The Punctual Rape, page 7
‘Not especially,’ he answered. ‘If that’s your view of things, then I’d say that it was cynical as well as flippant.’
‘Cynical and flippant? Oh dear. I hadn’t thought of myself in that way before. Cynical and flippant—is that terrible?’
Berg opened a file, took out his pencil and doodled on a blank sheet of paper. He was conscious of the girl’s eyes on his face; but he resolved not to look at her. He put down his pencil and read the file from beginning to end. What else was there to do?
Miss Selz said, ‘I think I’d rather be cynical and flippant than be like you, Berg. I can’t imagine what your little world is like. I’d imagine it’s pretty horrible. Is it? Is it horrible?’
He stared out through the window, but he did not answer her.
Fifteen
After supper when Mrs Jacobitz had retired to the kitchen, Berg found it embarrassing to be left alone with Monika. He smoked a cigarette and sipped his coffee, waiting for her to make some reference to what had happened the night before. In the early morning it had seemed probable that he had dreamed the whole incident, but now, in the reality of the dining room and Monika’s presence, this was wildly unlikely. No; he hadn’t dreamed it, it had really taken place—and Monika, sitting there so quietly staring into space, was thinking of something to say. Would she want to embarrass him even more? Or would she simply try to pass the matter off as a joke? He waited, looking at his fingers which he saw, to his horror, were stained yellow from cigarettes. He had never smoked so much in his entire life.
‘I feel like going for a walk,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come along?’
Berg looked at her and wondered if she had something more to say. ‘Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?’ he asked.
‘I just feel like getting some fresh air.’ Monika got up from the table and smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to eat you.’
‘I wasn’t worrying about anything,’ Berg said. ‘It’s just that I had a difficult day at work and I don’t know if I feel like walking anywhere.’
‘Make up your mind.’ she answered. ‘I’m going out regardless.’
She went into the hallway and put on her coat. Berg watched her through the open doorway. Did she have something on her mind? He felt suddenly indecisive. The day had exhausted him because he found the concentrated act of doing nothing for hours on end a positive strain. And there was Miss Selz who for most of the afternoon had made the occasional barbed comment, as if she wanted to provoke him into anger—for reasons that he could not even begin to guess.
‘Well? Are you coming?’ Monika stood in the doorway. ‘Why do you always have such a painful difficulty in making up your mind?’
Berg moved forward reluctantly, as though impelled from behind. ‘I’m coming,’ he said.
They went out on to the street and walked towards the centre of the town. Berg found himself marvelling at the silence of the place. It wasn’t just the absence of traffic, it was the lack of people. Someone flying overhead would have guessed that the town was uninhabited. Where were all the people? When they came to the Anniversary Monument they walked round it and down the hill in a direction Berg had never gone before. After some minutes he realised that they were travelling on the road that led out of town. Down below he saw the railway lines and remembered his arrival: it seemed to belong to the distant past just as much as his life in the city did.
‘Where are we going?’
Monika, who hadn’t spoken a word, simply looked at him and smiled. A hundred yards further along the road they turned into a field and walked on a footpath. On either side of the path the field was cultivated with a yellow crop that he did not recognise: corn? wheat? He was on the point of asking when Monika sat down in the shade of a tree. For a moment he hesitated in joining her: there was something inexplicably unnerving in the isolation of the place.
‘Sit down, come on,’ she said.
He tested the dry grass with the palm of his hand before sitting. Monika took out a cigarette and lit it and then turned to look at him.
‘It’s pleasant here. Don’t you find it restful? You need fresh clean air after being stuck in your office all day long.’
‘You’re quite right,’ Berg said.
‘Think of all that stale air in your lungs.’
Something in the way she had said that reminded Berg of his mother and of the air-sprays in her sick-room. She was constantly spraying the air with perfumes, as if that purged the room of its germs.
‘Don’t you like it here?’ Monika asked.
‘It’s very peaceful.’
Monika was silent. A flock of black birds flew suddenly out of the field as if something, or someone, had disturbed them. Berg looked into the distance: was someone moving out there, hidden by the crop? He realised that he was unaccountably nervous. He had never been in so silent a place before; a silence so deep that it seemed to contain whispers.
Monika turned to him. ‘Don’t you think we should examine our relationship?’
‘Our relationship? I don’t think I understand you. What sort of relationship do we have?’
‘It isn’t a question of what sort of relationship we have. It’s more a question of the sort we might have in the future.’ Monika smoked her cigarette, staring at him. If she was trying, by that stare, to unnerve him, she was succeeding: he looked away. The birds had gone.
‘I happen to live in the same house as you. Is there anything more?’
Monika laughed. ‘There could be.’
‘Look, it’s an accident that I lodge with your aunt. Why should you try to make something out of that accident?’
‘Accidents don’t happen,’ she said.
‘What does that mean?’
Monika shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter what I mean, if you don’t already know. I’ll put it another way. I want you to be my lover. Isn’t that plain enough?’
‘It’s perfectly plain,’ he answered, but beyond that he did not know what to say.
Monika stubbed her cigarette in the thick grass and lay back against the tree, her eyes closed. ‘I’ve had several lovers, Berg. I can’t claim that I’m a virgin and that I’d come to you untouched by any other man. I’ve had a lot of experience in these things, for better or worse. As for you, I don’t think you’ve had any experience at all.’
Berg opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. It was true: at the age of thirty-five he had no experience. He was not even sure, now, whether he wanted any—or whether he could do anything if the chance arose.
‘But that doesn’t matter,’ Monika said. ‘So I’ve told you what I want. I’ve been as open as I know how to be. What do you think?’
Berg looked down at her lying against the tree and then elsewhere, away across the field. For a split second he imagined that he saw someone moving low through the crop; but it was an illusion, a trick of the breeze moving the stalks.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said. ‘Last night, when you said——’
‘What about last night?’ she asked.
‘When I came to your room——’
‘You did what? I must have been asleep. That’s strange, because I’m a light sleeper and I normally wake when anyone enters my room. Why did you come anyway?’
Berg stared at her, surprised: for a moment he was confused. If she had no recollection of their conversation, then he must have dreamed it, he must have. But it all seemed so real. It seemed somehow so tangible and solid that it could not have been a dream.
‘Don’t you remember?’ he asked.
‘No, I must have been sleeping.’
‘But——’ He stopped, suddenly relieved. ‘Perhaps I dreamt it. It must have been a dream.’
‘It must have been. I’m quite sure you’re not the sort of man who comes into a woman’s bedroom, are you, Berg? Or have I misjudged you?’
Berg continued to stare at her. Suddenly it crossed his mind that she was deliberately trying to confuse him, that she was teasing him, playing a little game with him; there was something in the tone of her voice that suggested she was pretending not to remember. But why? To Berg it seemed a silly, pointless sort of game.
‘It seemed so clear, that’s all.’
Monika closed her eyes again and said nothing for a long time. And then; ‘Poor Berg. Fancy having wicked dreams at your age.’ She put out her hand and touched him on the wrist. ‘I hope it was a wild and erotic dream. Was it? Was it enjoyable?’
‘It wasn’t that sort of dream,’ Berg said and took his hand away. He got to his feet. If she were lying about the dream, what could her purpose be? Why should she deliberately try to confuse him? ‘It’s getting late. Let’s walk back.’
‘Already? I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’ Slowly, Monika rose. She brushed down her coat and looked at him.
‘Well, Berg, will you be my lover?’
‘I don’t think you’re serious.’
‘I’m as serious as I’m likely to be. Do you want me to prove how serious I am?’
They walked back along the path. She held his arm.
‘Think about it,’ she said. ‘You know where my room is, don’t you? You know where to find me.’
He looked up at the darkening sky. Even if she were serious, even if she really wanted him to be her lover, he still could not understand why she denied that he had ever visited her room. It didn’t make sense. Unless, of course, she was telling the truth: unless he had, after all, imagined the whole incident. But he knew, he always knew, the difference between the dream and the reality; any confusion of the two was insane, positively insane.
When they reached the house, she said. ‘I won’t sleep tonight. I’ll wait for you to come to me. Say you’ll come, Berg. Promise me.’
‘I can’t promise anything,’ he answered.
‘But I can. I can promise you lots of things.’ She leaned close to him, brushing his mouth with her lips. In that second he felt the firmness of her breasts against his body, the pressure of her knee against the inside of his leg, the touch of her hand on the side of his thigh. He stepped back and looked at her.
Mrs Jacobitz came into the hall. If she had witnessed their brief contact, she said nothing about it.
‘It looks like rain,’ she said. ‘Been for a walk, have you? I like to see young people getting out into the fresh air.’
Berg said nothing. He went upstairs to his room.
Sixteen
The whole business about the dream bothered him, if only because he could not understand Monika’s motives. For his own part, he was absolutely certain that he had in fact gone to her room. If that was true, what possible reasons could Monika have for denying it? Again, when he thought about it, it seemed nothing more to him than a stupid kind of game, designed, for some reason, to confuse him. Well, he refused to be baffled by it: it was simply a matter of saying to himself that he had not dreamed anything, that everything had taken place just as he remembered it. Only an idiot could possibly confuse dream and reality to the extent that it was impossible to differentiate between the two. He started to undress for bed and had undone the buttons of his shirt when Mrs Jacobitz came into the room.
‘I want to talk to you,’ she said.
‘I was just about to go to bed,’ he answered.
‘That can wait.’ She sat down on the bed—as if to make certain of preventing him—and said, ‘I want to know just what’s going on between you and my niece.’
‘Going on? Nothing is going on.’
‘Come off it, you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. Mr Berg.’ She was glaring at him, tugging and pulling at her bulbous fingers in an agitated way. ‘I have the strong feeling that you intend having your way with her.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Berg said. ‘I’ve never heard of such nonsense.’
The widow laughed mirthlessly. ‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’ve been alive too long not to see something that’s staring me in the face. I think we ought to try and get matters straight don’t you?’
‘Certainly.’ Berg did up a couple of his shirt buttons and sat down at the table. ‘By all means. It seems to me that there’s a great deal of misunderstanding going on——’
‘I can assure you that I haven’t misunderstood a single thing. Do you think I’m stupid? I may be a simple country woman, and you may be a well-educated man, but I’m not blind. I’ve got perfectly good eyesight and I can see what’s going on around me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs Jacobitz.’
‘I’m talking, as you well know, about you and my niece. I’ve kept my patience for long enough, Mr Berg, but I must speak out now. It’s clear to me that you’ve got designs on Monika. It’s clear to me that you find her attractive. And we both know what happens when a man finds a woman, a single woman, attractive, don’t we? Have you touched her yet? Have you been near her?’
Berg laughed. ‘You’re being quite irrational. I’ve got no intention of touching your precious niece. If anything, it’s the other way round. Ask her. She’ll tell you what she said to me this evening, if she dares. Ask her. Find out for yourself.
‘You’ve influenced her, that’s what you’ve done. You’ve got some sort of power over her. She’s a good girl. She’s decent-living. If I may say so, I intend to make sure that she stays a virgin.’
‘A virgin! A virgin!’ Berg rose from the table, still laughing. ‘I’ve never heard anything so funny in my life.’
‘Are you saying that she isn’t a virgin?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. And before you leap to any stupid conclusions, don’t lay the blame at my door. I haven’t gone near her. And I don’t intend to. But I wouldn’t be surprised if a hundred men had been at her at one time or another.’
Suddenly the widow screamed. ‘That’s a monstrous slander. It’s absolutely monstrous! You come up here from your blessed city, throwing your weight around and putting on airs and graces and you’re nothing more than a liar and a philanderer.’
Berg sat down again. ‘Control yourself, Mrs Jacobitz. I’m only telling you what your niece told me herself. I don’t want to shatter your illusions, but you’ve forced me into it. I’m sorry, but there you are.’
Mrs Jacobitz rose from the bed. Her face was red, her eyes watering. She puffed for a time as if trying to catch her breath. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if you had to run away from women trouble. You’re the sort. I can tell by looking at you. You seduced my poor Monika.’
Berg was silent: nothing he could say would make any impression on the hysterical woman. She was mad, quite mad. He shook his head and looked at her. She was walking up and down the room, stumbling into things.
‘You seduced her, you seduced her. Why don’t you admit it?’
‘I deny it.’
‘You liar! You cheat!’
She came towards him and began to lash out blindly with her clenched fists. He parried the blows easily, pushing her away.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said. ‘Don’t come near me.’
‘Why don’t you leave me alone? You’ve done nothing but irritate me ever since I came here. I’ve tried to be reasonable, believe me, but you’re impossible.’
Mrs Jacobitz stood by the door. She was staring at him, tears ran over her cheeks.
‘I’ll pack my case first thing in the morning,’ Berg said. ‘I can’t stand much more of this. As if things weren’t difficult enough, I have to be burdened with a crazy woman as well——’
‘Yes, yes, pack your case in the morning. Get out. I don’t want to see you again.’
The widow went out, slamming the door behind her. Berg dropped exhausted on the bed. A moment later Monika came into the room.
‘I heard it all,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to forgive Vera, Berg. She’s quite mad sometimes. You’ll see, by tomorrow morning she’ll have forgotten the whole thing.’
‘I’ve had enough,’ Berg said. ‘I’ll leave in the morning. What’s the point of tolerating her behaviour?’
Monika sat down beside him on the bed. ‘You mustn’t go, Berg. Don’t leave me here. You can’t leave me.’
He closed his eyes. ‘Please, I’d like to get some sleep now.’
‘When you’ve slept, promise me that you’ll come. I’ll wait for you. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anyway.’
Berg listened to her going from the room. He finished undressing and climbed into bed. He was exhausted, but the widow’s cries seemed to ring for ages in his head, making sleep difficult. As he lay there, pondering her crazy behaviour, a peculiar thought flashed through his mind: what if the rest of the world, apart from himself, were insane? What if he were the only human being in the whole world who was not a lunatic? It was a frightening thought: the only man with eyes in the country of the blind.
Seventeen
He dreamed that night—not of the birds, as he had done on previous occasions. He dreamed that he himself was suddenly able to rise up as if equipped with wings, but he could not turn his head to make certain. When he looked below he saw a black shadow, his own drift across the landscape: a winter landscape, the earth sore and empty, the trees blasted. He floated across it, seeking something. He did not know what, but he felt that the object of the search was of less importance than the search itself. Somehow it was only important to keep moving, for if he stopped he felt that he would plunge out of the sky.
Then, for a moment, the dream changed. It was as if he had suddenly opened his eyes and looked into the room, conscious of the presence of another person: but whether this was a part of the dream he couldn’t tell, because it passed in a second and once again he was drifting across the barren landscape.
Far below him he saw a tiny shape; he descended towards it. When he was only a few feet above it he realised that it was a person, a woman, her face covered in a black scarf, but he could not avoid dropping towards it now, it was too late to swing upwards, the collision was inevitable. He closed his eyes: the impact was softer than he had anticipated, the woman’s body seeming to yield just as soon as he struck it. He tore at the scarf, trying to get to the face, he tore at it not with hands but with what seemed to him like claws. Blood flowed through the scarf and on to his own body and although he himself was struggling furiously the woman was totally passive, motionless, allowing him to strike and tear at her masked face. Frustrated, he stepped back; the figure dropped to the ground and lay there; her white flesh, streaked with red, was visible where her garment parted. He moved forward again, and threw himself on top of her …
