Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

Night fell on Cape Sun. Under the shelter of the four walls of the house, all seven went to their rooms to rest, but none of them slept well... Philip Durant, incapacitated of physical mobility, increasingly found solace in mental activity.Always highly intelligent, he is now aware of the resources available to him through moderately intelligent people.He sometimes amuses himself by giving those around him appropriate stimuli in anticipation of their reactions.Often what he says or does doesn't come naturally, but is calculated, purely and primarily to observe a reaction.It was a game he played; when he got the expected response, he scored a point for himself.

As a result of this pastime, perhaps for the first time in his life, he discovered that he was very good at seeing people differently and as they really were. People didn't interest him very much at first.He likes or dislikes, finds it interesting or annoying, people around him or people he sees.He had always been a man of action, not a thinker.His imagination, quite a rich imagination.It was originally used to make various money-making plans.All these plans were perfectly sound; but a complete lack of commercial ability made them fruitless. People, until now, are just chips in his eyes.Now, because of his illness, which cut off his formerly active life, he is forced to treat him as a human being.

It started when he was in the hospital, and he was forced to pay attention to the love lives of the nurses, the infighting and the trivial joys and sorrows of hospital life, because there was nothing else to attract his attention.This quickly became a habit of his.People—literally everything in his life now.Purely just human.Someone for him to study, understand, evaluate.First think about what makes them behave in a certain way, and then see if what he thinks is right.Really, it's all very interesting... Only this evening, sitting in his study, he realized how little he really knew about his wife's family.What kind of people are they really?What kind of people they were in their bones, that is, not the appearance he was familiar enough with.

It's strange how little you know about people.Even your own wife? You used to look at Mary thoughtfully.How much did he really know about Mary? He fell in love with her because he liked her good looks and her calm and serious look.Moreover, she has money, which is also important to him.He would think twice about marrying a penniless girl.Everything was fine and he married her, teasing her for calling her Polly and having fun telling jokes she didn't understand, watching her bewildered expression.But really, what the hell does he know about her.What does she think and feel?Of course, he knows that she loves him deeply and gives everything for him.He stirred a little restlessly at the thought of her devotion; twisting his shoulders as if trying to shake off the burden.Devotion is great if you can get away with nine or ten hours a day.It's nice to be back home with lots of affection, but now he's in constant circles; watched, cared for, cherished.Makes one yearn for a little total neglect...in fact, makes one have to find a way to escape.Mentally - because physically it is impossible.Had to flee into the realm of fantasy or contemplation.

meditation.For example, who is responsible for the death of his mother-in-law.He didn't like his mother-in-law, and she didn't like him either.She didn't want Mary to marry him (would she want Mary to marry anyone? He doubted it), but she couldn't prevent it.He and Mary began living together happily and independently—and things never started to go wrong.First the South American company—then the bicycle parts company—both good ideas—but misjudged funding—and then the Argentinian rail strike that wrought havoc.It was all pure bad luck, but somehow he felt Mrs. Argyle responsible for some reason.She doesn't want him to succeed.Then there was his illness.It seemed as though their only solution was to live in Sunny Point, where they were sure to be welcome.He didn't particularly care.A cripple, only half a man, what does it matter there? —but Mary cared.

Well, it wasn't necessary to live in Sunny Point forever: Mrs. Argyle had been killed.The trustees raised Mary's living allowance and they were living on their own again. He was not particularly saddened by Mrs. Argyle's death.Of course it would be more pleasant if she died of pneumonia or something like that, in her bed.Murder is bad, notorious, frightening newspaper headlines.However, as far as murder goes, it is a very satisfying murder--the perpetrator is obviously mentally ill and can be excused with a lot of psychological terms in a high-sounding manner.Not Mary's own brother.One of those adopted kids with bad genetics that always gets into trouble, but things aren't looking so good right now.Tomorrow Chief Inspector Hush will be in for questioning in his mild western colloquialism.Perhaps, we should first think about how to answer...

Mary was combing her long blonde hair in front of the mirror.Her indifference made him a little angry. He said: "Have you thought about your speech for tomorrow, Polly?" She turned to look at him in astonishment. "Inspector Hush is coming. He'll ask you again where you were on the night of November 9th." "Oh, I see, it was so long ago. Hardly remember." "But he remembers, Polly. That's the problem, he remembers. It's all in the little police book." "Really? They keep such things?" "Maybe make three copies of everything and keep them for ten years! Oh, your whereabouts are very innocent, Polly. Nothing. You were in this room with me. If I were you I wouldn't have mentioned that you were at seven to seven Halfway through."

"But that's just going to the bathroom. After all," said Mary reasonably, "everyone has to go to the bathroom." "You didn't mention it to him then, I do remember that." "I think I probably forgot." "I think maybe it's the instinct of self-preservation... Anyway, I will remember to support you. We are here together, playing cards from 6:30 until Kirsty calls. This is our word and we will stick to it." "Okay, honey." Her agreement was flat - uninterested. He thought: "Has she no imagination? Doesn't she see that we're going to get into trouble?"

He leaned forward. "Interesting, you know... aren't you interested in who killed her? We both know—Michel was absolutely right—that it was one of us. Aren't you interested in knowing which one?" "Not you or me," said Mary. "That's all you're interested in? Mary, you're amazing!" She blushed slightly. "I don't see what's so strange about that?" "Yes, I understand that you can't see that... well, I'm different, I'm curious." "I don't think we'll know. I don't think the police will know."

"Probably not. There are really very few leads they can follow. But we are in a very different situation than the police." "What do you mean, Philip?" "We'll know, we've got some inside information. We know internally - quite well what makes someone behave in a certain way. Anyway, you have that knowledge. You grow up with them. We Come get your opinion. Who do you think?" "I don't know, Philip." "Then take a guess." Mary said suddenly: "I'd rather not know who did it. I'd rather not even think about it."

"Ostrich," said her husband. "Honestly, I don't see why you should—guess. It's better not to know. We can all go on with our lives as usual." "Oh no, we can't," said Philip. "That's exactly where you're wrong, dear. It's starting to rot." "What do you mean?" "Well, take Hester and her young man - eager, young Doctor Donald. Nice young man, serious, but worried. He doesn't really think she did it - but he doesn't really Sure it wasn't her doing it! That's why he looked at her anxiously when he thought she wasn't paying attention. But she was, so that's it! Maybe she did - you know better than I do - But if she hadn't done it, what could she do with her young man? Keep saying: "Trust me, not me? But she's right to say so anyway." "Really, Philip, I think you are imagining." "You can't imagine that at all, Polly. And then poor old Leo. The wedding bells with Gwenda are fading away into the distance, and she's very upset, don't you notice?" "I really don't understand why Dad wants to marry again at his age." "He does! But he also understands that any hint that he's in love with Gwenda is enough to constitute a motive for first-degree murder between them. Embarrassing!" "It's superstitious to think my father murdered my mother!" said Mary. "That's not going to happen." "Yes, it will happen. Check the newspaper." "People like us don't." "Murder isn't snobby, Polly. Then there's Michel, and there's something corrupting him, yes. He's a weird, resentful teenager. Tina seems to be all right, unfazed, unaffected. But She's got a real poker face. Then there's poor old Kirsty—" A slight look of anger appeared on Mary's face. "That might be the answer!" "Kirsty?" "Yes, after all, she's a foreigner. And I believe she's had a very bad headache for the last year or two... Seems like she's more likely than any of us." "Poor chap," said Philip, "don't you see that's what she's saying to herself? That we all agree she did it? For convenience. Because she's not one of the family. Don't you see she's Worried to death at night? She is in the same position as Hester, what can she say or do? Say to all of us 'I really didn't kill my friend and employer'? What weight does it carry? Perhaps to her Worse than anyone else...for she was alone. She would go over in her mind every word she ever said, every angry look she gave your mother—think It will all be remembered against her. Helplessly proving her innocence." "I do hope you calm down, Fee. After all, what can we do?" "Just try to find out the truth." "But how is that possible?" "There may be some methods, I'd like to try." Mary looked disturbed. "What method?" "Oh, say something--watch people's reactions--it's possible to come up with something"--he paused, his mind racing--"something that has meaning to the guilty, but not to the innocent." It's meaningless..." He fell silent again, busy thinking in his mind.He looked up and said, "Don't you want to help the innocent, Mary?" "No." There was an explosive sound.She came and knelt beside his wheelchair. "I don't want you to get involved in all this, Fee. Don't start saying things to set a trap. Leave it alone. Oh, for God's sake, leave it alone!" Philip's double shield rose. "Okay," he said.He rested one hand on his smooth blond hair. Michael Argyle lay awake, staring into the darkness. His mind kept spinning around the past, like a squirrel in a cage, why couldn't he forget everything about the past?Why did he have to drag the baggage of the past all his life?What does it all matter?Why did he remember so well, the stuffy, nasty room in the slums of London, and the casual, exhilarating atmosphere of his "our Michael"!Joy in the streets!Unite against the other boys!His mother's brilliant blond hair (cheap shampoo, he guessed as an adult), her outbursts of rage when she beat him up, (gin, of course!) and her orgies when she was in the mood.Lovely supper with fish and chips, and she can sing - sentimental ballads.Sometimes they go to the movies.There were always "uncles," of course—he always had to call them that.His own dad had run away before he could remember him...but his mother couldn't bear to be touched by his "uncle" who had spent the night. "Leave us Michael alone," she'd say. Then there is the excitement of war.Expect Hitler's bombers - no bomb sirens.The sound of howling mortars.Hide away on the subway for the night.fun!The whole street was there with sandwiches and bottles of soda.The trains were busy coming and going all night.That's life, that!In the midst of all kinds of things! Then he came here—to the country.A place where nothing has happened like a dead bird! "You'll come back, darling, when it's all over," his mother had said, but as lightly as if it wasn't true.She didn't seem to care that he left.And why doesn't she come?Mostly kids on the street retreat with their mothers.But his mother didn't want to go.She was going to work in an arms factory in the North (with her then "uncle", Harry "uncle"). He should have known then, despite her affectionate goodbye.She doesn't really care about... gin, he thought, that's all she cares about, gin and those "uncles"...and here he comes, "captive," tasteless, Unfamiliar stuff; unbelievable, going to bed at six, lying awake after a ridiculous milk and biscuit dinner, crying, head buried in blanket, crying for mommy and coming home. It's that woman!She got him and wouldn't let him go.Say a lot of sissy things.Always ask him to play some ridiculous games.demands of him.Ask for what he is determined not to give her. "It's okay, he'll wait, he'll wait patiently! And then one day - a very beautiful day, he'll go home, back to the streets, those little boys, the magnificent red buses and the Underground, fish and chips , the passing cars and the kittens in the neighborhood - his mind hungrily circled all the joy. He had to wait, the war couldn't go on. He was stuck in this ridiculous place while bombs were falling all over London , and half London is on fire! Must have been a spectacular fire scene, while people were killed and houses were blown up. He saw in his mind a picture of all this splendor in vivid color. It doesn't matter, he can go home to find his mother when the war is over.She will be amazed to see him grow up. Michael Argyle let out a long hiss in the dark. The war is over.They beat Hitler and Musso... some kids went home.Soon...and "she" came back from London and said he would stay at Sunny Point as her child... He said, "Where is my mother? Was it hit by a bomb?" If she gets killed by a bomb—that's not so bad.Most of the children's mothers were killed. But Mrs. Argyle said "no", she was not killed.But she's got a pretty hard job to do and can't take good care of the kids - that's what it is anyway; it's pointless to put it nicely... His mother doesn't love him and doesn't want him back - he has to stay here ,forever…… After that he stalked about, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, and at last he caught words, only fragments of a conversation between Mrs. Argyle and her husband. "Want to get rid of him - utter indifference" - what else is there for a hundred pounds.So then he knew—his mother sold him for a hundred quid... The humiliation—the pain—he could never get over...and "she" bought him!He vaguely regarded her as the incarnation of "power", and with his tiny strength, he was powerless against her.But he will grow up and one day he will be strong and a big man.At that time, he will kill her... Once he made up his mind, he felt better. Later, when he was away at school, it wasn't so bad.But he hated holidays—because of her.Arrange all the plans and give him various gifts.A look of bewilderment, because he was so unemotional.He hated being kissed by her... and later, he took pleasure in thwarting her ridiculous plans for him.Go to work at the bank!into the oil company.He doesn't, he wants to find a job by himself. When he was in college, he started trying to track down his mother.He found out that she had been dead for several years—in a car accident with a man who was driving drunk... So why not just forget about it all?Why not live happily? He doesn't know why. And now—what will happen now?She's dead, isn't she?To think she bought him for a fucking hundred pounds.Consider that she can buy everything -- a house, a car -- and children, because she can't have them herself.Think of her as Almighty God! Well, she's not.Just hit her on the head with pokers and she's a corpse like everyone else (like the blond corpse in the car accident on the Great North Road...)! She's dead, isn't she?Why are you still worried? What's the matter with him?Was it—because she was dead he couldn't hate her anymore? That's what death is... Without the hate, he felt lost—lost and scared.