England Made Me by Graham Greene

Author:Graham Greene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2001-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

5

Up the long flight of stairs to the fourth floor, treading upwards from Purgatory (left behind on the other bank the public lavatories with the smutty jokes, envy, and the editor’s dislike, mistrust, the nudist magazines) to Paradise (the house groups, the familiar face flannel, the hard ascetic bed), mounting unscathed, I, Minty.

He knew the number of steps, fifty-six: fourteen to the first floor where lived the Ekmans in a two-roomed flat with a telephone and an electric cooker; he was a dust-man, but he always seemed to have money to spend. Often he would come home as late as Minty; he would be a little drunk and would shout good-bye to a friend all the way up the fourteen stairs, and Fru Ekman would come out of the flat at the sound of his voice and shout good-bye too. She never seemed to mind that he was drunk; sometimes she would be flushed herself and the doorway would be full of friends saying good-bye, and the smell of cheap cigars would follow him up fourteen stairs to the second landing, burning his eyes.

Twenty-eight stairs and one came to the empty flat. It was the largest in the building and it stood furnished, tenanted, always empty. The owners were abroad; for the last two years they had not been home, but the rent was paid. Minty had never seen them; his curiosity prowled the landing; he tormented himself with his lack of knowledge; but he was afraid to be without it, to dispel it with direct questions; it was an interest. Once, when the landlady had opened the flat to dust it, he had seen into the hall, seen a steel engraving of Gustavus Adolphus and an umbrella-stand with one tired umbrella. Climbing, he left the flat behind, the Ekmans dropped further, by fourteen steps, down the wall of the long stair. On the third floor an Italian woman lived who gave lessons; she reminded him of his colleague Hammarsten, for they worked in the same school; he hurried upward, fourteen more stairs, to the fourth landing, to security, to home – the brown woollen dressing-gown hanging on the door, the cocoa and water biscuits in the cupboard, the little Madonna on the mantelpiece, the spider under the tooth glass.

He was tired; it was early; but there was nothing to do but sleep.

When he put on the light, he went at once to the window to close it; he was afraid of moths. The flats below made little rungs of light between him and the street: everyone was at home: the Ekmans had turned on their wireless set. His monthly account lay on the washstand beside the spider. Minty went on his knees and routed in his cupboard; he poured some condensed milk into a saucepan and added two spoonfuls of cocoa; he lit a gas-burner which stood beside a polished mahogany commode, and while the mixture heated, he searched for his tea-cup. He found the saucer, but there was no sign of the cup.

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