Chapter ten
Tom Ossipon
Winnie was different. Her calmness had left her and she was
afraid. With shaking hands she tried to fix the veil that had fallen from her face. Her mind was filled with a terrible picture of
herself hanging by the neck — for that is what the law did to murderers! She
could not let that happen to her. She must go at once to the river and throw
herself off a bridge!
Time seemed to stand still as she moved slowly across the
shop and almost fell into the street. It was like falling into water, like
jumping to your death in a sea of fog. Each gas lamp had a little half-circle
of fog around it and she felt it in her hair and all over her face. The cabs
and the horses were gone, and in the black street the window of the little
restaurant.was a square of blood-red light. Winnie, all alone in the world,
managed to get past the lighted window but then felt too tired to continue.
Falling forwards again, she suddenly felt s0meone’s hands holding her. She
looked up into a face — a man's face with fair hair - and said in surprise, ‘Mr
Ossipon!’
‘Mrs Verloc!’ said Ossipon. ‘What are you doing here?’ He
put his arm round her and to his surprise she did not move away.
‘Were you coming to the shop?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ answered Ossipon. ‘As soon as I read the paper.’
‘I was coming to look for you,’ said Winnie. ‘I’m in
trouble.’
‘I know,’ said Ossipon, thinking quickly. ‘I met a man who
explained everything. Then I came straight to you. You know how I’ve always
felt about you! But you were always so unfriendly.’ '
‘Unfriendly! I was a married woman. I gave seven years of my
life to him and he was a devil, Tom!’
Tom Ossipon could not believe his luck. Only very good
friends called him by that name.
Winnie held him by both arms as they stood in the foggy
darkness and loneliness of Brett Street.
'I d-didn't know,’ Ossipon stuttered. ‘But I understand now.
You unhappy brave woman! Ah, but he is dead now!’
'You know that he is dead! You know what I had to do!’ cried
Winnie.
Ossipon began to wonder why Winnie was behaving so
strangely.
'How did you first hear about it?’ he asked.
'From Chief Inspector Heat. But he didn’t do anything. The
police were on that man's side. A foreign man came too. He was one of those
Embassy people. Don't ask me about it, please.’
'All right. I won't,’ said Ossipon kindly. Police! Embassy!
What was all this about? He decided not to think too much about it. After all,
he had the woman here, and she was throwing herself at him. That was the
important thing. Now she was talking about escaping, about going abroad.
He said quickly, ‘To be honest. my dear, I haven’t enough
money to help you. We revolutionaries are not rich, you know.’
‘But I have money, Tom! He gave it to me. All of it!’
‘All of it! In that case. we are saved,’ said Ossipon
slowly. He remembered that there was a boat that left Southampton at midnight.
They could catch the 10.30 train.
‘The train leaves from Waterloo Station. We have plenty of
time. Iust a minute, where are you going?’
Winnie was trying to pull him back into Brett Street again.
‘The shop door’s ajar. I forgot to shut it,’ she whispered,
suddenly very afraid.
Ossipon almost said, ‘It doesn’t matter. Leave it.’ But
perhaps she had left the money in a cupboard. He let Winnie pull him towards
the shop entrance.
‘There’s a light on in the back room. I forgot it. Go and
put it out Tom!’
‘Where’s all that money?’
‘I’ve got it! Quick! Go in and put out the light!’ She took
him by the shoulders and pushed him.
Ossipon went through the dark shop towards the back room. As
he took hold of the door handle he looked through the glass and saw Verloc
lying quietly on the sofa. For a long moment, he stared, feeling sick and
frightened. Was this a game of some kind? Were the police waiting for him? But
then he saw the h at lying on
the floor. His eyes travelled from there to the table with
the broken plate and back again to Verloc. The man’s eyes were not fully closed
and he seemed to be looking at something in his chest. Ossipon’s eyes finally
rested on the handle of the carving knife. He turned quickly away from the door
and was violently sick.
Suddenly Winnie was there.
‘Did you do this by yourself?’ asked Ossipon.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t let them hang me, Tom. Take me
out of the country. Help me. Protect me. He killed my boy, Tom. He took him
from me - my good and loving boy - and he killed him.’
Comrade Ossipon suddenly realized what had really happened in the Greenwich bombing. The person who had died in the park was her brother, that boy who always sat drawing circles! And now he, Ossipon, was here with his sister, who was mad too!
Winnie was shouting now: ‘Save me Tom!’ She fell onto the
floor and put her arms around his legs.
‘Get up,’ said Ossipon. who had gone very white. He was
terrified but he spoke almost calmly: ‘Let’s get out, or we will miss the
train.'
Winnie followed him obediently into the street. The cracked
bell rang like a warning to Verloc that his wife had left for the last time
with his friend.
In the cab, Ossipon tried to stay calm as he explained the
plan to Winnie.
‘When we arrive, I will get the tickets and give yours to
you as I pass you. Go to the waiting-room and come out ten minutes before the
train leaves. Get on the train first, and I will get on after you. Do you
understand, my dear?’
‘Yes, Tom,’ said Winnie, ice cold with fear.
‘I ought to have the money now, to get the tickets.’
Winnie put her hand inside her dress and took out the wallet
full of banknotes.
At the station, Winnie went into the waiting room, her
ticket in her hand. When it was time, she walked with a straight back lowards
the train, her face white under the black veil. Ossipon followed her onto the
train. ‘In here,’ he said, pushing her into an empty compartment.
Winnie lifted her veil. Her eyes were huge and staring, like
two black holes. Ossipon looked into them and thought of Lombroso’s description
of criminal types. There was no doubt about it. Those eyes, that nose . . . the
woman had the face of a murderer! When he spoke his voice shook a little.
‘He was an extraordinary boy, your brother. A perfect type
in a way.’
‘He was!’ she whispered softly. ‘You took a lot of notice of
him, Tom. I loved you for it.’
‘You are very like him.’ said Ossipon uncomfortably. waiting
for the train to leave.
These words were not spoken very kindly, but they were too
much for Winnie. She began to cry at last. Ossipon entered the compartment and
quickly closed the door. The train did not leave for another eight minutes and
for three of these, Winnie cried without stopping. Then she became a little
calmer and tried to
speak to the man who had saved her.
‘Oh, Tom. I wanted to die, but when you came . . . Oh, Tom,
I will live all my days for you!’
‘Don’t spoil things. Go into the other corner of the
compartment, away from the window,’ said Ossipon. He watched her carefully as
she went and sat down again, crying even more violently than before. At last he
felt the train beginning to move.
A strange wild look came over his face. Winnie heard and
felt nothing. As the train was pulling away and beginning to go faster, Ossipon
crossed the compartment quickly, opened the door, and jumped out.
As he hit the ground. he turned over again and again like a
shot rabbit. When he stood up, he was shaking and white-faced but very calm. He
explained to the excited crowd around him that his wife had gone to see her
dying mother in Brittany and that he had not realized that the train was moving
because he was so worried
about her. ‘But I don’t think I'll try that again.’ he said
smiling at the people around him. After giving them some coins from his pocket,
he walked out of the station.
Outside, Ossipon walked and walked. By the river, he stood
lookin.g at the black, silent water for a long time. The big clock above his
head told him that it was half past twelve.
All night he walked through the sleeping city in the fog. He
walked down empty streets between lines of gas lamps and shadowy houses that
were all the same. He walked through squares and down streets with unknown
names where people lived forgotten lives. He walked but saw nothing. At last,
he went up to a small grey house, took a key from his pocket and opened the
front door.
Inside, he threw himself onto the bed fully dressed and lay
without moving for a quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly and pulled his
knees towards his chest. When the first ii;-,ht of day came, he was still
sitting in the same way staring in liont of him. But when the late sun entered
his room, he fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes. Finally, Comrade
Ossipon slept in the sunlight.
**************************
At a table near the window, Ossipon sat with his head
between his hands. He was in the Professor's room, listening to the Professor
telling him about his recent visit to Mchaelis’s house.
‘He didn’t know anything about Verloc’s death, of course. He
says that the newspapers make him too sad. He lives on carrots and milk,
dreaming of a world like a nice big hospital, with gardens and flowers where
the strong people look after the weak ones! What a stupid idea! The weak! The
ones who make all the problems in the world! I tell you, the weak and the
stupid must disappear! That is the only way we can change things.’
‘And what is left?’ asked Ossipon in a low voice.
‘Me — if I am strong enough. ]ust give me time! Ah, all
those people, too stupid to feel fear. Sometimes I feel that they have the
whole world on their side!’
‘Come and have a beer with me,’ said Ossipon.
‘Beer! Right! Let us drink and be happy, eh?’ The Professor
laughed as he put on his old boots. ‘What’s the matter with you Ossipon? You
look sad and you even want to drink with me! What’s happened to all your women,
eh? Tell me, has one of them ever killed herself for you? That’s the important
thing - blood and death. Look at history.’
‘Go to hell,’ replied Ossipon. ‘You are the same as everyone
else. You just want more time. The man who can give you ten more years will be
your master.’
‘No, no, I have no masters,’ replied the Professor.
Later, in the bar across the street. the Professor touched
Ossipon’s glass with his own and said, ‘Let’s drink to destruction!’
Ossipon pulled a newspaper out of his pocket.
‘Is there anything in the paper?’ asked the Professor.
Ossipon looked afraid for a moment. ‘No, nothing. It's ten days
old. l forgot to throw it away.’
But he did not throw it away now. He could see the words of
the article in his head:
‘Mysterious Death of Lady Passenger on a Cross-Channel
Boat.’ Ossipon was afraid, afraid of the future and of his own madness. Only he
knew what had really happened and he could tell no one. Only he knew the story
behind
‘the lady in a black dress and veil who was staring out to
sea and seemed to be in sonle awful trouble.’ He knew about the fear behind
that white face and he knew about the love of life that fought with the fear
and despair. At five o'clock in the morning she had disappeared from the boat.
Someone had found a wedding ring lying on the seat where she had sat earlier.
There was a date on the inside of the ring: 24 June 1879.
The Professor was getting tired of the other man’s silence
and he stood up to go.
‘Stay.’ said Ossipon quickly. ‘Tell me,’ what do you know
about madness and despair?’
‘They don’t exist. The world is weak. You are weak. Verloc
was weak and the police murdered him. Madness and despair? Give me those and
I’ll move the world. Ossipon, you are useless. You’re too busy running alter
women all the time. And this money that people say you’ve got now hasn’t made
you more intelligent. You're sitting there like a dummy. Goodbye.’
Ossipon was alone. He waited for a short time, then got up
and walked to the door. The words of the newspaper repeated themselves in his
head. ‘Mysterious Death . . .’
‘I am very ill,’ he thought. He walked out of the bar and
along the street as he had walked on that night more than a week ago, without
seeing or hearing anything.
In another part of the city, the Professor walked too,
trying not to look at the crowds of men and women that he hated so much. He had
no future either but he did not care. He was strong. He believed that he could
change the world using madness and despair! Small and unimportant, he went on
his way through the streets full of people.
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