Imago Bird (6 page)

I tried to think about this. Sometimes Dr Anders would talk as if she were playing another person's role—that of myself, or my mother, or some other powerful figure in my unconscious.

I said ‘You mean, you don't think I should have liked most of those people at the party?'

She said ‘Good heavens, why should you?'

I said ‘I thought you said I should.'

She said ‘Yes I know you did.'

I tried to go back in my mind about this. I was sure she had said—but what?—this didn't seem to matter.

I said ‘But you did say, there were all those interesting people—'

‘I did say, there were people who could be called interesting. I didn't say you should like them.'

I thought—This is unfair? But perhaps my mother had been unfair. So—What could I learn from this?

I said ‘You mean, it's because I've been made to feel guilty about not liking these sort of people that I make up hostile stories about spies and security men?'

I thought—And I stammer?

She said ‘There are after all pretty awful people at those parties.'

After a time I said ‘They run the world.'

She said ‘They run certain aspects of certain parts of the world.'

I thought—You mean you agree, it would be better if I stopped worrying that I don't think things that go on at those parties important?

Then—Even my mother did not really want me to feel guilty?

So—Why do I stammer?

I said ‘But through these sort of people other people either die, or don't die, in Africa.'

She said ‘Good heavens, don't people either die, or don't die, anyway, in Africa?'

I thought—But now, I have not stammered?

I said ‘Because I worry I stammered?'

— A dead body, beside some railings —

Dr Anders said ‘You were a very clever little boy. It was difficult for you to take all this on when you were seven.'

I thought—Did she say very?

She said ‘Wasn't your mother often worrying about who was or was not dying in Africa?'

I thought—But was she not right?

Dr Anders said ‘And your father was—what—making jokes? making films?'

I thought—But was not he right too?

Then—Should I not make jokes? And should I not care?

Dr Anders said ‘I just think you might try to look at these people more closely: to see them as not gods nor devils.'

I said ‘Yes.' Then—‘I see.'

Then—‘The people at the party?'

She said ‘If you like.'

I said ‘And my father and mother—'

She said nothing.

I said ‘And not go on about them.'

I lay as if in my cocoon; my cot in front of the fire.

She said ‘You go on with what you like.'

I thought—And are there not huge hands that hang like nests in bags from trees —

I said ‘It's not that I think they're all wrong and I'm all right.
I know I sometimes sound as if I do.'

She said ‘Why not'

— A bright spring day. A pond. A poplar tree —

I said ‘When I stammer, it's like some giant in my head, that I either have to kill, or be killed by.'

I thought—What was that image?

There were pigeons beyond her window, flying around the spire.

I said ‘But there's one thing that really terrifies me—'

I waited for her to say something like—What?

I said ‘You know, that first day, when I came to see you—'

She said ‘Yes.'

I said ‘And you said, about my high opinion of myself—'

She said nothing.

I said ‘I had an image the other day of everyone being so much happier when they were sort of underneath, like servants or victims.'

I found myself shaking.

She said ‘And you think you're not.'

I said ‘I think I don't want to be.'

There were the hoofbeats up and down my spine; like the Gadarene swine rushing towards the cliff.

I said ‘And when I stammer I only pretend to be.'

I thought—Not to stop myself being killed; but to stop myself killing?

I said ‘To stop myself taking the responsibility.'

I thought—The responsibility—but for what?

When I looked at her she was sitting beside me with her face in profile like one of those huge statues I had seen pictures of by the banks of the Nile: staring out over the desert; or the water; or whatever it is; or nothing.

I said ‘Don't you think that's terrifying?'

She had that way of pursing her lips as if making her ledge on a mountain; or preparing to play the flute.

She said ‘It would certainly be unfortunate, I suppose, to have a terrifying view of servants or victims.'

Sometimes after I had been to Dr Anders there was so much going on in my head that I wanted to shout and sing in the street: to say—Icarus, Icarus, you need not have flown too close to the sun! You could have pretended to be something practical like a fighter-pilot in the Battle of Britain.

When I got to Sheila's house there was a man in white overalls doing something with a screw-driver to the front door. I thought—If he is a secret-service agent or security man, will he go away if I insist that such dragons are only in my head?

Sheila's room was on the first floor. From time to time other people seemed to share it with her. I was not sure whether or not these were lovers.

I said ‘I see you are being put under electronic surveillance.'

She said ‘What, has the old witch finally got you?'

I said ‘Don't you know about this? There aren't things like ordinary spies any more. There are just microphones and cameras and things, so that people can watch and hear everything going on everywhere.'

Sheila said ‘I once knew a man like that. He was carried away in a strait-jacket.'

I went to the window and looked out. There was the top of the man's head by the front door: beyond him in the street people moved as if they were in a science-fiction film and their bodies had been taken over by people from Andromeda.

I said ‘So it's exactly the same as if there weren't any microphones and cameras and things, because it takes exactly the same number of people to watch and hear everything as it does to do it.'

Sheila went out of the room. After a time her head appeared below beside that of the man in white overalls. She seemed to be arguing with him. Their heads appeared enlarged; their
bodies tapered like tadpoles. After a time the man swam off down the street.

I sat on Sheila's spare bedsprings and bounced up and down. I wondered—If there were a man living here who was her lover, would there, or would there not, be a mattress on the spare bedsprings?

Sheila's bed was on the opposite side of the room. I thought I could examine the pillow for hairs.

I wondered—Do people do things like this because in fact they are jealous, or because they have seen people doing things like this in films?

When Sheila came back I said ‘What was all that about?'

She said ‘What was all what about?'

‘Do you know that man?'

‘He said he'd come to the wrong house.'

Sheila sat on the bed opposite. She put her head in her hands.

After a time I said ‘I've been examining your pillow.'

Sheila said ‘Oh God, you're so boring, boring! Is there anything you don't make a joke of?'

I wondered—Would it help her if I exhibited jealousy by jumping up and down?

I began to take my shoes off.

I thought—But there really are men sitting underground with earphones on in London and Washington and Moscow. And since this is so, should one not provide them with some entertainment?

Then—But I am no longer supposed to be interested in things like spies and security men —

So—Do these phantoms spring from the same roots as being jealous then?

Sheila said ‘Good God, there are people keeping us brainwashed! Who at this moment are in London and Washington and Moscow keeping us brainwashed! And all you can do is make jokes about it.'

I said ‘What about the cigarette advertisements?'

She said ‘What about the cigarette advertisements?'

I said ‘Are you being brainwashed?'

She said ‘Yes.' Then ‘No.'

I thought—But she's not taking her clothes off.

She was sitting on the bedsprings with her hands between her thighs.

She said ‘Do you know that between ten and fifteen per cent of the inhabitants of this country live below subsistence level? And that in most other parts of the world the proportions are infinitely higher?'

I wondered—Those figures are right?

I had been going to say—What the cigarette advertisements show, is that people don't mind much if they die.

I thought—Shouldn't I be just putting a hand on her breast; tugging at the belt of her trousers?

I said ‘Wouldn't it be better for the people who you say are being brainwashed if they could make jokes about it? Then they might be free to do something practical rather than just talk about the people below subsistence level.'

I went and sat beside her on the bed. I tried to put a hand between her thighs.

I said ‘Ah, the advantages of an unwashed brain—'

She said ‘Oh shut up!'

It was as if there were something trapped in her; fighting, but not to get out.

She said ‘Look, will you come and talk to Brian Alick?'

I said ‘Why?'

Brian Alick was one of the leaders of the Young Trotskyites.

She said ‘He's clever enough for you.'

I wondered again—I am clever?

She said ‘There are millions of people degraded and oppressed. You can't say that's funny!'

I said ‘I don't say it's funny.'

She said ‘What do you say then?'

I said ‘I say you can't change things just by putting one sort of organisation in place of another. You've got to free things in people's minds.'

She said ‘You're a spoilt brat.'

I said ‘Who said that?'

She said ‘I did.'

I thought—That man in white overalls: he is her lover?

I said ‘It's people like you and Brian Alick who get a kick from people being oppressed. If they weren't, you wouldn't know what to do with yourselves.'

I thought—That's unfair: or isn't it?

Then—I mustn't take my hand away!

Dr Anders would say—But you wanted to hit her?

Sheila said ‘I just want to say I don't see how you can go on like this. If I were you, I'd simply be dead'

I thought—But by keeping my hand on her, I am condescending, I am degrading her?

I said ‘Jokes are serious. Wasn't it Brecht who said—'

Just then the man in the white overalls appeared at the door of the room. He stood there chewing, as if at the inside of his cheeks.

Sheila was saying ‘What did Brecht say—'

I thought—Jokes break up old patterns —

The man in white overalls said in a sad voice—‘Brian says would Sunday evening about six-thirty be any good.'

Sheila shouted ‘You fucking nit!'

The man said ‘He says there's some kind of party.'

Sheila picked up a disc from a record-player and threw it at him.

The man raised one arm like the Statue of Liberty. The disc went past him like a flying saucer.

I thought—Sheila sent this man to a call-box to ring up Brian Alick?

Sheila shouted ‘Oh God oh Jesus Christ!'

She was holding her head and was rolling about on the bedsprings.

Dr Anders might say—And you still did or didn't think he was her lover?

I could say—Or didn't mind?

I said ‘Look, it doesn't matter—'

I thought—But that is condescending: shouldn't I really hit her? To save her from being the victim she both wants and doesn't want to be?

I said ‘I don't mind talking to Brian Alick—'

Then—But o fool, is it not sweet reason that sends people mad?

Sheila got up and made a dash for the door. She went past the man in white overalls like King Kong. We could hear her clattering down the stairs. Then there was the noise of a door slamming—it seemed, of the bathroom.

Sheila had looked rather beautiful when she had been rolling about on the bed; like Kali, the hideous Indian goddess, who, when you rolled her over, became the beautiful goddess Devi.

The man in white overalls had gone and sat down on the spare bedsprings. He seemed to have chewed enough on his cheeks and was doing some swallowing.

I said ‘What were you doing to the front door?'

He said ‘Putting in an entryphone.'

I said ‘Good God, what would anyone in this house want with an entryphone?'

He said ‘You can speak into it downstairs and then people upstairs know who you are.'

I thought—This man, like any comedian, is either halfwitted or witty.

He was like some famous actor, I couldn't remember the name. This actor had a long face and pale curly hair and he specialised in roles of terrible despair and bitterness. Once a group of his friends had taken the front row of the stalls, and had worn mackintoshes because he spat so much.

I said ‘Why would Sheila want to know who's coming up the stairs?'

The man said ‘I think she's a bit fed up you don't come and live with her.'

I thought—That's true? Then—That's all right then?

I said ‘She's never said that.'

He said ‘Well, she wouldn't, would she.'

I thought—Oh God, do I mean it is all right because I am the one on top and we neither of us are happy —

There was a noise of things being smashed up in the bathroom.

I said ‘You really think that?'

He said ‘It sounds like it, doesn't it?'

I thought—Then can I go and say—But Sheila, Sheila, you only think you want me to come and live with you because you
think I'm happy!