The Song of the Flea (35 page)

“Gone? Where?”

“’E leave-a dis address for letters,” said Busto, taking a filthy scrap of paper out of one of his mysterious pockets. But he kept it hidden in his hand and asked, suspiciously: “What you a-want ’im for? ’E owe you a-money?”

Win knew instinctively that if she said yes, that terrible little old man would tell her nothing. She said: “No, on the contrary, I owe him money. But it isn’t that. You see, as a matter of fact, I have a rather important message for him.”

Busto stared her out of countenance with his stony old eyes and said, grudgingly: “Okay.”

Pym was working happily. He had eaten a tin of greyish beef stew and a tin of apricots, washed down with tea, and was full of inspiration. He had already written ten thousand words of
The
Road
to
the
Iron
Door.
He had only eighty thousand words more to write, and then the book would be written. He intended to work all night. Then he heard a knocking at the door. He was sure that it was Joanna. He hid the empty tins under the table and went to the door, smoothing his hair with his hands. But when he opened the door Win said: “Oh, Johnny, Johnny!” and fell on his neck, weeping.

“Oh Christ!” said Pym.

*

“What brings you here?” he asked.

Win said: “As a matter of fact, Johnny, I don’t know, quite. I suppose you know I’ve just come out of prison?”

“Have you?” asked Pym, uneasily.

“Well, Johnny darling, I must have, mustn’t I? I mean, I don’t suppose you imagine I don’t know what you did to put me there.”

“I didn’t put anybody anywhere,” said Pym.

“As a matter of fact, Johnny, I happen to know all about it. I happen to know, Johnny darling, that you charged me in that
typewriter business. Don’t bother to lie, Johnny, I happen to know. How could you have done such a thing to me, Johnny? As a matter of fact, after all there’s been between us, I couldn’t have thought it was possible. Anybody else, yes. But not you, Johnny. I never thought you could be cruel and revengeful. And as a matter of fact I happen to know that my stepfather gave you money to do it. Don’t take the trouble to lie to me about it, Johnny darling. I just happen to know, as a matter of fact.”

Pym shouted: “You happen to know! You happen to know! You and your ‘matter of facts’—you happen to know nothing whatsoever. You happen to be absolutely wrong, as a matter of fact.” (
Now 
I’m
starting
matter-of-facting,
he said to himself.)

“As a matter of fact, one of the reasons why I wanted to see you, Johnny darling, was because I was sort of interested to know what
made
you do it. I’m sort of all mixed up. It doesn’t make sense to me. It kind of doesn’t sort of add up. It’s sort of like two and two making five, as a matter of fact. It was so
out
of
keeping,
so absolutely unlike you, Johnny. I couldn’t imagine what I’d done to make you hate me so much. Let’s face it, Johnny. However much you regret it, the fact remains that we were … well, sort of
friends
once upon a time … it feels like a thousand years ago, after all I’ve been through, Johnny. And when you’ve lived with a man—sort of slept and eaten with a man for months and months——”

“—Ten weeks to be precise,” said Pym.

“—I’m sorry, Johnny. As a matter of fact I’m all mixed up inside. I’m sort of all broken up, as a matter of fact. Ten weeks, then. They were ten lovely weeks for me, Johnny. They were the happiest weeks in my life. You were the only person who was ever kind to me, and I was very, very, very happy. As a matter of fact I loved you. And that’s why this has been kind of worrying me, because I sort of didn’t know what to … well,
make
of it.”

“Look here,” said Pym. “You know as well as I do, Win, that you behaved like an absolute swine. You know perfectly well that when you were supposed to be more or less faithful to me you messed about with every Tom, Dick and Harry in
London. And I proved it to you, if you remember. And then when I was desperately hard up, and when all I had to live on was my typewriter—you don’t know the trouble I had getting that typewriter out of hock——” Pym stroked the keys of the machine, which seemed to chatter understandingly in response to his touch—“when I had nothing in the world but this, I gave you my room and my bed, and went to sleep myself in a
doss-house
, what did you do? You stole my typewriter. You behaved worse than the cheapest, dirtiest little crook. There is a little bit of honour among thieves, but you don’t seem to have even that little bit of honour. You take advantage of everyone’s good nature. It isn’t fair. If I could have got hold of you then I should probably have hit you right in the mouth, for a rotten little cheat. And when I come to think of it I feel like doing so now. You stole the typewriter and you upset tinned
strawberries
all over my novel. But even then I wouldn’t have done anything, if a Scotland Yard man hadn’t come along. So I charged you with stealing my typewriter while I was still angry with you. I’m not angry with you now: I only dislike you. Besides, they made it clear to me that you needed a little bit of punishment, if only for other people’s protection. You’ve been stealing practically everything you could lay your hands on—people’s watches and chains, people’s microscopes. And you stole my typewriter, knowing how much I needed it, to give it to your American Henry, whoever he may be.”

“I didn’t steal it, Johnny, I swear! I borrowed it!”

“You ‘borrowed’ it to give to American Henry, eh?”

“American Henry? Oh, him. Oh yes, Johnny, as a matter of fact I remember him. I was going to get a job as a mannequin, and he was going to get me some clothes on credit, only we had to put down a deposit. I would have paid you back all I ever owed you and given you your typewriter back in a week or two, I swear it, Johnny. I meant to, but I didn’t like to mention it as a matter of fact. Please believe me, Johnny—I’m so lonely and miserable—do please believe me.”

“Job as a mannequin? You told me you were going to have a baby.”

“That was just it,” said Win, readily. “There’s a shop near
Bond Street that specialises in dresses for women who are going to have babies, and they wanted someone young and—as a matter of fact, good-looking—to show them off.”

“What shop is that?” asked Pym, with interest, thinking of a possible story.

“I forget the name of it for the moment, but it’ll come back.”

“But surely, if they were going to give you a job, you must remember?”

“Oh yes, yes, yes! But I’ve told you already I’m sort of all mixed up in my head. And the baby——”

Win wept heartbrokenly.

“Well, what about it!”

“Dead. Dead, Johnny darling, dead. And I did—oh, I did so want it! And there I was locked up with prostitutes and thieves and shoplifters in a common prison. Oh, Johnny, Johnny, darling Johnny—because I can’t help loving you in spite of everything—I know that most people around here are thieves and prostitutes, and I know that if they were all taken away there’d be nobody interesting left to talk to as a matter of fact, but to be locked up with them, and treated the way I was treated … Oh, Johnny darling, how could you have done it to me?”

“I never did anything to you.”

“I happen to know, as a matter of fact, that you didn’t do badly out of it, Johnny. Oh—don’t misunderstand me—I’m glad of it. I’m glad someone got something out of all this, Johnny. As a matter of fact I know you were well paid, and I was delighted to hear it, because in a kind of way I felt I was sort of paying you back a little of the sort of money I owed you.”

“Look here,” said Pym. “As a matter—I beg your pardon. In point of fact, I got nothing but trouble out of you. Your stepfather, Mr. Mellish, a charming old man——”

“—As a matter of fact, he is an absolute swine. But go on, Johnny.”

“Your stepfather, who is not a swine at all, but who happens to be a very charming old gentleman, begged me to withdraw the charge I made against you in a moment of anger, and I was only too pleased to withdraw that charge. And then, as a
matter … and then, if you want to know, I nearly went to jail myself for compounding a felony. Your stepfather insisted on paying me what he thought you owed me—thirty-seven pounds two shillings. I didn’t want to take it, but he insisted. If you want it, you can have it. In fact I insist on your taking it. Here, let me give it to you.” Pym opened his cheque book and began to write.

“You never used to have a banking account,” said Win.

“I’ve got one now. Here. Thirty-seven pounds two shillings. It’s an open cheque, and you can cash it to-morrow.”

“You’re rich now, Johnny darling, and as a matter of fact, in spite of everything, I’m glad. I’m glad for your sake. I’m very happy for you, Johnny.”

“Rich? I’m rolling in it,” said Pym, with a harsh laugh.

“I’m penniless, Johnny.”

“No you’re not, if you’ll excuse me. You’ve got thirty-seven pounds two shillings.”

“May I use your bathroom.”

“Through there.”

“I don’t suppose I could have a bath?”

“Here’s a pound to see you through until the banks open to-morrow.”

“Thank you, Johnny darling. You can be very wicked
sometimes
, but I always did like you because you were so good, really, as a matter of fact. Look—I feel sort of soiled, kind of unclean. I feel like a jailbird, as a matter of fact. Can I use your bath?”

“If you like, all right. But would you mind being fairly quick? I’m working, you see.”

Having put the money in her bag, Win went to the bathroom. Pym showed her how to operate the geyser, and stood in the sitting-room, looking out of the window, angry with Win and disgusted with himself. He stood like this for ten minutes, and then someone knocked imperiously at the door. It was Joanna Bowman.

“Joanna!” cried Pym. “My heart leaps up! Look, by the purest chance——”

At this moment Win came out of the bathroom. She was
naked. In her right hand she flourished a safety razor—one of those single-edged razors that used to be given away free of charge with a tube of shaving cream. “Johnny darling, how do you put the blade in this?” she asked. Then she saw Joanna, uttered a little scream, and ran away.

“Damn that woman!” cried Pym, “wherever she goes there’s sure to be some misunderstanding.”

“It’s all right, there’s no misunderstanding. I understand,” said Joanna Bowman. “Let’s make it another time. Don’t look so horrified. It’s quite all right. Some other time. Give me a ring, eh?”

“Joanna! I give you my word of honour!”

“Don’t be silly.”

Pym followed her downstairs. “Upon my word of honour, Joanna, she came along and asked if she could have a bath. It sounds incredible, but it was like that. That’s Win, the girl I told you about.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. How could it possibly matter?”

“She’ll go in a minute.”

“What for? Why should she? Have you got some crazy idea that I might be jealous? Me? Jealous of you? That would be the day, when I was jealous of any man on account of any woman!”

“But, Joanna——”

“I assure you, it’s quite all right. Let’s meet some other time. Give me a ring. I’ll be seeing you.”

Pym wanted to follow her, but he was wearing nothing but his trousers and a shirt; in which dress he preferred to work. He ran back to the fiat. The door had closed itself, and he had to knock several times before Win opened it. Now she wore a towel. She was still holding the safety razor.

“Oh Johnny, Johnny darling, if you only knew how wonderful it felt——” she began.

“For God’s sake get out of my way!”

“But, Johnny!”

“Wherever you go you make trouble. Wherever you go,” said Pym, putting on his shoes, “you make unhappiness and
misunderstanding
. I never want to see you again as long as I live.
Go away—for God’s sake go away, will you? You’ve got money. Will you get out of here, please, quickly! Get out! If I find you here when I come back I’ll throw you out. Dressed or undressed, I’ll throw you out!” He remembered what had happened the last time he had left Win alone in his room, and closed his typewriter and put it under his left arm. “Get out of here,” he said, and ran towards William and Mary Square, Victoria. “This is the second time you’ve ruined my life!” he shouted over his shoulder.

*

Joanna Bowman paused on the bridge to look at the river and think. She loved the river, and saw something beautiful in the spidery silhouettes of the cranes that broke the milky sky above the wharves. Then she went on her way and stopped again at Millbank, where she watched the cigarette packets jostling the driftwood on the face of the water. She was sad, but calm.
Why
on
earth
shouldn’t
he
take
a
blonde
home?
she asked herself.
I
took
him
home.
He
is
entitled
to
do
exactly
as
he
pleases.
Surely,
that’s
what
one
lives
for.
I
do
as
I
please;
he
does
what
he
likes.
But
the
thing
I’d
like
to
know
is,
what
on
earth
can
a
man
like
that
see
in
a
thing
like
her?
Good
God,
when
she
came
out
of
that
bathroom
with
nothing
on
she
looked
like
a
maggot,
a
hairless
maggot;
narrow
in
the
shoulder,
narrow
in
the
hips,
narrow
in
the
head
—
not
a
good
woman
for
him.
Good
for
some
old
man.
A
dead
end.
What
on
earth
could
he
want
her
for
?
A
blonde,
scraping
herself
with
a
safety
razor
and
making
exhibitions.
What
for?
What
use?
She’d
deceive
him
with
the
milkman,
and
get
away
with
it.
But
of
course,
I
ought
to
know:
the
thing
to
do
is,
make
goggle
eyes
and
look
as
if
you
admire.
I’ll
see
myself
in
hell
first.
I’ll
see
myself
in
hell,
if
I
die
this
minute.