Читать книгу The Good Terrorist - Doris Lessing - Страница 10

This pleasant, human little letter made Alice first feel supported, then rage took over. Luckily there was no one to see her, as she exploded inwardly, teeth grinding, eyes bulging, fists held as if knives were in them. She stormed around the kitchen, like a big fly shut in a room on a hot afternoon, banging herself against walls, corners of table and stove, not knowing what she did, and making grunting, whining, snarling noises – which, soon, she heard. She knew that she was making them and, frightened, sat down at the table, perfectly still, containing what she felt. Absolute quiet after such violence, for some minutes. Then she whirled into movement, out of the kitchen and up the stairs, to knock sharply on Philip’s door. Stirrings, movements, but no reply, and she called, ‘Philip, it’s me, Alice.’

She went in as he said, ‘Come in,’ and saw him scrambling up out of his sleeping-bag and into his overalls. ‘Oh sorry,’ she said, dismissing his unimportant embarrassment and starting in at once.

‘Philip, will you guarantee our electricity bill?’ As he stared, and did not understand: ‘You know, the bill for this house? My mother won’t, my father won’t, bloody bloody Theresa and blood bloody Anthony won’t…’

He was standing in front of her, the late-afternoon light strong and yellow behind him, a little dark figure in a stiff awkward posture. She could not see his face and went to the side of the room, so that he turned towards her, and she saw him confronting her, small, pale but obstinate. She knew she would fail, seeing that look, but said sharply, ‘You have a business, you have a letterhead, you could guarantee the account.’

‘Alice, how can I? I can’t pay that money, you know I can’t.’ Talking as though he would have to pay, thought Alice, enraged again. But had he heard her joke that the first payment would be the last?

She said, bossy, ‘Oh, Philip, don’t be silly. You wouldn’t have to, would you? It’s just to keep the electricity on.’

He said, trying to sound humorous, ‘Well, Alice, but perhaps I would have to?’

‘No, of course not!’

He was – she saw – ready to laugh with her, but she could not.

‘What can I do?’ she was demanding. ‘I don’t know what to do!’

‘I don’t think I believe that, Alice,’ he said, really laughing now, but nicely.

In a normal voice, she said, ‘Philip, we have to have a guarantor. You are the only one, don’t you see?’

He held his own, this Petrouchka, this elf, with, ‘Alice, no. For one thing, that address on the letterhead is the place I was in before Felicity – it’s been pulled down, demolished. It isn’t even there.’

Now they stared at each other with identical appalled expressions as if the floorboards were giving way; for both had been possessed, at the same moment, by a vision of impermanence; houses, buildings, streets, whole areas of streets, blown away, going, gone, an illusion. They sighed together, and on an impulse, embraced gently, comforting each other.

‘The thing is,’ said Alice, ‘she doesn’t want to disconnect. She wants to help, she just needs an excuse, that’s all…Wait – wait a minute, I think I’ve got it…’

‘I thought you would,’ he said and she nodded and said excitedly, ‘Yes. It’s my brother. I’ll tell Electricity he will guarantee, but that he’s away on a business trip in – Bahrain, it doesn’t matter where. She’ll hold it over, I know she will…’

And making the thumbs-up sign she ran out, laughing and exultant.

Too late to ring Mrs Whitfield now, but she would tomorrow, and it would be all right.

No need to tell Mary and Reggie anything about it. Of course, if Mary was any good, she would be prepared to guarantee the account; she was the only one among them in work. But she wouldn’t, Alice knew that.

She needed sleep. She was shaky and trembling inside, where her anger lived.