She switched on a light, and as the room was drained of its darkness Titus’s heart thumped at what he saw.
His memory flew back to a series of attic rooms, where his sister had collected all that she loved best in life, and which she had guarded fiercely from intrusion.
The room he looked at now was a ferment of so many things that he could take in no detail, only the overpowering ‘feel’ of the place. One wall was a huge window, divided into large rectangular panes of glass, and the other three walls were covered with paintings, framed and unframed drawings, books, photographs cut from papers of animals, birds, mountains, people’s faces, clowns, masks and spears. A piece of seaweed hung from some kind of hook on the wall, and there were stuffed birds on shelves and tables. Tables, with paints and brushes, stood near two enormous easels and on the floor were stones and carvings of wood and stone. Leaves and half-dead flowers in poor arrangements stood incongruously on a table that must have served for eating on, for plates and teacups stood on sheets of paper with writing and drawings on them, and sitting on a mound of paper was one of the cats who had been a passenger with Titus in the car. Another had climbed and found a niche on a windowsill and sat looking out, with teeth chattering at the sight and sound of small birds, flying from branch to branch outside, but not within range of the sudden pounce.
The ceiling was cathedral high and in one corner of the studio stood a large black stove, with a thick black pipe that disappeared far above into the ceiling. It was unlit, but it had so much character that it was a personality in its own right, standing ominous and full of potential. In another corner, almost incidentally, was a bed, covered with a patchwork quilt, on which lay another ubiquitous cat.
‘Oh, dear,’ cried Ruth, cigarette dancing up and down as her lip quivered. ‘You are hungry – I am hungry – Dog is hungry – cats are hungry, but I’m so tired too. Which comes first?’
‘Well, at the risk of seeming vulgar, I am hungry, first and foremost, and then tired. What is there to eat? Can I help – have you any food, is there a stove – is there anywhere to cook anything?’ asked Titus.
‘You haven’t seen quite all yet,’ answered Ruth. ‘I will show you what there is, then we can make what we can of it. Come on outside and you will see the extent of my domain.’
Titus followed her as she opened the door of the studio and led him into the corridor, and on the opposite side to the door went up three or four dark stairs to another door, which opened on to a smallish room with a huge window, with no outlook, but a steep brick wall. There was what appeared to be a bath, covered by a large wooden board, and a black cooking stove. Ruth made for a green-painted cupboard, which she opened almost hesitatingly. Some apples, onions, bread, butter, a dark cake, eggs – not exactly haute cuisine – but enough to satisfy the hunger of two adults and one large dog. The cats, being cats, made sure that their needs had already been seen to.
Without finesse, both Ruth and Titus made use of what there was to hand, and fed themselves and Dog. When all three needs were satisfied, they went back to the studio and, without question, without coyness or sensuality, they threw off their clothes and dropped exhausted on to the low and rather lumpy bed.
21
An Affectionate Welcome
WHEN TITUS AWOKE, he was aware of a slight weight on his chest and, opening his eyes, he met the steady gaze of two yellow ones and a sound of what he thought had been a distant beat of drums. His feet were also constricted, and as he moved to free them a cat sailed gently into the air and landed in a hollow of the bed, which might have been a ready-made cats’ nest. He slowly remembered where he was and with whom.
As he turned his head to see if Ruth was awake, he thought that he was in a pale mist, until he saw, first of all a cigarette, then that it was attached to her lower lip.
‘Good morning, Titus.’
‘Good morning, Ruth, and good morning, room.’
‘How wonderful it is to be alive, to be home, even for a bit, not to be alone.’
‘But you have your friends.’
‘Oh, yes, they’re my best friends. They know all my secrets, and what’s more, they never divulge them. They won’t tell a soul you’re here if you don’t want them to.’
‘I don’t think I know a soul, but Ruth, thank you for having me, or perhaps I should say thank you for letting me stay.’
‘But what else could you have done? Where could you have gone? Besides, you haven’t really told me who you are.’
‘Perhaps if I do, you won’t believe me. There is so much to tell, so much that I almost don’t want to remember, so many people I crave to see, whom I cannot. So much that I have done, and so much that I have not done. Perhaps, in time, I may be able to tell you a fraction, but I feel a tenderness for you, which is something to do with some of my past. My sister Fuchsia had a room, or rooms, something like yours. Full of love, her love. The only way she could express her abundant loving was for her things that she had collected: her books, her paintings, the flowers she picked and forgot to look after . . .’
‘Titus, why don’t you put your arms round me, and forget or remember with me? I believe you. I would like to enter your world. Come closer, gently and slowly. Close your eyes again.’
As Ruth’s voice grew softer and her body closer, Titus felt not so much passion as tenderness, and it was with an infinite gentleness that he made love. A mutual loneliness ached through their bones, and their fulfilment ushered them back into a dreamless sleep.
They slept again for several hours, and it was the restless movement on the bed from hungry felines that woke Ruth, and a soft paw on Titus’s face, which brought them back to a reality where, although they had few responsibilities, one was certainly to feed the creatures in their care, and see to all their other basic needs.
As they threw on the clothes so carelessly discarded the night before, neither felt embarrassment, but a kinship that drew them to each other.
‘Well, Titus, although I am not a very practical person, one thing we can’t do is to live very long without money. I’m sure that there isn’t much in your pockets, and there’s very little in mine. I have my emergency shelf for the moment, and I think after we’ve fed the cats, we’ll take Dog for a walk and have some breakfast in a little place I know.’
As she was talking, Ruth climbed on to one of the tables, underneath a triangular corner shelf, and as she dislodged enough dust to cover a billiard table, there was the sound of coins being heaped together and pushed on to the table, falling and clattering like hailstones, and landing on the floor as well. She climbed off the table, pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and left a grey track of dust from chin to forehead. Gathering up the coins and counting them, her light-heartedness returned, and with her cigarette almost dancing with excitement on her lower lip she said, ‘Well, at least there’s enough here for a day or two, or three or four, what’s more, oh Lor’, hee-haw – come on, Titus, let’s go and spend it, thrift not, and then we’ll talk about what you must do, and mustn’t do, what you have done, and what you haven’t done, because if you stay a little while with me I can help you meet some people who might give some work for some money.’
‘I want to stay for a little, but you’ve already given me so much.’
‘Let’s not talk any more, but go out. Poor Dog, he’s so patient and so loving and I’m so hungry now. Come on, Titus.’
The cats were fed and they left the studio, leaving the key hanging on the string, Ruth knowing that none of her possessions was of much interest to an intruder.