The Collector - Страница 12

“You’re not listening.”

Yes, I am, I said.

“No, you’re not. You’re thinking about touching me. You’re all stiff. Relax.”

It was no good, she’d got me all tense. She stood up. She was wearing a narrow blue skirt I bought her and a big black jumper and a white blouse, the colours really suited her. She stood in front of me and after a bit she said, Oh, God.

Then she went and beat her fist against the wall. She used to do that sometimes.

“I’ve got a friend who kisses me every time he sees me and he doesn’t mean anything — his kisses are meaningless. He kisses everybody. He’s the other side of you. You don’t have any contact with anybody and he has it with everybody. You’re both equally sick.”

I was smiling, I used to smile when she attacked me as a sort of defence.

“Don’t put on that ghastly smile.”

There’s not much else I can do. You’re always right.

“But I don’t want always to be right. Tell me I’m wrong!”

Oh, you’re right, I said. You know you’re right.

“Oh, Ferdinand!” she said. And then twice more, Ferdinand, Ferdinand, and she sort of prayed to heaven and acted someone in great pain, so I had to laugh, but suddenly she was all serious, or pretending it.

“It’s not a little thing. It’s terrible that you can’t treat me as a friend. Forget my sex. Just relax.”

I’ll try, I said. But then she wouldn’t sit by me again. She leant against the wall reading another book.

Another day, it was downstairs, she just screamed. For no reason at all, I was fixing up a painting she’d done and wanted to see up on the wall and suddenly sitting on the bed she screamed, bloodcurdling it was and I jumped round and dropped the tape and she just laughed.

What’s up, I said.

“I just felt like a good scream,” she said.

She was unpredictable.

She was always criticizing my way of speaking. One day I remember she said, “You know what you do? You know how rain takes the colour out of everything? That’s what you do to the English language. You blur it every time you open your mouth.”

That is just one sample of many, of the way she treated me.

Another day she got round me on the subject of her parents. She’d been on for days about how they would be sick with worry and how mean I was not letting them know. I said I couldn’t take the risk. But one day after supper she said, I’ll tell you how to do it, without any risk. You wear gloves. You buy paper and some envelopes from Woolworth’s. You dictate a letter to me to write. You go to the nearest big town and post it. You can’t be traced. It might be any Woolworth’s in the country.

Well, she kept on at me so about it that one day I did what she suggested and bought some paper and envelopes. That evening I gave her a sheet and told her to write.

“I am safe and not in danger,” I said.

She wrote it, saying, “That’s filthy English, but never mind.”

You write what I say, I answered, and went on, “Do not try to find me, it is impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” she said. Cheeky as usual.

“I am being well looked after by a friend,” I went on. Then I said, that’s all, just put your name.

“Can’t I say, Mr. Clegg sends his regards?”

Very funny, I said. She wrote something more and handed me the sheet of paper. It said, See you soon, love, Nanda, at the bottom.

What’s this? I asked.

“My baby name. They’ll know it’s me.”

I prefer Miranda, I said. It was the most beautiful for me. When she had written the envelope I put the sheet in and then luckily I looked inside. At the bottom of the envelope there was a piece of paper no bigger than half a cigarette paper. I don’t know how but she must have had it ready and slipped it in. I opened it out and looked at her. She was bold as brass. She just leant back in the chair and stared at me. She’d written very very small with a sharp pencil, but the letters were clear. It wasn’t like her other note, it said:

D.M. Kidnapped by madman. F. Clegg. Clerk from Annexe who won pool. Prisoner in cellar lonely timbered cottage date outside 1621 hilly country two hours London. So far safe. Frightened.

I was really angry and shocked, I didn’t know what to do. In the end I said, are you frightened? She didn’t say anything, she just nodded.

But what have I done? I asked.

“Nothing. That’s why I’m frightened.”

I don’t understand.

She looked down.

“I’m waiting for you to do something.”

I’ve promised and I’ll promise again, I said. You get all high and mighty because I don’t take your word, I don’t know why it’s different for me.

“I’m sorry.”

I trusted you, I said. I thought you realized I was being kind. Well, I’m not going to be used. I don’t care about your letter.

I put it in my pocket.

There was a long silence, I knew she was looking at me, but I wouldn’t look at her. Then suddenly she got up and stood in front of me and put her hands on my shoulders so that I had to look at her, she made me look down into her eyes. I can’t explain it, when she was sincere she could draw the soul out of me, I was wax in her hands.

She said, “Now you’re behaving like a little boy. You forget that you are keeping me here by force. I admit it is quite a gentle force, but it is frightening.”

As long as you keep your word, I’ll keep mine, I said. I had gone red, of course.

“But I’ve not given you my word not to try and escape, have I?”

All you live for is the day you see the last of me, I said. I’m just a nobody still, aren’t I?

She turned half away. “I want to see the last of this house. Not of you.”

And mad, I said. Do you think a madman would have treated you the way I have? I’ll tell you what a madman would have done. He’d have killed you by now. Like that fellow Christie, I suppose you think I’m going for you with a carving-knife or something. (I was really fed up with her that day.) How daft can you get? All right, you think I’m not normal keeping you here like this. Perhaps I’m not. But I can tell you there’d be a blooming lot more of this if more people had the money and the time to do it. Anyway there’s more of it now than anyone knows. The police know, I said, the figures are so big they don’t dare say them.

She was staring at me. It was like we were complete strangers. I must have looked funny, it was the most I’d ever said.

“Don’t look like that,” she said. “What I fear in you is something you don’t know is in you.”

What, I asked. I was still angry.

“I don’t know. It’s lurking somewhere about in this house, this room, this situation, waiting to spring. In a way we’re on the same side against it.”

That’s just talk.

“We all want things we can’t have. Being a decent human being is accepting that.”

We all take what we can get. And if we haven’t had much most of our life we make up for it while the going’s good, I said. Of course you wouldn’t know about that.

Then she was smiling at me, as if she was much older than me. “You need psychiatric treatment.”

The only treatment I need is you to treat me like a friend.

“I am, I am,” she said. “Can’t you see that?”

There was a big silence, then she broke it.

“Don’t you feel this has gone on long enough?”

No, I said.

“Won’t you let me go now?”

No.

“You could gag me and tie me up and drive me back to London. I’d not tell a soul.”

No.

“But there must be something you want to do with me?”

I just want to be with you. All the time.

“In bed?”

I’ve told you no.

“But you want to?”

I’d rather not speak about it.

She shut up then.

I don’t allow myself to think of what I know is wrong, I said. I don’t consider it nice.

“You are extraordinary.”

Thank you, I said.

“If you let me go, I should want to see you, because you interest me very much.”

Like you go to the zoo? I asked.

“To try and understand you.”

You’ll never do that. (I may as well admit I liked the mystery man side of our talk. I felt it showed her she didn’t know everything.)

“I don’t think I ever should.”

Then suddenly she was kneeling in front of me, with her hands up high, touching the top of her head, being all oriental. She did it three times.

“Will the mysterious great master accept apologies of very humble slave?”

I’ll think about it, I said.

“Humble slave very solly for unkind letter.”

I had to laugh; she could act anything.

She stayed there kneeling with her hands on the floor beside her, more serious, giving me the look.

“Will you send the letter, then?”

I made her ask again, but then I gave in. It was nearly the big mistake of my life.

The next day I drove up to London. I told her I was going there, like a fool, and she gave me a list of things to buy. There was a lot. (I knew later to keep me busy.) I had to buy special foreign cheese and go to some place in Soho where they had German sausages she liked, and there were some records, and clothes, and other things. She wanted pictures by some artist, it had to be just this one name. I was really happy that day, not a cloud in the sky. I thought she had forgotten about the four weeks, well not forgotten, but accepted I would want more. Talk about a dream-world.