The Collector - Страница 8

The next thing was she wouldn’t talk. That next lunch she said not a word when I spoke to her and said I was ready to let bygones be bygones. She just gave me a big look of contempt. It was the same that evening. When I came to clear, she handed me the tray and turned away. She made it very plain she didn’t want me to stay. I thought she’d get over it, but the next day it was worse. Not only she didn’t speak, she didn’t eat.

Please don’t do this, I said. It’s no good.

But she wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t even look at me.

The next day it was the same. She wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t speak. I’d been waiting for her to wear some of the clothes I’d bought, but she kept on wearing the white blouse and the green tartan tunic. I began to get really worried, I didn’t know how long people could go without food, she seemed pale and weak to me. She spent all the time sitting against the wall on her bed, her back turned, looking so miserable I didn’t know what to do.

The next day I took in coffee for breakfast and some nice toast and cereal and marmalade. I let it wait a bit so she could smell it.

Then I said, I don’t expect you to understand me, I don’t expect you to love me like most people, I just want you to try and understand me as much as you can and like me a little if you can.

She didn’t move.

I said, I’ll make a bargain. I’ll tell you when you can go away, but only on certain conditions.

I don’t know why I said it. I knew really I could never let her go away. It wasn’t just a barefaced lie, though. Often I did think she would go away when we agreed, a promise was a promise, etcetera. Other times I knew I couldn’t let her do it.

She turned then and stared at me. It was the first sign of life she’d shown for three days.

I said, my conditions are that you eat food and you talk to me like you did at the beginning and don’t try to escape like that.

“I can never agree to the last.”

What about the first two, I said. (I thought even if she did promise not to escape, I’d still have to take precautions, so it was pointless, that condition.)

“You haven’t said when,” she said.

In six weeks, I said.

She just turned away again.

Five weeks then, I said after a bit.

“I’ll stay here a week and not a day more.”

Well, I said I couldn’t agree to that and she turned away again. Then she was crying. I could see her shoulders moving, I wanted to go up to her, I did near the bed but she turned so sharp I think she thought I was going to attack her. Full of tears her eyes were. Cheeks wet. It really upset me to see her like that.

Please be reasonable. You know what you are to me now; can’t you see I haven’t made all these arrangements just so you’d stay a week more?

“I hate you, I hate you.”

I’ll give you my word, I said. When the time’s up you can go as soon as you like.

She wouldn’t have it. It was funny, she sat there crying and staring at me, her face was all pink. I thought she was going to come at me again, she looked as if she wanted to. But then she began to dry her eyes. Then she lit a cigarette. And then she said, “Two weeks.”

I said, you say two, I say five. I’ll agree to a month. That’d be November the fourteenth.

There was a pause, and she said, “Four weeks is November the eleventh.”

I was worried about her, I wanted to clinch it, so I said, I meant a calendar month, but make it twenty-eight days. I’ll give you the odd three days, I said.

“Thank you very much.” Sarcastic, of course.

I handed her a cup of coffee, which she took.

“I’ve some conditions too,” she said before she drunk it. “I can’t live all the time down here. I must have some fresh air and light. I must have a bath sometimes. I must have some drawing materials. I must have a radio or a record-player. I need things from the chemist. I must have fresh fruit and salads. I must have some sort of exercise.”

If I let you go outside, you’ll escape, I said.

She sat up. She must have been acting it up a bit before, she changed so quickly. “Do you know what on parole means?”

I replied yes.

“You could let me out on parole. I’d promise not to shout or try to escape.”

I said, have your breakfast and I’ll think about it.

“No! It’s not much to ask. If this house really is lonely, it’s no risk.”

It’s lonely all right, I said. But I couldn’t decide.

“I’m going on hunger strike again.” She turned round, she was really putting on the pressure, as they say.

Of course you can have drawing materials, I said. You only had to ask anyhow. And a gramophone. Any records you want. Books. The same with food. I told you you need only ask. Anything like that.

“Fresh air?” She still had her back turned.

It’s too dangerous.

Well, there was a silence, she spoke as plain as words, though, and in the end I gave in.

Perhaps at night. I’ll see.

“When?” She turned then.

I’ll have to think. I’d have to tie you up.

“But I’d be on parole.”

Take it or leave it, I said.

“The bath?”

I could fix up something, I said.

“I want a proper bath in a proper bath. There must be one upstairs.”

Something I thought a lot about was how I would like her to see my house and all the furnishings! It was partly I wanted to see her there in it, naturally when I had dreams she was upstairs with me, not down in the cellar. I’m like that, I act on impulse sometimes, taking risks others wouldn’t.

I’ll see, I said. I’d have to make arrangements.

“If I gave you my word, I wouldn’t break it.”

I’m sure, I said.

So that was that.

It seemed to clear the air, so to speak. I respected her and she respected me more afterwards. The first thing she did was write out a list of things she wanted. I had to find an art-shop in Lewes and buy special paper and all sorts of pencils and things: sepia and Chinese ink and brushes, special hair and sizes and makes. Then there were things from the chemist: smell-removers and so on. It was a danger getting ladies’ things I couldn’t want for myself, but I took the risk. Then she wrote down food to buy, she had to have fresh coffee, and a lot of fruit and vegetables and greens — she was very particular about that. Anyway after she used to write down almost every day what we had to buy, she used to tell me how to cook it too, it was just like having a wife, an invalid one you had to do shopping for. I was careful in Lewes, I never went to the same shop twice running so that they wouldn’t think I was buying a lot for one person. Somehow I always thought people could tell I lived on my own.

That first day I bought a gramophone too. Only a small one, but I must say she looked very pleased, I didn’t want her to know I didn’t know anything about music but I saw a record with some orchestra music by Mozart so I bought that. It was a good buy, she liked it and so me for buying it. One day much later when we were hearing it, she was crying. I mean, her eyes were wet. After, she said he was dying when he wrote it and he knew he was dying. It just sounded like all the rest to me but of course she was musical.

Well, the next day she brought up the business about having a bath and fresh air again. I didn’t know what to do; I went up to the bathroom to think about it without promising anything. The bathroom window was over the porch round the cellar door. Out the back, which was safer. In the end I got up some wood and boarded across the frame, three-inch screws, so she couldn’t signal with the light or climb out. Not that there was anyone likely to be out the back late at night.

That took care of the bathroom.

What I did next was I pretended she was with me and walked up from below to see where the danger spots would be. The downstairs rooms had wooden inside shutters, it was easy to draw them across and lock them (later I got padlocks) so she couldn’t attract attention through a window and no snoopers could be looking in and seeing things. In the kitchen I made sure all knives etcetera were well out” of harm’s way. I thought of everything she could do to try and escape and in the end I felt it was safe.

Well, after supper she was on to me again about the bath and I let her begin to go sulky again and then I said, all right, I will take the risk, but if you break your promise, you stay here.

“I never break promises.”

Will you give me your parole of honour?

“I give you my word of honour that I shall not try to escape.”

Or signal.

“Or signal.”

I’m going to tie you up.

“But that’s insulting.”

I wouldn’t blame you if you broke your word, I said.

“But I…” she didn’t finish, she just shrugged and turned and held her hands behind her. I had a scarf ready to take the pressure of the cord, I did it real tight but not so as to hurt, then I was going to gag her, but first she had me collect up the wash-things she needed and (I was very glad to see) she had chosen some of the clothes I had bought.

I carried her things and went first, up the steps in the outer cellar and she waited till I unlocked the door and came up when I ordered, having first listened to make sure no one was about.

It was very dark of course, but clear, you could see some stars. I took her arm tight and let her stand there for five minutes. I could hear her breathing deep. It was very romantic, her head came just up to my shoulder.