added. "You write to me; you send me puzzles; you say you think about me. Anna says you are sentimental, but that is what she says when people don't feel nothing. I could do things for you: we could have a home; we would not have to live in a hotel. Tell Thomas you want to keep me and he could send you my money. I could cook; my mother cooked when she lived in Nottinghill Gate. Why could you not marry me? I could cheer you up. I would not get in your way, and we should not be half so lonely. Why should you be dumbfounded, Major Brutt?"