Authors: Anna Kavan
All of a sudden her confidence was restored, she reverted to her former disparaging attitude, gave me a derisive glance 'With
you
? Oh,
no!
Surely we haven't got to go through all
that
again!' Attempting sarcasm, she rolled her big eyes turned them up to the ceiling. It was a deliberate insult. I was outraged. Her slighting tone belittled my desperate effort to reach her, ridiculed everything I had endured. In a furious rage suddenly, I took hold of her roughly, gave her a violent shake. 'Stop it, will you! I can't stand any more! Stop being so damned insulting! I've just been through hell for your sake travelled hundreds of miles under ghastly conditions, run fantastic risks, almost got myself killed. And not the slightest sign of appreciation from you . . . not one word of thanks at the end of
it .. .
you don't even treat me with ordinary common politeness. ... I only get a cheap sneer. . . . Charming gratitude! Charming way to behave!' She was gazing at me speechlessly, her eyes all black pupil. My rage did not become any less. 'Even now you haven't got the decency to apologize!'
Still infuriated, I went on abusing her, called her insufferable, impertinent, insolent, vulgar. 'In future you might at least be civil enough to thank people who do things for you, instead of displaying your stupid conceited rudeness by laughing at them!' She seemed stricken, dumb; stood before me in silence, with hanging head, all trace of assurance gone. In the last few moments she had become a withdrawn, frightened, unhappy child, damaged by adult deviations.
A pulse at the base of her neck caught my eye, beating rapidly like something under the skin trying to escape. I had noticed it on other occasions when she was frightened. It had its usual effect on me now. I said loudly: 'What a fool I've been to worry about you. I suppose you moved in with your boy friend as soon as I left.' She looked up at me quickly, apprehensively, stammered: 'What do you mean?' 'Oh, don't pretend you don't understand—it's too sickening!' My voice sounded aggressive, got louder and louder. 'I mean the owner of this house, of course. The fellow you're living with. The one you were waiting for on the verandah when I arrived.' I could hear myself shouting. The noise terrified her. She had begun to tremble, her mouth was shaking. 'I was
not
waiting for him—' She saw what I was doing, broke off. 'Don't lock the door. . . .' I had locked it already. Everything had turned to iron, to ice, to hard, cold, burning impatience. I grasped her shoulders, pulled her towards me. She resisted, cried, 'Keep away from me!' kicked, struggled, her hand shot out, dislodging a bowl of delicate wing-shaped shells, which smashed on the floor: our feet ground them to rainbow powder. I forced her down, crushed her under the blood-stained tunic, the sharp buckle of the uniform belt caught her arm. Blood beading the soft white flesh . . . the iron taste of blood in my
mouth....
She lay silent, unmoving, avoiding me by turning her face to the wall. Perhaps because I could not see her face, she seemed like someone I did not know. I felt nothing whatever about her, all feeling had left me. I had said I could not stand any more, and that was the truth. I could not go on; it was all too humiliating, too painful. I had wanted to finish with her in the past, but had been unable to do so. Now the moment had come. It was time to get up and go, to end the whole wretched business. I had let it go on far too long, it had always been painful and unrewarding. She did not move when I stood up. Neither of us said a word. We were like two strangers accidentally in the same room. I was not thinking. All I wanted was to get into the car and drive and drive, until I was somewhere far away where I could forget all this. I left the room without looking at her or speaking, and went out into the arctic cold.
Outside it had got quite dark. I paused on the verandah for my eyes to get used to the blackness. By degrees the snow became visible as it fell, a sort of faint shimmer like phosphorescence. The hollow roar of the wind came in irregular bursts, the snowflakes whirled madly in all directions, filled the night with their spectral chaos. I seemed to feel the same feverish disorder in myself, in all my pointless rushing from place to place. The crazily dancing snowflakes represented the whole of life. Her image flew past, the silver hair streaming and was instantly swept away in the wild confusion. In the delirium of the dance, it was impossible to distinguish between the violent and the victims. Anyway, distinctions no longer mattered in a dance of death, where all the dancers spun on the edge of nothing.
I had grown used to the feeling that I was going towards execution. It was something in the distance, an idea with which I had become familiar. Now it suddenly sprang at me, stood close at my elbow, no longer an idea, but a reality, just about to happen. It gave me a shock, a physical sensation in the pit of the stomach. The past had vanished and become nothing; the future was the inconceivable nothingness of annihilation. All that was left was the ceaselessly shrinking fragment of time called 'now'.
I remembered the dark blue sky of noon and midnight which I had seen above, while below a wall of rainbow ice moved over the ocean, around the globe. Pale cliffs looming, radiating dead cold, ghostly avengers coming to end mankind. I knew the ice was closing in round us, my own eyes had seen the ominous moving wall. I knew it was coming closer each moment, and would go on advancing until all life was extinct.
I thought of the girl I had left in the room behind me, a child, immature, a glass girl. She had not seen, did not understand. She knew she was doomed, but not the nature of her fate, or how to face it. No one had ever taught her to stand alone. The hotel proprietor's son had not impressed me as particularly reliable or protective, but rather a weak unsatisfactory type, and disabled as well. I did not trust him to look after her when the crisis came. I saw her, defenceless and terrified, amidst the collapsing mountains of ice; above the crashes and thunder, heard her feeble pathetic cries. Knowing what I knew, I could not leave her alone and helpless. She would suffer too much.
I went back indoors. She did not seem to have moved, and though she looked round when I came into the room, at once twisted away again. She was crying and did not want me to see her face. I went close to the bed, stood there without touching her. She looked pathetic, cold, shivering, her skin had the same faint mauve tinge as some of the shells. It was too easy to hurt her. I said quietly: 'I must ask you something. I don't care how many different men you've slept with—it's not about that. But I must know why you were so insulting to me just now. Why have you been trying to humiliate me ever since I arrived?' She would not look round, I thought she was not going to answer; but then, with long gaps between the words, she brought out: 'I
wanted ...
to get . . . my . . . own . . back. . . .' I protested: 'But what for? I'd only just got here I hadn't done anything to you.'
'I knew. . . .' I had to bend over her to catch the accusing voice, speaking through tears. 'Whenever I see you, I always know you'll torment me . . . kick me around . . . treat me like some sort of
slave ...
if not at once, in an hour or two, or next day . . . you're sure to . . . you always do. . .' I was startled almost shocked. The words presented a view of myself I much preferred not to see. I hurriedly asked her another question. 'Who
were
you waiting for on the verandah, if it wasn't the hotel fellow?' Once more a totally unexpected answer disconcerted me. 'For
you ...
I heard the
car ...
I thought . . . wondered. . . .' This time I was astounded, incredulous. 'But that can't possibly be true—not after what you've just said. Besides, you didn't know I was coming. I don't believe it.'
She twisted round wildly, sat up, flung back the mass of pale hair, showed her desolate victim's face, features dissolved in tears, eyes black as if set in bruises. 'It
is
true, I tell you whether you believe it or not! I don't know why . . . you're always so horrible to
me...
I only know I've always waited. wondered if you'd come back. You never sent any message . . but I always waited for you . . stayed here when the others left so that you'd be able to find me. . . .' She looked a desperate child, sobbing out the truth. But what she said was so incredible that I said again: 'It's not possible—it can't be true.' Face convulsed, she gasped in a voice choked by ears: 'Haven't you had enough yet? Can't you
ever
stop bullying me?'
Suddenly I felt ashamed, muttered: 'I'm sorry . . .' I wished I could somehow obliterate past words and actions. She had thrown herself down again, flat on her face. I stood looking it her, not knowing what to say. The situation seemed to have gone beyond words. In the end I could think of nothing better than: 'I didn't come back only to ask those questions, you know.' There was no response at all. I was not even sure she had heard me. I stood waiting, while the sobs slowly died away. In the silence, I watched the pulse in her neck, still beating fast, presently put out my hand, gently touched the spot with the tip of one finger, then let the hand fall. A skin like white satin, hair the colour of moonlight....
Slowly she turned her head towards me without a word; her mouth appeared out of the shining hair, then her wet brilliant eyes, glittering between long lashes. Now she had stopped crying; but at intervals a shudder, a soundless gasp, interrupted her breathing, like an interior sob. She did not say anything. I waited. The seconds passed. When I could not wait any longer, I asked softly: 'Are you coming with me? I promise I won't bully you any more.' She did not answer, so after a moment, I was obliged to add: 'Or do you want me to go?' Abruptly she sat up straight, made a distraught movement, but still did not speak. I waited again: tentatively held out my hands; lived through another long silence, interminable suspense. At last she gave me her hands. I kissed them, kissed her hair, lifted her off the bed.
While she was getting ready I stood at the window, staring out at the snow. I was wondering whether I ought to tell her that I had seen the sinister ice-wall approaching across the sea, and that in the end it was bound to destroy us and every thing else. But my thoughts were muddled and inconclusive and I reached no decision.
She said she was ready, and went to the door; stopped there looking back at the room. I saw her psychologically-bruised face, her extreme vulnerability, her unspoken fears. This little room the one friendly familiar place. Everything outside terrifyingly strange. The huge alien night, the snow, the destroying cold, the menacing unknown future. Her eyes turned to me, searched my face: a heavy, doubting, reproachful look, accusing and questioning at the same time. I was another very disturbing factor; she had absolutely no reason to trust me. I smiled at her, touched her hand. Her lips moved slightly in what, in different circumstances, might have become a smile.
We went out together into the onslaught of snow, fled through the swirling white like escaping ghosts. With no light but the snow's faint phosphorescent gleam, it was hard to keep to the path. Even with the wind behind us, walking was hard labour. The distance to the car seemed much greater than I had thought. I held her arm to guide her and help her along When she stumbled I put my arm round her, steadied her held her up. Under the thick loden coat she was cold as ice her hands felt frozen through my heavy gloves. I tried to rub some warmth into them, for a moment she leaned on me, her face a moonstone, luminous in the dark, her lashes tipped white with snow. She was tired, I sensed the effort she made to start walking again. I encouraged her, praised her, kept my arm round her waist, picked her up and carried her the last part of the way.
When we were in the car, I switched on the heater before doing anything else. The interior was warm in less than minute, but she did not relax, sat beside me silent and tense. Catching a sidelong suspicious glance, I felt myself justly accused. After the way I had treated her, suspicion was all I deserved. She could not know that I had just discovered a new pleasure in tenderness. I asked if she was hungry; she shook her head. I produced some chocolate from the food parcel, offered it to her. No chocolate had been available for civilians for a very long time. I remembered she used to like his particular brand. She looked at it doubtfully, seemed about to refuse, then relaxed suddenly, took it, thanked me with a timid and touching smile. I wondered why I had waited to long to be kind to her, until it was almost too late. I said nothing about our ultimate fate, or about the ice-wall coming nearer and nearer. Instead, I told her the ice would stop moving before it reached the equator; that we would find a place here where we would be safe. I did not think this was remotely possible, did not know whether she believed it. However the end came, we should be together; I could at least make it quick and easy for her.
Driving the big car through the glacial night I was almost happy. I did not regret that other world I had longed for and lost. My world was now ending in snow and ice, there was nothing else left. Human life was over, the astronauts underground, buried by tons of ice, the scientists wiped out by their own disaster. I felt exhilarated because we two were alive, racing through the blizzard together.
It was getting more and more difficult to see out. As fast as the frost-flowers were cleared from the windscreen they reformed in more opaque patterns, until I could see nothing through them but falling snow; an infinity of snowflakes like ghostly birds, incessantly swooping past from nowhere to nowhere.
The world seemed to have come to an end already. It did not matter. The car had become our world; a small, bright heated room; our home in the vast, indifferent, freezing universe. To preserve the warmth generated by our bodies we kept close to each other. She no longer seemed tense or suspicious, leaning against my shoulder.
A terrible cold world of ice and death had replaced the living world we had always known. Outside there was only the deadly cold, the frozen vacuum of an ice age, life reduced to mineral crystals; but here, in our lighted room, we were safe and warm. I looked into her face, it was smiling, untroubled I could see no fear, no sadness there now. She smiled and pressed close, content with me in our home.