The Song of the Flea (5 page)

“But why, for heaven’s sake? You must have been crazy!”

“Well, as a matter of fact I
must
have been, rather. I’m an awful bloody little fool. It must be the way I’m made, I suppose. But you’d have lent me so much more than I could pay back, and you really had been so bloody nice and kind….”

Red with shame and anger, Pym said: “I never wanted
anything
back that I gave you. I only called it ‘loans’ to spare your feelings. I wish to God I’d dropped down dead before I took that two pounds from you. I would never have taken money from
you
if I’d been starving; only you
did
say that the last couple of pounds you borrowed was for Ted; and you
did
look pretty prosperous; and it
was
you who brought up the subject of repayment in the first place. Damn you, couldn’t you have made some excuse—said you couldn’t get the money after all—instead of behaving like a crazy little crook and pawning other people’s microscopes?”

Win’s large, childish blue eyes filled with tears, and her mouth quivered as she replied: “You’re right. I’m an awful little liar, as a matter of fact. When I borrowed the last two pounds off of you, it wasn’t really for Ted at all. It was for me.”

“Then why in God’s name did you have to go and tell me that it
was
for Ted? Why lie? And, incidentally, why put me in a false position? Couldn’t you have said you wanted the money for yourself? Would I have refused?”

A big tear bounced down Win’s cheek and ran into her mouth.

“Oh, don’t you see, that’s just it! You’d lent me so much already … I was ashamed. And then, afterwards …
well … I was afraid you’d meet Ted and ask him for the money. As a matter of fact, I was terrified. You know how it is, Johnny—one thing led to another. I told him I’d borrowed his microscope to lend to my young nephew.”

“What young nephew?”

“I haven’t got a young nephew, Johnny. That was a lie, too; but I had to tell him something, didn’t I? Well, the long and the short of it is, he found the pawn-ticket. That’s how it all came out.”

“All came out!” cried Pym, shrill with horror. “All came out? Are you sitting there telling me that you told Ted you’d sold his microscope to give me money?
Me?
”

“I didn’t say ‘give’, Johnny, I swear I didn’t. I said: ‘I owed Johnny so much: he was marvellous with money when he had it; and when he was flat broke … I considered it sort of paying a debt of honour.’ That’s what I said, Johnny.”

Pym clutched at his hair. “I hope to God he punched you right on the nose, you damned little fool! You bloody little fool! You——”

“No, he never laid his hands on me. You know Ted, Johnny—old school tie, and all that sort of thing. But there was a frightful scene. He tore up all my clothes and kicked me out. He said,” said Win, beginning to shake, gulp, sniff, and hiccup, “he said … he said … he said I was nothing but a cheap little whore. And I’m not, Johnny. You know I’m not, Johnny! There’s only been two men in my life, really—you and Ted. None of the others ever mattered—you believe that, Johnny, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes; I believe you, I believe you! But don’t start crying here.”

“Where else can I cry? I haven’t got anywhere else to go and cry. I’m sorry … I’m sorry, Johnny … it’ll be over in a minute. I was sort of bearing up … until I saw you in the street … brave-little-woman-keeping-stiff-upper-lip kind of stuff … and then … Oh, Johnny, Johnny, you’re so
bloody
kind, so
bloody
sweet … you’re the only really
good
person I’ve ever met in all my life. And I hadn’t eaten for two days, and you bought me all this lovely spaghetti, although I
know I’ve been mean and wicked to you, and you don’t like me a bit. I’m sorry, Johnny,” said Win, blowing her nose wetly into a full handkerchief. “It’s all over now. I’m sorry I made a scene. Don’t worry, Johnny. I’ll be bright and cheerful now. But you do forgive me, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I forgive you,” said Pym, sick at heart and heavy with foreboding. “Have a bit of cheese.”

“I’d love a bit of cheese, Johnny, but tell me: are you in the money?”

“That’s neither here nor there. I asked you if you wanted a bit of cheese. Stop balancing my books and say yes or no.”

“Yes,” said Win, smiling gratefully.

“One cheese,” said Pym.

While Win ate her cheese, Pym picked up and ate the little hard-baked flakes that had fallen from the crusts of the rolls.

“You know what? As a matter of fact, once in a while, I believe in God,” said Win. “Ted always used to say that God, as a matter of fact, is, sort of
Goodness
in people. Do you remember that thing about forgiving your enemies and loving your neighbour as yourself? That sort of thing is God, if you know what I mean. Johnny, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I know we were ever such good pals once, until I spoiled
everything
. You know, one of the things there was between Ted and me? He always thought I was still in love with you … What are you laughing at?”

“I wasn’t laughing,” said Pym.

“I suppose you think Ted was pretty crazy?”

“I suppose he was,” said Pym.

“Well, as a matter of fact, Johnny, he wasn’t so very crazy really. I daresay you know it: when you get
to wander about with nowhere to go, you start thinking; and I shouldn’t be surprised if Ted was right.”

Meaning to change the subject Pym said: “Well, what’s your next move?”

“I don’t know, Johnny. There had better be a next move, because I’m going to be in a jam. I haven’t got anything, as a matter of fact, except what I stand up in. As a matter of fact …”

“Well, what?”

“No, I don’t want to tell you. Putting it another way, there are all sorts of reasons why I’ve got to eat. You know, eat and sleep, and keep warm, and all that. And to be perfectly frank, as a matter of fact, if I couldn’t manage to eat and sleep in a pleasant way … Well, I was getting ready to do so in an unpleasant way.”

“What do you mean exactly?”

“You’re understanding. Anyway, as a matter of fact, I don’t suppose anything I say will make you despise me more than you do already. The name Ted called me wasn’t very far wrong. Do you remember when I spoke to you a little while ago near Warren Street station?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” said Pym, with tired irony.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I was trying to work up enough nerve to …”

Feeling the eye of the waitress, Pym ordered coffee, and then, leaning across the table, he said quickly and breathlessly: “Don’t be such a damned fool! You mustn’t do these things. Where will it get you? What will you get out of it? Less than nothing. I know you, Win. You haven’t the temperament. For God’s sake, don’t be such a fool. You’ve been broke before, haven’t you? You can be broke again. Besides, there are other things to do. I swear to God, scrubbing floors is easier work. You get more out of——”

“I don’t know how to scrub a floor. I couldn’t even get a job as a waitress. You know that, Johnny. Even say … well, say you were the manager of Woolworth’s—would you give me a job selling sixpenny writing-pads? I’m not good for anything, Johnny, as a matter of fact. I’ve been trying to get some ‘Extra’ work on the films, and there’s a man who says he’s going to be able to give me a job doing Market Research … you know, you go from door to door and ask people what soap they use. But I’m so tired, Johnny. I need a good long sleep, and a bath, and a square meal or two—because I’m not myself. Once I’m myself again, well, then I’ll be myself again, if you
understand
what I mean. And also, I don’t know whether I mentioned it before, I’m going to have a baby.”

“Good God!”

“Ted swears it isn’t his, Johnny—but it is, it is!” said Win, shedding tears again. “It is! I never was actually unfaithful to Ted. We were happy together, Johnny—for a little while. Then all of a sudden he started to get suspicious, but he had no reason to be, as a matter of fact, and after that business of the microscope—when he threw me out, Johnny—he got cruel, cruel! ‘How can you do this to me when you know I’m pregnant?’ And Ted said: ‘That’s the father’s worry,’ and I told you what he called me after that. And here I am, and that’s that.”

Turning over the small change in his pocket Pym said, heavily: “If you don’t mind my asking: how much of this infant is there? I mean, how long has it been going on?”

“Nearly four months. I suppose that’s why I’m so emotional and silly.”

“You never were anything else,” said Pym. “I never knew you do or say anything that wasn’t somehow stupid.”

“I better go now.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know—just
go.
”

“Well, look here: I think I can probably get you a room for a day or two. Where did you sleep last night?”

“Mona let me sleep on her sofa, but this morning she told me she had someone coming.”

“Come along with me.”

*

Pym said to Busto: “This friend of mine wants a room. Her luggage is coming along.”

“Hah!”

“Well, you know I gave you a pound this afternoon? That leaves me nine shillings in the clear. Would you mind taking that on account until, say, to-morrow?”

“To-morrow never comes,” said Busto. “Anyway, no transfer against the law.”

“It isn’t against the law to transfer money paid in advance in a case like this,” said Pym.

“Against my rule. No transfer.”

Win was standing, limp and relaxed, swaying from side to side. “Where is the lady going to sleep?” cried Pym.

“I ain’t the Salvation Army,” said Busto, “and no women brought in. Against the law.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Win.

“Listen, Mr. Busto, have you any objection to this lady sleeping to-night in my room if I go elsewhere?”

Busto scratched his chest with his chin and, after some meditation, said: “No. But no transfer: no funny business.”

Pym took Win to his room. “Here is a room,” he said, hospitably, screwing a few pennies into the gas meter. “A bed, a roof, a fire. There’s some tea, milk, bread and cheese. Make yourself comfortable. By the way, there’s a tin of strawberries if you can open it.”

“Strawberries! Do you know, I’ve had a craving for
strawberries
, as a matter of fact?”

Pym had an idea. He knocked at his neighbour’s door and said: “Do forgive me if I disturb you—do you happen to have a tin-opener I might borrow just for two minutes? It’s to open a tin.”

The door closed. Pym heard a drawer opening and the clatter of cutlery under an uncertain hand. Then the door opened again and a tremulous little hand, the left hand of a woman without a wedding ring, thrust out a blunt tin-opener with a cracked unpainted handle. Before he had finished thanking the lady to whom the hand and the tin-opener belonged, the door slammed. He heard the snick of a bolt.

Pym opened the tin of strawberries. “Now there you are,” he said. “Make yourself at home. Sleep, eat, drink the tea, and I hope you enjoy the strawberries. I’ve come round to hating the sight of the things. I’ll look in to-morrow morning to see how you’re getting on. But do me one favour: don’t touch those papers on the table and leave the typewriter alone.”

“As if I’d touch anything,” said Win, while Pym covered the typewriter. “But what are you eating? Where are you sleeping?”

“Give you my word, I’m all right.”

“Won’t you kiss me good-night?”

“To-morrow,” said Pym, wondering how he could ever have looked upon her without disgust. “To-morrow. I’ll see you to-morrow. Don’t think about anything until then. Just sit down, eat whatever you find, and make yourself comfortable. One thing——”

“Yes, Johnny?”

“I don’t want to appear inhospitable, Win, but if you wouldn’t mind leaving me, say, about half of the tea and some of the bread….”

“Oh, Johnny, you are so sweet!”

“My house is yours, as they say; but if you could manage to move around without touching the table, I should be very grateful.”

“I’m terribly grateful to
you,
Johnny.”

“
Il n
’
y
a
pas
de
quoi.
Just have a good rest.”

“God bless.”

“I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I wish you could stay with me, Johnny.”

“Out of the question. So long.”

Pym was too tired to walk much more. He dozed in a café all night. At nine in the morning he went back to the house. Busto, as usual, was lurking in the shadow between the passage and the darkness under the house.

“Lady leave a note,” he said, handing over a sheet of Pym’s typewriting paper folded like a spill.

“She left?”

“’Arf an hour ago. Says, give you this.”

Pym unfolded the note and stopped to read it in the dull, nightmarish light of a little round stained-glass window on the first-floor landing—a window like the panel in a diver’s helmet. In this light everything was grey-green. He read: