Read Online Ripped by Frederic Lindsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Ads: Link
World. 'I don't think I'll ever come back. Why should I – why should we come back?' If Clare would not have him, he would find a place to live; he would find a job. It was not as if he had no skills or was a man with nothing to offer. 'A man wants to be where he has ties – and my daughter lives there.'
'Ties?'
'To someone you love.' Tentatively, he murmured, 'Like you perhaps and the friend who comes here . '
'Last night, lying where you are.' He felt the warmth of her pressed along his side. 'He told me this joke. It was about a butcher who was asked to circumcise a little Jewish boy on a desert island – only he didn't know what “circumcise” meant, and he did something else. You can imagine.'
He did not want to. 'I don't know why someone would want to tell a joke like that.'
'It saved his life. He was in a concentration camp and a lot of them broke through the wire. This was in the winter, he says, and in the middle of a forest. At first he could hear the others moving all round him and then it was quiet. He fell into a hole full of snow and thought he wasn't going to be able to crawl out. They hadn't been given much to eat – that's what he said. In the morning some peasants found him, an old father and three sons. They had been going about all night hunting for the prisoners and killing them. They didn't like Jews. Lying on the ground the first thing he saw, when they came out from among the trees, was the blood on their boots. They would have kicked him to death too, but he remembered this joke and it made them laugh. He said it was the only joke he ever remembered, and that was because the boy who had told it to him when he was at school had made fun of him for not understanding it. He isn't Jewish, you see.'
Had he thought he was charming her into taking him into her home? A word came into his head – seduction – an old word – and tears of humiliation threatened him.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I need – I'm not – '
He stumbled over saying that he was unwell.
'You know where it is,' she said. 'Would you like me to come with you? Would you like me to wash it for you?'
He sat on the furred cover of the lavatory and spat a curd of vomit, all that he could manage, into the basin. He told himself that when he felt better he would leave with dignity. The brown-yellow smear slipped down the smooth porcelain. He turned on the tap gently so there would be no noise and the water slid down and took most of it away. With the edge of his finger he pushed the last of it into the stream. He wished that he could go home and that Clare would be there. He stood up and pressed a towel against his face. It was warm from the rail and he took comfort from it. He wanted his wife and she had left him alone. From the round mirror above the rail, circled by its single coil of fluorescent light, his face stared back at him. Clare had gone away. No one could blame him. Whatever happened now, the stranger watching with a white circle in each eye told him , nobody could blame you.
When he came out the small bedroom was in darkness. From the passage beyond came the sound of voices. A voice which he recognised as that of the woman who called herself Frances said something and then another voice spoke.
'You take such chances,' the second woman said. It sounded very different to him from the voice of Frances , more , educated, not a country accent, one from a town or a city, southern English, perhaps London?
'I needed company.'
'Company! That's another name for it. What happened last night anyway?'
'That's why I sent for you,' Frances said. 'He was in a funny mood from the minute he got here.' She lowered her voice and he moved by an ordinary impulse of curiosity nearer to the narrow crack of the door's opening. 'Soldavo , one of the guards.'
'Do you think it can be true?'
'He saw him!
There wasn't any chance of a mistake – that's what he said.'
'What name? Didn't he give you a name?'
'I tried to get it out of him. You
'Ties?'
'To someone you love.' Tentatively, he murmured, 'Like you perhaps and the friend who comes here . '
'Last night, lying where you are.' He felt the warmth of her pressed along his side. 'He told me this joke. It was about a butcher who was asked to circumcise a little Jewish boy on a desert island – only he didn't know what “circumcise” meant, and he did something else. You can imagine.'
He did not want to. 'I don't know why someone would want to tell a joke like that.'
'It saved his life. He was in a concentration camp and a lot of them broke through the wire. This was in the winter, he says, and in the middle of a forest. At first he could hear the others moving all round him and then it was quiet. He fell into a hole full of snow and thought he wasn't going to be able to crawl out. They hadn't been given much to eat – that's what he said. In the morning some peasants found him, an old father and three sons. They had been going about all night hunting for the prisoners and killing them. They didn't like Jews. Lying on the ground the first thing he saw, when they came out from among the trees, was the blood on their boots. They would have kicked him to death too, but he remembered this joke and it made them laugh. He said it was the only joke he ever remembered, and that was because the boy who had told it to him when he was at school had made fun of him for not understanding it. He isn't Jewish, you see.'
Had he thought he was charming her into taking him into her home? A word came into his head – seduction – an old word – and tears of humiliation threatened him.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I need – I'm not – '
He stumbled over saying that he was unwell.
'You know where it is,' she said. 'Would you like me to come with you? Would you like me to wash it for you?'
He sat on the furred cover of the lavatory and spat a curd of vomit, all that he could manage, into the basin. He told himself that when he felt better he would leave with dignity. The brown-yellow smear slipped down the smooth porcelain. He turned on the tap gently so there would be no noise and the water slid down and took most of it away. With the edge of his finger he pushed the last of it into the stream. He wished that he could go home and that Clare would be there. He stood up and pressed a towel against his face. It was warm from the rail and he took comfort from it. He wanted his wife and she had left him alone. From the round mirror above the rail, circled by its single coil of fluorescent light, his face stared back at him. Clare had gone away. No one could blame him. Whatever happened now, the stranger watching with a white circle in each eye told him , nobody could blame you.
When he came out the small bedroom was in darkness. From the passage beyond came the sound of voices. A voice which he recognised as that of the woman who called herself Frances said something and then another voice spoke.
'You take such chances,' the second woman said. It sounded very different to him from the voice of Frances , more , educated, not a country accent, one from a town or a city, southern English, perhaps London?
'I needed company.'
'Company! That's another name for it. What happened last night anyway?'
'That's why I sent for you,' Frances said. 'He was in a funny mood from the minute he got here.' She lowered her voice and he moved by an ordinary impulse of curiosity nearer to the narrow crack of the door's opening. 'Soldavo , one of the guards.'
'Do you think it can be true?'
'He saw him!
There wasn't any chance of a mistake – that's what he said.'
'What name? Didn't he give you a name?'
'I tried to get it out of him. You
Similar Books
