‘Tonight is more than I can take,’ said Thomas Stern. ‘Otherwise I would offer to escort you around the celebrations.’ He arrived beside her, on the bench.
He now wore a thick brown sweater. His broad face was scarcely less brown. He smiled at Martha from six inches’ distance and she smiled back. There was a total lack of haste, of urgency, in this exchange. They regarded each other steadily, then he took her hand and held it against his cheek.
‘What a pity I have to go back to the farm tonight.’
‘And that I have to see Athen!’
‘Are you having an affair with Athen?’
‘Good heavens, no!’
He now held her hand pressed down with his on his warm knee.
‘Why shouldn’t you?’
‘Have you seen Athen’s new suit?’
‘Of course.’
‘Has he talked to you about it?’
‘Martha, I tell you, there are some things spoiled people like you don’t understand.’
‘Rubbish. But I believe that Athen has sentenced himself to death because he is ashamed of liking nice wine and looking beautiful in his new suit.’
Thomas regarded her steadily. Her hand, between his hot knee and his large hand, seemed to be melting into his flesh. He was waiting for her to stop being childish.
‘Just imagine all the people today who are secretly sorry the war is over because now they have to start living.’
‘Yes, but Athen is not one of them. Why are you so angry with him? I agree with him. There’s nothing wrong with being a barmaid, but it’s not for Maisie. It’s not good for her. I went into the bar to see her. Athen is right.’
‘What she needs is a husband, so what’s the use of …’ Martha’s voice grew steadily more angry. ‘She’s in love with Athen.’
‘When it comes to women and love, then I have nothing to say. Yes, she needs a husband. If I wasn’t married, I’d offer myself, if it would make you happy.’
‘Well, I’m not going to tell Maisie that she should be a shop assistant or something. Why don’t you, or Athen, tell her, instead of getting at me about it?’
Thomas regarded her very seriously for some moments. Then he smiled. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Martha.’
‘What?’
‘You’re thinking: This Thomas, what a damned peasant.’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘Well, I am. I’m a peasant. I’m a Polish peasant. I’m a Jewish Polish peasant.’
‘Well then?’
‘You’re looking even thinner and sicker than before. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Everything, everything, everything. And besides, it has only just recently occurred to me that I’m a neurotic, and I don’t like the idea.’
‘Well, of course, all women in the West are neurotic.’
Now Martha started to laugh. She loved Thomas because with him, there was nothing for it but to laugh.
‘And you find me attractive because I’m all thin and tense and difficult?’
‘Of course. When I was a boy in our village, all us clever young men, we used to go to town to see American films and look at the women. We knew what was wrong with them. We understood Western women absolutely. We used to make jokes.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Yes. Just like Africans now. They look at white women in exactly the same way we used to look at women in the films or in the magazines. So of course I’m delighted to see you all tensed up and decadent, comrade Martha. It’s the fulfilment of my favourite fantasy.’
Martha laughed again. All the same, part of her was saying: But this isn’t what I want. For one thing, I’ll be going to England soon.
‘And your wife?’ she said.
Thomas’s hands dropped like stone. ‘Yes, Martha,’ he said, looking dejected. ‘You’re right to ask but there’s nothing I can say. I don’t know.’ He got up, went across the room, fiddled with the door of the pamphlet cupboard, then turned back to face her.
‘The thing is, Martha, I have affairs all the time, you know that.’
She waited, merely looking at him curiously. She thought: I didn’t want to have an affair with Solly because he’s so childish. He’s an idiot. Now I’m afraid to have an affair with Thomas because he’s not childish.
But in any case, what’s the point, if I’m leaving.
Thomas came back, sat close to her, and put his two large hands on her shoulders, where they spread slow, calm areas of warmth.
‘This evening I said to myself: I’ll find Martha, then I’ll take her for a drive or something. Then I thought: No, that’s not for us, we don’t need that kind of thing. But in any case, I have to go back to the farm because my little girl isn’t well.’
They sat looking at each other, with a soft curiosity.
‘Listen, Martha. I’ve got a week’s leave, so I’m going to the farm for a week. Then I’ll be back in town.’
He spoke as if everything was settled. They had never even kissed, but it was as if they had already loved each other. He did not kiss her now. He got up and said: ‘Well, Martha …’
She smiled, she supposed, but could not say anything. She had understood that to be with Thomas would be more serious than anything yet in her life, yet she did not know how she knew this, and she was not sure it was what she wanted. A few weeks ago she had thought: Thomas, or Joss – a man. Now here was Thomas and he was sucking her in to an intensity of feeling simply by standing there and claiming her.
From the door he smiled and nodded: ‘I’ll ring you when I get back into town.’
He went out. Athen did not come, so Martha cycled home through the streets full of drunks where the National Anthem still sounded from every other building. Anton and Millicent, both dressed up, were just about to go out to one of the hotels. They all greeted each other with smiling amiability: they had agreed they were to be ‘civilized’ and even, if possible, friends. Martha was invited to join them at McGrath’s: as Millicent said, a war doesn’t end every day. But on the whole she thought not: they went out, and she went to bed.
Chapter Four (#ulink_763cb3e5-6145-506f-bb49-7d6cf23ef6e1)
‘Public opinion changes.’
A couple of decades, a decade, in these rapid days even a year, demonstrate how suddenly the season of a belief can turn. Into its own opposite, the rule seems to be – or at least, often enough to make it safe to ignore the exceptions.
