CHAPTER XV : AN UNRESOLVED DILEMMA.
We finished our eggs and delicious buttered toast and drinking our tea I asked, will I see you tomorrow, Diana? No, George, tomorrow I’ll be with Edgar. So let me get this clear, I said suddenly stunned, at present, as things stand, are you two-timing Edgar or are you two-timing me? Inevitably we had arrived at the predicament that was bound to surface. Her expression hardened and she smiled drily. That is such an unfair question, she said. In a way, you are getting what you deserve. This situation is your creation. First you throw me away and then you are after me like mad. Not yours? I asked raising my voice half a decibel, trying to control myself. Are you completely uninvolved, completely guiltless? Or are you quite happy to have two lovers at the same time? She looked at me trying find a defense, perhaps to clear the confusion in her mind. The steely look softened. You must give me time, George, to work this out with myself. If you love me, that is. I do love you, Diana, I am mad about you. It’s you who are of two minds. I am not of two minds. I am terribly fond of you, George. Fond? Fond? I cried. What a horrible English word. What a horrible sentiment. I don’t want you to be fond of me. I’d rather you hated me or even despised me. But fond is so lukewarm it can only satisfy beggars and I am not begging for your love. I love you and I expect to be loved in return or shown the door. If I did not love you, Diana, I would be quite happy to keep you as a once-a-week fucking partner but I am in love with you. Keep your voice down, she said, people are looking at us. I liked you from the time we met at Annie’s. Wasn’t it I that called you to go to the Picasso exhibition? And I did fall in love with you during those few weeks it took you to decide that you could no longer bear to see me. You made me feel like a leper and I hated you profoundly. Needless to say, my mother was also terribly disappointed. She kind of liked you. Well, after that I met Edgar and, though you hate the word, grew quite fond of him. He gave me back my self-confidence and self-respect. I cannot treat him the way you treated me. Consequently, I said with a mirthless laugh, we are at an impasse. Let me work it out, she said. Just give me time. Who is this mysterious Edgar, anyway, this talented super artist? Please, George, no need to be sarcastic. It does not suit you. It diminishes you and despite everything, I do have a high opinion of you. So does Annie, by the way. She adores you.
We finished our tea and left Lyons in good spirits despite our momentary spat and unresolved dilemma. It’s such a glorious day Diana, let’s walk a bit. Yes, she said, good idea, we have been stuffing ourselves too much. Well we did try to burn some calories last night, didn’t we? Yes, she said with a laugh, with the best possible exercise. We started walking towards Kensington Gardens which were not far off. We walked hand in hand and kissed when not too many people were around though such behavior is typically ignored by staid Englishmen. When we reached that wonderful expanse of green we walked to the round pond and sat on a bench in the sun which is so precious in that usually overcast city. A few children with young mothers were trying to sail toy boats on the pond tied to a string. Their happy cries put us off the kissing mood we were constantly in. Tell me, my sweet, about your other sweetheart, I asked Diana. She looked at me quizzically. I wouldn’t call him that, George, but here goes. No nasty comments from you? None, I promise, I said.
Edgar lives in a tiny flat in the building next to ours. He was forever loitering on the street steps of his building ever since we returned from Egypt and I began attending the Fulham grammar school to do my ordinary level G.C.E. Sometimes he was alone and sometimes with a pack of loutish friends who were loud, a little vulgar and littered the pavement with cigarette butts. With me he was always friendly and chatted me up. Mother told me not to give him too much leeway because he was an unemployed artist and artists did not have the best of reputations. Well, at the time he was much older than I was and I did not give him a thought. The age difference is still the same, of course, but its significance diminished in the two years I took to finish school and then I left for France where I lived with father for about a year and a half. In France I was initiated in sex by Reginald and I shall say nothing more about him because I get nausea just thinking about him. When I returned to London Edgar courted me more assiduously, asking me to go out with him to a Soho club he frequented and teased me in a crude way to make me feel that I was still a child. Then you came into the picture and exited and broke my heart, I was devastated. Truly I was. I thought I had found the boy of my dreams and this dream suddenly evaporated. I started responding to Edgar’s openings. I went to his flat and saw his canvases. I cannot claim a special knowledge and taste in modern art though Edgar attempted to explain what he tries to express by his abstractions. He works with a few galleries that sell his paintings but it is mostly a hand to mouth existence, if that. He hails from Manchester from a working class family. Apparently his dad has a pub somewhere just outside the city and he sends Edgar some money now and then. About his paintings, I cannot pretend I like them all. Some I find attractive to the eye because of the color mix, most are indifferent and some I would not take even as a gift. He is thirty-two, by the way. Well, we eventually made love and, if you didn’t know, you must realize that if the man is kind and the sex is satisfying, even without an initial strong attraction it is inevitable that an emotional bond builds up between man and woman. Moreover, he has been very supportive, which was not to be expected from his initial flippant wooing and he helped me get over my disappointment with you. When I saw you at the cinema that time he urged me to go straight up to you and tell you exactly what I thought of you. And it did relieve and soothe me this outburst of mine. It is this emotional bind that now troubles me and I don’t know how to untangle myself from it.
It is your choice, of course, I said, but isn’t thirty-two a little too old for you? Well, it’s not as if we’re going to be married. My mother would not like it. He has come to our house several times but the entente is missing with mummy. She does not like his accent, his manner of speech, his coarse jokes and the sloppy way he dresses, not to mention his empty pockets. But that’s beside the point. What is the point, Diana? I asked. The point is that I feel attached to him and he seems dependent on me. There has been a sort of inversion in our relationship. His former devil-may-care attitude has softened and he seeks my advice and opinion on everything. It is a dependence I do not relish because it draws me into a corner I dislike. I still don’t understand, I said. You see, his friends are artists and most of them worthless punks who dabble in light drugs and he has often taken me to parties which are rather wild, with drink, ear splitting music, loose girls and people going in and out of bedrooms. You can imagine what for. He has taught me a lot about sex and much of it is kinky and he sometimes has me tie him up on the bed with rope and do all sorts of crazy things. Such as? I was amazed and curious. Well, at times I beat him with a belt or slap him or pinch his flesh with pincers, or sit on his face, naked of course, or play with and hurt his genitals and all sorts of abnormal stuff. He claims he had a mistress in Manchester when he was a teenager that initiated him in sado-masochism and he got to enjoy this stuff. She beat him and tortured him and insisted that he call her, mistress. Yes, mistress, no, mistress, as you wish mistress, and so on. He was very proud of the fact that at sixteen he had a woman who was forty. A good looking widow working as a barwoman in his father’s pub.
We made sex in all the possible positions you can conceive but that’s usually all right. It brings variety which is exciting and pleasurable. It’s not all right when there is no feeling, no emotion, no love and that happens when too much liquor is consumed and then one has no control and can sometimes physically hurt his partner. But mainly it’s the kinky stuff that revolted me at the beginning, and yet you know something, one gets used to anything and I found myself eventually relishing the pain I was inflicting. Of course, it wasn’t real bona fide torture. I was always careful how far I went. And there were other things. One time he took me to a party and when we entered the flat everyone, girls and boys were naked. A lot of liquor was being consumed and people were dancing and shouting in a din of rock music and girls were belly dancing without a stitch on. I was flabbergasted. Edgar convinced me to undress saying it was good innocent fun and I did and wandered around feeling awkward, looking at what was going on. Eventually some couples started copulating on the couches in full view of everyone and some tried to pull me to join in. What saved me was that I did not drink one sip of alcohol that evening and consequently had the physical strength to push off the drunken pricks that tried to take hold of me. I lost Edgar for a while that night and I presumed he was in a bedroom with one of the groupies. We left later at night and I didn’t talk to him for a long time. He kept running after me, phoning me and waiting at the entrance of our building to talk to me. He kept apologizing and eventually we made up.
My God, Diana, I said, I can hardly believe all this. She looked at me steadily with searching eyes. They were a luminous blue and the apprehension in them touched me. I have been honest with you, she said. I want you to know where you stand. Do you despise me? No my darling, I answered. I love you just as much as I did before your story though I still don’t understand your attachment to this Edgar. No I suppose you don’t, she said, though you might if you realize that he has not been very successful in his life, he is a disappointment to himself and he needs me. All the boisterous self-confidence is a sham. He started off with me as an arty, world-wise debonair and ended feeding out of my hand. Don’t you think, I asked, you are giving yourself too much credit and that in the last analysis nothing much will change for him when you leave him? He has his milieu which is not yours and that will not change, his art will occupy him and might even mature and progress, and his father will shore him up financially when he needs it. Don’t be heartless, George. Not everything is cold logic. I owe him my recovery when you threw me away. I sighed in exasperation. I had heard her say this, you threw me away, once too often. It was true and deplorable but I repeatedly begged her pardon. I could no longer listen to it without irritation. Listen, I said, let’s put a full stop here. Thank you, love, for coming straight with me. We might talk about this on a later date or we might not. Let’s walk a bit. We got up and I embraced and kissed her. I do love you, I said. And I am terribly fond of you, she said with a mischievous smile. We began walking towards South Kensington past the Albert Hall and the different museums concentrated in that area. I must go home, she said. Mother must be getting worried. Won’t you come to my room for a while? I asked. She smiled knowingly. Too much, too soon and you shall begin to tire of me. No, I really must go home. What will you tell your mother? I asked. The truth, she answered. Which is? That you love me and that you are not a sissy. Fair enough, I said. We walked to her bus stop and she climbed on the bus and turned and looked at me until distance separated us. I think she was happy.