The Secret Agent (10)

Hello guys,

Here is the tenth and last part of our story by Joseph Conrad.

Enjoy!





Chapter ten

 

Tom Ossipon

 

 

Winnie was different. Her calmness had left her and she was afraid. With shaking hands she tried to x the veil that had fallen from her face. Her mind was lled 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.

           THE END

Come back next week to watch the film inspired by the story!

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