«Yes, but nevertheless it is the best known work of literature in the world. Indian peasants, Australian lumberjacks, Argentine ranchers, Norwegian sailors, members of the Red Army, Americans, all the most remote and brutish specimens of mankind have heard of Hamlet.»
«Don't you mean Canadian lumberjacks? I thought Australia-«How can this be?»
«I don't know, Bradley, you tell me.»
«Because Shakespeare, by the sheer intensity of his own meditation upon the problem of his identity has produced a new language, a special rhetoric of consciousness-«I'm not with you.»
«Words are Hamlet's being as they were Shakespeare's.»
«Oh what a noble mind is here o'erthrown.»
«How all occasions do inform against me.»
«Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice.»
«Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I.»
«Absent thee from felicity a while.»
«I played Hamlet once,» said Julian.
«What?»
«I played Hamlet once, at school, I was sixteen.»
I had closed the book and had my two hands flat on the table. I stared at the girl. She smiled, and then when I did not, giggled and blushed, thrusting back her hair with a crooked finger. «I wasn't very good. I say, Bradley, do my feet smell?»
«Yes, but it's charming.»
«I'll put the boots on again.» She began to point one pink foot, thrusting it into its purple sheath. «I'm sorry, I interrupted you, please go on.»
«No. The show's over.»
«Please. What you were saying was marvellous, though I can't really understand much of it. I do wish you'd let me take notes. Can't I now?» She was zipping up the boots.
«No. What I was saying is no good for your exam. That's esoteric lore. You'd plough if you tried to utter that stuff. In fact you don't understand any of it. It doesn't matter. You'd better just learn a few simple things. I'll send you some notes and one or two books to read. I know what questions they'll ask you and I know what answers will get you top marks.»
«But I don't want to do the easy stuff, I want to do the difficult stuff, besides, if what you say is true-«You can't conjure with that word at your age.»
«But I do want to understand. I thought Shakespeare was a sort of business man, I thought he was really interested in making money-«
«He was.»
I got up. I felt suddenly exhausted, almost dazed, damp with sweat from head to foot as if I were outlined with warm quicksilver. I opened the window and a breath of slightly cooler air entered the room, polluted and dusty, yet also somehow bearing the half-obliterated ghosts of flowers from distant parks. A massed-up buzz of various noise filled the room, cars, voices, the endless hum of London's being. I opened the front of my shirt all the way down to the waist and scratched in my curly mat of grey hair. I turned to face Julian. Then I went to the walnut hanging cupboard and brought out glasses and the sherry decanter. I poured out sherry.
«So you played Hamlet. Describe your costume.»
«Oh the usual. All Hamlets dress the same, don't they. Unless they're in modern dress, and we weren't.»
«Do what I ask please.»
«What?»
«Describe your costume.»
«Well, I wore black tights and black velvet shoes with silvery buckles and a sort of black slinky jerkin with a low opening and a white silk shirt underneath that and a big gold chain round my neck and-What's the matter, Bradley?»
«Nothing.»
«I thought I looked a lot like a picture I saw of John Gielgud.»
«Who is he?»
«Bradley, he's an actor-«
«You misunderstand me, child. Go on.»
«That's all. I enjoyed it ever so much. Especially the fight at the end.»
«I think I'll close the window again,» I said, «if you don't object.» I closed it and the London buzz became indistinct, something internal, something in the mind, and we were alone again in a warm small thingy solitude. I stared at the girl. She was dreamy, combing her layers of greeny-golden hair with long fingers, seeing herself as Hamlet, sword in hand.
«Here thou incestuous murderous damned Dane-«Bradley, you must be a mind-reader. Look, do tell me something more about what you were saying, couldn't you sort of put it in a nutshell?»
«Hamlet is a piece a clef. It is about someone Shakespeare was in love with.»
«Oh you are a tease. They're much as usual. Dad's out at the library all day, scribble, scribble, scribble. Mum stays at home and moves the furniture about and broods. It's such a pity she never had any education. She's so intelligent.»
«Don't be so bloody sorry for them,» I said. «They're marvellous people, both of them, marvellous people with real private lives of their own.»
«Sorry. I must have sounded awful. I suppose I am awful. Perhaps all young people are awful.»
«Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. Only some.»
«Sorry, Bradley. I say, I do wish you'd come and see the parents oftener, I think you do them good.»
I felt some shame in asking her about Arnold and Rachel, but I wanted to be, and now was, sure that they had said nothing damaging about me.
«So you want to be a writer?» I said. I was still leaning back against the window. She was pointing her alert secretive little face at me. With her mane of hair she looked more like a nice dog than like Royal Denmark. She had crossed her legs now, one lying horizontal upon the other, showing off the purple boots and a maximum amount of pink tights. Her hand played at her neck, opening another button, questing within. I could smell her sweat, her feet, her breasts.
«I feel I can. I'm ready to wait. I won't rush into it. I want to write hard dense impersonal sort of books, not a bit like me.»
«Good girl.»
ш «I certainly won't call myself Julian Baffin-«Julian,» I said. «I think you'd better go.»
«I'm so sorry-Oh Bradley, I have enjoyed this. Do you think we could meet again before long? I know you hate to be tied down. Aren't you going away?»