The Good Terrorist - Doris May Lessing [47]
“Oh, Alice,” said Jasper, with the finality of superiority, “ideology is simply not your line.”
“Well,” said Pat, having exchanged efficient looks with Bert, “I for one don’t think this is the moment to define our attitude towards Comrade Trotsky. There is something in what Alice says. That’s not the point. My point is that this business of having a nice clean house and a roof over our heads is beginning to define us. It is what we do.”
“It’s taken four days,” said Alice, “four days,” and she was appealing for justice.
“Yes, but now it looks as if we are going to have two new people here just to keep the house.”
Jim said, “Why don’t we ask them to join the CCU. I’m going to join.”
“Well, why not?” said Bert, after a considerable pause. Alice saw him and Jasper exchange a long thoughtful look. She knew they were thinking that perhaps they should go next door to ask someone—who?—for advice. Or instruction.
She said, “We must decide tonight. The meeting is tomorrow.” And now she did have her look. Her voice told her so; and told the others, who turned to see how she sat swelling and suffering there.
Bert and Jasper still sat gazing at each other in an abstracted way. What they were doing, in fact, was playing back in their minds what had been said by someone next door, and wondering how to fit this situation into it.
Bert said, “I don’t see why we shouldn’t ask them to join. We keep saying we want to recruit. It sounds to me as if these two might be ripe. With a bit of political education …” And on these words he and Jasper got up, as one, and went out, Jasper remarking, “We’ll be back in a minute.”
Pat said, “And I’m off. I’m off to visit someone.”
“But don’t you want to meet Mary and Reggie?”
Pat shrugged, smiled, and left. Alice was reminded—as, she was sure, Pat had intended—that Pat did not really care, was going to leave anyway.
Remained Alice and Jim and Philip.
Soon in came Mary, with a man of whom Alice found herself thinking, at first glance, “Well, of course!”—meaning that he and Mary were a pair. Not in looks, for he was a tall, knobbly-looking man, with very white skin, small black eyes under strong black brows, and dense, very fine black hair. He would be bald early. Where he matched with Mary was in an air of measure, of common sense ordered by what was due. Due, that is, to their surroundings, their fellows, to society. Alice was looking, and she knew it, at respectability. It was not that she did not value this type of good sense; but it was not the kind of sense that would be appropriate here, in this household. It was with an infinite feeling of tolerance that she allowed that other people had need of these struts and supports. She was thinking, Good God, they were born to be two nice little bourgeois in a nice little house. They’ll be worrying about their pensions next.
Seeing them together, she felt, simply, that a mistake was being made. They should not be here. Alone with Mary, she liked her. Seeing her with her mate, Reggie, Alice felt alienated, with the beginnings of a strong hostility.
“Sit down,” she smiled. And she put the saucepan on the stove and switched on the electricity. A pity: a gas stove would be so much better. Well, they would find one on a skip, or even get a reconditioned one for ten pounds or so.
She turned to see Reggie examining Jim, and thought, With a bit of luck he’s colour-prejudiced and won’t want to be here. But no such luck: he seemed to like Jim. Or, if he didn’t like blacks, his manner said nothing about that. Of course, thought Alice, this lot, the bloody middle classes, you’d find out nothing from their manner, politeness is all. But no, it was genuine, she was pretty sure of it; body language—something Alice was equipped