and policemen and ambulances , and the


eyes of the spectators were hard with


disaster .


They all had that neat look of


Mediterranean people to whom nothing


could ever happen , the chosen sane , the


uncuckolded , unrobbed , sheltered from


disease and accident by doctors , God and


the municipality . Yet , at any time now ,


the bell would ring for them - the gilded


love house , the mad grandmother or the


bloody child at the crossroads .


It was growing cold . We left the


crowd and drove back to Vence .


The cool evening perfumes stood


beckoning at the corners of the roads .


Mart is unable to smell ( her sense


organs were impaired years ago ) , and


I had to explain the low , sharp and


sweet signals in the air . When we


got back home we felt exhausted .


London sickness ( a sense of guilt ,


mingled with the memory of sandwiches


We went straight to bed and slept until


the turtle-doves drummed up the


sun . The next morning , in the square


opposite Pierre's , I read about the Nice


beach catastrophe in the Patriote .


Mart had been right , the body had been


a woman's . It belonged to a Madame


N. Enquiries had been made in the


neighbourhood , and it transpired that


Madame N's husband had made an


arrangement with the dead lady's sister


The sister , able to swim , had returned


to the shore , but instead of returning


to her brother-in-law ( with whom


she had an illicit relationship ) , she


went to her fiance*?2's house and


confessed everything . Her fiance*?2


reported her to the police , and then jumped


off a cliff near Monte Carlo .


The day I promised to take Catherine


down to visit my young friend Philip


at his school in the country , we were


to leave at eleven , but she arrived


at nine . Her blue dress was new ,


and so were her fashionable shoes . Her


hair had just been done . She looked


more than ever like a pink and gold


Renoir girl who expects everything from


life .


Catherine lives in a white house


overlooking the sweeping brown tides


of the river . She helped me clean up my


flat with a devotion which said that


she felt small flats were altogether more


romantic than large houses . We drank


tea , and talked mainly about Philip , who ,


being 15 , has pure stern tastes in every-


thing from food to music .


Catherine looked at the books lying


around his room , and asked if she


might borrow the stories of Isaac Babel


to read on the train . Catherine is 13 .


I suggested she might find them dif-


ficult , but she said , ' Philip reads them ,


doesn't he ? ' During the journey I read


newspapers and watched her pretty


frowning face as she turned the


pages of Babel , for she was determined


to let nothing get between her and


At the school , which is charming , ci-


vilised and expensive , the two children


walked together across green fields , and


I followed , seeing how the sun gilded


their bright friendly heads turned


towards each other as they talked . In


Catherine's left hand she carried the


stories of Isaac Babel . After lunch we


went to the pictures . Philip allowed


# it to be seen that he thought going to


the pictures just for the fun of it was


For his sake we chose the more


serious of the two films that were


showing in the little town . It was


about a good priest who helped cri-


minals in New York . His goodness , how-


ever , was not enough to prevent one


of them from being sent to the gas


chamber ; and Philip and I waited with


Catherine in the dark until she had stopped


crying and could face the light of a golden


evening .


At the entrance of the cinema the


doorman was lying in wait for anyone


who had red eyes . Grasping Catherine


by her suffering arm , he said bitterly :


' Yes , why are you crying , he had to be


punished for his crime , didn't he ? ' Cathe-


rine stared at him , incredulous . Philip


rescued her by saying with disdain :


' Some people don't know right from wrong


even when its demonstrated to them . '


The doorman turned his attention


to the next red-eyed emerger from the


dark ; and we went on together to


the station , the children silent because


of the cruelty of the world . Finally Catherine


said , her eyes wet again : ' I think its all


absolutely beastly , and I can't bear to think


about it . ' And Philip said : ' But we 've got


to think about it , don't you see , because


if we don't it 'll just go on and on , don't


you see ? '


In the train going back to London I sat


beside # Catherine . She had the stories open


in front of her , but she said : ' Philip 's awfully lucky .


I wish I went to that school . Did you notice


that girl who said hullo to him in the garden ?