The Private Parts of Women (25 page)

‘Not this evening,' I said quickly, ‘I've got things …' I trailed off. In truth, there was nothing.

‘Well, another day then. She must come, mustn't she Harry?'

He nodded. He looked like a giant sitting on the low stool by the fire, his knees bent up, his hands with their long fingers too big for the cup. I liked to look at his hands. I'd like to have stroked the little black hairs on their backs. He smiled at me but it was a snatched away smile. His eyes were dark under the flop of black hair and I could not read them.

‘Oh!' My toast had blackened in the flames.

‘Give it to me.' With a knife, Harold scraped away the black crumbs. ‘There.' I took it and as his hand touched mine I felt a jump of something live … something that could have been love given half a chance but was only regret and sorrow. For a second I hated Mary, sitting there, so rosy and smiling and confident. She had him now, for sure, and quite right. She would be a good wife, a good mother. While I could never be either, never, that I knew.

‘Trixie,' Mary cleared her throat and looked at Harold for support and I knew that something was planned, that they had something to say. ‘Harold and I have been talking …' She looked at him, waited for him to take over, but he was unprepared, opened his mouth in a rather stupid cod-like way. ‘You have not given testimony lately, Trixie,' Mary continued, ‘you are silent at the meetings.'

‘I … I have not been strong,' I said. I don't know what I meant.

‘We both love you, you know that … in Jesus Christ,' Mary continued. ‘Our duty has been to help you in your fight against sin.'

I nodded. My mouth had gone dry, I could not swallow. But my hands were wet. I could not make myself ask what she meant, what sin?

‘We've talked and talked and prayed, haven't we Harold?' She appealed to him again, more irritably. He sighed, cleared his throat almost apologetically before he began.

‘We're concerned about your … behaviour.' He blushed and I thought
you may well blush
, remembering, as I'm sure he was remembering, his behaviour, the way he had kissed me. ‘About your commitment to God and the Army.'

‘How can you say that!' I burst out. I could not bear it.

‘But Trixie,' Mary said, ‘though you work so hard and profess such dedication … you don't speak up at meetings and you …'

‘Yes?'

‘Harold and I both have knowledge of you that …'

Harold looked into the fire and rolled bread-crumbs between his fingers.

‘That?' I prompted. I could not bear the hesitation. The fire crackled and snapped.

‘That we cannot … you know that cases of gross misconduct must be reported to the C.O. That it is likely that your name will be removed from the Roll …'

‘You can appeal … you can request a court martial hearing,' Harold said. ‘Trixie you must understand our position.'

‘My
friends,'
I said bitterly.

‘No Trixie, don't …' began Mary.

‘I took no baby,' I said, fiercely, ‘I know what they think, what they are saying. But I harmed no child.'

Mary looked startled, darted an uneasy glance at Harold. ‘No, it is not
that
. We don't believe
that
or else we …' her voice trailed away.

Harold struggled up from the low stool. He stood towering over me. ‘Do you inspect your soul and your actions every week, Trixie? What are the questions you ask yourself? Ask yourself the questions, Trixie. What are the questions?'

The rug in front of the fire had an uneven fringe, grey where it had once been white. I kept my eyes on the fringe as I recited:

‘Am I guilty of any known sin?'

‘Well?'

I shook my head and the shaking seemed to dislodge a shower of soot to blacken my heart.

‘Do I practise or allow myself to indulge in anything – in thought, word or deed – that I know to be wrong?'

Again I shook my head. Mary gazed at me sadly. But it was true, I did not, do not
know
.

‘Am I the master of my bodily appetites so as to have no condemnation?'

They waited for my reply but I was silent. Their eyes were hot on my down-turned face.

‘You are not telling the truth,' Mary said softly. I got up and went to the window where it was cooler, I put my cheek against the cold glass. The rain had stopped and the sky was pearl between the thinning clouds. ‘I have seen you Trixie, I have seen what you do. And you know it.'

‘I do not know.'

Mary sighed. ‘Trixie, we cannot hold our heads up as Salvation Soldiers and overlook or condone … we cannot … do you understand our position?'

A thrush had picked up a snail and was smashing it on the stones that edged the path. A ray of sun came out and the garden glittered.

‘The rain has stopped,' I said.

‘Turn round Trixie,' Harold said. I turned. He stood beside the Salvation Army badge that I had so proudly and hopefully fixed to the mantelpiece. He looked hot and damp standing by the fire. Suddenly I thought of my father standing there, just where Harold stood in front of the hearth scolding or scorning me and I knew he was still there. And my mother sitting vacant in the chair beside him.

‘We have prayed. We have weighed our friendship for you in the balance with our integrity, our duty …' Harold continued.

‘It's all right, I understand.' I experienced a sudden draining away of light and energy from my head as if I would faint. I sat down.

It was at this moment that I knew I had to leave. The Army was my life but my life was a sham. The Army had given me every bit of self-respect I'd had. It had been like a uniform. The uniform was my self-respect and sometimes I almost believed in it myself. The uniform
was
me. I was a black bonnet of official dimensions with a scarlet band and ribbons not exceeding 2½ yards in length; I was a navy-blue serge speaking jacket with a stand-up collar; I was a black serge skirt; a crimson shirt, a white linen collar. I was a pair of plain black shoes, for patent leather, brown or white leather must not be worn. That is what I was.

But I was a sham. Ivy knew me for a sham. I searched my heart over and over, every night I had searched my heart and could find no trace of badness, hardly a trace. Just like the times when I was forced to stare in the mirror searching for evil as a child, I found none. I was only good intentions, no evil desires, no vices. But I could not answer the questions in the negative, not definitely because there was a sort of clamouring inside me that I could not hear; there was knowledge in me that I did not know; there was guilt for deeds I never did or had even heard of. I could not give testimony at meetings, I could not pray aloud. The Spirit simply wasn't in me. I was all confusion. But it was not my fault.

I had pledged my life, my self to Jesus and he did not want me. What more complete rejection could there be than that?

I had never really been Saved. It had all been pretence.

Like my father said, a monstrous charade.

How was I supposed to stand it? I felt not only that my heart would break but my body too would smash – with the hurt and the pressure of the silent clamouring – like a vase, a mess of glass, water, petals.

A weak beam of sunshine found its way into the room.

I stood between the window and the hearth and I felt my childhood was still there skulking in the corners, fluttering in the shadows and the curtain folds, still there. And still there in me too.

I hated that house. I did not want it. Mary and Harold could have it. Why not? What they did with it did not concern me. I didn't want the house and I did not want my body either. I had had enough of myself.

I felt almost happy. I tidied myself up, polished my shoes, put on my bonnet, tied the ribbon firmly under my chin. I left that house. The air was soft and kind, a clean-rinsed summer evening. The sun sent silver shafts to the earth that once I would have linked to God's love or some such stuff. But it was only sun shining down on a late summer's evening, only a physical phenomenon. Its beauty was meaningless. I walked very fast along dirty gleaming footpaths. I walked as fast as I could, my skirt flapping around my legs. I walked towards the river while my resolve was strong.

ADA

I should have kept us together.

Poor Trixie but …

Frank was killed.

Nobody told me, who would tell me? I saw it in a newspaper.

UNDERWORLD GANG BOSS MURDERED.

I did not know what to do. I could not. What could I do?

It was not even me that saw him last but Trixie. She was with some Army songsters, singing outside The Cross Cat. Frank walked past her. He didn't look at Salvationists as a rule, dug his head down into his collar. But somehow this time he did. He looked up and saw Trixie and hesitated. I could read his eyes even under the shady brim of his hat. He thought it looked like me, remarkably like me, but that it could not be me. Not his passionate Ada, not in a Salvation Army uniform, not shaking a tambourine.

No, I do not know what he thought.

Through a filter I saw him, through the filter of Trixie's eyes. Poor Trixie was shaken by his look. How I wanted to reach out for him, go into the pub with him, to take him home like I had a couple of times, sneak him in past that interfering Mary. How I wanted to make love to him, my whole body tingled inside Trixie's, frightening her with the feeling. But all I could do was mouth the stupid hymn. I was helpless. But the music died in Trixie with the shock of it with the force of my longing, lust, love, frustration.

I was helpless.

When I saw in the newspaper that he was dead, my Frank, I … I was not.

That is all. I simply lost my strength to hold us together and we went into a spin and the boy, he … I was not in control. I let go of the reins in my weakness. It was my fault.

Trixie was in despair because Mary knew about my doings and thought it was her. What a laugh! Trixie drinking and making love to a gangster in the most interesting of ways. Trixie enjoying herself. Ha!

And then Ivy coming, and that baby, and me, in my torment, in my grief, letting go, letting the boy break through. I let us down. Trixie. I should have held us together.

Because that boy is a monster.

That boy will kill.

SOAP

Trixie was out in the street. I have never seen her out in the street before. I went to knock at her door and saw that it was ajar and that the room was empty. I walked out to the front and there she was, hesitating beside the road as if she was about to cross. She put one foot forward and then drew it back again, as if something was coming – but there was nothing. She wasn't wearing her coat, she had no bag. Across the road outside the greengrocer's back entrance, cauliflower leaves littered the path. I went to Trixie and caught her arm.

‘What a mess,' I said, just for something to say.

‘Compost,' she said, shaking me off.

‘Oh!' I was relieved. I'd thought she looked demented. ‘I'll fetch them for you.' I crossed the road and picked up the thick curved leaves. ‘Here.'

She took them without looking at me.

‘I was coming to see you,' I said.

‘For a cup of tea?'

‘I wouldn't mind …' She turned her back on the road and walked back up the passage. I followed. ‘Thank you. And I was going to ask a favour.' We went into her house. It was freezing cold, the windows all open, no trace of the sherry, the flowers, no sign of the day before. ‘I've bought you a card,' I said, ‘sorry it's late.'

She opened it and smiled tightly. ‘Roses. Very nice,' she said and stood it on the mantelpiece.

‘Pretty aren't they?' I said, ‘I know you like flowers … gardening.'

She turned her back and went into the kitchen. She was in a strange, tense mood. I listened to her fill the kettle and light the gas. She started humming. To the tune of ‘What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor' she began to sing, pointedly, as if to me.
‘What shall we do with the Sneaking Judas. What shall we do with the Sneaking Judas?'

‘Want any shopping?' I asked.

‘I'm not a prisoner,' she said quietly coming back through. I didn't think I'd heard her right.

‘Sorry?'

‘I'm not a prisoner. Don't think I don't know your game, keeping me locked up. I know your sort.'

‘What? Trixie …'

She subsided a bit.

‘Trixie, that's just nonsense,' I said as gently as I could. Clearly, she was distressed. ‘Why don't you sit down and I'll make the tea? Let's shut the window shall we, it's very cold in here.'

‘You can shut the window if you like,' she said and went back into the kitchen. I did so and sat down. The television was switched off for once and I could see my distorted reflection in the curved screen.

‘I came to ask you something, and tell you something,' I called. She clattered about in the sink and the kettle shrieked. She carried the tray through, pale tea slopping on the biscuit she had placed in each saucer.

‘Thank you,' I said. ‘I do look a sight …' I nodded at my reflection and she flinched. She looked very upset.

‘Are you not well?' I asked.

She bent down and switched the set on. There was an advert for Flash and one for insurance. ‘I'm going to get my hair done,' I said. ‘There's a place along the high street where you don't need an appointment, and I thought I could get a load of shopping in for you … you see …'

‘I don't know what I want,' she said.

‘Whatever it is I'll get it for you.'

She laughed: a dry, squeaky, disused sound.

‘Peace of mind,' she said, ‘can you get me that? Just an ounce or two, just a slice.'

‘If you could buy it I'd have some for myself,' I said. I reached forward to touch her hand but she jerked hers away.

‘I wanted to ask you a favour,' I said.