Doris Lessing

Faye slipped off to sleep, or was pretending to sleep - Alice did not know which, but was taking no chances. She sat on, from time to time flicking water onto her own face, slapping her cheeks. When she did this she thought she saw a flicker of something that could be amusement, or at least comment, on Faye's passive face. The sounds of a normal Saturday morning, the milkman, children playing in the street, voices from the gardens. What a lot of sounds there were that she never ordinarily listened to....

The bloodstained pile in the corner was begi

Time passed... passed. More than once she had caught herself as she dropped off, even jerking awake. Once when she did this, she saw Faye open her eyes; they exchanged looks. Alice: I'm not going to let you; and Faye: You can't stop me if I want to.

Then, at last, steps bounded up the stairs, the door opened, and Roberta was kneeling by Faye, whose eyes were now open. She said in a voice that mingled passionate love, anger, exasperation, incredulity: "Faye, oh, Faye darling, how could you, how could you!"

Alice stood up, and watched how Roberta gently, tenderly, gathered Faye to her, kissed her, cradled her, then bent down to kiss the wounded wrists, one after the other.

Faye turned her face into the bosom of her friend, and lay there, at home.

Roberta looked at Alice over Faye. Her face was ru

As well it might, thought Alice.

Roberta said, "My mother's in a coma, so it's all right."

"That's all right, then."

Alice gathered up the stained things and said matter-of-factly, "Philip has been asleep for some hours, so he can come and help when you want help, but I have to sleep now."

She went to her room, where she did not sleep, not for a long time. She was replaying the scene over and over again in her mind, of Roberta's infinite tenderness with Faye, the passion of love in her face as she looked at Alice, Faye's face pressed to her breast.

When she woke, she was determined to leave. It was all enough, it was too much. If Jasper wanted her he would have to come and find her. And, no, she would not be leaving an address. She would have breakfast, then go.

But, of course, it wasn't morning. She had slept through the day. Downstairs she found Philip disposing of the remains of a pot of her soup. She could see in him last night's hostility softened, modified. After all, Faye had lived. Yes, Alice knew Faye might easily not have lived. But at least she had kept Faye out of the hands of Authority.

She waited, indifferently, while he explained something he had been pla

Half listening, her mind on trains for tonight, or tomorrow, and where to, she heard herself sigh, and this brought her attention fully back to Philip.

Yes, he looked awful. Worse than was warranted by not sleeping last night.

Working from eight in the morning till late in the evening, and over weekends, he still had not been able to keep up with what he had promised. The date he had given for finishing was passed, and there was painting still to be done, several days of it. The Greek said he had been tricked by Philip: never would he have employed one person alone to do that big job of conversion and decoration, let alone a sparrow like Philip. If Philip could not finish the job in a couple of days, he - the Greek - would consider it a breach of contract, and Philip would not be paid the second half of the money. (Yes, Philip had been in this position before, but had not expected to be this time.)

What Philip wanted was help from the commune. Reggie wasn't working! What did Reggie do with himself all day? Philip demanded hotly of Alice. He wasn't even trying for a job. He went around salesrooms and auctions, picking up bargains. Did Alice know that the attic was filling with Mary and Reggie's furniture, let alone the room next to the one they slept in? What would it cost Reggie to help Philip for a couple of days?

"But can he paint well enough?" asked Alice, almost mechanically, and Philip's conscious look chimed with the conviction that suddenly came into her: of course, Philip wanted her, Alice, to go down and help. It was she who had painted most of this big house - painted it fast, and very well. They had joked, these communards, that a professional could not have done it better. And, in fact, at this or that time in her past she had done it professionally, and no one had complained.

His dislike of her, which she had felt so strongly last night, was partly that he had been thinking like this for some time: Alice was the one who could solve all his difficulties, and yet she did not seem to see it, refused to recognise his need.

Alice sat there quietly, eyes lowered, shielding herself from Philip, thinking. Why should he expect this? What right had he? The answer was plain enough: he had done all the work on this big house, for wildly inadequate pay. It was Alice who had wanted it; the others hadn't really cared. Now it was Alice who should make it up to him. Oh yes, she could see it all, the logic of it, the justice. But she wanted to leave, to get out and away. This house, for which she had fought, she now felt as a trap, ready to redeliver her back to Jasper, from whom she must escape. (Even if only for a little while, her sad heart hastily added.) Yet she knew she was going to help Philip, because she had to. It was only fair.

She said she would, and saw Philip's whole body, that sparrow's body, convulse briefly with sobs. His face was illuminated, prayerful.

She went with him down the road to look at the premises. They were enormous, not one of these little cubbyholes off the street with a counter over which a few pies or sandwiches were passed. Along the middle of the room ran a broad counter, finished but unpainted, and there was a large area behind that for the cooking and preparation. Stoves, refrigerators, deep freezes had already been delivered and stood waiting to be put in place. But the walls at the back needed plaster. The walls on three sides were not bad, but should be cleaned down before painting. Alice, from Philip's look, knew that he had intended to do more to these walls than he now did. Paint would go on before paint, ideally, should. Philip watched her, waited for her verdict.

But as she hesitated, knowing that if an employer was looking for an excuse not to pay, or to pay less, he would find one here, she heard that someone else was with them in the great empty place, and turned to see the Greek, Philip's employer. At one glance she knew that Philip was going to be cheated, no matter what he did, or how she helped him.

He was a nasty little piece of work, all right. His little black eyes were full of the exaggerated anger that goes with defending a false position, and when he saw her, he shouted, "I said another workman, not your girlfriend!"

Alice said, in her best cold voice, "You are making a mistake. I have done this kind of work often."

"Yes," sneered the Greek, using the sneer with a conscious theatricality, "I suppose you've put a coat of paint on your kitchen."

"In any case," said Alice, "you are grossly underpaying. For the kind of money you are paying for this job, you are not in a position to take that line."

She did not know what Philip was being paid, though, having seen this man, she did know it was not enough. And she knew that with this type of man you had to be as bad a bully.

She turned her back and went to stand in front of a wall, examining it. Philip followed her lead and stood beside her. The Greek pretended to fuss about by the counter, then said, "I'll give you two days." And he went out.

But Alice knew it was hopeless. Yes, because of her, Philip would not be cheated out of as much; but that man had no intention of paying in full.