Love Your Enemies

Sammy Jo said the name out loud to him a few times and then handed him some of her child benefit money. She said, ‘I’m going to start the Sartre on the bus home. I hope I enjoy it.’

He finished wrapping up her books and handed them over to her. ‘That’s entirely up to you.’

She grinned. ‘That’s a joke, right?’

When Sammy Jo got home she changed and fed the baby and then made herself a sandwich and sat down on the sofa to start Chapter Two of The Age of Reason. Her main thoughts about its central character, Mathieu, were that she was glad that he wasn’t looking after her baby. He didn’t seem responsible enough. When the telephone rang she told the man on the line these thoughts. She said, ‘Ideas are all right, but ideas can’t guide your life, it isn’t practical or realistic.’

He laughed. ‘So what do you think should be man’s main motivation? The acquisition of food? Making cups of tea?’

She raised her eyebrows – fully cognizant of his cynicism – and stared out of the window. ‘I wasn’t saying that. I’m not quite so stupid. All I mean is that people can’t afford to be so self-indulgent, so luxurious. You have to get on with things. My life would be in a fine mess if I suddenly decided that I wanted to be free, that I couldn’t be bothered to look after my young baby any more because she gets in the way of my freedom and independence.’

The man sounded irritated. ‘No, you’re trivializing the issue. You decided to have the baby, you made that decision freely many months ago. You could have aborted the child had you felt otherwise. The character Mathieu isn’t entirely unhindered in his decisions about whether he wants Marcelle’s baby … that’s silly, what I mean to say is that obviously he doesn’t want a baby but he has other considerations to take into account; Marcelle’s feelings, money, the illegality of abortions …’

Sammy Jo sighed, ‘Men are bastards. Really it’s her problem. He just worries about it to make himself feel good. He’s a shit.’

He interrupted her. ‘The character doesn’t matter, Sammy Jo. It’s his thoughts and actions that are our concern, not whether you happen to like him or not.’

Sammy Jo snorted. ‘If I don’t like the character how can I read and enjoy the book?’

His voice was sharp. ‘That’s stupid. Behave rationally. Since when do you have to like a character in order to be able to understand and sympathize with his dilemmas? You can’t go through life saying, “Oh, she doesn’t sound very nice so I’m not interested in her.” That’s ridiculous. Those sorts of comments are unworthy of you. You should think beyond your own standpoint. If you can’t do that, then a whole dimension is lost to you. Have you got a proper pad of paper now?’

Sammy Jo shrugged and didn’t answer, like a petulant schoolgirl. The voice said, ‘Sammy Jo, answer me.’

She hung up and stared at the telephone for several seconds, waiting for it to ring. It didn’t. She stared at it for a full five minutes, then began to feel stupid. She walked over to Charlie, who was sleeping in her crib, warm and cosy, smelling of milk. Out in the garden a small grey cat was scratching its claws on the thin trunk of a small apple tree. She felt frustrated. She thought, ‘What right does he have to manipulate me like this? He’s imposing on me. He’s a bully. It’s wrong for strangers to interfere like this, to impose like this, to telephone you when they want, to build up a relationship that depends solely on their goodwill …’

She scratched her head and said musingly to Charlie’s tiny body, which, disguised by layers of soft blankets, just rose and fell with the repetitive lull of sleepy breathing, ‘Charlie, people are strange. This man is strange. I suppose I should tell Jason really, but I know he’ll just get upset. I could telephone Lucy Cosbie … but do I really need to? This situation is quite different from before, altogether different. No one is threatening me. I don’t know.’

She went and sat down on the sofa and picked up her book again. She read until five and then went into the kitchen and started to prepare dinner. Jason came in while she was frying some courgettes and cutting mushrooms. He pecked her on the cheek and said, ‘Do I guess from this that Charlie will be enjoying ratatouille-flavoured milk this evening?’

She smiled broadly. ‘You’re welcome to enjoy ratatouille-flavoured milk yourself this evening if you prefer, so long as there’s enough to go around. I don’t know how well garlic and tomatoes translate into a calcium drink, though.’

He shook his head. ‘I think I’ll skip that one, if you don’t mind, Sammy Jo.’

The telephone rang. Jason immediately moved away from her as though to go and answer it. Sammy Jo grabbed hold of his arm and said hurriedly, ‘Jason, I know who that is. It’s for me. My mother said she’d ring this evening.’ She pushed past him as she spoke. ‘I’ll get it. Stir the vegetables, all right?’

He nodded. She picked up the telephone. ‘Hi, Mum. Jason’s home now so I can’t really talk for long.’

The man said, ‘I want you to think about this question very carefully, Sammy Jo. Write it down.’

Sammy Jo picked up a pen and copied down his question with great care on the pizza pad, which was now greatly diminished in size. Then they both said goodbye.

As she put down the telephone receiver she caught sight of her three new books slung carelessly on to the sofa, The Age of Reason open face downwards towards the middle of the text, like a ballerina clumsily doing the splits and unable to rise from that position. Quickly she picked them up and walked over to Charlie’s cot. Picking Charlie up she slid the books under the cot’s small mattress, then carried Charlie into the kitchen. Jason was stirring the courgettes and mushrooms around in the frying pan, staring at the wall in front of him in a tired, unfocused way. He seemed ill at ease. Sammy Jo offered Charlie’s sleepy body to him and said, ‘Give me the wooden spoon in exchange for the baby. You can change her if you like.’

He smiled. ‘What into? A well trained corgi?’

She frowned. ‘Don’t avoid the inevitable, Jason, she feels pretty wet to me.’

He sighed and took hold of Charlie’s tiny body, then carried her into the sitting room. Sammy Jo opened a tin of tomatoes while he lay the baby down on her changing mat and searched around for one of the remaining disposable nappies. He said loudly, so Sammy Jo could hear him above the noise of the frying pan, ‘How’s your mother? You didn’t chat for long.’

Sammy Jo added the tomatoes to the rest of the vegetables in the pan, then remembered she had forgotten to start with a chopped onion. She cursed under her breath, then said hastily, ‘She’s fine. She’s a bit busy actually. I think she had plans to go out tonight.’ Jason took off Charlie’s dirty nappy and said, ‘I’m so glad I don’t have any washing to do this evening. I’m knackered. There again, it still makes my skin crawl to imagine what I’m doing to the environment with just one day’s usage of these things.’

He turned Charlie over and cleaned her bottom with some tissues. Sammy Jo cleared her throat and appeared in the doorway. ‘Did you get that paper for me, Jason?’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s in my case, by the door.’

He lay one of the nappies out on the table and lifted up Charlie’s legs so as to slide it under her bottom. As he performed this manoeuvre he stuck out one of his elbows and accidentally knocked the telephone with it. The telephone was balanced on the edge of the table and threatened to fall off. Quickly grabbing hold of it and pushing it a couple of inches away from the edge, he focused on the pad covered in small, neat print. He took hold of it with his free hand and perused it, initially with uninterest and then with some surprise. On the pad Sammy Jo had written: ‘ARE GOOD AND EVIL OF IMPORTANCE TO THE UNIVERSE OR JUST TO MAN?’ BERTRAND RUSSELL. THINK ABOUT THIS. He moved the pad closer to his face in order to reread these words. He frowned, put the pad down again and completed Charlie’s nappy.

Sammy Jo strolled into the room clutching her new pad as Jason finished putting on Charlie’s rubber knickers. She walked over and switched on the television, saying, ‘Dinner shouldn’t be long now. Pass her over, will you? I need to feed her.’

He picked up Charlie.

‘Sammy Jo?’

‘Yep?’

‘This may sound rather stupid, but I couldn’t help noticing what you have written down on the pad by the phone.’

She looked up guiltily and played for time. ‘I can’t remember writing anything. It can’t have been important …’ She put out her arms for Charlie. ‘Pass her over please.’

He handed the baby over and watched dispassionately as Sammy Jo began breast-feeding. He said, ‘Have you been watching the Open University while I’m out at work?’

Sammy Jo shrugged. ‘I might have caught a programme at some point, Jason. I can’t really remember. I don’t just sit around all day watching television, you know. Looking after a young baby isn’t just fun and games.’

He shook his head, bewildered. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that, Sammy Jo, not at all. Anyway, you wanted the baby, it was a decision you made freely, you were hardly under any pressure.’

Sammy Jo frowned. ‘Freedom’s not really like that, Jason. I’ve been giving it some thought lately. The way I see it, freedom is like a train journey. When you get on the train, everyone assures you that you are free to climb off whenever you choose, but as with all train journeys there doesn’t seem much point getting off at most of the stations. They just aren’t appropriate to your life. A lot of things dictate as to when and where you get off the train. It isn’t just a random decision. The past propels you forward, and all your future decisions have already been made well in advance, dictated by age, class, sex … anyway, your capacity is limited. Your choice is limited.’

Charlie sucked away at one of Sammy Jo’s robust pink nipples with energetic commitment. Jason tried to expel the random thought that had just entered his head, that often entered his head when he saw Sammy Jo breast-feeding, which was that she seemed like the Madonna when she performed this duty, like an icon, so innocent, uninvolved and natural. He said, ‘How long have you had this hang-up about not being free? I thought you were happy to be living with me. I thought you liked being married. I don’t think I ever put you under any unnecessary pressure …’

Sammy Jo exploded. ‘Why does everything have to be so bloody particular with you, Jason? I’m not talking about myself, I’m talking about an idea, a …’

She paused and grasped for a word that was brand new and floating around inside her mind, ready to be brought out like the best cutlery at a family celebration. ‘I’m talking about universals. A universal idea, freedom. Everything that I say doesn’t have to apply to my own miserable life. I can think beyond it, above it, you know. I am just about capable of that.’

He stared at her with his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed defensively, then he said, ‘Something’s going on, but I don’t know what. This isn’t like you … this isn’t you, Sammy Jo.’

She laughed, ‘God! Just because I make a slightly intelligent observation you make out something terrible is wrong. You don’t think I’m a very clever person, do you, Jason? You don’t think I’m particularly blessed with intelligence.’

He looked surprised. ‘Of course you’re intelligent. I love you, Sammy Jo, I love your mind, your conversation, your body, your beautiful pink nipples, our baby. I do respect you, and I like to think that I treat you as an equal …’

She snorted. ‘Well thanks a lot for that. I am your equal, I don’t think you deserve any special thanks for treating me as such.’

Jason leaned over the table and picked up the pizza pad. ‘What exactly does this mean, Sammy Jo? “ARE GOOD AND EVIL OF IMPORTANCE TO THE UNIVERSE OR ONLY TO MAN? BERTRAND RUSSELL. THINK ABOUT THIS.” What does it mean? Why have you written it down? Who told you to write it down?’ He ripped the page away from the pad and screwed it up in his hand.

Sammy Jo prised Charlie’s gums away from her nipple and pulled her shirt together to cover her breasts. Charlie yelled and then started to cry. Sammy Jo stood up, thrust Charlie into Jason’s arms and said, ‘You bloody feed her. How dare you screw up my notes like that? It’s none of your business what I do. I’m not affecting you in any way.’ She picked up the ball of crumpled paper from the floor and held it, clenched possessively in her hand. Jason was bouncing Charlie up and down in his arms, trying to calm her down. He stared at Sammy Jo but didn’t say anything. After a minute or so Charlie’s crying evaporated into breathy whimpers. Jason took her over to her cot and placed her gently into it. Sammy Jo felt like running upstairs to their bedroom in order to curtail this conversation, but she wanted to carry on reading her book, she didn’t want to just sit up there sulking, with nothing to do. Jason stood up straight and turned to face Sammy Jo. He crossed his arms. ‘This reminds me of something, Sammy Jo. This situation reminds me of something.’

She frowned. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Just a hunch. What would you say if I told you that I was going to telephone Lucy Cosbie right now? Maybe she could shed some light on this thing? You’ve been strange since she telephoned you the other day.’