Imago Bird by Nicholas Mosley Page A

down, scream, yell? Was that what I was asking? How much did I know. Enough to know that if she had, I suppose, I would have thought of killing myself. Which was why she didn’t? I wonder if I knew this. I was quite a clever little boy: for eight or seven. But what on earth, short of death, was to get me out of the lavatory? Death of one sort or another, of dignity and pride, or a real death, getting attention. Do you think my mother knew this? Well, what am I saying. You don’t have to lose allpride: how does life go on? What are the ways of tapping that miracle? But that is the end of the story. Anyway, I had been there several hours—my mother and my sister had come back once or twice and had even pushed food under the door—some sort of half sandwich I think—and I had pushed it back again—it’s not difficult to go on a hunger-strike when life is boring. Then pain becomes more interesting. But in this case, how could I ever come out of the lavatory? Then I heard my father come home. He had been out—where?—after one of his girls, I shouldn’t wonder. But that’s another story. And they were telling him this story—about my being locked in the lavatory. And with Aunt Mavis coming to dinner! Or how terrible if they were not even telling him! That would be worse than Napoleon alone in Moscow. Then I would surely have to die. Then I heard my father say “Get an axe.” And I thought I would undoubtedly kill myself. But had I not blamed my mother earlier for not getting an axe? I was, wasn’t I, not only a clever little boy, but also half-witted. But I’m not saying for parents it is easy. No. I thought I could climb out of the window and then appear to be about to fall—what would it be—some twenty feet onto some railings. And then they would feel guilty. In full view of the neighbours. But still, would I be there to see it? Then I heard my father say “No don’t get an axe, let’s take this chance to have a little peace and quiet.” And I thought I should now undoubtedly have to die: for this was the final insult! That they should want peace and quiet! When I was in the lavatory! But then again, if they did not care, what was the point of killing myself? Ah, don’t these knots make patterns! like figures of eight! like an hour-glass! It began to seem as if I might never get out of the lavatory. What I am saying is, of course, that children can’t win: but can’t parents? The house had become strangely quiet They were all I suppose having dinner. I thought I should climb out of the window. And then disappear. And begin a new life I suppose in Australia. Well there was a ledge, and then a gap, and then the ledge of another window. And beyond this a drainpipe. And if I got to the second ledge, I thought I could reach this drainpipe. And then I could climb down and both the and not die, because I might come alive again like one of Shakespeare’sheroines in Australia. Or one of the twenty-three lost chromosomes. Having been found by a shepherd in a basket on a mountain. Or been seen walking in the garden. You see, there are things you can’t say. Can you? Do you think the Holy Ghost was perching all the time on the shoulder of that good scarecrow? Well, where was I. Getting out on to the ledge of that window. I can’t remember this part of it very well. I suppose I was very frightened. Perhaps it really was about twenty feet onto the spikes of some railings. I got as far as one knee and one hand on the ledge of the second window and then I got stuck. Oh why didn’t you sweep me up into your arms my mother! And the sash of the window was stuck too. I was quite a brave little boy. I didn’t panic. This was the position that I had put myself in—had put my parents in—wasn’t it what I had wanted? So we get what we want. Don’t we. But I had wanted something more complex. Then I heard my father in