Under The Net - Iris Murdoch [128]
the wireless on full. Like a sea wave curling over me came Anna's voice. She was singing an old French love song. The words came slowly, gilded by her utterance. They turned over in the air slowly and then fell; and the splendour of the husky gold filled the shop, transforming the cats into leopards and Mrs Tinckham into an aged Circe. I sat quite still and held Mrs Tinck's eyes, as she leaned there with her hand frozen upon the knob of the wireless. It was very long since I had heard Anna sing; and as I listened I saw her, and saw the little streak of grey in the coronet of her hair. The song ended. 'Turn it off!' I said, for I could bear no more. The shop was suddenly silent. Mrs Tinckham had turned the wireless off completely, and for the first time since I had ever come to Mrs Tinckham's shop I could hear the animals breathing. Anxiously I turned the pages of the Radio Times until I found the place. 'Anna Quentin,' it said, 'relayed from the Club des Fous in Paris, in the first of a series of ten broadcasts entitled Qu'est-ce que la Chanson?' I smiled with a smile which penetrated my whole being like the sun. 'You see,' said Mrs Tinckham. 'I see,' I said. I wondered what she meant. We looked at each other. 'Mrs Tinck,' I said, 'I'll tell you something.' 'What?' said Mrs Tinckham. 'I'm going to get a job,' I said. I didn't expect her to look surprised, and she didn't. ' What can you do?' asked Mrs Tinckham. 'I shall find a part-time job in a hospital,' I said. 'I can do that.' I am very conservative by temperament. 'But first I must find somewhere to live,' I said. 'You could look at the board outside,' said Mrs Tinck. 'There may be a room advertised, I forget.' I got up and went outside. Mars ambled after me and stood leaning lazily against my legs, scanning the street for mobile and chaseable cats. I examined the board. It was covered with more or less ill-written postcards, which were pinned there for a weekly fee. One, neater than the rest, caught my eye, advertising a ground-floor room near Hampstead Heath, with no petty restrictions. This obviously referred to women; I wondered if it might be extended to cover dogs. 'Who put that one up?' I asked Mrs Tinck. 'An odd kind of man,' said Mrs Tinckham. 'I don't know him particularly.' 'What's he like?' I asked. 'He's rather tall,' said Mrs Tinckham. I knew that I should have to go to Hampstead to find out what was odd about him. 'You've nothing against him?' I said. 'Oh, nothing at all,' said Mrs Tinck. 'Why don't you go and look at the room?' 'I'll do it tonight,' I said. 'If you're stuck for a bed you can come back and sleep here,' said Mrs Tinck. This was an extraordinary concession. 'Thank you, Mrs Tinckham,' I said, but where shall I sleep?' 'I'll make you a bed behind the counter,' said Mrs Tinckham. 'I'll move Maggie and her kittens into the back room.' 'How are Maggie and her kittens?' I asked politely. 'Come and see,' she said. Feeling that I was stepping on to sacred ground, I came round behind the counter. In the corner at Mrs Tinckham's feet, in a cardboard stationery box, lay Maggie with four kittens curled against her striped belly. Maggie was blinking and yawning and looking the other way while the kittens struggled into her fur. I looked, I looked closer, and then I exclaimed. 'Yes, you see,' said Mrs Tinckham. I knelt down and began to lift the kittens one by one. Their bodies were as round as balls and they squeaked almost inaudibly. One of them was tabby, one was tabby and white, and two of them appeared to be completely Siamese. I studied their markings and their crooked tails and their fierce squinting blue eyes. Already they seemed to be squeaking more huskily than the others. 'So Maggie's done it at last!' I said. Mars thrust his head under my arm and sniffed at the little beasts with condescension. I put them back in the box. 'What puzzles me,' said Mrs Tinckham, 'is why those two should be pure Siamese and the other ones quite different, instead of their all being half tabby and half Siamese.' 'Oh, but that's how it always is. It's quite simple,'