JOHN FOWLES

The Collector - fragments
 

_October 29th_

(Morning.) He's gone into? Lewes.
Toinette.
It was a month after the evening of the record. I ought to have guessed, she had been purring over me for days, giving me arch looks. I thought it was something to do with Piers. And then one evening I rang the bell and then I noticed the lock was up, so I pushed the door open and looked up the stairs, at the same time as Toinette looked down round the door. And we were looking at each other. After a moment she came out on the landing and she was dressing. She didn't say anything, she just gestured me to come up and into the studio and what was worst, I was red, and she was not. She was just amused.
Don't look so shocked, she said. He'll be back in a minute. He's just gone out for . . . but I never heard what it was, because I went.
I've never really analyzed why I was so angry and so shocked and so hurt. Donald, Piers, David, everyone knows she lives in London as she lived in Stockholm -- she's told me herself, they've told me. And G.P. had told me what he was like.
It was not just jealousy. It was that someone like G.P. could be so close to someone like her -- someone so real and someone so shallow, so phoney, so loose. But why should he have considered me at all? There's not a single reason.
He's twenty-one years older than I am. Nine years younger than D.
For days afterwards it wasn't G.P. I was disgusted with, but myself. At my narrow-mindedness. I forced myself to meet, to listen to Toinette. She didn't crow at all. I think that must have been G.P.'s doing. He ordered her not to.
She went back the next day. She said it was to say she was sorry. And (her words), "It just happened."
I was so jealous. They made me feel older than they were. They were like naughty children. Happy-with-a-secret. Then that I was frigid. I couldn't bear to see G.P. In the end, it must have been a week later, he rang me up again one evening at Caroline's. He didn't sound guilty. I said I was too busy to see him. I wouldn't go round that evening, no. If he had pressed, I would have refused. But he seemed to be about to ring off, and I said I'd go round the next day. I so wanted him to know I was hurt. You can't be hurt over a telephone.
Caroline said, I think you're seeing too much of him.
I said, he's having an _affaire_ with that Swedish girl.
We even had a talk about it. I was very fair. I defended him. But in bed I lay and accused him to myself. For hours.
The first thing he said the next day was (no pretending) -- has she been a bitch to you?
I said, no. Not at all. Then, as if I didn't care, why should she?
He smiled. I know what you're feeling, he seemed to say. It made me want to slap his face. I couldn't look as if I didn't care, which made it worse.
He said, men are vile.
I said, the vilest thing about them is that they can say that with a smile on their faces.
That is true, he said. And there was silence. I wished I hadn't come, I wished I'd cut him out of my life. I looked at the bedroom door. It was ajar, I could see the end of the bed.
I said, I'm not able to put life in compartments yet. That's all.
Look, Miranda, he said, those twenty long years that lie between you and me. I've more knowledge of life than you, I've lived more and betrayed more and seen more betrayed. At your age one is bursting with ideals. You think that because I can sometimes see what's trivial and what's important in art that I ought to be more virtuous. But I don't want to be virtuous. My charm (if there is any) for you is simply frankness. And experience. Not goodness. I'm not a good man. Perhaps morally I'm younger even than you are. Can you understand that?
He was only saying what I felt. I was stiff and he was supple, and it ought to be the other way round. The fault all mine. But I kept on thinking, he took me to the concert, and he came back here to her. I remembered times when I rang the bell and there had been no answer. I see now it was all sexual jealousy, but then it seemed a betrayal of principles. (I still don't know -- it's all muddled in my mind. I can't judge.)
I said, I'd like to hear Ravi Shankar. I couldn't say, I forgive you.
So we listened to that. Then played chess. And he beat me. No reference to Toinette, except at the very end, on the stairs, when he said, it's all over now.
I didn't say anything.
She only did it for fun, he said.
But it was never the same. It was a sort of truce. I saw him a few times more, but never alone, I wrote him two letters when I was in Spain, and he sent a postcard back. I saw him once at the beginning of this month. But I'll write about that another time. And I'll write about the strange talk I had with the Nielsen woman.
Something Toinette said. She said, he talked about his boys and I felt so sorry for him. How they used to ask him not to go to their posh prep school, but to meet them in the town. Ashamed to have him seen. How Robert (at Marl-borough) patronizes him now.
He never talked to me about them. Perhaps he secretly thinks I belong to the same world.
A little middle-class boarding-school prig.


(Evening.) I tried to draw G.P. from memory again today. Hopeless.
C sat reading _The Catcher in the Rye_ after supper. Several times I saw him look to see how many pages more he had to read.
He reads it only to show me how hard he is trying.
I was passing the front door tonight (bath) and I said, well, thank you for a lovely evening, goodbye now. And I made as if to open the door. It was locked, of course. It seems stuck, I said. And he didn't smile, he just stood watching me. I said, It's only a joke. I know, he said. It's very peculiar -- he made me feel a fool. Just by not smiling.
 

Of course G.P. was always trying to get me into bed. I don't know why but I see that more clearly now than I ever did at the time. He shocked me, bullied me, taunted me -- never in nasty ways. Obliquely. He didn't ever force me in any way. Touch me. I mean, he's respected me in a queer way. I don't think he really knew himself. He wanted to shock me -- to him or away from him, he didn't know. Left it to chance.

The days passed, it is now three weeks since all that.
Of course I shall never have a guest again, although now Aunt Annie and Mabel have decided to stay Down Under, it would not be difficult.
Still as a matter of interest I have since been looking into the problems there would be with the girl in Woolworth's. She lives in a village the other side of Lewes from here, in a house a quarter mile or so from the bus-stop. You have to go along a country lane to get to it. As I say, it would be possible (if I hadn't learnt my lesson). She isn't as pretty as Miranda, of course, in fact she's only an ordinary common shop-girl, but that was my mistake before, aiming too high, I ought to have seen that I could never get what I wanted from someone like Miranda, with all her la-di-da ideas and clever tricks. I ought to have got someone who would respect me more. Someone ordinary I could teach.
She is in the box I made, under the appletrees. It took me three days to dig the hole. I thought I would go mad the night I did it (went down and got her in the box I made and outside). I don't think many could have done it. I did it scientific. I planned what had to be done and ignored my natural feelings. I couldn't stand the idea of having to look at her again, I once heard they go green and purple in patches, so I went in with a cheap blanket I bought in front of me and held it out till I was by the bed and then threw it over the deceased. I rolled it up and all the bedclothes into the box and soon had the lid screwed on. I got round the smell with fumigator and the fan.
The room's cleaned out now and good as new.
I shall put what she wrote and her hair up in the loft in the deed-box which will not be opened till my death, so I don't expect for forty or fifty years. I have not made up my mind about Marian (another M! I heard the supervisor call her name), this time it won't be love, it would just be for the interest of the thing and to compare them and also the other thing, which as I say I would like to go into in more detail and I could teach her how. And the clothes would fit. Of course I would make it clear from the start who's boss and what I expect.
But it is still just an idea. I only put the stove down there today because the room needs drying out anyway.

Anamaria Comes

John Fowles
 

29 octombrie

(Dimineata) A plecat la? Lewes.
Toinette.
Era la o luna dupa seara cu discul. Ar fi trebuit sa-mi dau seama, se tot gudura pe langa mine de zile intregi, privindu-ma cu subinteles. Credeam ca e ceva in legatura cu Piers. Apoi, intr-o seara am sunat la usa, iar cand am observat ca nu e incuiat, am impins usa si m-am uitat in sus pe scari tocmai cand Toinette se uita in jos, de dupa usa. Si ne-am uitat una la alta. Dupa o clipa a iesit pe palier, imbracandu-se. N-a scos un cuvant, mi-a facut doar semn sa urc in studio, dar ce era mai rau e ca eu rosisem, iar ea nu. Era doar amuzata de reactia mea.
Nu mai fi asa de socata, a spus. Se va intoarce intr-o clipita. A iesit doar sa….dar n-am mai stat s-aud pana la capat, am plecat.
N-am incercat niciodata sa inteleg de ce eram atat de furioasa, atat de indignata si atat de ranita. Donald, Piers, David, toata lumea stie ca viata pe care duce la Londra e la fel cu cea pe care o ducea la Stockholm – doar ea insasi mi-a spus-o, toti mi-au spus-o. Pana si G.P. imi spusese despre cum e el.
Nu era doar gelozie. Nu intelegeam cum un om ca G.P. putea fi atat de intim cu una ca ea – o persoana atat de reala, atat de superficiala, atat de falsa si usuratica. Si, in fond, de ce-ar fi tinut el seama de mine? Nu exista nici macar un motiv.
E cu douazeci si unu de ani mai mare decat mine. Cu noua ani mai mic decat T.
Zile intregi dupa aceea, nu de G.P. eram dezgustata, ci de mine insami. De cat eram de marginita. M-am straduit sa o intalnesc, s-o ascult pe Toinette. Nu s-a dat mare deloc. Sigur era mana lui G.P. I-a interzis s-o faca.
Se intorsese in ziua urmatoare. Ca sa-si ceara scuze, mi-a zis. Si (ca s-o citez): “Pur si simplu s-a intamplat.”
Eram atat de geloasa. M-au facut sa ma simt mai batrana decat ei. Ca niste copii neasculatori. Bucurosi ca au un secret al lor. Si ma simteam frigida. Nu suportam sa-l vad pe G.P. Pana la urma, dupa o saptamana, m-a sunat intr-o seara la Caroline. Nu se simtea vinovat. I-am spus ca sunt prea ocupata sa ne vedem. N-as fi trecut pe la el in seara aceea, nu. Daca ar fi fost insistent, as fi refuzat. Dar mi s-a parut ca vrea sa inchida, asa ca i-am spus ca o sa trec pe la el a doua zi. Imi doream atat de mult sa stie ca sunt ranita. Nu poti arata cuiva ca esti ranita prin telefon.
Cred ca va vedeti prea des, mi-a spus Caroline.
Are o aventura cu tanara aceea suedeza, i-am spus.
Chiar am avut o discutie pe tema asta. Am fost dreapta. I-am luat apararea. Dar cand m-am bagat in pat, eu insami l-am judecat. Ore in sir.
Primul lucru pe care l-a rostit in zilele urmatoare (fara prefacatorie) – s-a purtat ca o catea cu tine?
I-am raspuns, nu. Deloc. Apoi, ca si cand nu mi-ar fi pasat, de ce ar fi facut-o?
A zambit. Stiu cum te simti, parea ca spune. Am simtit nevoia sa-i trag o palma. Nu puteam s-arat ca si cand nu mi-ar fi pasat, ceea ce inrautatea si mai mult situatia.
Barbatii sunt josnici, a spus.
Cel mai josnic lucru in privinta lor e ca pot s-o recunoasca cu zambetul pe fata, am spus.

Adevarat, a incuviintat. Apoi a tacut. Imi doresc sa nu fi trecut pe la el, imi doresc sa-l fi scos din viata mea. M-am uitat spre usa dormitorului. Era intredeschisa, vedeam capatul patului. Inca nu-mi pot compartimenta viata, i-am spus. Asta-i tot.
Uite ce e, Miranda, a inceput, intre noi sunt douazeci de ani lungi. Am mai multa experienta de viata decat tine, am trait mai mult, am tradat mai mult si am vazut mai multi oameni tradati. La varsta ta, esti plin de vise. Iti inchipui ca daca pot discerne uneori intre trivial si esential in arta, ar trebui sa fiu plin de virtuti. Pentru tine, farmecul meu (dac-oi avea unul) e sinceritatea mea. Si experienta. Nu bunatatea. Nu sunt un om bun. Poate ca moral sunt mai tanar decat tine. Poti sa intelegi asta?
Rostea in cuvinte exact ce simteam. Eu eram rigida, el maleabil si-ar fi trebuit sa fie exact invers. Vina e a mea. Dar tot ma gandeam, m-a dus la concert si dupa aceea s-a intors cu ea aici. Mi-am amintit de datile cand sunam la usa si nu-mi raspundea nimeni. Imi dau seama acum ca era gelozie sexuala, dar atunci imi parea o tradare a principiilor. (nici acum nu stiu – totu-i confuz in mintea mea. Nu pot rationa.)
As vrea sa ascult Ravi Shankar, am spus. Nu-i puteam spune, te iert.
Am ascultat muzica. Apoi am jucat sah. A castigat el. Nici un cuvant despre Toinette, doar la sfarsit, pe scari, cand mi-a spus ca totul se sfarsise intre ei.
N-am spus nimic.
A facut-o doar de dragul distractiei, a spus.
Dar totul s-a schimbat. Era un fel de armistitiu. L-am mai vazut de cateva ori, dar niciodata singura, i-am scris de doua ori cand eram in Spania, iar el mi-a trimis o vedere. L-am vazut o data la inceputul acestei luni. Dar despre asta o sa scriu altadata. Si o sa mai scriu despre discutia ciudata pe care am avut-o cu Nielsen aceea.
Ceva ce mi-a spus Toinette. A spus, vorbea despre baietii lui si mi-a parut rau pentru el. Cum ii cereau sa nu mai merga la scoala lor de lux, ci sa se vada in oras. De rusine ca sa nu fie vazuti cu el. Cum Robert (acum in Marlborough) il trateaza de sus.
Mie nu mi-a vorbit niciodata despre ei. Poate in sinea lui crede ca si eu apartin aceleiasi lumi.
O mica burgheza increzuta de la scoala particulara.

(Seara) Azi am incercat din nou sa-l desenez pe G.P. din memorie. Zadarnic.
Dupa cina, C. a inceput sa citeasca “De veghe in lanul de secara”. De cateva ori l-am surprins cum se uita sa vada cate pagini mai are de citit.
Citeste romanul doar ca sa-mi arate cat de tare se straduieste.
In seara asta, in timp ce treceam prin fata usii (de la baie) am spus, multumesc pentru o seara placuta, acum la revedere. Si m-am prefacut ca deschid usa. Era incuiata, evident. Pare blocata, am spus. Dar n-a zambit, a ramas locului privindu-ma. Era o gluma, i-am spus. Stiu, a raspuns. E tare straniu – m-a facut sa ma simt ca o proasta. Prin simplul fapt ca n-a zambit. Sigur ca G.P. a incercat mereu sa ma atraga in pat. Nu stiu de ce, dar inteleg asta acum mai mult ca oricand. Ma soca, ma intimida, ma tachina – dar nu intr-un fel rautacios. Pe ocolite. Nu m-a fortat in nici un fel. Sa ma atinga. Vreau sa spun, in felul lui ciudat m-a respectat. Nu cred ca se cunostea cu adevarat. Voia sa ma socheze – cu sau fara voia lui. Sau la voia intamplarii.

Zilele s-au scurs. Au trecut trei saptamani de atunci.
Desigur, n-o sa mai am nicicand un oaspete, desi acum ca matusa Annie si Mabel s-au hotarat sa stea in Australia, n-ar fi prea greu.
Totusi, din curiozitate, am inceput de-atunci sa studiez problemele pe care le-as avea cu fata de la Woolworth's. Locuieste intr-un sat de partea cealalta a orasului Lewes, intr-o casa cam la un sfert de mila de statia de autobuz. Trebuie sa mergi pe un drum de tara, sa ajungi acolo. Cum spuneam, ar fi posibil (daca nu mi-as fi invatat lectia). Desigur, nu e la fel de draguta ca si Miranda, e doar o vanzatoare banala, dar asta a fost greseala mea, am tintit prea sus, trebuia sa sa-mi dau seama ca nu voi obtine niciodata ceea ce doream de la o persoana ca Miranda, cu ideile ei fistichii si trucurile ingenioase. Ar fi trebuit sa gasesc pe cineva care sa ma respecte mai mult. O persoana de rand pe care puteam eu s-o invat.
E in cutia facuta de mine, sub meri. Mi-a luat trei zile ca sa sap groapa. Am crezut ca o innebunesc in noaptea in care am facut-o (am coborat si am pus-o in cutia facuta de mine si-am scos-o afara). Nu multi ar fi putut face asta. Am fost foarte metodic. Am planuit ce era de facut si-am lasat deoparte sentimentele. Nu suportam gandul ca trebuie s-o privesc din nou, am auzit odata ca le apar pete verzi si violete, asa ca am intrat cu o patura ieftina si am tinut-o ridicata pana am ajuns la pat si-apoi am aruncat-o peste moarta. Am infasurat-o bine cu tot cu asternuturi in cutie si-am insurubat repede capacul. Am scapat de miros dezinfectand si aerisind incaperea. Camera e acum curata, ca noua.
Am sa pun tot ce-a scris ea si parul ei intr-o cutie sigilata in pod care nu va fi deschisa decat dupa moartea mea, adica peste vreo patruzeci-cincizeci de ani. Inca nu m-am hotarat in privinta lui Marian (tot cu litera M! L-am auzit pe seful ei chemand-o), de data asta n-o sa fie vorba de dragoste, va fi doar ca sa le compar si problema cealalta pe care as vrea s-o studiez mai indeaproape si as putea s-o invat eu pe ea. Iar hainele cred ca ii vin. Desigur, o sa stabilesc din capul locului cine e stapanul si la ce ma astept de la ea.
Dar deocamdata e doar o idee. Am dus soba jos azi doar pentru ca trebuia oricum sa usuc incaperea.