‘Perhaps I don’t feel passionate about anything. You are one of the lucky ones. If I learn to know you better I will tell you about my life, but you may not believe me. Let my life emerge slowly and you can judge me as it unfolds. Perhaps I am doomed to be an onlooker. But at any rate, before we probe too deeply, just tell me where you were going and perhaps our ways might take the same route, at least for a short time. I’m not one to stay too long in any place.’
‘Well, I’ve been down to the beach to pick up the stones you can see in the car, and I’m on my way back to my studio. Would you like to come with me and stay a while? I love my studio, but I’m afraid there’s not a great deal of comfort. I haven’t much money and I can’t cook, and I like being alone; and what’s more, you can bring your companion with you, who has been so patient while we’ve been exploring each other’s whims.’
‘What about the cats, though?’
‘Well, as you can see, very little can disturb their complete and utter self-absorption. What is his name?’
‘Dog.’
‘Dog?’
‘Yes, Dog.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, he’s not a cat.’
‘He’s not a giraffe either.’
‘If I don’t give him a name, I feel I’m not responsible for him.’
‘I don’t like that.’
‘Nor do I.’
‘Don’t you, Titus?’
‘No.’
‘I have a name, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Can’t you say it?’
‘I can say it.’
‘But won’t you?’
‘I will some time.’
‘You don’t have to be responsible for me if you use it, you know, Titus. It makes me feel as though I’m not here, and I’m all here, and there, and by and large, and to and fro, and my name is Ruth. Say it, please.’
‘Ruth.’
‘Now we can get on our way, Titus. Let’s clear a space in the car, so that poor Dog can get in on the seat, and you can sit in front. But can you wait a moment? We’ve got a longish drive ahead and perhaps we had all better go behind the bushes. You take Dog and I’ll be back in a minute.’
When they all met again, Titus had waited to clear the car, for he didn’t want to disturb the cats without their mistress being there.
It need not have worried him for apart from a lazy stretching and re-disposition of their bodies into more comfortable positions, their self-possession was not disturbed. Titus told Dog to get in, and even when his large frame clambered on to the back seat the cats did not display more than cursory interest. He was not an enemy. Dog had learned much patience and much tolerance since he had been with Titus.
* * * * *
SOMEHOW, ON EVEN such a short knowledge of Ruth, Titus could not imagine her behind the wheel of a car. The two seemed incompatible. This car was unlike Muzzlehatch’s, although he had also been incongruous, and so much bigger than life – his ape, his animals, the very essence of his being. This remembrance trembled on the edge of Titus’s consciousness before he returned to the present, and he became curious as to how Ruth and the car would come to terms with each other.
It was rather as he had imagined, as the door closed behind her and almost with a leap the car sprang into action, grunting and wheezing and jerking as though in the throes of an epileptic fit.
‘I don’t really like cars; in fact, I hate them. Treat ’em rough, as my father used to say about anything and everything that didn’t belong to him. I don’t understand them but I don’t want to either. So long as we get from one place to another in one piece, that’s all they’re for.’
Titus was well able to agree, for he had never owned a car or wanted one. His way of life had no need of possessions – he had renounced the shackles that posed a threat to his freedom, but now was not the time for him to turn over introspectively the whole of his past life; for the time being he gave himself up to the present, and the fact that he was with a woman, a woman quite unlike any he had met before. Not a feminine woman, too thin and wiry and unconscious of her sex to be a womanly woman. Not flirtatious, not filled with guile, she was companionable and humorous, but Titus felt she was vulnerable and quickly hurt.
They drove along the narrow country road with intermittent bursts of speed and sluggishness, but whether that was at the whim of the driver or the questionable ability of the engine Titus could not tell. They didn’t talk but there was no sense of embarrassment in the silence. Ruth seemed abstracted and thoughtful, and not thinking of what impression she might be making on the man who sat next to her.
The landscape was changing from the rural richness of downland and fields and hedgerows to a more urban morose greyness. They had turned into a wider road and there was now a continuous cavalcade of cars in each direction, and no mercy shown to the moody car, which did not belong to the stream of rapid sleek machines that continually passed them.
‘It’s about another half-hour’s drive,’ said Ruth. ‘I hope you’re not too hungry. We can’t stop even if we wanted to, even if there were any food, even, if, even, only, even, even, un-even, even-tide, even-song, songbird and so on, and on, and on, until we get there, and how I want to be there. My home. Close the door and shut out the world, but take parts that I like with me. Oh, come on, car, take us home – quick, quick.’
Little grey houses now hemmed in the cars. Unlovely and all alike, except for an occasional burst of personality, when the window frames and door had been painted mauve or yellow, or red or green.
‘It’s not far now,’ said Ruth. ‘Soon we turn off, and although the studio has no architectural beauty, as soon as the door is closed we enter a new world, or rather one where I feel safe. Whatever you think of ‘‘Home’’, that’s what I think, love and the things that I love, you’ll soon see. What do you think ‘‘Home’’ means, Titus?’
‘Well, that is too big for me to answer in a short time. If you allow me to stay for a little while, I will tell you about my childhood and my name.’
‘Why should I query your name? You didn’t query mine.’
Ruth turned the car from the mean and ugly road into a much wider road, which seemed to be a cul-de-sac. It was not a particularly beautiful road, except that at the end of it there stood, almost as sentinels, a group of chestnut trees. The large building by which the car stopped, as suddenly and jerkily as it had taken off, was gaunt, grey and windowless. About eight steps led up to a door, which appeared to be permanently ajar and as Ruth opened the car door the cats flew out, up the steps, through the door and into the darkness beyond.
Dog, being a guest like his master, waited to be told what to do, and as Titus followed Ruth out of the car, so too did he.
‘We’ll go in first, and then I wonder if you could help me, Titus, bring in the treasure trove I’ve got in the car.’
‘I’ll take some now.’
‘No, I’d rather show you my home first, then we can bring it in.’
As they ascended the steps and went through the doors there was very little light, but Titus sensed a long corridor, with doors at equal intervals along it, for from under one or two of them appeared a light, and some sounds of music or laughter or argument seeped out, and from behind one door a smell of cooking, which reminded Titus that his last meal and that of Dog had been in an empty house in a dark, unfriendly yew wood, and he had a pang of remorse as he thought of his guide and his unknown fate.
At the end of the long passage was another door facing them and Ruth said, ‘Well, here we are.’
‘Where are the cats?’ asked Titus.
‘They have their own special door,’ said Ruth, as she fumbled in what must have been a letterbox and drew forth a long length of string, with a key attached to the end of it, with which she opened the door to her domain.