Windows Part 12

I liked the hair-dressing. We had fun. Perhaps I've seen you before.

Did you ever come in there?

JOHNNY. No.

FAITH. I'd go back there; only they wouldn't take me--I'm too conspicuous now.

JOHNNY. I expect you're well out of that.

FAITH. [With a sigh] But I did like it. I felt free. We had an hour off in the middle of the day; you could go where you liked; and then, after hours--I love the streets at night--all lighted. Olga--that's one of the other girls--and I used to walk about for hours. That's life!

Fancy! I never saw a street for more than two years. Didn't you miss them in the war?

JOHNNY. I missed gra.s.s and trees more--the trees! All burnt, and splintered. Gah!

FAITH. Yes, I like trees too; anything beautiful, you know. I think the parks are lovely--but they might let you pick the flowers. But the lights are best, really--they make you feel happy. And music--I love an organ. There was one used to come and play outside the prison--before I was tried. It sounded so far away and lovely. If I could 'ave met the man that played that organ, I'd have kissed him. D'you think he did it on purpose?

JOHNNY. He would have, if he'd been me.

He says it unconsciously, but FAITH is instantly conscious of the implication.

FAITH. He'd rather have had pennies, though. It's all earning; working and earning. I wish I were like the flowers. [She twirls the dower in her hand] Flowers don't work, and they don't get put in prison.

JOHNNY. [Putting his arm round her] Never mind! Cheer up! You're only a kid. You'll have a good time yet.

FAITH leans against him, as it were indifferently, clearly expecting him to kiss her, but he doesn't.

FAITH. When I was a little girl I had a cake covered with sugar. I ate the sugar all off and then I didn't want the cake--not much.

JOHNNY. [Suddenly, removing his arm] Gos.h.!.+ If I could write a poem that would show everybody what was in the heart of everybody else--!

FAITH. It'd be too long for the papers, wouldn't it?

JOHNNY. It'd be too strong.

FAITH. Besides, you don't know.

Her eyelids go up.

JOHNNY. [Staring at her] I could tell what's in you now.

FAITH. What?

JOHNNY. You feel like a flower that's been picked.

FAITH's smile is enigmatic.

FAITH. [Suddenly] Why do you go on about me so?

JOHNNY. Because you're weak--little and weak. [Breaking out again] d.a.m.n it! We went into the war to save the little and weak; at least we said so; and look at us now! The bottom's out of all that. [Bitterly] There isn't a faith or an illusion left. Look here! I want to help you.

FAITH. [Surprisingly] My baby was little and weak.

JOHNNY. You never meant--You didn't do it for your own advantage.

FAITH. It didn't know it was alive. [Suddenly] D'you think I'm pretty?

JOHNNY. As pie.

FAITH. Then you'd better keep away, hadn't you?

JOHNNY. Why?

FAITH. You might want a bite.

JOHNNY. Oh! I can trust myself.

FAITH. [Turning to the window, through which can be seen the darkening of a shower] It's raining. Father says windows never stay clean.

They stand dose together, unaware that COOK has thrown up the service shutter, to see why the clearing takes so long. Her astounded head and shoulders pa.s.s into view just as FAITH suddenly puts up her face. JOHNNY'S lips hesitate, then move towards her forehead. But her face s.h.i.+fts, and they find themselves upon her lips. Once there, the emphasis cannot help but be considerable.

COOK'S mouth falls open.

COOK. Oh!

She closes the shutter, vanis.h.i.+ng.

FAITH. What was that?

JOHNNY. Nothing. [Breaking away] Look here! I didn't mean--I oughtn't to have--Please forget it!

FAITH. [With a little smile] Didn't you like it?

JOHNNY. Yes--that's just it. I didn't mean to It won't do.

FAITH. Why not?

JOHNNY. No, no! It's just the opposite of what--No, no!

He goes to the door, wrenches it open and goes out.

FAITH, still with that little half-mocking, half-contented smile, resumes the clearing of the table. She is interrupted by the entrance through the French windows of MR MARCH and MARY, struggling with one small wet umbrella.

MARY. [Feeling his sleeve] Go and change, Dad.

MR MARCH. Women's shoes! We could have made the Tube but for your shoes.

MARY. It was your cold feet, not mine, dear. [Looking at FAITH and nudging him] Now!

She goes towards the door, turns to look at FAITH still clearing the table, and goes out.

MR MARCH. [In front of the hearth] Nasty spring weather, Faith.