Read Online Madame Sousatzka by Bernice Rubens - Free Book Online Page B

been sleeping for many days. Firstly because he was hungry, and secondly, the feeling of utter remoteness. Mr Cordle was shutting the door quietly behind him. He turned round, surprised to find Marcus awake. ‘I thought you’d sleep till tomorrow, at least,’ he laughed.
    â€˜How long have I been sleeping?’
    â€˜Not ten minutes,’ Mr Cordle said. ‘I just saw Jenny on the stairs. She’s waiting for you.’
    Suddenly Marcus remembered in detail their strange session together. He looked quickly for the chart on the wall. But the space that it had occupied was bare now, a pure white space in an off-white frame. Marcus thought of the dirty mark on Mr Cordle’s head, and wondered whether he had washed it off. Mr Cordle had obviously regretted his outburst and had removed all evidence of it whilst Marcus was asleep.
    â€˜You’d better wash your face before you go up to Jenny’s,’ Mr Cordle said. ‘You look as if you’ve been asleep for a week.’ Mr Cordle giggled with embarrassment. ‘Don’t forget your exercises,’ he said automatically. He seemed to realise that there was no point in trying to believe that nothing had happened. ‘Marcus,’ he said pleadingly, ‘forget all that nonsense about the labels. It’s just a theory I have,’ he laughed. ‘I’m working it out. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself, but it’s something I feel.’
    â€˜Does Madame Sousatzka know about it? The labels, I mean.’ Marcus tried to laugh too. If Mr Cordle himself was prepared to ridicule his own theory, Marcus was ready to give him support.
    â€˜She knows,’ Mr Cordle answered. ‘She says I’m right. I think she understands it better than I do.’
    Marcus didn’t want to be drawn into any further discussion. He was heartily sick of labels anyway. ‘I’ll be late,’ hesaid. He went over to Mr Cordle and touched his arm. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, reassuringly, as if he felt that Mr Cordle feared that he would not come again.
    â€˜Yes,’ Mr Cordle muttered, ‘tomorrow. Tomorrow,’ he brightened up suddenly, ‘we’ll take another look at America.’
    Marcus didn’t bother to wash. He ran up the stairs to the top landing. He paused at Jenny’s door to get his breath back, then tip-toed quietly into the room. Jenny was sitting as always by the gas-fire, painting her nails. Marcus crept up behind her and put his hands over her eyes.
    â€˜Oh!’ Jenny screamed in mock horror. ‘Who is it?’
    Marcus released his hold and she turned round to look at him. ‘Oh,’ she said in surprise, ‘Marcus, it’s you. You know, you act like a real man.’
    Marcus felt a fluttering inside his navel. She took his hands in hers. ‘What’s the matter, Marcus?’ she said. ‘You’re trembling.’
    â€˜Jenny,’ he said, ‘I think I’m growing old.’

7
    Marcus didn’t know anything about Jenny except that she was always in her room on Friday nights, painting her nails in front of her gas-fire with the kettle boiling and the crumpets on the table in the bay window. There was a telephone in the room, too. Marcus only noticed it because of its strange position. Jenny’s gas-ring had a double burner, and the ‘phone stood on the jet next to the kettle, and Marcus often wanted to light the gas underneath to see if it would start ringing. Jenny was the only one in the house who had a private ‘phone. The dirty Countess who lived in the basement, Mr Cordle, even Madame Sousatzka, who was after all the landlady, had to resort to the telephone box on the first landing, armed with pennies and adaptable accents. Somehow it never occurred to Marcus to ask Jenny why she had a ‘phone of her own. He probably felt that Jenny was entitled to something that the others didn’t have. In any