«He ought to be certified and shut up.»
«Bradley, whatever will happen to me? I'll have to kill myself, there's nothing else to do. I can't go back to Roger, he was killing my mind, he was making me mad. He'd break things and say I'd done it and couldn't remember.»
«He's a very bad man.»
«No, I'm bad, so bad, I said such cruel things to him. I'm sure he went with girls. I found a handkerchief once. And I only use Kleenex.»
«Settle down, Priscilla. I'll do your pillows.»
«Hold my hand, Bradley.»
«I'm holding it!»
«Is wanting to kill yourself a sign of going mad?»
«No. Anyway you don't want to kill yourself. You're just a bit depressed.»
» 'Depressed'! Oh if you knew what it's like to be me. I feel as if I were made of old rags, a corpse made of old rags. Oh Bradley, don't leave me, I shall go mad in the night.»
«And the night-light. Bradley, do you think I could have a night-light?»
«I haven't got one and it's too late. I'll get one tomorrow. The lamp is just beside you, you can turn it on.»
«At Christian's there was a fanlight over the door and the light shone in from the corridor.»
«I'll leave the door ajar, you'll see the landing light.»
«I think I'd die of terror in the dark, my thoughts would kill me.»
«Look, Priscilla, I'm going into the country the day after tomorrow for a while to work. You'll be all right here with Francis-«No, no, no, Bradley, you mustn't leave me, Roger might come-«He won't come, I know he won't-«I'd die of shame and fear if Roger came-Oh my life is so awful, it's just so awful to be me, you don't know what it's like waking every morning and finding the whole horror of being yourself still there. Bradley, you won't go away, will you, I haven't anybody but you.»
«All right, all right-«You promise you won't go, you promise-?»
«I won't go-not yet-«Say 'promise,' say it, say the word-« 'Promise.' «
«My mind's all hazy.»
«That's sleep. Good night, there's a good girl. I'll leave the door ajar a little. Francis and I will be quite near.»
She protested still, but I left her and returned to the sitting-room. Only one lamp was lit and the room was ruddy and dusky. There were murmurs from the bedroom, then silence. I felt exhausted. It had been a long day.
«What's that vile smell?»
«It's the gas, Brad. I couldn't find the matches.»
Francis was sitting on the floor beside the glowing gas fire with the bottle of sherry. The level in the bottle had dropped considerably.
«Of course you can't remember being in the womb,» I told him. «It's impossible.»
«It isn't impossible. You can.»
«Nonsense.»
«We can remember what it was like when we were in the womb and our parents had sex.»
«If you can believe that you can believe anything.»
«I'm sorry I upset Priscilla.»
«She keeps talking about suicide. They say if people talk about suicide they don't do it.»
«That's not so. I think she could.»
«Would you stay with her if I went away?»
«Of course, I'd only want board and lodging and a bit-«I can't go though. Oh God.» I leaned back against one of the armchairs and closed my eyes. The calm image of Rachel rose before me like a tropical moon. I wanted to talk to Francis about myself, but I could only talk in riddles. I said, «Priscilla's husband is in love with a young girl. They've been lovers for ages. He's so happy now he's got rid of Priscilla. He's going to marry the girl. I haven't told Priscilla, of course. Isn't falling in love odd? It can happen to anyone at any time.»
«So,» said Francis. «Priscilla is in hell. Well, we all are. Life is torture, consciousness is torture. All our little devices are just morphia to stop us from screaming.»
«No, no,» I said, «good things can happen. Like, well, like falling in love.»
«We're each of us screaming away in our own private padded cell.»
«Not at all. When one really loves somebody-«So you're in love,» said Francis.
«Certainly not!»
«Who with? Well, I know actually and can tell you.»
«What you saw this morning-«Oh, I don't mean her.»
«Who then?»
«Arnold Baffin.»
«You mean I'm in love with-? What perfectly obscene nonsense!»
«And he's in love with you. Why has he taken up with Christian, why have you taken up with Rachel?»
«And every man in London is obsessed with the Post Office Tower, and-«
«Have you never realized that you're a repressed homosexual?»
«Look,» I said, «I'm grateful to you for your help with Priscilla. And don't misunderstand me, I am a completely tolerant man. I have no objection to homosexuality. Let others do as they please. But I just happen to be a completely normal heterosexual-«One must accept one's body, one must learn to relax. Your thing about smells is a guilt complex because of your repressed tendencies, you won't accept your body, it's a well-known neurosis-«I am not a neurotic!»
«You're trembling with nerves and sensibility-«Of course I am, I'm an artist!»