Ice - Anna Kavan [66]
Like a conventional hostess making conversation, she said: 'It's nice to have a place of one's own after so much travelling about.' I stared at her. I had come so far to find her, through so many deaths and dangers and difficulties: now at last I had reached her; and she was talking to me like a stranger. It was too much. I felt hurt and resentful. Exasperated by her offhand pose and her determination to deprive my arrival of its importance, I said indignantly: 'Why are you putting on this act? I didn't come all this way just to be treated as a casual caller.'
'Did you expect me to put out the red carpet for you?' The feeble flippant retort sounded offensive. I was becoming angry, knew I would not be able to control myself much longer.
When, still keeping up the farce, she inquired in the same artificial tone what I had been doing, I answered coldly: 'I've been with someone you know,' giving her a long, hard, meaning look at the same time. She understood at once, dropped her affectations and showed signs of anxiety. 'When I first saw you ... I thought you ... he ... I was afraid he'd arrived here.' 'He will be here at any moment. I came to tell you that. To warn you, in case you have other plans, that he means to get you back—' She interrupted, 'No, no—never!' shaking her head so vigorously that the hair flew out with a sheen like spray. I said: 'Then you must leave immediately. Before he comes.'
'Leave here?' It was cruel. She looked round in dismay at the home she had made. The sea shells comforted, the little room was so reassuring, so safe, the one place on earth she could call her own. 'But why? He'll never find me. . . .' Her wistful, pleading voice did not touch me; mine remained adamant, cold. 'Why not? I found you.' 'Yes, but you knew. . . . ' She looked at me with suspicion, I was not to be trusted. 'You didn't tell him, did you?' 'Of course not. I want you to come with me.'
All of a sudden her confidence was restored, she reverted to her former disparaging attitude, gave me a derisive glance 'With you? Oh, no! Surely we haven't got to go through all that again!' Attempting sarcasm, she rolled her big eyes turned them up to the ceiling. It was a deliberate insult. I was outraged. Her slighting tone belittled my desperate effort to reach her, ridiculed everything I had endured. In a furious rage suddenly, I took hold of her roughly, gave her a violent shake. 'Stop it, will you! I can't stand any more! Stop being so damned insulting! I've just been through hell for your sake travelled hundreds of miles under ghastly conditions, run fantastic risks, almost got myself killed. And not the slightest sign of appreciation from you . . . not one word of thanks at the end of it .. . you don't even treat me with ordinary common politeness. ... I only get a cheap sneer. . . . Charming gratitude! Charming way to behave!' She was gazing at me speechlessly, her eyes all black pupil. My rage did not become any less. 'Even now you haven't got the decency to apologize!'
Still infuriated, I went on abusing her, called her insufferable, impertinent, insolent, vulgar. 'In future you might at least be civil enough to thank people who do things for you, instead of displaying your stupid conceited rudeness by laughing at them!' She seemed stricken, dumb; stood before me in silence, with hanging head, all trace of assurance gone. In the last few moments she had become a withdrawn, frightened, unhappy child, damaged by adult deviations.
A pulse at the base of her neck caught my eye, beating rapidly like something under the skin trying to escape. I had noticed it on other occasions when she was frightened.