The Fat Woman’s Joke. Fay Weldon
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for Gerry, he has good taste. Otherwise the humiliation would be unendurable. Yet it’s odd; they are always women of a totally different type from me. Why do you think that is?’
Esther rose from her chair, her flesh unfolding beneath the loose fabric of her dress. She crossed to the cupboard and presently selected a tin of condensed mushroom soup which she opened, poured into a saucepan, and heated on the stove. Phyllis talked to her friend’s broad back like a humming-bird chirping away at a rhinoceros.
‘I don’t mind about Gerry’s fancies, really. It’s a very small part of marriage, isn’t it? If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life it’s that one comes to terms with this kind of thing in the end.’
‘I come to terms with nothing.’
‘Besides, it’s probably just all talk with him. They do say that the men who talk most, do least.’
‘They’ll say anything to comfort themselves.’
‘Oh.’ Phyllis abandoned the subject. ‘Esther, I don’t understand what went wrong between you and Alan, so suddenly. Why are you living down here in this horrible place? And why did you leave, not him? I don’t believe he turned you out. He’s such a good man. He’s not impetuous, like Gerry. You always seemed so right for each other, so settled and content. He never even talked about other women, not when you were in the room anyway. Sometimes after I’d been with you both I’d go home and cry because Gerry and I could never be close like you and Alan. The only time Gerry and I are ever close is when we’re in bed, and even then I don’t really enjoy it. It just seems the most important thing in the world. Can you understand that? And now that you two have split up, it just seems like the end of the world to me. Everything has suddenly become frightening. Esther, you’ve made me afraid.’
‘You are right to feel afraid. Are you sure you don’t want some of this soup? It is very good – although perhaps a little salty. That’s the trouble with condensed soups. You have to choose between having them too weak or too salty.’
‘Why am I right to feel afraid, Esther? What is there to be afraid of? I think and think but I can’t make it out. You make me feel all kinds of things are going on underneath which I don’t understand. It can’t be Gerry, because I know he’ll never leave me. He’ll just go on having sordid affairs with sordid women, but they mean nothing to him. He tells me so, all the time. He’s a hot-blooded man, you see, so it’s understandable. It’s just something a woman like me has to learn to put up with. And in a way, I suppose it has its advantages. He couldn’t blame me if I did look round for my amusements, could he?’
‘He would, though.’
‘Well it wouldn’t be reasonable of him – of course he’s not a very reasonable person. That’s why I love him. If only I could find an attractive man I’d have a lovely passionate affair with him. But there aren’t any attractive men left. Why do you think that is? Esther, you haven’t answered my question. Why do you think I am right to feel afraid?’
‘Because you are growing old. Because lurking somewhere beneath the surface of your brain is a vision of loneliness, and it will be a terrible moment when it breaks through, and you realise that your future is not green pastures, but the knackers yard. We are all separate people, and we are all alone. It is a ridiculous thing to say that no man is an island. We are all islands. You can die, and Gerry won’t. Gerry can die, and you won’t. Our lives just go on, separate as they have always been. There are no end of things you can be afraid of, if you put your mind to it. Do have some soup. If I emptied a tin of cream in it might improve matters. And a little tomato sauce would cover up the tinny taste.’
‘You say the most terrible things and then you expect me to eat.’
‘Of course. You can’t put off being useless and old and unwanted for ever. Soon, little Phyllis, you will stop painting your toe-nails. Already I suspect you no longer wear your best knickers to parties. It will all be over for you as it is for me, and love and motherhood and romance will be no more than dreams remembered, and rather bad dreams at that. Your real life will begin as mine has now. This is what it’s like. Food. Drink. Sleep. Books. They are all drugs. None are as effective as sex, but they are calmer and safer. Nuts?’
‘Nuts? Who? Oh – I see.’
Esther was offering Phyllis a bowl of nuts.
‘Nuts are lovely,’ said Esther. ‘Your teeth go through the middle, and they’re white and pure and clean inside, and slightly salty and dirty and sexy outside. They make your mouth just a little sore, so you have to take another mouthful to find out if they really do or not.’
‘Esther, if you eat so much you will make yourself ill. You’ve gone completely to pieces. You must make an effort to pull yourself together. You will have to go on a diet again. You and Alan were on a diet just before all this started. I never thought you’d go through with it, but you did, and I respect you for it. But now you’ve undone all the good you did.’
Esther looked at Phyllis with distaste. ‘Oh go away!’ She loomed over Phyllis, dirty-nailed, dirty-faced, brilliant-eyed and dangerous. ‘Go away! I didn’t want you to come here, asking questions, nagging. I came here to have some peace. I don’t want to see anyone. What do you want from me?’
‘I want to help you.’
‘Don’t be so stupid. You help me? You’re like a mad old woman battering at the prison gates when the hanging’s due. All you really want is just to be in there watching. There’s nothing here to watch. Just a fat woman eating. That’s all. You can see them in any café, any day. They’re all around.’
‘You are very upset, Esther,’ said Phyllis doggedly. ‘I’m your friend. I’m very hurt you didn’t turn to me when you were in trouble.’
Esther beat her head with her hand.
‘That’s what I mean! “I’m very hurt!” I can’t stand it. What am I supposed to do now? Comfort your stupid little worries? What do you think it all is – some kind of game? This is our life, and it’s the only one we’re ever going to get, and it’s a desperate business, and you come bleating to me about your being hurt because I, being near to death and madness, don’t come bleating to you with – oh, he treats me so badly, oh, you know what he said, you know what he did – as if talking can make things different. Phyllis, will you please, for your own sake, go away and leave me alone?’
‘No.’
Esther gave up.
‘Then I will tell you all about it. And when you have drunk your fill of miseries, perhaps then you will feel satisfied and go away. I warn you, it will not be pleasant. You will become upset and angry. It is a story of patterns but no endings, meanings but no answers, and jokes where it would be nice if no jokes were. You have never heard a tale quite like this before and that in itself you will find hard to endure. Are you sitting comfortably?’
‘Yes,’ said Phyllis, putting her hands neatly together in her lap.
‘Then I’ll begin.’
Meanwhile, up in Hampstead, in an attic flat, two other women were talking. There was Susan, who was twenty-four, and Brenda, who was twenty-two. It was Susan’s flat, and Brenda was staying in the absence of Susan’s boyfriend. Just now Susan was painting a picture of Brenda: these days when she came home from the office she would put on a dun-coloured smock and take up her brush at once. She said it gave her life meaning.
Susan was tall, and slim to the point of gauntness. She had straight very thick fair hair, enigmatic slanty green eyes, high cheekbones, a bold nose and an intelligent expression. From time to time, as she worked, she would see herself in the mirror behind Brenda, and would like what she saw.
‘It’s a pity,’ she said to Brenda, ‘that your legs are so heavy. Otherwise you’d stop the traffic in the streets.’
Brenda had long legs and they were, in truth, fairly massive around the thighs. But seen sideways on