DORIS LESSING
541
tion, civilization, and equality, then what happens to all the subtle to-and–
fro, the natural affinities and antipathies-real sex, in short?
To add to the confusion, I enjoyed flirting, but then I don't see that as
any more than a pleasant game, an agreeable convention. Well, it is in some
parts of the world. Recently I met a couple of young Mexican women
who had gone to Canada and the United States for a holiday. Used to the
flattering attention of men and to the pleasures of flirting, they soon won–
dered what was wrong with them: had they lost all their looks and their
charm? Inquiring of a sympathetic male friend, they were told, "You don't
understand: men can't show they find women attractive any longer; they
may find themselves in prison."
My most bizarre sexual encounter was with Ken Tynan. I had gone
with him to the theatre and then to some party of actors winding down
after a performance. Ken was the star, shedding witticisms and benevolent
advice and criticism. Then it was very late, and he suggested I stay the
night in Mount Street. The young of every generation have to imagine
they have invented casual ways, but the innocent sharing of beds did not
begin in the sixties. Not once, nor twice, have I spent a friendly night with
some man because we haven't finished our conversation or because he
missed the last train. Never, not for the slice of a second, had there been
sexual attraction between Ken and me. I cannot imagine two human beings
less likely to make each other's pulses flutter. I had often been in the Tynan
bedroom, because it was where we left coats during parties. I came back
from the bathroom to get into bed beside companionable Ken, and sud–
denly the bedroom walls had been grotesquely transformed, for on them
were arranged every sort of whip, as if in a whip museum. Now, you'd
think, wouldn't you, that Ken would say, "Are you wondering what all
those whips are doing there?" Or I would say, "Now, about those whips,
Ken?" Not at all; there we lay, side by side, conversing agreeably about a
hundred things, but certainly politics, because that was our favorite subject.
I used to tell him he was romantic, not to say sentimental, and ignorant,
and he complained I was cynical and lacking faith in humanity. I remem–
ber an occasion when he summoned me to a meeting to discuss how to
protest about something, I forget what, with several prominent people. I
said I found this business of celebrities "sitting down" in public to fast as
a protest absurd and laughable, because everyone knew that the moment
the "fast" was over we would all be off to a five-star restaurant. Ken
thought I was lacking in any instinct for publicity, and he was afraid I often
showed reactionary tendencies.
And so we fell asleep and were woken by a female menial bringing
breakfast on two trays. (Ken refused to cook, and so did Elaine Dundy.
Neither knew how to boil an egg, they proudly claimed, and they always
