210
DORIS LESSING
"Good God," said Paul
in
awe. "I couldn't say that. Jimmy, have
you ever laughed because you were happy?"
"I've never been happy," said Jimmy.
"You, Anna?"
"Nor me."
"Willi?"
"Certainly," said Willi, stubborn, defending socialism, the happy
philosophy.
"Maryrose," said Paul, "you were telling the truth.
I
don't
believe Willi but
I
believe you. You are very enviable, Maryrose, in
spite of everything. Do you know that?"
"Yes," said Maryrose. "Yes.
I
think I'm luckier than any of you.
I
don't see anything wrong with being happy. What's wrong with
it?"
Silence. We looked at each other. Then Paul solemnly bowed
towards Maryrose: "As usual," he said humbly, "We have nothing
to say
in
reply."
Maryrose closed her eyes again. A pigeon alighted fast on a tree
in
the opposite clump. Paul shot and missed. "A failure," he exclaim–
ed, mock tragic. The bird stayed where it was, surprised, looking
about it, watching a leaf dislodged by Paul's bullet float down to
the earth. Paul ejected his empty case, refilled at leisure, aimed, shot.
The bird fell. Jimmy obstinately did not move. He did not move. And
Paul, before the battle of wills could end in defeat for himself, gained
victory by rising and remarking: "I shall be my own retriever." And
he strolled off to fetch the pigeon; and we all saw that Jimmy had
to fight with himself to prevent his limbs from jumping him up and,
over the grass after Paul who came back with the dead bird yawning,
flinging it with the other dead birds.
"There's such a smell of blood I shall be sick," said Maryrose.
"Patience," said Paul. "Our quota is nearly reached."
"Six will be enough," said Jimmy. "Because none of us will eat
this pie. Mrs. Boothby can have the lot."
"I shall certainly eat of it," said Paul. "And so will you. Do you
really imagine that when that toothsome pie, filled with gravy and
brown savory meat is set before you, that you will remember the
tender songs of these birds so brutally cut short by the crack of
doom?"
