Period piece — предмет или произведение искусства, напоминающее о прошедших време- нах и кажущееся старомодным

Joyce Cary

PERIOD PIECE

Tutin, married sixteen years, with three children, had an affair with his secretary, Phyllis, aged eighteen, and wanted a divorce. His wife, Clare, with her usual good sense, was resigned. ‘If you feel you must make a break,’ she said, sadly but without bitterness, ‘there’s no more to be said. It would be stupid to try to hold you against your will. You’d only hate me and that wouldn’t help either of us.’ But when her mother in remote Yorkshire heard of this arrangement, she wrote and said it was preposterous2 and wicked3 , she wouldn’t allow it. Old Mrs. Beer was the widow of a canon. She was a short, stout woman with a red face and a heavy jaw — а pugnacious4 and indomitable5 face. Yet there was something defeated about it too. The little faded blue eyes especially seemed to confess that the old woman had long given up hope of any serious attention from anybody. You see such faces in boxing booths among the seconds6 and backers7 , men who have been in the ring all their lives and lost all their fight, but still follow the game as bottle holders, training partners, punching bags8 for young champions. Her son#in#law laughed at her when she didn’t exasperate him to madness by her sudden raids and arbitrary9 commands. Each time a child was born she planted herself in the household and took charge of every detail — laying down the law in an intolerable manner and flatly contradicting everybody from the doctor to the monthly nurse10. Now, at this talk of divorce, she excelled herself. When Clare wrote her explanations she came south without any warning whatever, broke into Tutin’s office and, marching up to his desk, umbrella in hand as if about to beat him, demanded, ‘What’s this nonsense about a divorce?’ This in the presence of the secretary who was taking dictation — not Phyllis, of course — Phyllis was no longer a secretary. As the future Mrs. Tutin she had to think of her dignity. She had a nice flat in a new building in Mayfair11 and spent her time shopping. The new secretary, on promotion from the general office, was a widow of fifty, Mrs. Bateman, with a dark moustache and a strong cast12 in one eye. Phyllis had chosen her as a thoroughly reliable person. All the same, Tutin was not anxious to have his most private affairs discussed in front of her. He opened his mouth to tell her to go but Mrs. Вееr had now come between. She planted her umbrella on the desk, and shouted at him, ‘But there’s not going to be a divorce —’ ‘My dear Mamma, all this has been discussed between Clare and me and we are completely agreed that it’s impossible to go on.’ ‘Of course you can go on — if you had to go on you’d go on very well.’ Mrs. Bateman was still folding up her notebook, now she dropped her pencil. Tutin, a thoroughly good natured man, hating to quarrel with anybody, answered patiently, ‘Of course, these things are not so simple.’ Frank Tutin was a humane, a kindly man. He was extremely upset by this crisis in his family life. He realized how his wife was suffering, how much the children were concerned. He did not forget for a moment, he said, the danger to them of a broken home. Divorce was a very serious thing. For days he had discussed it with Clare, analysing all the complex factors involved: Clare’s feelings, his feelings, the children’s feelings, Phyllis’s feelings and everybody’s right to consideration. Sometimes he had thought that there was no way out — divorce would be as bad as the present unhappy situation. But gradually he had found confidence; certain large principles detached themselves in the confusion — that the children of divided parents in an unhappy home were, according to a psychiatrist consulted by Frank himself, just as likely to suffer in character as those left with one or the other, alone but devoted, after divorce; that the Tutin’s home life was growing every day more distracted, tense and impossible, that the one guiltless person who must not be let down was poor little Phyllis, that Frank and Clare had had many years of happiness together and could not fairly expect to go on for ever. Clare in this crisis lived up to all Frank’s expectations of her. Like the highly intelligent woman she was she took all his points.

And now, just when the divorce had been arranged in the most civilized manner, when Clare had agreed to ask Phyllis to the house to discuss the whole affair — Clare had been charming to Phyllis, so young and so worried, so terribly in love, Phyllis was already quite devoted to her — and when she had agreed to accept a reasonable alimony13 and allow Tutin to have free access to the children, Mrs. Beer comes charging in like some palaeolithic14 monster, hopelessly thick#skinned, brutal, insensitive. Comes and calls him selfish. One could not blame the poor old woman. She was simply out of touch — she belonged to a rougher, cruder age where psychology was practically unheard of, where moral judgments were simply thrown out like packets from a slot machine, where there were only two kinds of character, bad and good, and only one kind of marriage, with no problems except the cook’s temper, the drains15 or, in extreme cases, the monthly bills. He could ignore poor old Mrs. Beer — but suddenly he felt a strange uneasiness in the middle of his stomach. What was this? Indigestion again. He had had a touch of indigestion for the first time during these anxious weeks — Clare had been worried about him and sent for the doctor who had warned him strongly against worry. But how could he help worrying — he wasn’t made of stone. It was worry, a new worry, that was working in him now. Had the old woman yet seen Clare, and what would she say to her? Clare didn’t take her mother too seriously, but she was fond of her. And Mrs. Beer had never before been quite so outrageous16. The uneasiness grew to a climax; and suddenly he jumped up and made for home. He drove far too fast and beat at least two sets of lights. He had an extraordinary fancy that Clare might have decided to walk out and take the children with her. He rushed into the house as if his shirt#tail were on fire. What a marvellous relief — Clare was in her usual corner of the sitting#room doing her accounts. She looked at him with mild surprise, blushed and asked, ‘Is anything wrong? Do you want me for anything?’ ‘No, my dear,’ Turin caught his breath and gathered his nerve. ‘It’s nothing — by the way, your mother is in town. She turned up just now in the office.’ ‘Yes, she’s been here too.’ ‘Oh, I suppose she’s been telling you that I’m a selfish brute.’

Clare was silent, and Tutin’s irritation rose. ‘Selfish — spoiled — a mummy’s boy.’ ‘Of course, Mamma is always rather —’ ‘Do you think I’m a selfish brute?’ ‘Of course not, Frank, you know I don’t. You’ve been most considerate from the beginning. You’ve done your best to be fair to everyone.’ ‘Yes, but especially to myself, the mummy’s boy.’ ‘What do you mean — I never said —’ ‘But you didn’t contradict.’ ‘Mamma is so upset.’ But Frank knew his Clare. He could detect in her the least shade of criticism and he perceived17 very easily that she was not prepared to say that he was quite free from a certain egotism. To himself he admitted that he had acted, partly, in his own interest. But so had Clare in hers. He was the last to blame her. To do anything else would have been flying in the face of all the best modern opinion; everyone nowadays was bound to pay attention to his psychological make#up, quite as much as to his physical needs. A man who did not, who took no trouble to keep himself properly adjusted in mind as well as body, was not only a fool but a selfish fool. It was his plain duty, not only to himself but to his dependents, to look after himself, and only he could tell exactly what was necessary to keep him in health. They had agreed that Phyllis was the key to the problem. In fact, the matter was decided and now he could not do without Phyllis — it was impossible. She adored him. The poor kid simply lived for him. This new exciting love coming to him now in his early fifties had transformed his life. He had simply forgotten what love and life could mean, until Phyllis came to him. Since then he had been young again — better than really young, because he knew how to appreciate this extraordinary happiness. And he exclaimed to Clare, in a furious, even threatening voice, ‘She’s got round you, in fact, but I don’t care what you think of me. If you refuse a divorce I’ll simply go away — Phyllis is ready for anything, poor child.’ ‘Oh, but of course I’ll give you the divorce. Mamma doesn’t understand about — well, modern ideas.’

Tutin didn’t even thank her. He had been profoundly disillusioned in Clare. Apparently she took very much the same view of him as her mother. In this indignant mood those sixteen years of happy marriage seemed like sixteen years of deceit. He could not bear the thought that during the whole time CIare had been regarding him with her critical eye. He was too furious to stay in the house. He went out abruptly and then made for Phyllis’s flat. It had suddenly struck him that Mrs. Beer in her rampageous18 mood might even attack Phyllis, and he was at the moment particularlу anxious to avoid the least chance of any misunderstanding with Phyllis on account of a slight differenсе of opinion between them about a mink coat. Phyllis considered that, as the future Mrs. Tutin, it was absolutely necessary to her to have a mink coat. Tutin was not yet convinced of the absolute necessity. As he came in Mrs. Beer came out. And Phyllis was in an extraordinary state of mind. Red, tearful and extremely excited, even, as he had to admit, unreasonable. For she flew at him. What did he mean by letting her in for that old bitch? She’d been here half an hour — she’d be here still if he hadn’t turned up, bawling19 her out as if she were a tart20. She was damned if she’d take it. ‘But Phyll. I didn’t even know she was coming to London.’ ‘Where did she get my address?’ ‘Well, the office perhaps —’ ‘It’s never you, is it — what are you gaping at? I tell you you’d better do something. She called me a common little tart. She said I’d put my hooks on you because you were meat for a floozy21.’ ‘But you needn’t mind her — she’s only a silly old —’ ‘Not mind her,’ shouted Phyllis; she advanced on him with curled fingers. ‘Why, you fat old fool —’ For a moment he had the awful expectation of her nails in his face. But she did not claw, perhaps she was afraid of breaking a nail; she only shrieked again and went into hysterics. Even after Tutin gave her the mink coat she still considered that she had been cheated of her case for damages against Mrs. Beer. Phyllis had very strong ideas about her rights. She asked Tutin several times if he didn’t agree that this was a free country and he agreed at once, very warmly. He could not forget those

awful words, ‘a fat old fool.’ He did not wish to offend Phyllis again. He even had some gloomy doubts about his future bliss with this darling child. But he did not change his plans. He was too proud to creep back to the treacherous22 CIare. And Clare was a woman of her word. The divorce went forward, and Mrs. Beer, defeated again, trailed back to her bear’s den in the northern wilds. Three weeks later, and before the case had come to court, Phyllis met a young assistant film director who promised to make her a star. They went to ltaly on Tutin’s furniture, and got a house within a hundred yards of the assistant director’s favourite studio on the mink coat. Tutin did not go back to Clare; he felt that confidence between them had been destroyed. There was no longer sufficient basis for a complete and satisfactory understanding, without which marriage would be a farce23; a patched#up24 thing. It was Clare who came to him and apologized. In the end she succeeded in persuading him at least to let her look after him while he was getting over the great tragedy of his life. He was, in fact, a broken man. He felt ridiculous and avoided his friends. He neglected to take exercise and ate too much. He went quite grey and in an incredibly short time developed the sagging25 figure of middle age. But under Clare’s care his sleep and digestion greatly improved. All this was seven years ago. The other day a visitor, a new acquaintance, who had stayed a week#end at the Tutins’, congratulated him on his happy family life, his charming wife, his delightful children. And in his В and В letter26 he declared that he would never forget the experience. The young fellow, who wanted to join Tutin’s firm, was obviously anxious to be well with him. Tutin was amused by his compliments. But suddenly it struck him that there was some truth in them. After all, most of his happiness was in his home, and it was a very considerable happiness. How and when it had begun to re#establish itself he could not tell. He had not noticed its arrival. He had not noticed it at all. It wasn’t romantic — it had nothing exciting about it. It was not in the least like that matrimonial27 dream of young lovers, an everlasting honeymoon agreeably variegated28 by large and brilliant cocktail parties for envious friends; it was indeed the exact opposite —

a way of life in which everything was known and accepted, simple and ordinary, where affection was a matter of course and romantic flourishes not only unnecessary but superfluous29, even troublesome. As for parties, they were perhaps necessary, but what a bore, really, what a waste of time, that is, of peace, of happiness. And it seems to Tutin that he has made a great success of life in its most important department, at home. How wise he had been to make all those subtle adjustments in his relation with Clare, necessary to render possible their continued life together. As for Phyllis, he has seen her once in a film, an extra in a crowd scene. It is a night#club and she is a hostess — he is entranced30 — he feels his heart beat double time — he thinks, ‘l might be her husband now, and living just such a life as those roisterers31. ‘Hе shudders all down his spine and an immense gratitude rises in his soul. He thanks his lucky stars for a notable escape. Mrs. Beer is seventy#eight and has shrunk down to a little old woman with a face no bigger than a child’s. The angry red of her cheeks is now the shiny russet32 of a country child’s, and its look of the defeated but still truculent33 pug34 has turned gradually to a look of patient surprise. The high arched eyebrows in the wrinkled forehead, the compressed lips seem to ask, ‘Why are young people so blind and silly — why does the world get madder and madder?’ She rarely comes south, but when she does she gives no trouble. The Tutins cosset35 her and keep her warm; she plays a great deal of patience36. Once only, after her good#night kiss from the children, and possibly exhilarated by getting out two games running, she murmurs something to Frank about how things had come right again as soon as he had given up the idea of a divorce. Frank is startled — he has forgotten the old woman’s excitement seven years before. But, looking at her as she lays out a new game, he detects in her expression, even in the way she slaps down the cards, a certain self#satisfaction. It seems that she cherishes37 one victory. For a moment Frank is astonished and irritated. Had the poor old thing really persuaded herself that her ideas had had anything to do with what no doubt she would call the salvation38 of his marriage? Did she really suppose that people hadn’t changed in the last half#century, or realize that what might

have been sense for her contemporaries in the 1890’s, before psychology was even invented, was now a little out of date? Had she the faintest notion of the complex problems that he and Clare had had to face and solve, individual problems quite different from anyone else’s, in which her antique rules of thumb39 had no more value than a screw#wrench to a watchmaker? The old woman is still slapping down her cards and for a moment Frank is inclined to tell her how little he agrees with her on the subject of divorce, but he thinks at once, ‘Poor old thing, let her enjoy her little illusion.’ Mrs. Beer puts a red ten on a black jack40, gets out an ace41, looks up and catches Frank’s eye. She gives a smile and a nod, quite openly triumphant. Frank smiles as at a child who dwells in a world of phantasms42.

GLOSSARY

period piece — предмет или произведение искусства, напоминающее о прошедших време- нах и кажущееся старомодным