Free Beer in the Snooker Club by Waguih Ghali Page A

until recently, but is now disillusioned. Brenda is a communist and was selling the
Daily Worker
at eight o’clockthis morning. My wife is simply liberal, and my two other daughters vote Labour. We have four daily papers in the house:
The Guardian
, the
Daily Herald
, the
Daily Worker
, and four weeklies; the …’
    ‘You forgot
The Times
, Dad,’ John said.
    ‘Yes, and
The Times
.’
    Jean was interested in Font. She had a lazy, comfortable look about her and politics didn’t interest her.
    ‘Dad,’ she said, ‘I’m sure we’re boring Font and Ram with all this.’
    ‘Not at all,’ we said.
    ‘Well, I’m for a pint before lunch,’ she said. ‘Who’s coming with me?’
    No one answered.
    ‘Come on, Font; you and I’ll have a pint together and you can talk to me about the Nile and the Pyramids.’ She caught his hand and pulled him up. I wanted to drink too, were it only to shake me out of this lethargy of gratitude and shyness.
    ‘We’ll all go for a pint,’ John said. ‘Come on, Mummy.’
    ‘No, dear. I can’t go and I don’t want your father to drink today; he has to work this afternoon and it will only make him sleepy.’
    ‘But I’m taking Font to another pub,’ Jean said, ‘I don’t want to listen to any more of your politics.’
    ‘Font, you’ve ’ad it, she taykin’ a fancy ter yer.’
    Font laughed embarrassedly.
    ‘I’m going to seduce you, Font,’ Jean said. ‘Don’t you love me a teeny-weeny bit?’
    ‘I love you all,’ he said.
    ‘Isn’t that sweet,’ Mrs Dungate said. ‘Now off all ofyou and don’t drink too much. Lunch at two o’clock.’
    We all went downstairs, putting scarfs and coats on and the girls using their mirrors. There is a certain solitude when a group of people is preparing to go out, which I always relish after sitting in tension at meeting new people and being rather tongue-tied. It is like leaving a party in full swing and going to the seclusion of the toilet for a few minutes with the receding noise to accentuate the privacy. I put my coat on slowly and wondered whether meeting these people and receiving their hospitality was really enjoyable. That moment of putting on my coat was the very beginning – the first time in my life that I had felt myself cleave into two entities, the one participating and the other watching and judging. But the cleavage was not complete then, the two forces had only just started to pull in different directions.
    Jean and Font went off to a different pub and said they would join us later.
    ‘That’s where I live,’ Barbara said, pointing to a window on the way to the pub.
    ‘Don’t you live with your parents?’
    ‘No; Brenda is the only one living with them. John lives in Baker Street and Jean lives in Swiss Cottage.’ This puzzled me. Dr Dungate’s house seemed large enough to house them all.
    We all drank beer in pints. Edna had already explained that if I were offered a beer in England, I must buy a round later on. I enjoyed carrying the glasses to the bar and saying: ‘Four pints of bitter, please.’
    ‘Brenda,’ I asked, ‘are you really a member of the Communist Party?’
    ‘Really?’ she smiled. ‘Yes, I am. I have been since I was fifteen.’
    ‘What do you think of Nasser?’
    ‘Here’s to Nasser,’ she said and drank her beer.
    ‘And yet,’ I said, ‘he imprisons communists.’
    ‘Yes,’ John said, ‘how can you drink to the health of someone who imprisons communists?’
    She didn’t hesitate: ‘I drink to anyone who deals imperialism a blow.’
    ‘That’s typical! That’s why I left the Party. Harry Pollit tells you to support Nasser, so you do.’
    ‘John dear, I know precisely why you left the Party.’ She possessed a type of calm reminiscent of Edna.
    ‘I gave the correct reason for leaving the Party.’
    ‘Correct, but not true.’
    ‘Ha! You make a difference between correct and true? Exactly why I left the Party. The “correct” tactics and propaganda had