The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene [107]
‘What is it, sah?’ the corporal whispered, kneeling by the body.
‘I loved him,’ Scobie said,
PART TWO
Chapter One
1
AS soon as he had handed over his work to Frazer and closed his office for the day, Scobie started out for the Nissen. He drove with his eyes half-closed, looking straight ahead: he told himself, now, today, I am going to clean up, whatever the cost. Life is going to start again: this nightmare of love is finished. It seemed to him that it had died for ever the previous night under the petrol drums. The sun blazed down on his hands, which were stuck to the wheel by sweat
His mind was so concentrated on what had to come - the opening of a door, a few words, and closing a door again for ever - that he nearly passed Helen on the road. She was walking down the hill towards him, hatless. She didn’t even see the car. He had to run after her and catch her up. When she turned it was the face he had seen at Pende carried past him - defeated, broken, as ageless as a smashed glass.
‘What are you doing here? In the sun, without a hat.’
She said vaguely, ‘I was looking for you,’ standing there, dithering on the laterite.
‘Come back to the car. You’ll get sunstroke.’ A look of cunning came into her eyes. ‘Is it as easy as all that?’ she asked, but she obeyed him.
They sat side by side in the car. There seemed to be no object in driving farther: one could say good-bye here as easily as there. She said, ‘I heard this morning about Ali. Did you do it?’
‘I didn’t cut his throat myself,’ he said. ‘But he died because I existed.’
‘Do you know who did?’
‘I don’t know who held the knife. A wharf rat, I suppose,
Yusef s boy who was with him has disappeared. Perhaps he did it or perhaps he’s dead too. We will never prove anything, I doubt if Yusef intended it’
‘You know,’ she said, ‘this is the end for us. I can’t go on ruining you any more. Don’t speak. Let me speak. I never thought it would be like this. Other people seem to have love affairs which start and end and are happy, but with us it doesn’t work. It seems to be all or nothing. So it’s got to be nothing. Please don’t speak. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. I’m going to go away - right right away.’
‘Where to?’
‘I told you not to speak. Don’t ask questions.’ He could see in the windscreen a pale reflection of her desperation. It seemed to him as though he were being torn apart. ‘Darling,’ she said, ‘don’t think it’s easy. I’ve never done anything so hard. It would be so much easier to die. You come into every’ thing. I can never again see a Nissen hut - or a Morris car. Or taste a pink gin. See a black face. Even a bed ... one has to steep in a bed. I don’t know where I’ll get away from you. It’s no use saying in a year it will be all right It’s a year I’ve got to get through. All the time knowing you are somewhere. I could send a telegram or a letter and you’d have to read it, even if you didn’t reply.’ He thought: how much easier it would be for her if I were dead. ‘But I mustn’t write,’ she said. She wasn’t crying: her eyes when he took a quick glance were dry and red, as he remembered them in hospital, exhausted. ‘Waking up will be the worst. There’s always a moment when one forgets that everything’s different.’
He said, ‘I came up here to say good-bye too. But there are things I can’t do.’
‘Don’t talk, darling. Dm being good. Can’t you see I’m being good? You don’t have to go away from me - I’m going away from you. You won’t ever know where to. I hope I won’t be too much of a slut’
‘No,’ he said, ‘no.’
‘Be quiet darling. You are going to be all right you’ll see. You’ll