Chapter 15 Free Women Ⅰ (19) (20)

Free Women Ⅰ (19) "You'll see that money is the point," said Richard, "and when you change your mind, call me." "I'll call you anyway," Tom said to his father with all the politeness he deserved. "Thank you," said Richard simply, rather displeased.He stood for a while, smiling angrily at the two women and said, "I'll be back in a few days, Molly." "Anytime," said Molly kindly.He nodded to Anna coldly, and patted his son's shoulder with his hand.The latter did not respond.Richard was gone, and Tom stood up suddenly, saying, "I'm going back up to the room." He went out, with his head stretched forward, and one hand toward the doorknob.The door was only half open, allowing only his body: he seemed to have slipped through the crack.They heard regular footsteps coming from upstairs again. "Okay," Molly said.

"Okay," Anna said, ready to be cross-examined. "Looks like a lot has happened in my absence." "I obviously said something to Tom that I shouldn't have said." "Maybe I didn't say enough." Anna cheered up and said, "I know you want me to talk to him about art. But I don't think it's..." Molly just waited, her expression a little puzzled, even sharp. "It would be easier to talk about it as an artistic issue, wouldn't it? Then we could have an intelligent conversation about contemporary fiction." Anna's voice was full of distress, but she still tried to pretend smile. "What's in those diaries of yours?" "That's not a diary."

"Whatever it is." "The mess, that's all." Anna sat there watching Molly twist her white hands and wring them together.The hands seemed to say: Why did you hurt my feelings like this?—but if you insisted on doing it, I had to bear it. "Now that you've written a novel, I don't see why you shouldn't write another," said Molly.Anna couldn't help laughing, but her friend's eyes were already filled with tears. "I didn't laugh at you." "You don't understand me at all," said Molly, fighting back tears. "I can't do it myself, but you should write something, and that's something I'm very concerned about."

Anna almost blurted out stubbornly: "I'm not your appendage." But she knew that such words could only be said to her mother, so she held back the words that came to her lips.Anna doesn't remember her mother very much anymore; she died very young.But on such occasions she always had an image of some powerful, dominating figure against whom she had to contend. "You hate some people so much I don't know how to talk to you," Anna said. "Yes, I'm pissed. I'm pissed. I'm pissed off by everyone I know who wastes their energy. Not just you. Lots and lots of people."

"An interesting thing happened here while you were away. Do you know Basel Wren?—I mean the painter." "Of course. I knew him from the past." "He made a statement in the newspaper saying that he would never paint again. He said he made such a decision because the world is so messed up that art has become something irrelevant to the world." Anna After a long silence, he asked Molly, "Did this touch you in any way?" "No. Of course, if it did, it wouldn't come from you. After all, you are not a novelist who only writes about human emotions, You write about the reality of life."

Anna almost laughed again, but then she said seriously: "Do you realize that a lot of what we say is just an echo of others? What you just said echoes the literary criticism of the Communist Party—and it is still in the The party's claim at its worst. God only knows what that means, and I don't anyway. I've never been able to understand it. If Marxism really says anything, it means that describing people Emotional fiction should reflect 'life as it is,' because emotion is a function and a product of society..." She paused, noticing a change in the expression on Molly's face. "Don't look like that, Molly. You said you wanted me to talk about art, and I did. I've got something else to say. It's fascinating, if not depressing. It's 1957." In 1999, we were all under the bridge. Suddenly, a phenomenon that I could not have dreamed of appeared in our British literary circles-a large number of people who had never had anything to do with the party suddenly stood up, as if all It's their own deliberations that openly declare that a novel or a play about human emotion doesn't reflect reality. What is reality? You'll be surprised to hear that reality is the economy, or the row upon row of opponents of the new order. Swept down machine gun."

Free Women Ⅰ (20) "I can't express my opinion well, but I don't think it's fair," Molly said. "I've only written one novel after all." "Yeah, what are you going to do if the money from that book runs out for you? Your luck depends on it, and one day the money will die out." Anna tried to keep silent.There was clearly malice in Molly's words: she meant to say, I'm glad you, too, have had to bow to the pressures the rest of us are facing.Anna thought to herself, I wish I wasn't so sensitive to everything, even small fluctuations of emotion.If you can turn a blind eye to everything and be insensitive, then every time you talk to people, every time you interact with people, it will be as easy as walking through an abandoned mine.Why don't I admit the fact that one's closest friend can sometimes put a knife deep in the ribs too?

She almost wanted to say coldly: "My money is coming slowly, and I have to find a job as soon as possible. You must be very happy to hear that." But she changed her words temporarily and pretended to be happy. The superficial meaning of the words answered her: "Yes, I think I will be short of money soon, and I must find a job as soon as possible." "What didn't you do in my absence?" "Of course I do a lot of this and that for a living." Molly still looked skeptical, and Anna let her go."It's been a bad year. First of all, I almost had an affair with Richard."

"It's possible. You've only got to think about Richard and you've had a rough year." "You know, it's funny how messed up things are with him, and you're going to wonder— Why don't you ever talk to Richard about his work? That's kind of weird." "You mean you're interested in him because he's rich?" "Oh, Molly! Of course not. Not at all. I've told you it's all messed up. The people over there don't believe in anything. They remind me of the white people in Central Africa—they used to say: Well, in fifty years the black person's going to be driving us overboard. They're happy when they say it. That's another way of saying, 'We know what we did was wrong.' But it turns out Well, it won't take that long." "Let's talk about Richard."

"He took me to a big dinner party. It was an important gathering. Aluminum pots and cans all over Europe, or teapot cleaners, or airplane propellers—anyway, the controlling interest in those sorts of things was taken by him just now. Bought it. There were four business tycoons and four beautiful chicks. I was one of the chicks. I sat there and looked at the faces around the table. God, that was a shocking scene .I seem to be back in the most primitive stage of communism—you know, when people only thought about how to raise illegitimate children—I mean, even before human civilization, those paired men and women It's so irresponsible. I look at the faces; I just sit and look at the faces." "We used to say that a lot," Molly said. "Let's say something fresh." "Everything So blatant. And the way they treat women--inadvertently, of course. My God, we may feel like life sucks at times, but at least half of our fellows are civilized, and we're really happy about that. Very lucky." "Let's talk about Richard."

"Okay. It doesn't matter anymore. He's just an episode. He drove me home in his new Jaguar. I bought him coffee. He was prepared. I sat there thinking .He's no worse than any of the idiots I slept with." "Anna, what did you think?" "You're asking like you've never been in a situation where you've never been in a situation where you didn't talk about morality for a while. Hell, what does it matter what I think?" "That's the way you talk. I feel very Fresh." "I do. But I think—if we live a so-called free life, that is, a free life like men, why shouldn't we talk like them?" "Because we're not the same. That's the crux of the matter." Anna laughed: "Men and women, bondage and freedom, good and evil, right and wrong, capitalism and socialism, sex and love... "Anna, what happened to Richard?" "Nothing. You're asking too much too. I sat drinking my coffee, looking at his stupid face, and thinking: If I were a man, I'd be in bed. It's totally possible, because I think He was stupid - I mean if he was a woman. Then I got bored. Very bored. He saw my boredom and he tried to cheer me up. He stood up and said, oh , I think I'll have to go back to my own house at 16 Plain Street anyway. He expects me to say, oh no, I don't want you to go. You know, the poor married man is burdened by his wife and children. Man All of you. Please have pity on me, I have to go back to my own home at 16 Plain Street, to my bleak, well-appointed house on the outskirts of the town. So he said. He said it three times. over and over—as if he didn't live there, and hadn't been married, as if the house had nothing to do with him. The house and the lady at 16 Plain Street had nothing to do with him." "Exactly Say, it's a big house in Richmond, with two maids, and three cars." "You've got to admit he's got a hick air about him. It's a queer thing. They're all— —I mean those big business men, they all have that aura. You must imagine the equipment that saves you energy and the kids in pajamas, and they come up to kiss their father and say hello. They're all Gentle little piggy."