Staffrider Vol.3 No.4 Dec-Jan 1980 - DISA

made by one who did things with suchmaniacal precision that there was noroom for error. And when he enteredhis bedroom, the sight of the naked,rumpled bed and the caliginous illuminationshocked him once more. Why didit look so unbearably squalid, so nauseating?He threw the curtains asunder ina frenzy, the coffee forgotten, anddressed rapidly, jeans, shirt, sandals.Outside, as if by deliberate contrast,everything was razor-sharp, the blue ofthe sky was so blue that it scarcelyseemed real, the green of the small suburbanlawn blasted forth with almosttangible force, the house, glaring whitein the sunlight, was actually painful tolook at. The vividness of these impressionsbattered his senses brutally. Hehad stumbled, almost fallen down thestairs on his way here, and now heglanced back into the gloom of the opendoorway, hoping perhaps for thestrength to go back inside and forgetabout all this that he had suddenlycome to. The headache thundered androared inside him and he felt close tofainting, indeed he stretched out hishand and leaned against the wall, hisbreath rough and quick. After a momenthe pulled himself together withwhat he considered a heroic effort, andwalked in the direction of the servants'quarters, what had been called 'theback' for as long as he could remember.'The back' was situated behind thegarage, and a sort of alley led down tothe three small rooms that the domesticscalled home. Home, he thought, foras long as it lasted, and who can reallybe held responsible for the incontinenceof the family dog? Or was that anexcuse? A vine had been allowed togrow unchecked along the right boundaryof the narrow passage in which henow found himself, and choked offmost of the little walking space. Abovehis head it curled wildly, as if in delightat its own freedom, completely engulfingwhat formed the boundary to theneighbours' own 'back'.Turning left at the end of the alleyhe met a scene of such astounding uglinessthat he physically recoiled: thesame vine, pompous and tyrannical,covered almost everything in sight; itsleaves, sickly green in the bright sunlight,had infested all but the mostfrequently used areas in the tiny courtyard,growing like a gangrenous slimeover the small, disused coal-pit (sincetheirs had become a smokeless zoneelectric water heating had been installed),through discarded pieces of pipingand lumber and the rotted skeletonof an old water tank, and emerging inrampant triumph through an enormousand inscrutable tangle of metal that layat the far end of the space, against acrumbling brick wall. From one end ofthe yard to the other stretched a destroyedwashing line, one of its originalfour strands miraculously intact, the uprightsdeviating ridiculously from theperpendicular (and even here the hideousvine scaled upward to the sun).Brickwork showed where patches ofplaster had fallen from the walls to theground, which seemed in compositionto be a sea of mud, where it was visibleat all, and pools of dirty water reflectedthe sky with mirror-like competence.The smell hit him simultaneously, a sourmixture of humanity and wet coal andsomething else that he could not identify.The walls of the building that stoodon his left were streaked with dirt andthe gutters above hung sadly from theirmountings, their once-yellow paint flakingin obscene curls. None of thewindows were broken; this amazed himfor a moment.And then, from one of the threedoorways that opened onto this awfulyard, the girl emerged, and he was againstruck by her neatness, which seemedabsurdly out of place here. He wonderedwhether she would disappear again,but no, she stood on the thresholdwithout moving.'Rosina —' he took a step forward,narrowly avoiding a large puddle. Shelooked at him with the same emptyexpression that he remembered, anexpression that could have belongedequally to one either profoundlyshocked or extremely bored. ' . . . Themadam wants her keys and overalls,please.' He wanted to say 'I'm sorry',but he didn't. The words had becomestuck somewhere. His voice soundeddisembodied, as though someone behindhim had spoken, and he had afleeting impression that the entire buildingwas somehow shifting.The woman pointed, without speaking,into the room, where two neatlyfolded overalls lay on the truly nakedbed, it had not even a mattress. Apartfrom this and two small packing boxes,the room was bare. She handed him asmall keyring (Enrolls Datsun, Phone23-4965) with three keys, then turnedand dragged the boxes from the dimroom. When she had done this sheclosed the door and the Yale lockclicked shut. He began to feel intenselyuncomfortable, as though it were hewho was at fault, as though it were behindhim that the door had closed, forthe last time.'The madam owes you some money,'he said stupidly. He couldn't understandwhat he was doing there anymore.'Yes,' she said. He saw the sadness inher eyes as she glanced up.'Do you know how much?' he asked.'No.''Here.' He thrust the envelope at herand she timidly took it and pocketed itwithout counting, standing small andalone before him, eyes downcast. A feelingof immense sadness suddenly seizedhim, constricting his throat and flingingto the winds the logic that had helpedhim endure all up to now. The girl hadseen the inside of that room for the lasttime, and the pathos of the scene wasnow stamped with an awful seal of finality.And still she stood there, as thoughawaiting his permission to move, tothink, to live.At once he felt the desire to run, toget away, far away, anywhere. A faintbuzzing began in his ears. No, it was anaeroplane, a distant silver speck. Heturned on his heel and walked offswiftly, through the tangled passage andinto the house, his house, his for as longas he desired.From his bedroom window helooked down and saw a small figure,laden with two boxes, her entire worldlypossessions, dragging her way up thedrive towards the street where, as far ashe could see only emptiness awaitedher. He watched her slow encumberedwalk to the gates, the final boundaries,with a feeling of immense desolationand almost anguish. The whole affairseemed to him dreadful and unnecessary,and what had been gained anyway?And what lost. . . ? And then,with a final backward glance, she wasgone, not only from the house and hissight but also from the consciousness ofthose who could do without her, whowanted no part of her, those for whomlife went on with barely a skip in thecontinuity.He gazed from the window long aftershe had gone, seeing nothing, thenturned back to the room. The unmadebed awaited him, and the cat now snuggledinto the disarray of last night'ssheets. Faintly now, far away (or was itafter all in his head?) he heard the wildbarking of a thousand dogs. •10 STAFFRIDER, DECEMBER 1980/JANUARY 1981