The Doctor Is Sick (19 page)

‘How about taking it off the hinges?' said Charlie. Heavy breath came from the crouching Stone twins through the keyhole. ‘I think she's coming,' said Leo Stone. ‘Keep your fingers crossed. Sod it,' he said, as the
coquettish ward resisted. ‘A hairpin,' suggested Charlie. ‘If this one won't nothing will,' said Leo Stone. A heavy ferrous noise ensued, a rape of the lock. ‘Now ven,' said Harry Stone. Costive groans came from the operator and then an asthmatic crescendo led to the door's sudden swinging in, aaaaah's of relief, a dog's head, a lion's head, three human heads looking in at Edwin. ‘You,' said Harry Stone, ‘are bleedin' liberated.'

‘Now you've got it open,' said Charlie, ‘I might as well clean his windows. Don't think much of the niff in here,' he said, entering. The Stone twins were not impressed by Edwin's savaging of the living-room. ‘Like a dog,' said Harry Stone. ‘Like what our Nigger 'ere done once when we left 'im on 'is own.' ‘He'll get you for this,' said Leo Stone. ‘You'll have to go into hiding till tomorrow night.'

‘My wife,' said Edwin. ‘Have you seen anything of my wife?' There were sad brown-eyed headshakes.

‘Tell you what we could do,' said Leo Stone. ‘Serve him right too in a way. Who's that one in the protection racket, you know, Mantovani or Schiaparelli or whatever it is?'

‘Perroni?'

‘He'll do,' said Leo Stone, creative excitement bubbling in him. ‘Leave a note from Perroni. That'll make him give birth to a set of Diesel engines. Where's something to write with?'

While Charlie gave the windows a compulsive wipe, Leo Stone wrote large in lipstick on the cream wash of the living-room: PERRONI'S MOB WAS HERE WATCH OUT MUG. It took three full ones: Coral Pink; Morning Rose; Forest Flame. ‘But,' said Edwin,
‘won't all this cause trouble? I mean, won't the Kettle Mob start beating up this gang of Perroni's?'

‘Trouble?' screamed Harry Stone. ‘Beatin' ap?' He pushed at Edwin with his right shoulder. ‘Vat lot start trouble wiv
vem?
Perroni's boys is far above ve Kettle Mob, far above vem, no bleedin' comparison at all. Trouble, eh? Vat's a laugh, vat is.'

‘Dead clean those windows are now,' said Charlie. ‘He can pay me when he sees me. Filthy way of living he has.'

‘Anyway,' said Leo Stone to Edwin, ‘you'd better stay in today. You can't hide in our place because there's only two beds and Renate's two daughters are there in the daytime, so I think it might be better if you stayed with Les. You'll be all right there, I should think. Bags of fresh vegetables to chew at.'

Charlie returned to his ladder and Edwin and the Stone twins found a taxi round the corner. The dog, in the manner of dogs, got in first and took the middle of the seat, licking his chops after a fishy meal which had cost at least a nicker. They travelled to a dingy street not very far from the Anchor and drew up before a decrepit terraced house: there were chalk scrawls on the wall, cheese-cloth hung for curtains, snotty truant children bawled at each other and played with bits of brick. ‘Les won't be back just yet,' said Harry Stone. ‘But I reckon she'll be in. Comes back for 'is kip at regular openin'-time, Les does, 'aving been on Scotch and milk since long before dawn.' Edwin tried to pay the taxi-driver with a five-pound note. ‘Keep the change,' he said.

The driver was a good-humoured man in late middle age, one who had seen the world. He chuckled and said: ‘Shouldn't have tried that one on with me, mate, because
that makes me suspicious, see. In a shop you might have got away with it, not that you'd deserve to. Look at this here note,' he invited cordially. It was like Mr Begbie showing a choice cerebral tumour. ‘It's not even made proper,' said the driver. ‘Look at the eyes on this tart with the helmet on who's supposed to be Rule Britannia or whatever it is. Crossed they are, see. And that sort of ring thing going through the nose of that lion. It won't do at all, will it? I've seen good jobs in my time, deceive anybody they would. But just look at this. Shows you,' he said. ‘Nobody doesn't seem able to make anything proper these days. You can blame it all on the war,' he said, ‘like so many things. Terrible scourge to humanity that was.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Carmen was delighted to offer Edwin refuge. ‘Oh blimey,' she said, ‘yes, 'e spik lak good man.
Caballero
'e spik lak. 'E slip in ze middle of ze bed.' Her dental caries seemed further advanced than when Edwin had last seen her (galloping caries, perhaps?) but she gave him a wide smile like an illustration to a textbook on odontology. She still wore her blue jumper, its interstices widened at the chest to virtual holes, but the skirt that had borne the names of exotic dishes had been changed to one with a more sober montage – famous cathedrals of Europe. For some reason a Spanish folk song he had once heard on the Third Programme – ‘Let me put my little saint in your chapel' – came into his mind, and he foolishly said the words aloud. ‘Notty,' said Carmen with joy, and she swung her heavy body an instant so that the cathedrals wagged obscenely.

‘We'll leave 'im wiv you, ven,' said Harry Stone sadly. ‘And don't let 'im get aht, whatever you do. It's dangerous for ‘im, see. 'E's got to be kept 'ole till tomorrow night, vat 'ead ‘as especially.'

‘What is this business tomorrow night?' asked Edwin. ‘You haven't made it at all clear.'

‘Told you,' snarled Harry Stone. ‘Competition for bald 'eads, to see which is ve 'andsomest. Vere's a sort of talent-spottin' fing in which Leo 'ere takes part, an ven vey finish up wiv vis bald-'ead lark, which is organised by vem as is responsible for a new film wiv one of vese bald-'eaded yobs playin' ve lead in it. It's on ve telly, too, vis is.'

‘And what's the first prize?' asked Edwin.

‘A ton,' screamed Harry Stone. ‘ 'Undred nicker an' a film-test. Fink of what vat means to you, only a poor bleedin' perfesser. You seen vese stars? Rollin' in manny and lollin' round in Caddies and over big cars, and ve richards of all ages screamin' to get at vem. You should be in veir position,' he said Jewishly, with a brisk thump at Edwin. ‘And you will be,' he added, ‘if you don't let no 'arm come to vat 'ead between now and tomorrow night.'

‘So I don't get any money?' said Edwin. ‘I just get the film-test, is that it?'

The twins became loud and Oriental, speaking at once, thrusting their arms about, ready, if there had been ornaments, to knock ornaments on to the floor. What was money, compared to a chance to become internationally known as a great screen myth? they argued. The hundred nicker was nothing, they had confidently assumed that a man of his intellectual calibre would scorn a mere trivial bundle of greasy notes, for themselves as lowly Yids without a solitary talent between them it was very different, in any case whose idea had this been, anyway? They punched and thumped Edwin to convince him what great favour they were really doing him, the time, the trouble, the worry, and he wasn't helping much, was he, getting himself picked up by kettle-mobsters and being chased half over London by the police. No sense of responsibility, that was his trouble.

‘But,' said Edwin, ‘if the prize is so desirable, I don't see how I can possibly stand a chance. There must be millions of people prepared to be baldheaded for a hundred nicker and a screen test. I just won't get a look-in.'

That was a laugh, that was. Did he think in all sober honesty that these things could not be arranged? Was he so naïve as to imagine that contests of this kind could not be rigged? Let him then know now that the promoter of the competition should once by rights have done time and that they, the Stone twins, knew it, and that there were certain things connected with certain illegitimate imports in the past – no, not kettles, nothing like kettles, don't be silly – which could be made public still to the immeasurable harm of some as should be nameless. And the judges? There, again, was something to excite risibility. For contracts on a certain television network certain richards endowed with a certain generic personableness but little talent else would do much. Let him not make them laugh, then. But Edwin was not really convinced.

When the twins, still talking loudly, had left, and their dog too, juggling with a cabbage-stump, Edwin was able to examine the small flat which was now his sanctuary. It was furnished mainly with vegetables from the market. There were two or three marrows recumbent in an armchair in the living-room, potatoes in the hearth, broccoli and kale and cauliflowers and cabbages arranged neatly on the few flat surfaces, a powerful smell of bruised fruit in the bedroom. Carmen was feeding a great steaming pan with stick after stick of celery to make, as she explained, a strong specific against rheumatism. Edwin noted, with interest and hope, that his kinked olfaction machine seemed to be coming right, for an odour of rum led him to a tin bath of decaying bananas.

And it was of milk and Scotch that Les smelt when he came in. Carmen said: ‘I not ask 'im 'ere, zis one. I not fack abaht. Oh blimey, zey bring 'im 'ere, zem two.'

‘I know all about it, lass,' said Les. ‘And I'm not worried about him in that way, knowing all about it from his wife.' He looked coldly at Edwin. ‘Made a nice mess of things last night, didn't you? Got yourself into a nice jam, eh? That'll teach you, won't it?' Edwin hung his head. ‘Never mind,' said Les, more kindly. ‘The world's a very wicked place.' He had brought with him a gunnysack which he emptied on to the floor – more fruit and vegetables. Potatoes rolled under the table and there was a frou-frou of green leaves, rustling cabbages and a squeak of sprouts. But when the three of them sat down to an early luncheon the platter was for strict carnivores: wormy minced meat that Carmen had brought from her hamburger bar. ‘Don't you eat many vegetables, then?' asked Edwin. ‘Not really,' said Les. ‘See too many of them, really. Surrounded by them most of the time.'

After the meal Les retired to sleep and Carmen prepared to go to work, an unbecoming toque on her blackbird hair and a shopping-bag in her hand. This was not for shopping but for hamburger mince. Edwin said casually: ‘I think I'll come out with you, just for the walk. Fresh air, you know.'

‘Oh blimey,' cried Carmen in a transport of distress. ‘You 'ear? Les, you 'ear? 'E say 'e go out.' Les thumped into the living-room in his socks. He looked sadly at Edwin. He said:

‘Now, I shouldn't have to explain things to you, you supposing yourself to be more intelligent than me. But don't you think we've had enough trouble, one way and another? Don't you think it would be more sensible to stay here, not biting the hand that feeds you, and keep out of harm's way? I'm not proposing to lock you in, because I
don't really hold with keeping anybody behind bars, but I'm asking you for everybody's sake to stay put in here. There's plenty of things you can do to pass the time. You can read, you can peel potatoes, you can feed celery into that pot there for the rheumatism. You needn't be dull. But don't start endangering your own life and putting us who are supposed to be your friends into the ess aitch one tea as well.'

It was a cogent speech, and Edwin felt, for a time, ashamed. Carmen left and Les snored, and Edwin peeled an iron pot full of potatoes. At dusk Les awoke, smacking his lips dryly, and came into the kitchen to find Edwin at work. ‘Good,' said Les. ‘Good. Best King Edwards those are, as fine a spud as you'll find anywhere. Not that I eat many myself. Fattening.' Yawning, head-scratching, he put on his shoes, saying: ‘War awe warthog Warsaw. Yaw,' he added. ‘I beg your pardon,' he said. ‘I'm just wondering what's the best thing to do this evening. With you, that is. We've got this opera on again tonight, but it doesn't look as though you'll be safer there than anywhere else. On the other hand, you can't go on peeling potatoes all evening in here. Drive anybody mad, I can see that.'

‘I'll be all right,' said Edwin, ‘just staying here.' His secret intention was to go out looking for Sheila. He felt that his counterfeit notes would perhaps pass in the dark and he would have no difficulty thus in buying transport from place to place, as well as refreshment on the way. Really, things had improved enormously. He was decently dressed and haired and had money. Counterfeit hair and money to match. He was a lot better off than he had been trudging back from mean grasping Chasper. About
Chasper's hat he didn't care any longer. He was at last finding his level.

‘Well,' said Les, ‘that's all right, then. See, there are plenty of things to read over there.' He pointed to a wretched tattered pile of Pans and Penguins. ‘And there are one or two classics, too, but I keep those in a cupboard. Things like J. B. Priestley and Nevil Shute and
No Orchids
. Those are not just for anybody to get hold of, when all's said and done. But you're a reading man, like me and old Charlie.' He happily got dressed, singing the Habanera from
Carmen
:

He went out singing, and Edwin was left to the vegetables and the classics. It was early enough still, so he boiled himself some potatoes, not forgetting the salt, and ate these, following them with a rummy mush of bananas which he spooned in for their known sustaining power. While he was combing his wig he heard a knock at the door. Bob, would it be? He picked up the bread knife, waited till the knock was repeated more urgently, and then thought: ‘It must be Sheila.' He took his bread knife to the door, opened and brandished, and found Renate on the step.

‘Na,' she said, shaking her head. ‘I will not intread. Here can I it say.' She swayed, full of doppel gins.

‘Yes? What? What is it?'

‘
Ungeduld
,' said Renate. ‘Impatience. Now I tell you. With a young painter with a beard your missis has seen been. You give me money. I tell you where.' She held out a confident palm.