The Heart Of The Matter

the glass of whisky he was measuring. Something in her voice reminded him o

idn’t even

was in a

ok the same road. It was not only the act of love itself that was the same. ... How often in the last two years he had tried to turn away at the critical moment from jus

at other

h, diam

n I am,’ Helen said, and the banality of the phra

gravely, ‘but I’d sa

‘

dy may love a dog more than any other possession, but

always tell me the truth? I don

you are unlucky. You are tied up with a middle-aged man.

t of all your caution. You come here after da

‘

e junior official’s furniture. I don’t bel

or you,’

cay at his heart. He would never rid himself of it. He knew from experience how passion died away and how love went, but pity always stayed

a line to me. You go away on trek for days, but you won’t leave anyt

haven’t got

- the voice was younger, that was all, and perhaps less capable of giving pain. Standing with the whisky glass in his hand h

child. You tiptoe in

rying to pr

f people talk.’ He recognized the

y talked enough, this

tecting me. You are p

mes to the

ld see how she had spotted her success: he had delivered himself into her hands. Now she would always know how to inflict the sharpest s

said, ‘it’s too

ed, watching his eyes. ‘You’d

re married

e a whipped dog.’ He thought with tenderness

I don’

’ll never

an’t. You

lic,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t stop you sleepi

she had been educated by love and secrecy: he was beginning to form her. He wondered whether if this went on long enough, sh

elen said, ‘jus

he said. ‘One would have to beg

a twister

ent case and a case of juvenile delinquency he had looked forward to the Nissen hut, the bare room, the

at do yo

nd. To look after you. To mak

he asked as though she w

‘You were shoc

he rain stops. Bagster makes a pass, they think I’m frigid. I come back here before the rain starts and wa

ent slowly and cautiously on, choosing his words carefully, as though he were pursuing a path through an evacuated country sown with booby-traps: eve

glad to get rid

d be like the

way if you

to go. I want to

- or you can stay,’ she said wit

, I’ll get you on th

id and began to weep. When he put out a hand to touch her

ll go,’

go and don’

nd sleep as he hadn’t slept for weeks, dreamlessly. Next day the office, the quiet going home, the evening meal, the locked door ... But down the hill, past the transport park, where the lorries crouched under the dripping tarpaulins, the rain fell like tears. He thought of her alon

ed; he had at least made her happy, and now ponderously, with planned and careful recklessness, he set about trying to make things right for Helen. H

refully on, I love you more than myself, more than my wife, more than God I think. I am trying very hard to tell the truth. I want more than anything in the world to make you happy ... The banality of the phrases saddened him; they seemed to have no

interpret - the men were Nigerians. The rain hammered on the Nissen roofs, and he thought, Why did I write that? Why did I write ‘more than God’? she would have been satisfied with ‘more than Louise’. Even if it’s true, why did I write it? The sky wept endlessly around him; he had the sense of wounds that never healed. He whispered, ‘O God, I have deserted you. Do not

I’d look in.’ The evening rain fell in grey ecclesiasti

id. ‘I’m out of whisky. B

sens, so I thought I’d follow

with the Commissioner, b

while Scobie took the beer out of the ice-box. ‘W

cobie said, ‘but there’ve bee

no sound but the rain scraping on the roof. Scobie cleared his throat and then the silence came back. H

will soon be ove

ix months now sinc

‘Se

South Africa?’ Father Rank asked, looki

d my leave. The you

rybody ne

here twelve years

bie. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I feel as though I weren’t a working man at all.’ He stopped and stared and half raised his hands, and Scobie remembered Father Clay dodging an uns

gly to his chair. He said, ‘It’ll

out by Congo Creek?

other draught of beer and doubled up in the chair with his ban

n’t drink bottle

me when they are dying.’ He raised eyes bleary with too much quinine and sa

talking nons

d to ask and they’d give. I wasn’t of any use to a single living soul, Scobie. I thought, in Africa things will be different. You see I’m not a reading man, Scobie. I never had much talent for loving God as some people do. I wanted to be of use, that’s all. Don’t listen to me. It’s the rains. I haven’t talked like this for five years. Except to the mirror. If people are in trouble they’d go to you, Scobie, not to me. They ask me to dinner to hear the gossip. And if you were in trouble where would you go?’ And Scobie

ull and middle aged,’ and looking away, unwilling to see distres

n Wilson for some weeks, and if his visit had no importance why had he so carefully recorded it? He opened the drawer of his desk to find a packet of cigarettes and noticed at once that something was out of

he sergeant said, ‘Mr Wil

he left a

at his desk. It seemed to him that a file had been shifted, but he couldn’t be sure. He opened his drawer, but there was nothing there which would int

?’ the Commi

ng the glass up between himself and

‘

y one who doesn’t

- except myself and the manager of the U.A.C. - that was essential of course. The Governor

that - up to date of cour

’t need to te

t’s cousin we couldn’t hav

f cours

pounds from Yusef so that I could send Louise to South Africa. I pay him four per ce

‘You see Wilson got the idea that you were being bla

uldn’t blackma

told h

you want

Scobie. You’re the only

hand with an empty glass in

‘Say

‘Wh

hs of sun was the period of their common gestation. They needed only a few words and a few gestures to conv

ere’ve been some big t

Commer

es. Is it Yuse

think he deals in industrial diamonds. He call

l be in in a few days.

t does Wi

Yusef is the villain of h

en Yusef for a lon

at these Syrians feel -

g, myself. He thinks I’m too easy-going. It doesn’t matter though.

I supp

p by to her tonight: her last words had been ‘don’t come back’. Couldn’t one, for once, take somebody at their word? He stood twenty yards from Wilson’s hut, watching the crack of light between the curtains. A drunken voice shouted somewhere up the hill and the first spatter of the returning rain licked his face. He thought: I’ll go back

e wanted. He couldn’t shut his eyes or his ears to any human need of him; he was not the centurion, but a man in the ranks who had to do the bidding of a hundr

, ‘I thought you were never

ways come if

‘Will

n one love God at the expense of one of his creatures? Would

the curtains close befo

been afraid all day t

course

er pay any attention to me when

promise,

could see her searching for herself, frowning in the effort to see where she would have been ..

think like that. I’ll always be here

eep on saying as l

re thirty yea

t night they kissed. She sa

wouldn’t come?’ Scobie s

Your l

ushed under your

r, ‘I never saw a lett

Everything. I didn’t want to be cautio

ven you

nyway, it’s signed

they both knew it wouldn’t be there. It was as if all along they

would have

threw it away, thought it was waste paper. It wasn’t in

‘I feel sick. Really sick. Somebody’s getting s

en your boy opened the door in the morning it blew away or got trampled in th

rmly round his wrists. He put out his hands to her and lied firmly, ‘You’ll never do me harm. Don’t worry abou

rvous. I feel -watched. Say good night now and

a cat, to its old home. But when he picked it up, it wasn’t his letter, though this too was a message of love. It was a telegram addressed to him at police headquarters and the signature written in full for t

nuns ended as they began with typhoons. The curtains blew in and he ran to the windows and pulled them shut. Upstairs the bedroom windows clattered to and fro, tearing at hinges. Turning from closing them he looked at the bare dressing-table where soon the photographs and the pots would be back again - one photograph in particular. The happy Scobie, he thought, my one success. A child in hospital said ‘Father’ as the shadow

ally in his own ears. He told himself that he mustn’t get hysterical: there was far too much planning to do for an hysterical man, and going downstairs again he thought three aspirins or perhaps four were what he required in this situation - this banal situation. He took a bottle of filtered water out of the ice-box and dissolved the aspirin. He wondered how it would feel to drain death as simply as these aspirin’ which now stuck sourly in his throat The priests told one it was the un

ggle with strong nerves. Calmness was everything. He took out his diary and began to write against the date, Wednesday, September 6. Din

ner. A little overwrought. He needs leave. He read this over and scored out the last two