Shikasta

I wrote that last bit several weeks ago. It has been a very bad epoch in my life. Benjamin suddenly started being very nice to me and I and Benjamin went out a lot. Several times, quite by chance - though I know our parents don't believe this, Benjamin and I were in cafes where George was with Suza

I said, I think it is all disgusting.

She said, as humorous as you can get, Rachel, what is disgusting?

I said, Olga, George is a person who sits in a room and think that if there are thirty people in it, then there are thirty intestines full of shit, thirty bladders full of pee, thirty noses full of snot, and three hundred pints of blood. So I suppose if he is in a cafe with Suza

Olga sits down. She lights a cigarette. She leans back. She folds her arms. She sighs. She says, When did he say things like that? Getting at once to the point.

He was... it was a long time ago.

I daresay he might have added a dimension or two since then.

Well, I can't stand it, I said to her. I can't stand life. That's the truth of it.

I had half a thought that she would put her arms around me and comfort me. But although that is what I was wanting before she came in, when she was actually there I would have been ashamed if she had.

She said: You do not have any alternative, Rachel. Because you can either stand it, or commit suicide. Or live in such a way that it is as good as committing suicide. And there is evidence to suggest - here she was being humorous the way Father is, she has caught it off him—there is evidence to suggest that there is hell to pay. Literally. But in any case we do not commit suicide. And the way she said this was different from anything I had ever heard from her, full of pride. Really grim. It was as if she had slapped me or flung me into freezing water. I suddenly saw her quite differently. I saw that she was a person. Not my mother. She had thought it all out. She had wanted to commit suicide. She would never commit suicide. On that night I grew up. Or so I would like to believe.

I have been thinking about Olga's life. I have been trying to put myself in her place, always in camps full of refugees, dying people, starving people, people dying of diseases, babies dying. When I was with her in the epidemic that time I saw her crying over a room full of dying babies. No one else was there. She was very tired, that was why she was crying. Ever since I can remember, my mother has been working with people dying in one way or another. She is always in places where it is truly hell. Always. And that is true for my father too. I see that I am extremely childish.

What I am writing now happened three nights ago. I could not write it down before, it was too difficult. Now I have thought about it. Very late I heard George come in. It was four in the morning. It was very hot. It was that time when night is still absolutely here but morning is here but you can't see it only feel it. Outside in the streets it was silent in that particular way. I would know any city I have been in by the silence at four in the morning. George had come in. I could hear him in his room. I went to his door and knocked. He did not answer. I went in. He was just slipping down his trousers and I saw him. Our family has never made a thing about nakedness, but what I was thinking was, That has been inside that awful cow. He turned his back, so I saw his buttocks and his back and he put on his pyjamas. Then he got into bed and lay down with his arms behind his head. George is very beautiful. But if he were ugly it would be the same. He was very tired. He wished I wasn't there. Exactly like my parents, affectionate and patient. He said to me, Rachel you aren't being kind. I was expecting him to say, Fair. When we use words like Fair, Olga and Simon always laugh and say we haven't stopped being British and childish. But he said Kind. So I said to him, I don't care, George. I don't understand. So he said, Well Rachel there isn't anything at all I can do.

There I was standing at the door, and he was in bed and his eyes kept closing.

He said, Rachel, what is it you want?

At this I was slapped in the face again. Because of course I wanted him to say I hate Suza

Sit down, he said.

I sat on the bottom of the bed.

I was expecting some illuminating remarks, I see that now, but of course his eyes kept closing.

He did look so handsome. But he was so tired. And I started to think about his life. He never has slept more than three or four hours a night.

I thought he was asleep. So I began to talk. I was talking to George. I said, It is absolutely intolerable, all of it, it is awful, it is ugly, it is disgusting, and life is absolutely unbearable.

His chest rose and fell, rose and fell. I wanted to put my head down on it and go to sleep.

He suddenly said, with his eyes closed, Well Rachel... I am listening. And he was asleep again. Absolutely gone. I stayed there a little, thinking he might wake up. But the light came in at the window. There were the dusty palm trees along the streets. The smell of dust. Hot. George slept and slept. I felt ashamed and angry and I went to bed.

I have been thinking about Suza