The Elected Member Page 10

  Bella sat up on Norman’s bed, and looked at her socks. Norman had indeed become sixteen on the following day, and without any difficulty. But she had found it hard to assume her natural age. Besides, the socks were not so easily discarded. She didn’t know why she couldn’t relinquish them. Perhaps she had wanted to maintain her mother’s illusion, even though her brother had opted out of the play, and she could not find it in herself to let her mother down. She bent over the bed to tidy the fold in her sock. In her heart she knew why she would not let them go. They were all she had to perpetuate her brother’s love. Had she allowed herself womanhood, their coupling would have been meaningless.

  ‘So what?’ she said aloud and stood up. Her mother was dead; she owed no more to that quarter, and Norman well, he was away, and this love of hers for him, it had to stop, it had to stop, it was crippling both of them. What had she done with her life after all, forever justifying her infant extremities? She had settled for sterility, and called it maturity. She ran to her room and opened the spare drawer. When Esther had left home she had left, among other things, a pair of stockings, or, it crossed Bella’s mind, had she left them deliberately? It didn’t really matter what Esther’s motives were. Esther was doing her no favours. This was her own decision. She tore the cellophane bag and gently took out the stockings and laid them on the bed. For a moment she stared at them, trying to see them as a natural part of herself, as the white socks had always been. It was difficult. But she would get used to them. She would have to. She tore off one sock, and sat down on the bed. Slowly she drew on the stocking, with a stab of despair at the thought of a sock-less future. Like Norman she had become an addict, and white was the colour of her illusion as well. But she would be stronger than Norman. She would will herself into a cure. With her stockinged foot, she eased off the other sock and as it fell to the floor, the telephone rang. She waited, listening to its ring, sitting there on the bed, her bare and stockinged feet dangling. She knew it was Norman. Something had warned him of the change at home. Something had told him that Bella was in the process of discarding him. She ran to the phone, the one stocking concertinaed to her ankle.

  ‘Hullo.’

  ‘Bella?’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, fine. I’m much better. This place is wonderful. It’s doing me a lot of good already.’ He was breathless with rehearsal.

  ‘I’m glad, glad,’ Bella said. Her voice was automatic, and she was shocked at herself that the news did not gladden her. She hoped that her lack of enthusiasm hadn’t spread into her voice. ‘That’s marvellous,’ she said tonelessly. ‘What are they doing to you?’

  ‘It’s sleep. I had a wonderful sleep last night, and they’re giving me tranquillising pills.’

  There followed an uneasy silence.

  ‘D’you want me to come and see you?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘Yes. I thought you might come up today. It’s half day in the shop. I thought you might come with Poppa.’

  ‘Well, one of us will come anyway.’ She was glad that she had a let-out. She didn’t want to see him, and had to reluctantly admit to herself that the thought of his getting better, disturbed her. ‘D’you want anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Norman said hurriedly. ‘I need some money. I’ve got this mad craving for chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. And I need to buy shaving soap and lots and lots of toilet things. Just bring the money, and I’ll buy the stuff here. We’ve got a little shop. It’s quite a community. But I could do with some chocolate. God, even to talk about it makes my mouth water.’

  Bella leaned over the telephone. She felt weak. He was talking like a child, and in a surge of love she would join him in his regression. She bent down and slipped the silk stocking off her foot. ‘you’ll have chocolate, Norman,’ she said gently, ‘as much as you want.’

  ‘This afternoon, I want it,’ he said impatiently. ‘you will come, won’t you.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ she said. She hesitated before she put the phone down. ‘We love you, Norman,’ she said. Her father would have to shoulder the blame for that love too. She couldn’t bear it alone. They would go and see him together and she in her white socks, because although her mother was dead, and Norman in hospital, and as he said, getting better, between them the illusion was the same.

  Chapter 9

  The thought of a shopping spree on Norman’s behalf excited her, and she decided to take a bus out of their own squalid shopping area to a district further into the town, where a Beater variety was available. On the bus, Bella listed what she would buy him and when her stop came, she watched some passengers alight, but she didn’t join them. She turned away from the window, pretending to herself that she had missed her stop, and when she alighted, three stops later, she tried to convince herself that she’d reached Esther’s home by accident. She rarely went to see her sister. Esther was so unhappy that Bella felt it as a punishment to herself. It was more comfortable to keep in touch by letter. But what she had to tell about Norman’s confinement was not easily written down. Besides, she wanted the gratification of seeing Esther’s reaction. In a way, it would off-load her own burden. She hoped that the husband was at work. She could not bring herself to pronounce his name. She blamed him for her sister’s unhappiness, though she knew in her heart that he was innocent, that he’d been used in a marriage that was doomed from the start. But she had to blame somebody, and John had always made himself available for blame. Over the years, he had willingly; stood accused. He even blamed himself for not being Jewish, and therefore the cause of the family rift. He offered no hostility, just a quiet and gentle penitence that Bella found quite sickening. She knew that in anyone else’s terms, John was a good man, whose only sin lay in loving and continuing to love her sister. It was possibly envy that antagonised her, and this thought made her dislike him more.

  She waited in the doorway before ringing the bell. She looked over the neat square of lawn that fronted the house, each blade of grass an exact length, and hand-trimmed at the edges. John’s work. The white slatted fence enclosing the lawn was John’s work too, an attempt to relieve the privet hedge monotony of the semis along the road. John had tried. Even the mezzuzah on the front door was John’s work. Esther would never have put it there. She had married out, and she saw no point in any pretence. But John had taken the responsibility on . her behalf. He had nailed it to the wrong side of the door. But what did it matter? Inside as well, it was all John’s work.

  Esther had contributed little to the homemaking, as if she had never regarded her union as anything but temporary. Most of her books, and even some of her clothes, were after twenty years still in the flat, and Esther had never asked for them, for their removal would have made the break final. Bella had often suggested to her sister that she should visit the flat and take the risk of being turned away. And it was a risk, because her father had promised her dying mother that Esther should not be forgiven. No, he would have to die before Esther could come home. Bella shivered at the thought. She had never admitted that eventuality, and she cursed Esther, and wished her from home for ever. She looked forward to breaking the news about Norman. She had to make her suffer a little.

  She rang the door bell and waited. She knew she would have to wait for a while. In a house where there are few callers, there is often a long interval between the bell and its acknowledgment. There must be time for reflection on who it might be, for no-one is ever expected, then a time for anxiety that the mundane but safe pattern of life had changed, a time to feel fear and uncertainty, and then, in practical terms, time for the hesitant steps to the door. Bella timed each episode, and the door opened.

  It was John. ‘The library’s closed today,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s the local elections.’ He was deeply apologetic for being found in his own home. He smiled weakly. ‘I’ll get Esther.’ he said.

  He effaced himself quickly from the doorway and Bella walked inside.

  ‘It’s Bella,’ she heard J
ohn shout. Almost immediately, Esther ran into the hall. Her face was drawn with anxiety. ‘Is Poppa all right?’ she whispered. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’ She was terrified of Bella’s presence. Every knock at the door was a foretaste of the news that for almost twenty years she had dreaded with day to day fear, the news that it was too late for her father’s forgiveness. ‘Bella,’ she whispered again, alarmed by her sister’s silence, ‘is he all right?’

  ‘He’s fine. I was just passing, and I dropped in to see you.’

  ‘I’ll make you both some coffee,’ they heard John’s voice. He would serve them and withdraw himself as the outsider they both claimed him to be.

  ‘You’ve got something to tell me,’ Esther said. ‘you’ve never just dropped in. There’s always been some reason. What is it?’ she said, sitting down and trying to compose herself. ‘It’s going to happen to me one day, I know. Is it today, Bella?’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Bella said, sitting herself on the arm of Esther’s chair. She put her arm round her sister. In spite of herself, she was moved by Esther’s concern and the thought of all her lonely days and nights punctured with fear for her father. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Poppa,’ Bella said. ‘You don’t have to worry about him. It’s Norman.’

  ‘Silver-fish again? Poor Poppa,’ Esther said. ‘How an he stand it?’

  ‘It’s pretty bad this time,’ Bella said shortly. She was angry that Esther saw only her father’s suffering, when God knows, it was breaking her too. ‘We had to put him away.’ She used the term deliberately, to punish Norman for his lunacy and what it was doing to them.

  ‘Is he in a hospital then?’ Esther tried to mollify her sister’s terminology.

  ‘If that’s what you want to call it,’ Bella said.

  ‘Poor Bella.’ Esther took her sister’s hand. ‘It’s a terrible life for you.’

  With this recognition, Bella softened, and patiently, and in detail, she told her story of their brother’s latest turning. ‘What can I do?’ Esther said helplessly when Bella had finished. ‘I don’t suppose he’s allowed visitors?’ she asked hopefully. She dreaded that she would have to face him, and him prone and mad to boot, and at every kind of disadvantage. What could his hate or forgiveness mean from such a position. ‘I’ll wait till he gets better,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll invite him here.’

  ‘He’s allowed visitors,’ Bella said coldly. Tm going with Poppa to see him this afternoon.’

  ‘Does Poppa have to go? Can’t you spare him that?’ She saw Bella’s hurt face, ‘I can’t go,’ she said quietly. ‘I just couldn’t face it.’

  Bella stood up. ‘Don’t you care?’ she screamed at her. ‘You only think of yourself. Your brother’s ill. He’s never been so bad, and all you can think about is something that happened almost twenty years ago, and you’re too proud to admit that you were wrong. I know Norman was wrong too,’ she said before Esther could interrupt her, ‘but why can’t you forget it? He needs you,’ she said. ‘Even you. He needs us all.’

  John came into the mom with a tray of coffee. Esther was glad of the respite and she smiled at him. His return smile conspired with understanding, and it pained her that he was so good a man, and she, so unworthy. She thought of her suitcases in their bedroom, which since their marriage she had not unpacked, and how each night, he stepped over them to the bed, without a word. She thought of the nursery he had patiently fitted out, and how, over the years, she had turned it into a lumber mom. He was a man who would wait in dignity, and who, with equal dignity, was prepared to lose.

  He poured the coffee for them, and Bella noticed that he had brought no cup for himself. She wanted him to stay. His presence would relieve the tension between them. Besides, for some reason, she felt a little closer to him. ‘Where’s your cup, John?’ she said.

  Esther looked up, startled at the name. Neither was she pleased by Bella’s friendly tone. She didn’t want an alliance between them. Here was a union that she knew she would eventually break, and she didn’t want the complication of allies, either on John’s side or her own. ‘John doesn’t drink coffee,’ she said quickly. She touched his arm to offset the abruptness in her voice, and John left them, glad to efface himself.

  ‘Don’t involve him Bella,’ Esther said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with him.’

  They drank their coffee. ‘Will you go and see Norman?’ Bella tried again.

  ‘It’s Poppa I’m worried about. It can’t be good for him. these visits and that awful journey. Bella,’ she said, ‘ring me every day. Please. You will, won’t you. I have to know how he is.’

  Bella buttoned her coat. ‘D’you want to come shopping with me. Norman asked for chocolate.’

  ‘How you still spoil him,’ Esther said, almost to herself. ‘All his life. Whatever he wanted. And look at him. A wretched drug addict. I don’t care about him,’ she said savagely. ‘I honestly don’t care.’

  Bella moved towards the door, and Esther followed her. ‘Does Poppa know you came?’

  ‘No,’ Bella’s voice was cold. ‘He never mentions you.’ Try to talk to him a little about me Bella, please. Just say my name. You only have to do that. Just once. And then once again.’ She clutched her sister’s arm. ‘Don’t let him forget me, Bella.’

  ‘I try,’ Bella lied. Her sister’s name was a forbidden word in the house. Even in childhood recollections it was disallowed. Bella could have tried harder, she knew. but over the years she had refrained. Her father had his pride too.

  They reached the front door. ‘Say goodbye to John for me,’ Bella said.

  ‘Give Poppa my love.’

  Bella was silent.

  ‘But you can try, can’t you,’ she pleaded. ‘Just say, Esther sends her love.’ She spelt out each word separately. ‘Bella: she whispered, ‘don’t you want me to come home?’

  ‘It’s up to Poppa,’ Bella said. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ But she had already dismissed Esther’s plea. Her father’s pride was as stubborn as Esther’s but for Bella, it had greater value. He was an old man, and his pride retarded his ageing. If he were to lose it, he would shrivel into inneffectuality. No, if Esther were ever to come home, it would have to be on his authority, an authority she would not trespass.

  ‘Ring me,’ Esther said. ‘Let me know every day. You will, won’t you, Bella.’

  Her pleading invested Bella with a sense of her own power, with the awareness that she was within the crisis, within her brother’s madness and her father’s agony, while Esther would have to tremble at the end of a telephone, ousted from it all. She pitied her, and out of her pity, she kissed her.

  ‘Just speak my name to him,’ Esther said again.

  Chapter 10

  Bella clutched the parcel of Norman’s requests under her arm. She wanted only the best for him. and what kind of collection could he get in the hospital shop? So she had bought him the most exclusive chocolates and toiletries whose price had disgusted her. She had wrapped them all carefully, separately and then together in a parcel tied with pink ribbon. She felt childishly excited, as if she were going to a party with a present. Rabbi Zweck dragged behind her.

  It was a long walk from the bus-stop to the hospital, but he was glad of it. It would give him time to collect his thoughts and to rehearse what he would say to his son. Throughout the hour-long journey from London, they had sat together in silence, and he had thought about it over and over again. And each time, he had postponed the decision as to what he would say. His attention anyway had been distracted. He recalled his previous journey to the hospital, only the day before, yet already it had assumed the unreal quality of a nightmare. He recognised the route that the black car had assaulted, the occasional landmarks, and all had been painful. The tiny ‘olde worlde’ antique shop in the centre of a passing village had kindled the memory of Norman’s final protest against the journey. At the end of the row of houses, he heaved a great sigh of abdication. Rabbi Zweck looked at his fellow passengers on the bus and wondered how they could remain s
o unaffected by his own torment. He was glad when he and Bella got off, although the last stage of the journey forced him to face the necessity of deciding how he should greet his son.

  He kept to the inside of the pavement, walking under the overhanging trees, as if keeping out of everyone’s way although, apart from Bella, there was not a soul in sight. At the bus-stop, only they had alighted. The other passengers had saner connections. They were going home, or out to gea, or shopping, none of them on an expedition that involved dishonesty or disguise. ‘Hullo, Norman,’ Rabbi Zweck whispered to himself. ‘How are you?’ How should he be, Rabbi Zweck thought, cooped up in that open pen, pecked at by meshugana from all sides. Rabbi Zweck shuddered. ‘Hullo, Norman,’ he tried again. ‘Is hot today.’ No, that was no good either. Hot or cold, what difference did it make to a man to whom temperature was no more than a sickly irrelevancy to his hallucinated day. ‘Hullo Norman,’ he whispered again. And there he paused. It was the least and also the most that he could say.

  They reached the hospital gates. In front of them. at a fork in the path, was a large notice pointing in the directions of the various numbered villas. Bella looked at her father for guidance, but he did not know the number of Norman’s hut. Nevertheless, he carried straight on knowing that his steps would take him there involuntarily. and probably by the shortest route.