The Dwarfs Read Free

doorknob. The cat screwed through and scrabbled under the table.
    - It’s ridiculous. I must practise. My fingers are as sensitive as an ironmangle. I’d do better cleaning windows.
    - Sounded all right to me, Mark said.
    - No, no. It’s an insult to Bach. It’s an impertinence. The trouble is, he murmured, packing the violin, that when I find some direction for my energies I can’t sustain it. I should. I should do nothing but practise my music. Come to a working arrangement and stick to it. But look at it. I’ve been a farmhand, a builder’s mate, a packer, a stagehand, a shipping clerk, I’ve dug turf, I’ve been a hop picker, a salesman, a postman, I’m a railway porter, a mathematician, a fiddle-player, I scribble and I play a fair game of cricket. I haven’t touched pearldiving and I’ve never been a male nurse. What sort of set-up’s that? It’s ludicrous. I’ve never been able to look into the mirror and say, this is me. What’s that cat up to?
    The cat was jolting in spasms against the door.
    - What’s the matter? Len said. All right. Go out. I can quite understand it.
    - I’m not sure, Mark said, watching the tail flick into the night, that there’s not more to that cat than meets the eye.
    Len closed the door.
    - Let’s go downstairs, he said quietly.
    - We’ve just come up.
    - I know. Let’s go down.
    - Down we go, Mark said.
    They walked down the wooden steps into the basement. Len switched on the kitchen light. Mark sat down, yawned and lit a cigarette.
    - Ah well.
    - Do you know, Len said, I’m never quite sure that you understand one word I’m talking about.
    - What?
    - You may understand, of course, or it may be that when you open your mouth you take a shot in the dark which might or might not be relevant. If that’s it, you’re a pretty fair shot, I’ll give you that. But I sometimes get the impression that you do nothing but study form. Pete, for instance, willalways let me know when he doesn’t understand what I’m saying, in one way or another. He feels it’s a moral duty. You very rarely do that. What does that mean? Does it mean that you never want to commit yourself? Or does it mean that you’ve got nothing to commit?
    Mark flicked his ash on to the stone floor. It fell without breaking shape. With the point of his shoe he dispersed it gently, grinding it by the tableleg. He looked up at Len.
    - Were you saying something?
    - Where were you acting? Huddersfield?
    - That’s right.
    - Did they like you in Huddersfield?
    - They loved me.
    - What’s it like when you act? Does it please you? Does it please anyone else?
    - What’s wrong with acting?
    - It’s a time-honoured profession. It’s time-honoured. It goes without saying. But what does it do? Does it please you when you walk on to a stage and everybody looks up and watches you? Maybe they don’t want to watch you at all. Maybe they’d prefer to watch someone else. Have you ever asked them?
    Mark laughed and lit a cigarette. Len sat at the table, gritting his teeth, and banged his forehead.
    - Do you know what I am? I’m an agent for a foreign power.
    The doorbell rang.
    Through the coalhole grating, Pete glimpsed a stab of light into the cellar from the inner basement. He leaned at the door’s side. A light wind scuttled in the low hedge. The moon blinked between turning clouds. A black cat, wiry, leapt up the steps, trod over his boot and sat close-eyed at the door. Its tail flicked his ankle. He looked down at the hunched shape. The cat pressed its nose to the crack. They waited in silence.
    Len opened the door. The cat ducked between his legs into the hall.
    - What’s that?
    - A cat.
    - Your cat?
    - My cat? said Pete. What are you talking about? I haven’t got a cat.
    - Haven’t you?
    - Well, come on, let me in.
    - I suppose it must be my cat, Len muttered, closing the door behind them.
    - It could only be your cat.
    - Why? What makes you say that?
    - We had a little chat, Pete said, on your doorstep.
    -