Sufferance, page 8
The girl looked relieved but puzzled and said she did not know what friends of her parents lived near the former capital.
I found myself wondering if the woman was saying anything at all that was true. Had someone telephoned? If so, had that been the message? The fact that she had been so reluctant to mention that there had been a communication at all from the girl’s parents made me suspicious. The reference to their being delayed was odd since the border between the two zones was still closed to all but a few individuals who had enough influence with the occupying power to be allowed across or were able to pay bribes. Was ‘delayed’ a euphemism for ‘unable to cross the border’?
The girl seized the suitcase from me and ran up the stairs. I saw a look of relief on the woman’s face as she realised it was empty and we had come to fill it, and she volunteered that she supposed the girl would stay on with me until further developments. I said that remained to be decided and it was possible the girl might move back, and she made no attempt to conceal her dismay.
A few minutes later the girl came running down the stairs shouting that the servant was a thief. She was almost hysterical, spitting abuse at the woman, who glared back at her. When I was able to get from her what the fuss was about, she told me that an attempt had been made to break into the safe in her parents’ bedroom. She dragged me up the stairs and into the room and showed me a coffer which was set into the wall and usually concealed by a picture that she had swung to one side. There were signs around its edges that someone had used something like a crowbar to try—unsuccessfully—to open it and, failing that, to force it out of the wall.
The servant had followed us up. She stood there, stupidly saying she knew nothing about it and someone must have got into the house while she was out shopping. The girl accused her in the crudest terms of having done it herself.
I told the woman to leave the room and then asked the girl if she knew the combination so we could take the safe’s contents with us. Unfortunately, she did not. It was a model I was familiar with from the office, and I knew it was virtually impregnable. She wanted us to go straight to the nearest police-station and report the servant for attempted theft and have her arrested or at least evicted from the house. I knew it was advisable to have as little as possible to do with the authorities, and told her I would not permit her to do that. She was furious with me. I now saw yet again what a little minx she could be when she did not get her way.
We found the woman downstairs. She had heard the girl shouting at me about the police, and she could see that I understood what a weak position we were in.
The two of them started screaming at each other, and the girl used words I could not have imagined she knew. She shouted that she was not going to leave the house while ‘that woman’ was there because she was planning to steal everything in it. At last I managed to drag her away and calm her down in one of the other rooms. I told her she should fill the suitcase with as many valuables as she could, and I promised to return to the house at regular and more frequent intervals to make sure no further attempt had been made to remove or break into the safe. She took a great deal of persuading, but at last she agreed.
She began to go round the house gathering up things, and now she found that a precious piece of porcelain had disappeared. She flung herself into a chair and sobbed: Mummy loved that vase.
I challenged the woman, and she said she had not been paid for many months. She had sold ‘one or two things’, just to cover her wages and pay a few utilities bills. I told her that if the girl had described it accurately and she had received a fair price, that single object should have covered her wages and all the bills for several years.
While I was talking to her, the girl discovered other acts of theft and kept running back to tell me that such and such an ornament or picture had disappeared. Plenty of precious artefacts remained, however, and I told her to make an inventory of those that we were going to have to leave behind. She did so, and it took a couple of hours. At last we had packed the suitcase until it was so full that it was hard to close, and we were ready to leave.
I warned the woman I would be back soon and reminded her that I now had an inventory of objets d’art and that if anything else disappeared, I would go to the police. She stared boldly back at me, as if silently defying me to do that. I didn’t raise again the possibility of the girl’s coming back because it was clearly out of the question now.
I carried the suitcase down the stairs and as I approached the front-door, just by chance my gaze fell on a shelf in the hall which was too high for the girl to have seen. There was a telegram lying on it. I picked it up and found it was addressed simply with the name of the family and the street. It was unopened. I handed it to the girl. She ripped it open and gasped, and I took it from her. In six words it stated that her brother was in a certain prisoner-of-war camp.
I had assumed she had little affection for him from the way she had spoken of him, so I was surprised that she seemed so shocked.
I told her this was excellent news: he was alive, and they had not said he was injured. She looked doubtful but then accepted that.
I looked at the woman. She did not even look embarrassed. She said she had put the telegram there for safe keeping and had forgotten about it.
The date was more than two weeks earlier, which meant she had neglected to mention it to me on my previous visit as well.
* * *
Afterwards I thought about the servant’s negligence over the message and the telegram. It horrified me that the woman should care so little for what the girl was suffering, even if she had reasons for disliking her.
Also I could not help thinking about the safe. On the way home I had asked the girl what was in it. She said it was where her mother’s jewellery was kept and then, unprompted, gave me a lengthy and detailed description of it which made clear that it was of considerable value. Moreover, she had once happened to go into that room while her father was opening the safe. Apart from the jewels she had noticed a wad of banknotes, some small bars of gold, and various documents which sounded to me like bonds. I hoped nothing would happen to the safe, and it seemed so wrong that its contents should fall into the hands of thieves.
Something else occurred to me later that evening. Thinking back over the servant’s words, it struck me that she said she had not been paid ‘for many months’, and I wondered if she meant her salary had fallen into arrears even before her employer had gone away.
* * *
Things were moving forward at work. I was given a revised list that now contained the names of thirty wealthy men from the girl’s community in the city. Her father’s name was still not there. I was struck by the fact that against each name there was one of two rubrics. In most cases it read: The subject’s property is now under the guardianship of the Department of Protection. In a few instances, however, the wording was: The subject has been relocated and the property restored to the ownership of the nation.
I wondered what the difference was.
* * *
That Sunday a reduction in the salaries of all public servants was announced on the evening news. It was a cut of twenty percent, and it was to take immediate effect. From the beginning of that week I would be earning one-fifth less. Coupled with the steep increase in prices since the invasion, I calculated that my income from that point was going to be not much more than two-thirds what it had been before the War in terms of what it could buy. And because of the girl’s presence, our domestic expenses had increased by about one-seventh. I said nothing to the girls, but later that night I talked it over with my wife.
We realised we had to make drastic savings.
From now on, we would eat only the cheapest cuts of meat, bank down the heating from the stove, and economise on baths and hot water. The major item about which we had to make a decision was, of course, the domestic. But an easy decision was to reduce the pocket-money we gave the three girls. The eldest was still looking for work and so needed enough to cover tram-fares and snacks. Beyond that, we could give her almost nothing for little luxuries and treats. The same was true of our younger daughter, who needed her school-money to pay for fares and occasional bars of chocolate. The girl, however, had no need for pocket-money since she never left the apartment alone and we gave her everything.
We decided to tell them at supper the next day. It started well. My elder daughter said she understood and that she had just heard of what might be an opening for part-time work. It would be badly paid but would at least allow her to learn her craft from a good dressmaker. My younger daughter also accepted it with philosophical resignation. The girl, however, made a fuss. She asked why she could not be given the same amount as my younger daughter less the tram-fares? I patiently explained she had no need for money. I pointed out that it was entirely reasonable for my younger daughter to have to buy an occasional snack on her way to or back from school.
The girl remained unpersuaded and seemed determined to believe I was discriminating against her. Then she suddenly stood up and said: You don’t like me, do you? To our astonishment she turned and ran out of the room.
When the door slammed behind her my younger girl said: No, we don’t like you.
We all sat in silence for a moment avoiding each other’s glance. Then I pointed out how difficult it was for the girl to be amongst strangers and worrying about her own family, and said we must make allowances.
My elder daughter became very quiet after that, and when her sister had gone to bed, said she wanted to talk to us seriously. Once the three of us were alone, she said: We’re all suffering now because of the girl. She must be costing us a considerable amount. It’s not fair to make me and my sister pay for her. And it’s not just the money.
I said: Looking after her might lead to my getting a much better job. You know that. You’re being selfish.
She said: You’re the one who’s being selfish. You know there isn’t much chance of that happening. You’re just indulging a whim at our expense.
She said it without knowing, of course, that I was already wondering just how wealthy the girl’s father was. I found I couldn’t answer her.
I said: You’re nearly eighteen. If it weren’t for the Occupation you would be earning your own living by now, and you’d be contributing to household expenses for your subsistence in lieu of a share of rent. But we’re letting you live here and feeding you for nothing.
She flared up at that and said: You’ve no right to speak of rent.
I said: I just meant that if you couldn’t live here, you would have to share an apartment with other girls and pay rent.
She said: You know I couldn’t afford to do that even if I could find a job. It’s not fair of you to talk like that. You two don’t pay rent and neither should I. This apartment belongs to my sister and me as much as it does to you. You both inherited it and you have an obligation to pass it on. It’s not yours to do with as you please.
I was puzzled that she had made that point and I asked: What do you mean?
She said: Letting a complete stranger move in. I want my nice room back.
I made it clear that there could be no question of that, and she stalked off in a rage.
My wife had said very little during the argument, but as soon as we were alone she made it clear she believed our daughter was justified in her assertion that I was sacrificing the interests of my family for the sake of the ‘intruder’.
When she reproached me—as she did now—for my failure to earn enough to give the family what she wanted for them, I was reluctant to defend myself. I could never let myself forget that our dire financial state—even before the War and the girl—was due to my having failed my final qualifying examinations. I couldn’t blame my wife for having been so unwell at the time. Her passionate desire for some years had been, in spite of the apartment having been in her family for decades, that we move to a larger one in a better part of the city since the district had gone so rapidly downhill. It was clear that was impossible.
I didn’t manage to get much sleep that night. My relations with my elder child had been difficult for a long time. There were aspects of her personality that disappointed me. I suppose you can love someone without much liking them. I was particularly upset that she had chosen to say those things in front of her mother, whose nervous condition she had only too good a reason to know about. I would have to speak to her about that.
* * *
After the discussion of pocket-money, the girl sulked all the next day and—as my wife told me when I got home—scarcely emerged from the room that she had to herself while my younger child was at school. My elder daughter similarly stayed in her room, and the two ate at different times to avoid meeting.
When our younger girl had got back from school she told my wife that she and the girl were not speaking to each other—which was awkward when they were sharing not just a room but the bed.
My wife led me into our room and shut the door. She told me the situation was becoming intolerable. It was up to me to exercise my authority. I promised to discuss it with our elder child that evening.
So after supper I summoned her into my study. I promised her I was going to take steps to rectify the situation with our unwanted guest and insisted that in the meantime, she must not make things more difficult for her mother. I said: You must agree to certain conditions. Don’t pick a quarrel with your mother and don’t even quarrel with me in her presence. If anything is worrying you, discuss it with me when we’re alone. You know why I’m saying this.
My daughter said: You’re talking to the wrong person. It’s Mother who let me down. She’s always preferred my sister and never made any secret of it.
I couldn’t deny the truth of that. I just said: You’re old enough now to understand that your mother was seriously unwell at various times early in your life. These things happen and they’re nobody’s fault but they can inhibit the normal mother-child relationship from developing. Your mother has tried to have a good relationship with you and it’s up to you to play your part.
My wife and I had an argument that night when the girls were all in bed. My wife brought up all the things that had happened since the girl’s arrival and said she was destroying our family. I tried to persuade her that the girl’s father might return and give me a job, but I knew I was not being convincing because I had realised by now how unlikely that was. I didn’t use the argument again that the servant at the house was not someone to be trusted with a child.
Eventually we agreed to tell the girl that we had decided she should go back to her family’s house. My wife would say nothing to her the next day until I returned from work. But she would tell our elder child immediately what we had decided.
* * *
When I got home I found that my elder daughter was more cheerful than she had been for many weeks.
After supper I said there was something we needed to discuss—all of us. We sat at the table and I said to the girl: My wife and I feel that it’s better for you if you go back to your own house.
She stared at me as if I had struck her. Such a wounded, unhappy look.
She said: But you’re my new mummy and daddy. These are my sisters now. I’ve always wanted a sister and now I’ve got two.
I said: That’s a very charming thing to say but the truth is, we’re not your family. We think it would be better for you to be in your own home now.
Her face began to crumple and she wailed: Please don’t make me go back there. She’s so horrible to me. You know she’s been stealing. She doesn’t want me there.
My younger daughter was now in tears. I saw that my wife was moved as well. I think it was the idea that the girl saw her as a second mother that had touched her.
My wife caught my eye and seeing that she was as upset as I, I said: Leave us for a moment, all of you.
The three girls went out.
When the door had closed behind them I said: We can’t throw her out. It’s just not right.
My wife said: What do you suggest?
She’s right about that servant, I said. She shouldn’t be left alone with her. We’ll have to let her stay a little longer.
She said: Until when? What about until the first school she can go to opens? It must be soon.
Knowing what I did, I was doubtful such schools would ever be opened. However, we agreed that as soon as schools for children of the girl’s kind were opened, we would hand her over to her own people and let them look after her. If necessary we would tell the school authorities she was their responsibility, and our home was no longer open to her.
We called the girls back in and told them what we had decided. The two younger ones hugged each other and then each of us.
The next afternoon while the domestic was in the apartment, I went into the kitchen and found the girl in tears being hugged by her. I assumed the girl had told her she would be leaving fairly soon.
My elder daughter made no attempt to hide the fact that she was furious. She marched me into the study and said it was intolerable that her mother and I had gone back on our promise. She said: You’ve given her carte blanche to stay forever.
I denied it, but I believed she was probably right. I felt sorry for what my wife and I had decided. And I began to notice from about this point that my wife now rarely smiled at the girl and spoke to her less than in the past. Her feelings towards her had become increasingly negative, and she was starting to wind down what relationship they had had in order to prepare herself for its imminent and complete severance. Though I understood and even sympathised with that, I also resented it. I felt she was loading the burden of guilt and the pain of our loss of the girl—for there would be regret as well as relief—entirely onto me.
