Guilty: The Lost Classic Novel (20 page)

At any rate, I thought, there would be no temptation today to go out, since the Housing Bureau was closed. But as the afternoon dragged on, restless anxiety once more afflicted me. The sombre cloud-roof, which had all day covered the sky, towards three o’clock became in the west faintly burnished, soon afterwards extinguishing the last of the daylight. By four it was as dark as midnight.

Still three more hours had to pass before I could even begin to expect Carla. How would I ever get through three whole hours? My impatient longing for her was insistent, distracting; far worse than the dull pain behind my forehead. I was aware, too, of another unanalysed feeling, sinister and heavy and uncomprehended, fixed at the root of my anxiety, which I would not examine. I couldn’t stand it and, suddenly jumping up, went out of the flat
and down the stairs; I simply had to go out – to do something.

The air out of doors, though bitingly cold, seemed somehow oppressive; some blocked electrical tension, struggling to find an outlet, exerted its pressure upon my nerves as I tramped along heavily under my aching head, not thinking of where I was going.

Seeing lighted trees in the windows and wreaths on the doors, family parties assembled in decorated rooms, I seemed to have gone back to Christmas Eve. Everything was repeating itself: the empty streets and these unreal celebrations behind the glass, which might have been taking place on another planet for all the contact I could ever conceivably have with them. It didn’t surprise me to find myself in front of the Housing Bureau. Where else could I have arrived?

But then I saw the place closed and dark, a metal grille barricading the entrance. Of course. The Christmas holiday; how could I have forgotten? I felt a passing uneasiness, troubled by my unnatural-minded vagueness. Deciding to put it down to my headache, I promptly forgot all about it, advancing, for no particular reason, towards the protective bars and running my hands over the cold steel. If I hadn’t done this I would never have discovered the existence of an unobtrusive opening about the size and shape of a man; a wicket at which I gazed for a while in perplexity, wondering why it had been left open and whether I ought to shut it.

Having made up my dull mind it was no business of mine, I was about to start walking home when, in the street I’d thought absolutely deserted, a passer-by stopped to stare at me with a persistent disapproving inquisitiveness that could only mean that he regarded me as a suspicious character loitering there. My reactions were not normal just
then. It didn’t occur to me that, had I drawn his attention to the open gate and told him what was in my mind, his suspicions would have been removed and he would most likely have proved quite friendly. Instead, for some reason, I felt obliged to remain silent and motionless as long as he was watching me. He walked on, constantly turning his head to look back at me as long as I was in sight, reluctant to leave me to my evil devices. And only when he at last disappeared did I feel free to go home. Then, turning in that direction, I saw a whole group of people coming towards me whom I’d been too preoccupied to notice before, presumably from some local gathering that had just broken up.

As I’ve said, I was not in a normal state and can only suppose some degree of fever accounted for my behaviour now. I had done nothing wrong. Nor had I anything to fear from these new arrivals, doubtless law-abiding citizens like myself, who so far hadn’t observed me. There was no real reason for the intense anxiety to avoid their curious eyes that made me slip through the aperture into the shadows beyond the grille and flatten my body against one of the massive entrance doors as they passed.

Evidently I had succeeded in making myself invisible, for no inquisitive glance came my way. The last stragglers of the party had just gone by; another second and I’d have stepped outside the metal network again. But before I had time to move, while I was still leaning all my weight on the door, this support gave way behind me with such unexpected suddenness that I fell back with it. My arm was seized in a bewilderingly familiar grasp, I was dragged back still further, and the door shut again, in front of me this time, shutting me into what seemed total darkness.

In my already confused state I now became – for a space of time almost too brief to record – panic-stricken,
my captor’s hateful touch evoking a whole chain of agonizing sensations. I ceased to be myself, feeling my being invaded by the personality of a criminal; the hand on my arm was the grip of the law – of the police, by whom I’d been arrested. What crime I’d committed I didn’t know; nor did this matter, since I knew I was guilty, and guilt itself was my crime. The shades of the prison house already enclosed me. There was no hope. I was being dragged deeper into some weird cavernous darkness, lit only by glow-worm glimmers of greenish light. Never again, I thought despairingly, should I see the sun.

That all these impressions occupied only the merest fraction of time was proved by the fact that I hadn’t even regained my balance when someone exclaimed, ‘Hold up, there!’ continuing, as I steadied myself, ‘Sorry, but I had to make sure nobody saw you come in, or we’d have had the whole population battering on the doors.’ The matter-of-fact, disembodied voice helped me to return to myself and to expel the intruder who had burdened me with his crime, as it concluded, ‘There’s news for you. Come this way.’

I’d already collected myself sufficiently to recognize the big room, which I’d previously always seen crowded and brightly lit, now dark and empty, only a few heavily green-shaded desk lamps scattered about. Though I wasn’t agitated any longer, I still felt half dazed by the shock of what had seemed my abduction and the associations it had aroused. I was so relieved now because the hand on my arm seemed kept there to guide and support, rather than to take me into custody, that I allowed myself to be led further into the darkness. I had no idea who was escorting me; there wasn’t nearly enough light to identify faces or even the colour of hair. The voice hadn’t sounded like Ginger’s, though, on the other hand, it was too cultivated to belong to one of
the attendants. These reflections, too, helped restore my normality, while simultaneously arousing an undefined suspicion, which, despite its vagueness, at this point made me stand still and ask, ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘To the chief’s private office.’ Besides sounding surprised by my question, the speaker seemed to consider me unappreciative, for his tone became definitely reproachful. ‘He’s been waiting for you all the afternoon, though I happen to know he was looking forward to being at home for his children’s party today. “Go and look out for him,” he told me when it got dark. “I particularly want him to have the news today since it wasn’t possible to let him have it in time for Christmas.”‘ Thinking, no doubt, that he’d put me to shame by relating this instance of official benevolence, he again urged me on.

But now I’d once more got my wits about me and refused to move. ‘How could he possibly have known I would come at all?’ I asked sharply, gratified by the firmness of my voice and the sensible sound of the question, which received no reply beyond a repeated request to hurry up that I ignored.

My suspicions were all the time growing stronger and more defined. I’d become completely sceptical about the ‘news’, which I was sure would turn out to be some sort of fraud. We happened to be standing close to a desk, on the top of which the lamp cast a greenish circular glow like that of a night light. In the deep shadow beyond it I seemed to discern the dim shape of a seated figure, leaning forward a little, in an attitude of intense watchfulness. As if this provided the clue to the whole situation, my suspicions suddenly crystallized into certainties. All at once, everything seemed to stand out in a burst of illumination.

Recalling how the red-haired man had taken offence and
gone off without speaking to me, I felt convinced, in my new enlightenment, that everything that had taken place here today was part of an elaborate hoax, of which I was to be the victim. Fortunately, I’d seen through it. But I shuddered to think of the shock and disillusionment a more trusting person would have been in for and felt an obligation to protest, however ineffectively, against this heartless trick. ‘A cruel joke,’ I said coldly, putting as much sternness into my voice as I could.

‘Joke?’ my companion echoed, taken aback, presumably, because I’d already discovered the plot – or could it be that he knew nothing about it? His surprise sounded so genuine that the possibility of his innocence crossed my mind but seemed too wildly improbable to consider seriously, so I said, as coldly as before, ‘Tell your friend the chief, or whatever he calls himself, to choose another sucker next time. I’m not so easily fooled.’

With this, I disengaged myself from the unresisting hand on my arm and began groping my way back to the door by which I’d entered so unceremoniously. To my surprise, no attempt was made to detain me. If each light represented a hidden watcher, there must have been a good many of them in the room; they could easily have overpowered me between them. But, like the bullying petty tyrants they were, they seemed to have collapsed completely as soon as I stood up to them. Throughout the great echoing place nobody moved; there wasn’t a sound, apart from the noise of my own blundering progress.

Growing bold, I went up to one of the desks I was passing, meaning to look into the face of the shadowy form sitting there, apparently watching me. But either the greenish light was distorting or I was still in a confused state, for I got the somehow dismaying impression that I was confronting a mere
bundle of clothing propped up in the chair, instead of a human being and stumbled away, disconcerted, without further investigations.

I’d found the door at last and was on the point of opening it when the individual to whom I’d been speaking overtook me and held out a paper, saying, ‘Since you won’t come to the chief, he sends you this.’ My hand clenched automatically to crumple it in disgust; but then I hesitated, hearing, ‘A room has just become vacant in the street where your fiancée lives, and he thought you might like to take it until you find somewhere suitable for you both.’

So Ginger insisted on playing his pitiless farce to the bitter end. How well the messenger was acting his part; that simple sincere voice and manner of his didn’t match the idea of deception. Though I knew the thing must be a fake, I couldn’t entirely suppress the thrill of pleasure that stirred my nerves at the prospect of living near Carla. I found that I was wavering, undecided.
Could
I trust this messenger with the convincing voice? On a sudden impulse, determined to get a glimpse of his face, I abruptly opened the door, admitting a wedge of pale light from outside. There, straight in front of me, was the narrow exit, at which I gazed with such relief that I might have been afraid it wouldn’t be there any longer. But it was the messenger who, in the brief moment while I was looking at it, seemed to have vanished. Peering into the dimness, I saw no sign of him anywhere, till a slight stir in the dense black shadow behind the door suggested that he’d concealed himself there when I opened it.

‘So you’re afraid to let me see your face!’ I exclaimed indignantly. ‘I’m not surprised, after trying to play me such a mean trick with that sham document.’ I held the paper out in the light, hoping he would come forward to take it, so that I’d be able to see him. He didn’t move, and I went
on in disgust, ‘You’re just as bad as the others. Heaven only knows why I should have imagined you might have retained some vestige of decent feeling. I see what a fool I’ve been to trust any of you, to believe you were trying to be helpful. You officials must have been laughing your heads off all this time. Well, my eyes are open at last. Now I can see you all in your true colours – corrupt, irresponsible, deceitful and totally callous. Not one of you cares a damn for the people you’re supposed to be helping. No wonder you’re ashamed to show yourselves when you indulge your infantile sadism at their expense in this sort of spiteful play-acting!’

Silence closed on my angry voice, and I knew my anger was partly assumed. Was anyone listening to me? I could no longer be certain of the dark shape I thought I had seen in the shadows behind the door. In any case, why should I bother about the man any further? My indignation withered away now that I’d relieved my feelings by telling him what I thought of him and his colleagues. To hell with the whole lot of them! Suddenly losing interest, I decided to waste no more time and walked out through the door, through the narrow opening into the street beyond, glad to be leaving the place behind me.

Like my feelings, it seemed to wither into unreality as I hurried along, conscious of nothing except the symptoms of my cold, which had been temporarily in abeyance but which now returned to burden me with heavy discomfort. Back at the flat I only remember thinking how many flights of stairs there were to be climbed laboriously. I’d even forgotten that Carla was coming.

She’d already let herself in and was waiting for me, reading by a single light. When I opened the door, not expecting to see her – not even thinking of her – the shock of her beauty took me unawares, like a revelation, waking
me momentarily from my stupor. For an enchanted instant the old magic revived, and I eagerly started towards her.

I distinctly saw her stand up and come to meet me with a welcoming smile. There was no rational cause for my feeling that she receded as I approached, gliding away from me like an unattainable vision, too beautiful to be true. Nevertheless, the illusion seemed stronger than truth. My magic moment over, I stopped a short distance from her and stood still, relapsing into dull heaviness, as if not fully awake.

I heard her say, ‘So you’ve been out?’ in a questioning tone. But my head was aching so much I could think of no answer and simply stood staring. She had moved out of the circle of soft lamplight, and against the shadows her face appeared palely lit, mysterious as a miracle or a dream.

Her loveliness made me more aware of my ugly, heavy cold, which became exaggerated into something shameful. As if by contrast with her perfection, even my brain had grown ugly and stupid; its slow stupid thoughts didn’t seem to belong to me. I felt altogether strange and unlike myself, a combination of shame and incapacity having replaced the person I really was, and this seemed to be her deliberate doing. Sudden resentment flared through my daze. Why should she make me ashamed of having a cold? Her beauty, which had charmed me the previous moment, had turned into a source of grievance. The memory of yesterday’s unexplained painful events at her home thrust itself upon me, and a crowd of urgent questions clamoured for answers. ‘Why did you leave me alone so long in the library? Had you arranged to meet that official? Who is he? Just how well do you know him? Why haven’t you ever mentioned him to me?’ Instead of any of these, I asked abruptly, ‘Why are you in the dark?’ at the same time switching on the strong centre light we hardly ever used.