The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene [90]
‘Who?’ Louise said. ‘Me? This Helen Rolt you are talking about? Or just himself?’
‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Isn’t it true? Let’s have a bit of truth, Wilson. You don’t know how tired I am of comforting lies. Is she beautiful?’
‘Oh no, no. Nothing of that sort.’
‘She’s young, of course, and I’m middle-aged. But surely she’s a bit worn after what she’s been through.’
‘She’s very worn.’
‘But she’s not a Catholic. She’s lucky. She’s free, Wilson.’
Wilson sat up against the leg of the table. He said with genuine passion, ‘I wish to God you wouldn’t call me Wilson.’
‘Edward. Eddie. Ted. Teddy.’
‘I’m bleeding again,’ he said dismally and lay back on the floor.
‘What do you know about it all, Teddie?’
‘I think I’d rather be Edward. Louise, I’ve seen him come away from her hut at two in the morning. He was up there yesterday afternoon.’
‘He was at confession.’
‘Harris saw him.’
‘You’re certainly watching him.’
‘It’s my belief Yusef is using him.’
‘That’s fantastic. You’re going too far.’
She stood over him as though he were a corpse: the bloodstained handkerchief lay in his palm. They neither of them heard the car stop or the footsteps up to the threshold. It was strange to both of them, hearing a third voice from an outside world speaking into this room which had become as close and intimate and airless as a vault. ‘Is anything wrong?’ Scobie’s voice asked.
‘It’s just...’ Louise said and made a gesture of bewilderment - as though she were saying: where does one start explaining? Wilson scrambled to his feet and at once his nose began to bleed.
‘Here,’ Scobie said and taking out his bundle of keys dropped them inside Wilson’s shirt collar. ‘You’ll see,’ he said, ‘the old-fashioned remedies are always best,’ and sure enough the bleeding did stop within a few seconds. ‘You should never lie on your back,’ Scobie went reasonably on. ‘Seconds use a sponge of cold water, and you certainly look as though you’d been in a fight, Wilson.’
‘I always lie on my back,’ Wilson said. ‘Blood makes me I’ll.’
‘Have a drink?’
‘No,’ Wilson said, ‘no. I must be’ off.’ He retrieved the keys with some difficulty and left the tail of his shirt dangling. He only discovered it when Harris pointed it out to him on his return to the Nissen, and he thought: that is how I looked while I walked away and they watched side by side.
2
‘What did he want?’ Scobie said.
‘He wanted to make love to me.’
‘Does he love you?’
‘He thinks he does. You can’t ask much more than that, can you?’
‘You seem to have hit him rather hard,’ Scobie said, ‘on the nose?’
‘He made me angry. He called you Ticki. Darling, he’s spying on you.’
‘I know that.’
‘Is he dangerous?’
‘He might be - under some circumstances. But then it would be my fault.’
‘Henry, do you never get furious at anyone? Don’t you mind him making love to me?’
He said,’ I’d be a hypocrite if I were angry at that. It’s the kind of thing that happens to people. You know, quite pleasant normal people do fall in love.’
‘Have you ever fallen in love?’
‘Oh yes, yes.’ He watched her closely while he excavated his smile. ‘You know I have.’
‘Henry, did you really feel ill this morning?’
‘Yes.’
‘It wasn’t just an excuse?’
‘No.’
‘Then, darling, let’s go to communion together tomorrow morning.’
‘If you want to,’ he said. It was the moment he had known would come. With bravado, to show that his hand was not shaking, he took down a glass. ‘Drink?’
‘It’s too early, dear,’ Louise said; he knew she was watching him closely like all the others. He put the glass down and said, ‘I’ve just got to run back to the station for some papers. When I get back it will be time for drinks.’
He drove unsteadily down the road, his eyes blurred with nausea. O God, he thought, the decisions you force on people, suddenly, with no time to consider. I am too tired to think: this ought to be worked out on paper like a problem in mathematics, and the answer arrived at without pain. But the pain made him physically sick, so that he retched over the wheel. The trouble is, he thought, we know the answers - we Catholics are damned by our knowledge. There