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Life 1. A Short Story

It couldn't have been more than half-past eight, when he finally decided to go. It was wet, but he pulled his collar up and with his mind on so many other things, the rain ceased to exist.

People were disappearing in all directions, and the gurgle in the gutter as it tried to squeeze itself into the already overflowing drain, reminded him of that guttering he had to fix. But what was the use after all, he thought. I haven't any money — and the damn thing is rusted through — what's the price of a good pipe — who knows and who bloody cares.

By the time he reached the end of the street he had been walking a good ten minutes. The rain was coming through his coat at the shoulders. The thing was meant to be water proof — but cheap coats — well what could be expected.

Everything he has is cheap he thought, a cheap house, in a cheap district, and a damn cheap wife to go with it. But those damn kids, how he loved them. Why were they born — thank God none of them took after their mother, and yet I suppose, he thought, I loved her at one stage of it, or thought and acted as though I did.

At last, and there was the bus in sight. Now- a-days, he thought to himself, it was even too damn expensive to catch a bus — but with the rain and the distance and being late already — well I suppose, he thought, I will just have to catch it.

Those butterflies in his stomach again, he felt as if he wanted to go to the loo. But he would just have to hold it until he got there.

He felt cold from the water on his shoulders — but once with her — oh just to relax. He was the boss — she did what he said — and thank God she had some money. Maybe they could go to Australia together — start again — away from the cold, in the sun — just lying there. But those kids, how he loved them. So how the hell could he leave them, and she wouldn't want them.

Those kids, two women, and me, and I am responsible for them all. Does their mother love me, or has that long gone, but goddam it, I am still in the prime of life, not yet 35 and still regarded as handsome — but I wonder if she does she never says, and is pretty stiff and cold now. But there must be something — God there must be something — how the hell am I going to live — I'm trapped like a fly in a web. Oh, God, I wish I was back in those old days. Free, no responsibility, no worries. She did love, she still must — I'm scared — oh hell I'm scared, what's the matter with me tonight.

She will have a drink ready — whisky, hot, just what I need.

I shouldn't have married her, she never would take precautions — but the kids are all right, Sam's bright — thank God he has a future.

He would have to go, but this bird would never go with him. That young guy at work, maybe he would be willing to go — oh he just wanted sun, the very feel of it released his stomach for a moment. But what was the use after all, they were all still here — and the kids. It would just go on, oh dammit, it would just go on. If only she cared a little. But then there were all those bills — at least this one had some money.

But it would always damnwell go on — and he hated it — like she does I suppose. But it always damnwell goes on, there must be some point to it all.

—R.S.