naked, and wringing wet. I don’t know where he’d left his clothes. Who’d
believe you if you told them that?”
“Shall I take this up to Daniel?” I said.
She looked at me, and I didn’t like her
look, all whisky smile.
“Why not?” she said. She swallowed a
belch primly. “That’s where you’ve wanted to go all along, isn’t it? ‘How’s
Daniel?’” She mimicked me in an awful high soppy voice that was supposed to be
mine, or mine the way she heard it. “‘Is Daniel Ookay?’ Couldn’t stop looking
at him, could you? Eyes all over him. But you won’t get far. You can strip off
and do the dance of the seven veils, and he won’t notice.”
My eyes started to water, a sure sign of
revulsion. I felt I couldn’t keep quiet, though my voice (high and soppy?)
would tremble when I spoke.
“You’re being very rude. I wanted to
help.”
“ Ohhh yes,” she said.
“The thing that worries me,” I said, “is
the way you coop him up. Don’t you ever try to interest him in anything?” She
laughed dirtily, and then did belch, patting her mouth as if in congratulation.
“I think Daniel should be seen by a doctor. I’m sure there’s some kind of
therapy—”
She drank greedily, not taking any
apparent notice of me.
I hurried out, clutching the sandwich
plate, and went along the corridor and up the stairs, perching on two wobbly
sticks. If I’d stayed with her much longer, I, too, might have lost the use of
my lower limbs.
Light
came into the hall from the glass in the door, but going up, it grew progressively
murkier.
It was a small house, and the landing,
when I got to it, was barely wide enough to turn round on. There was the sort
of afterthought of a cramped bathroom old houses have put in—it was to the
back, and through the open door, I could see curtains across the windows. They,
too, must be boarded, as she had said. And in the bedroom which faced the back.
A pathological hatred of the sea, ever since she had been raped into unwanted
pregnancy beside it. If it were even true.... Did she hate Daniel, as well? Was
that why she kept him as she did, clean, neat, fed, cared for and deliberately
devoid of joy, of soul—?
There was a crisp little flick of paper,
the virtually unmistakable sound of a page turning. It came from the room to my
right: the front bedroom. There was a pane of light there too, falling past the
angle of the half-closed door. I crossed to the door and pushed it wide.
He didn’t glance up, just went on poring
over the big slim book spread before him. He was sitting up in bed in spotless
blue and white pyjamas. I had been beginning to visualise him as a child, but
he was a man. He looked like some incredible convalescent prince, or an angel. The
cold light from the window made glissandos over his hair. Outside, through the
net, was the opposite side of the street, the houses, and the slope of the hill
going up with other houses burgeoning on it. You couldn’t even see the cliff.
Perhaps this view might be more interesting to him than the sea. People would
come and go, cars, dogs. But there was only weather in the street today, shards
of it blowing about, The weather over the sea must be getting quite
spectacular.
When she went out, how did she avoid the
sea? She couldn’t then, could she? I suddenly had an idea that somehow she had
kept Daniel at all times from the sight of the water. I imagined him, a sad, sub-normal,
beautiful little boy, sitting with his discarded toys—if he ever had any—on the
floor of this house. And outside, five minutes’ walk away, the sand, the waves,
the wind.
The room was warm, from a small electric
heater fixed up in the wall, above his reach. Not even weather in this room.
He hadn’t glanced up at me, though I’d
come to the bedside, he just continued gazing at the book. It was a child’s
book, of course. It showed a princess leaning down from a tower with a pointed
roof, and a knight below, not half so handsome as
believe you if you told them that?”
“Shall I take this up to Daniel?” I said.
She looked at me, and I didn’t like her
look, all whisky smile.
“Why not?” she said. She swallowed a
belch primly. “That’s where you’ve wanted to go all along, isn’t it? ‘How’s
Daniel?’” She mimicked me in an awful high soppy voice that was supposed to be
mine, or mine the way she heard it. “‘Is Daniel Ookay?’ Couldn’t stop looking
at him, could you? Eyes all over him. But you won’t get far. You can strip off
and do the dance of the seven veils, and he won’t notice.”
My eyes started to water, a sure sign of
revulsion. I felt I couldn’t keep quiet, though my voice (high and soppy?)
would tremble when I spoke.
“You’re being very rude. I wanted to
help.”
“ Ohhh yes,” she said.
“The thing that worries me,” I said, “is
the way you coop him up. Don’t you ever try to interest him in anything?” She
laughed dirtily, and then did belch, patting her mouth as if in congratulation.
“I think Daniel should be seen by a doctor. I’m sure there’s some kind of
therapy—”
She drank greedily, not taking any
apparent notice of me.
I hurried out, clutching the sandwich
plate, and went along the corridor and up the stairs, perching on two wobbly
sticks. If I’d stayed with her much longer, I, too, might have lost the use of
my lower limbs.
Light
came into the hall from the glass in the door, but going up, it grew progressively
murkier.
It was a small house, and the landing,
when I got to it, was barely wide enough to turn round on. There was the sort
of afterthought of a cramped bathroom old houses have put in—it was to the
back, and through the open door, I could see curtains across the windows. They,
too, must be boarded, as she had said. And in the bedroom which faced the back.
A pathological hatred of the sea, ever since she had been raped into unwanted
pregnancy beside it. If it were even true.... Did she hate Daniel, as well? Was
that why she kept him as she did, clean, neat, fed, cared for and deliberately
devoid of joy, of soul—?
There was a crisp little flick of paper,
the virtually unmistakable sound of a page turning. It came from the room to my
right: the front bedroom. There was a pane of light there too, falling past the
angle of the half-closed door. I crossed to the door and pushed it wide.
He didn’t glance up, just went on poring
over the big slim book spread before him. He was sitting up in bed in spotless
blue and white pyjamas. I had been beginning to visualise him as a child, but
he was a man. He looked like some incredible convalescent prince, or an angel. The
cold light from the window made glissandos over his hair. Outside, through the
net, was the opposite side of the street, the houses, and the slope of the hill
going up with other houses burgeoning on it. You couldn’t even see the cliff.
Perhaps this view might be more interesting to him than the sea. People would
come and go, cars, dogs. But there was only weather in the street today, shards
of it blowing about, The weather over the sea must be getting quite
spectacular.
When she went out, how did she avoid the
sea? She couldn’t then, could she? I suddenly had an idea that somehow she had
kept Daniel at all times from the sight of the water. I imagined him, a sad, sub-normal,
beautiful little boy, sitting with his discarded toys—if he ever had any—on the
floor of this house. And outside, five minutes’ walk away, the sand, the waves,
the wind.
The room was warm, from a small electric
heater fixed up in the wall, above his reach. Not even weather in this room.
He hadn’t glanced up at me, though I’d
come to the bedside, he just continued gazing at the book. It was a child’s
book, of course. It showed a princess leaning down from a tower with a pointed
roof, and a knight below, not half so handsome as
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