Sufferance, p.7
Sufferance, page 7
And where do your parents go every evening? I asked. Do they go out to dinner at friends’ houses?
Sometimes, she said. But most often they dined at restaurants or the Casino, which was in the city’s grandest hotel, and then they usually went on to a night-club. Occasionally she was woken very late by the sound of their return.
I said nothing to her, of course, but as my wife and I agreed afterwards, it seemed a neglectful way to treat your children. I had thought her parents were people to look up to, but from what the girl was telling us, that was not the case at all.
* * *
One night a few days later, as we were getting ready for bed, my wife told me about an incident she had witnessed that afternoon. The girl had been ‘helping’ the domestic and had done something stupid and been reprimanded. Instantly she had flared up and said: You have no right to speak to me like that. You’re just a paid employee.
What it illustrated was that she, who had mostly been left in the care of servants, had not been taught to accept from them the kind of authority that a parent had.
The domestic, my wife said, had taken this abuse very well and just smiled.
* * *
All this time I was in doubt whether my wife’s suspicion that our domestic was cheating her was justified or was the consequence of her highly-strung state.
One evening at supper a day or two later, my elder daughter was talking about the people who worked at a place where she did occasional jobs. She told us about one of them being caught pilfering from the shop. To my surprise the girl started to boast with astonishing frankness of how she had learned how to detect dishonesty on the part of her parents’ servants. I managed to get her alone afterwards and I said: That was very interesting. Tell me, how would you behave once you had discovered that a servant was stealing?
A look of feral cunning came over her face. She said: Have you any particular reason for asking me that?
Of course I had to say I hadn’t. But the incident made me wonder if the girl had detected our domestic in such an act and had been using it to manipulate and blackmail her. That would explain why the woman had damaged the doll—it had been an act of revenge. If I was right, she hated the girl, although she concealed that hatred very effectively. In that case, her apparently good-natured response to the girl’s nastiness, in the spat my wife had described, was because she dared not quarrel with her for fear that the girl would reveal her pilfering. And that hypothesis explained the remark the girl had made: You can’t pull the wool over my eyes.
As a consequence of this incident, I became more sympathetic to my wife’s suggestion that we should dismiss the domestic. We couldn’t tolerate a situation in which our servant was in the power of the girl.
An even more pressing motive was that money was getting tighter. The steep rise in the price of basic commodities—bread, coal, transport—was aggravated by the fact that the girl was costing us a lot. There was her food and because of her faddishness—which we accommodated as far as we could afford to—her subsistence was a heavier charge than that of either of our daughters. We had to buy her new clothes because she refused to wear anything that had belonged to our younger daughter although they were the same size. I now told my wife that had to stop.
I had my schedule of how much extra she was costing us: so much for her food, for her pocket-money, her clothing, her tram-fares, and so on. I looked forward to presenting it to her father and receiving not only a refund but also an expression of his gratitude when he saw how much I had spent on his daughter and how carefully my wife and I had looked after her. So up to a point, the higher the figure the happier I was, but I could not help worrying that there was no knowing how long it would be before I was reimbursed.
* * *
The following week on Wednesday evening we were listening to the nine o’clock news—the nine o’clock lies as I called it to my wife because it was nothing but propaganda on behalf of the occupying power—when we heard that the laws of ethnic hygiene which had already come into force in the Western Zone, were now being enacted in our zone. (Since we now had no parliament or legitimate government, new legislation was simply announced by the collaborationist regime.) As was usual with such edicts, the laws came into force at midnight.
I watched the girl’s face, and she showed no emotion at all. She obviously had no idea how much of a threat to her and her family this represented.
I realised I would have to find the time to do the paperwork that would protect me, since one of the effects was that everyone working for the state or municipality had to produce a certificate showing that both their parents and at least three of their grandparents had been baptised in a church belonging to one or other Christian denomination within a year of their birth. Anyone who could not do that was automatically dismissed. The deadline for the production of such a certificate was two months away, and so that very evening I had to start finding out where six of my forebears had been born and christened. Luckily I had most of the information I needed.
I finished my letters to the relevant parish-clerks after midnight—long after all the girls had gone to bed. Knowing that thousands of people would be making the same requests in the next few days, I went down to the street and put my letters into a post-box on the corner. When I got back my wife had retired to rest, but when I went into our room I found she was still awake. I told her I was afraid that the rule about baptismal records would be extended and that before long not just employees of the state but everybody would be required to show on their identity-card that they did not have even one non-Christian grandparent.
Since all the parish-clerks in the country had been deluged with enquiries, it was two weeks before I received a positive response from all of them, and then I had to send a money-order to pay for a copy of the relevant entry.
I had to take those documents to an office to have them registered. Each visit required several hours of waiting in a queue. That office then sent them back to each parish for verification, and when I had received word that my certificates had been authenticated, I had to take my identity-card back and have it stamped. In my case it was endorsed with the legend ‘Four-quarters Christian’. I completed all of that only a few days before the deadline.
Within a few days of the announcement, several of my colleagues stopped coming to work, and I assumed they knew they would be unable to provide the documentation required. I hoped they had found other employment—though how long they would be able to work at all seemed problematical to me.
* * *
It was now—perhaps because she was missing them more and more—that the girl began to talk with greater frankness about her family. That Friday at supper she mentioned the frequent arguments between her father and her brother. Her brother was out most of the latter part of the day and often came in very late at night—if at all—and then blundered up the stairs and slammed his door. She hesitated and then said: Once when he had drunk too much he came into my room. She seemed to be going to say more but stopped. She wrinkled her nose. Then she went on: Whenever he came in drunk, the next morning he would stay in bed until lunch-time. With a prim moue of distaste she said, clearly quoting her father, he drinks with the dog-catcher’s mate. He showed no interest in the business their father had built up by the sweat of his brow and the calluses on his hands. Instead he wanted to be a painter. And with a knowing look the girl commented: The only people who make money from painting have a brush in one hand and a ladder in the other.
When she spoke like that, I could almost hear her father’s voice: boorish, foul-mouthed, angry.
It emerged from what she was saying that her brother and their father quarrelled fiercely and frequently about the boy’s behaviour and about the meagreness of the allowance his father gave him, which did not allow him to keep up with the sons of his father’s business associates in the city. And they argued about his father’s refusal to let him go to art-school and to fund his education as a painter. When the government had issued its request for volunteers to join the reserves, the young man had announced he was going to join the army and his parents had been horrified. The girl said: He only joined up in order to thumb his nose at our father.
My wife and I agreed later that the girl’s father sounded as if he might not be the kind of man who would be grateful to us for what we had done for his child.
* * *
All this time, I was trying to find out if the girl’s father was on any of the lists of the wealthy. By now, due to the carelessness of my colleagues who left their work on their desk when they went out for lunch, I had managed to look at everything relating to lists Nos. 1 and 2. The name I was looking for was on neither of those. I didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved. If he had somehow slipped through the net, then the authorities would not be making inquiries about him or his family. On the other hand, as a wealthy member of that community he should be listed and it would be anomalous if he were not, and I worried about the possible reasons for that. Anyway, there was no point in speculating about any of that since there were three more lists I hadn’t yet seen.
By now people were talking in a very guarded and cautious manner and only to those they believed could be trusted, about the arrests and unexplained disappearances which were becoming more and more frequent. It had become common to pass shops that had closed down or offices where the nameplate had been removed from the entrance.
The wireless was now issuing frequent warnings and exhortations: Be vigilant! If you are aware of breaches of the hygiene rules, alert your local police.
* * *
The fact that I had started coming home late was having a bad effect on my wife’s nerves. I sympathised. She was dealing on her own with two quarrelsome children and a moody and insolent teenager. I was not being paid extra money for my longer hours, and that annoyed her since, as she pointed out, prices were rising rapidly and my wages had remained stable.
It was a week after the new regime of late working had begun that we had our worst quarrel for many months. We were in our bedroom, and I hoped the girls couldn’t hear us. It started with money. She talked of dismissing the servant, and I said I didn’t want her to have to do all the work herself.
She snapped: You leave us no choice. It’s that damned girl of yours. Do you know how much she’s costing us?
I said: I’m keeping a schedule of expenses and when her father gets back he’ll reimburse me.
She screamed: You’ve been saying that for months and he hasn’t come back yet. Do you think he’s ever going to? And if he does, why should he repay us? You know how tight-fisted those people are. And you’ve heard the girl talk about him. Does he sound like an honourable man?
I was shocked because she rarely voiced such ignorant prejudices. I made the mistake of pointing out that we were better off than most people because, since we owned the apartment, we didn’t have to pay either rent or a mortgage.
She almost shouted: That’s no credit to you. I inherited it from my father. It wasn’t your hard work that earned it. It was my grandfather’s. Then she said: You made the decision to take in that little nuisance despite my objections, and you’re making your family suffer.
I said something I instantly regretted: If you felt like that, you should have made it clear from the start. I gave you every opportunity to object. I knew we couldn’t take the risk of making you ill again.
Oh, it’s my fault, now is it? For doing what you wanted. For having had a breakdown.
No, I didn’t mean to say that.
She said: You’re saying you didn’t insist on taking her in because you’ve got some sort of fantasy in your head about her?
I didn’t quite know what she meant, and I didn’t want to find out.
* * *
My wife would have been even angrier if I had shared with her a concern that was beginning to trouble me. It had occurred to me as a possibility that the reason why the father was not on the lists I had so far succeeded in scrutinising was that he was not, in fact, wealthy. Did he really own or part-own the department store? Could it be that he was not really as rich as he pretended, and was that the reason why he had sent his daughter to a free school rather than a fee-paying one? On the other hand, if he were hard up, he would surely not have left the house unused and with a staff for so long.
I decided to make another attempt to find out from someone at the store what the situation was.
* * *
So after work the next day I went there and insisted on speaking to someone higher up than the deputy manager I had previously met. Eventually I found myself in the presence of a thuggish man who was rude and dismissive. I could not give him a persuasive reason for asking my questions and so I learned nothing about the girl’s father: his relation to the store, his present financial situation, or his whereabouts.
* * *
Now my wife raised with me yet again the idea that we should find a way of getting the girl off our hands. She was convinced the intruder was creating severe disharmony, and I could only agree with her. The way a family evolves is very organic, and to introduce a new element so abruptly was dangerous.
* * *
The question of why the girl’s family had not sent word about when they would return was increasingly on my mind. And I discovered it was worrying the girl as well, though I had thought she was unconcerned about it. At the very least I was hoping her brother would be released from whatever prisoner-of-war camp he might be in and would return to take responsibility for his sister—unreliable though he sounded.
At breakfast a day or two later, the girl suddenly demanded she be allowed to go back to her parents’ house in order to pick up various articles of dress and pieces of jewellery that she now needed since her absence had become prolonged. I resisted because I had a feeling it might be unwise for her to be seen there. She then changed tack and said she was ‘terribly worried’ about her family and when they would be back and wanted to find out if any of them had telephoned or written. I wondered which was the real reason. I caught my wife’s eye in case, like myself, she was afraid the girl might have heard some of the rumours that were being circulated.
Although I assured her that I called in every week and was going to do so again in a few days, that failed to satisfy her. She suddenly blurted out: Do you think my parents and my brothers will be back in time for my birthday?
That was two months away, and my wife and I hastened to assure her they would be. But I was beginning to wonder. Her brother might be a prisoner-of-war for very much longer.
I continued to resist letting her go back to the house because I was concerned she might reveal something to the servant that could lead the authorities to take an interest in me. For I now looked back with relief on the misunderstanding that meant the woman did not know who I was or where I lived. I was certain she would report to the authorities anything that might earn her a reward—especially if it harmed the girl and her family.
And yet, by the same token, it meant that if the child’s father and mother had indeed written or telephoned, the servant would not be able to tell them where she was. That was unsatisfactory for a number of reasons. Reflecting that it would be expedient for the woman to be able to tell the parents she had recently seen the child, I agreed she should accompany me when I made my weekly visit next Tuesday.
I discussed with my wife whether to tell the girl she must say nothing that revealed to anyone who we were or where we lived. My wife was surprised I was concerned about that, and I found it hard to explain my motive. I just had a feeling it might be a wise precaution. In the end I decided to say nothing to the girl, since there was no advantage in worrying her.
During this conversation my wife said: While you’re at the house you can try out the idea of her going back to live there and see how it goes down with both of them.
I had to agree to that.
* * *
On Tuesday afternoon after work I met the girl, who was carrying a large empty suitcase given her by my wife, at a tram-stop near her house as we had arranged. When I rang the bell the servant opened the door. She did not look at all pleased to see us and glanced at the suitcase with unconcealed dismay. It came to me suddenly that she had been hoping never to see the girl again and was now afraid she was moving back.
When the girl asked her—as she did in crossing the threshold—if there had been any news from her parents, the woman replied vaguely and evasively.
The girl persisted, and as she spoke she was tearing open the letters to her father and mother that had been piled up on the hall-table, throwing each aside when she found it had nothing to do with the whereabouts of her family. I noticed that many of them were demands for money, and I wondered about the bills that were not being paid for items like gas and telephone. At last the servant admitted that a message had come from the girl’s parents to say they would be delayed longer than they had expected. Of course the girl fired a series of questions at her: Who did you speak to? Was it Mama? How did she sound? Was Father with her? How is my little brother? Is there any news of my elder brother?
Everything had to be extracted as laboriously as if teeth were being drawn. As far as we could establish, someone other than the parents had telephoned the house a few days earlier. The servant apparently had no idea who was speaking—or she was concealing their identity—but the caller had said that the girl’s parents were still in the Western Zone and would be delaying their return because they had been invited to a place in the country nearby.
