《Coming up for Air》第71章

‘it　was　mrs　wheeler’s　idea。　and　a　very　good　idea　too；　as　it　turned　out。’
‘oh；　mrs　wheeler；　was　it？　so　you　don’t　mind　letting　that　blasted　woman　into　our　private　affairs？’
‘she　didn’t　need　any　letting　in。　it　was　she　who　warned　me　what　you　were　up　to　this　week。　something　seemed　to　tell　her；　she　said。　and　she　was　right；　you　see。　she　knows　all　about　you；　george。　she　used　to　have　a　husband　just　like　you。’
‘but；　hilda—’
i　looked　at　her。　her　face　had　gone　a　kind　of　white　under　the　surface；　the　way　it　does　when　she　thinks　of　me　with　another　woman。　a　woman。　if　only　it　had　been　true！
and　gosh！　what　i　could　see　ahead　of　me！　you　know　what　it’s　like。　the　weeks　on　end　of　ghastly　nagging　and　sulking；　and　the　catty　remarks　after　you　think　peace　has　been　signed；　and　the　meals　always　late；　and　the　kids　wanting　to　know　what　it’s　all　about。　but　what　really　got　me　down　was　the　kind　of　mental　squalor；　the　kind　of　mental　atmosphere　in　which　the　real　reason　why　i’d　gone　to　lower　binfield　wouldn’t　even　be　conceivable。　that　was　what　chiefly　struck　me　at　the　moment。　if　i　spent　a　week　explaining　to　hilda　why　i’d　been　to　lower　binfield；　she’d　never　understand。　and　who　would　understand；　here　in　ellesmere　road？　gosh！　did　i　even　understand　myself？　the　whole　thing　seemed　to　be　fading　out　of　my　mind。　why　had　i　gone　to　lower　binfield？　had　i　gone　there？　in　this　atmosphere　it　just　seemed　meaningless。　nothing’s　real　in　ellesmere　road　except　gas　bills；　school…fees；　boiled　cabbage；　and　the　office　on　monday。
one　more　try：
‘but　look　here；　hilda！　i　know　what　you　think。　but　you’re　absolutely　wrong。　i　swear　to　you　you’re　wrong。’
‘oh；　no；　george。　if　i　was　wrong　why　did　you　have　to　tell　all　those　lies？’
no　getting　away　from　that；　of　course。
i　took　a　pace　or　two　up　and　down。　the　smell　of　old　mackintoshes　was　very　strong。　why　had　i　run　away　like　that？　why　had　i　bothered　about　the　future　and　the　past；　seeing　that　the　future　and　the　past　don’t　matter？　whatever　motives　i　might　have　had；　i　could　hardly　remember　them　now。　the　old　life　in　lower　binfield；　the　war　and　the　after…war；　hitler；　stalin；　bombs；　machine…guns；　food…queues；　rubber　truncheons—it　was　fading　out；　all　fading　out。　nothing　remained　except　a　vulgar　low…down　row　in　a　smell　of　old　mackintoshes。
one　last　try：
‘hilda！　just　listen　to　me　a　minute。　look　here；　you　don’t　know　where　i’ve　been　all　this　week；　do　you？’
‘i　don’t　want　to　know　where　you’ve　been。　i　know　what　you’ve　been　doing。　that’s　quite　enough　for　me。’
‘but　dash　it—’
quite　useless；　of　course。　she’d　found　me　guilty　and　now　she　was　going　to　tell　me　what　she　thought　of　me。　that　might　take　a　couple　of　hours。　and　after　that　there　was　further　trouble　looming　up；　because　presently　it　would　occur　to　her　to　wonder　where　i’d　got　the　money　for　this　trip；　and　then　she’d　discover　that　i’d　been　holding　out　on　her　about　the　seventeen　quid。　really　there　was　no　reason　why　this　row　shouldn’t　go　on　till　three　in　the　morning。　no　use　playing　injured　innocence　any　longer。　all　i　wanted　was　the　line　of　least　resistance。　and　in　my　mind　i　ran　over　the　three　possibilities；　which　were：
a。　to　tell　her　what　i’d　really　been　doing　and　somehow　make　her　believe　me。
b。　to　pull　the　old　gag　about　losing　my　memory。
c。　to　let　her　go　on　thinking　it　was　a　woman；　and　take　my　medicine。
but；　damn　it！　i　knew　which　it　would　have　to　be。
the　end
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