The Address Story ( Snapshots ) - Margo Minco

                 Do you still know me ? " I asked .

                 The woman looked at me searchingly . She had opened the door a chink . I came closer and stood on the step .

                  ' No , I don't know you . I'm Mrs S's daughter . 

                  She held her hand on the door as though she wanted to prevent it opening any further . Her face gave absolutely no sign of recognition . She kept staring at me in silence . 

                 Perhaps I was mistaken , I thought , perhaps it isn't her . I had seen her only once , fleetingly , and that was years ago . It was most probable that I had rung the wrong bell . The woman let go of the door and stepped to the side . She was wearing my mother's green knitted cardigan . The wooden buttons were rather pale from washing . She saw that I was looking at the cardigan and half hid herself again behind the door . But I knew now that I was right . ' 

                       Well , you knew my mother ? " I asked . 

 

                      ' Have you come back ? ' said the woman . ' I thought that no one had come back .

                      'Only me'.

                      A door opened and closed in the passage behind her . A musty smell emerged

                       ' I regret I cannot do anything for you . 

      

                       " I've come here specially on the train . I wanted to talk to you for a moment .

                      " It is not convenient for me now , ' said the woman . ' I can't see you . Another time . 

                      She nodded and cautiously closed the door as though no one inside the house should be disturbed . 

                     I stood where I was on the step . The curtain in front of the bay window moved . Someone stared at me and would then have asked what I wanted . ' Oh , nothing , ' the woman would have said . ' It was nothing . 

                    " I looked at the name - plate again . Dorling it said , in black letters on white enamel . And on the jamb , a bit higher , the number . Number 46 . 

                  As I walked slowly back to the station I thought about my mother , who had given me the address years ago . It had been in the first half of the War . I was home for a few days and it struck me immediately that something or other about the rooms had changed . I missed various things . My mother was surprised I should have noticed so quickly . Then she told me about Mrs Dorling . I had never heard of her but apparently she was an old acquaintance of my mother , whom she hadn't seen for years . She had suddenly turned up and renewed their contact . Since then she had come regularly .

                     ' Every time she leaves here she takes something home with her , ' said my mother . She took all the table silver in one go . And then the antique plates that hung there . She had trouble lugging those large vases , and I'm worried she got a crick in her back f rom the crockery . My mother shook her head pityingly . ' I would never have dared ask her . She suggested it to me herself. She even insisted She wanted to save all my nice things . If we have to leave here we shall lose everything, she says.'

                 ' Have you agreed with her that she should keep everything ? I asked 

                 As if that's necessary , my mother cried . It would simply be an insult to talk like that . And think about the risk she's running , each time she goes out of our door with a full suitcase or bag 

                  My mother seemed to notice that I was not entirely convinced . She looked at me reprovingly and after that we spoke no more about it .

                  Meanwhile I had arrived at the station without having paid much attention to things on the way . I was walking in familiar places again for the first time since the War , but I did not want to go further than was necessary I didn't a precious time want to upset myself with the sight of streets and houses full of memories from a precious time.

              In the train back I saw Mrs Dorling in front of me again as I had the first time I met her . It was the morning after the day my mother had told me about her . I had got up late and , coming downstairs , I saw my mother about to see someone out . A woman with a broad back .. 

                There is my daughter , said my mother . She beckoned to me . 

                The woman nodded and picked up the suitcase under the coat - rack . She wore a brown coat and a shapeless hat . 

                Does she live far away ? I asked , seeing the difficulty she had going out of the house with the heavy case . 

                ' In Marconi Street , ' said my mother . ' Number 46. Remember that '

                 I had remembered it . But I had waited a long time to go there . Initially after the Liberation I was absolutely not interested in all that stored stuff , and naturally I was also rather afraid of it . Afraid of being confronted with things that had belonged to a connection that no longer existed ; which were hidden away in cupboards and boxes and waiting in vain until they were put back in their place again ; which had endured all those years because they were ' things . 

                " But gradually everything became more normal again . Bread was getting to be a lighter colour , there was a bed you could sleep in unthreatened , a room with a view you were more used to glancing at each day . And one day I noticed I was curious about all the possessions that must still be at that address . I wanted to see them , touch , remember . 

                 After my first visit in vain to Mrs Dorling'f- ' house I decided to try a second time . Now a girl of about fifteen opened the door to me . I asked her if her mother was at home . 

                 ' No ' she said , ' my mother's doing an errand . '

                 ' No matter , ' I said , I'll wait for her . '

                  I followed the girl along the passage . An old - fashioned iron Hanukkah candle - holder hung next to a mirror . We never used it because it was much more cumbersome than a single candlestick . 

               Won't you sit down ? ' asked the girl . She held open the door of the living room and I went inside past her . I stopped , horrified . I was in a room I knew and did not know . I found myself in the midst of things I did want to see again but which oppressed me in the strange atmosphere . Or because of the tasteless way everything was arranged , because of the ugly furniture or the muggy smell that hung there , I don't know ; but I scarcely dared to look around me . The girl moved a chair . I sat down and stared at the woollen table - cloth . I rubbed it . My fingers grew warm from rubbing . I followed the lines of the pattern . Somewhere on the edge there should be a burn mark that had never been repaired .

                      My mother'll be back soon , ' said the girl . I've already made tea for her . Will you have a cup.?'

                    Thank you . 

 

                    I looked up . The girl put cups ready on the tea - table . She had a broad back . Just like her mother . She poured tea from a white pot . All it had was a gold border on the lid , I remembered . She opened a box and took some spoons out .

                     That's a nice box . I heard my own voice . It was a strange voice . As though each sound was dufferent in this room.

                   Oh , you know about them ? ' She had turned round and brought me my tea. She laughed. "My mother says it is antique. We have got lots more.' She pointed round the room. 'See for yourself . 

                  I had no need to follow her hand . I knew which things she meant . I just looked at the still life over the tea - table . As a child I had always fancied the apple on the pewter plate .

                We use it for everything , ' she said . ' Once we even ate off the plates hanging there on the wall . I wanted to so much . But it wasn't anything special .

                 I had found the burn mark on the table - cloth . The girl looked questioningly at me .

               ' Yes , ' I said , ' you get so used to touching all these lovely things in the house , you hardly look at them any more . You only notice when something is missing , because it has to be repaired or because you have lent it , for example 

                Again I heard the unnatural sound of my voice and I went on : ' I remember my mother once asked me if I would help her polish the silver . It was a very long time ago and I was probably bored that day or perhaps I had to stay at home because I was ill , as she had never asked me before . I asked her which silver she meant and she replied , surprised , that it was the spoons , forks and knives , of course . And that was the strange thing , I didn't know the cutlery we ate off every day was silver . 

                  ' The girl laughed again . 

               

                  ' I bet you don't know it is either . ' I looked intently at her . 

                  ' What we eat with ? ' she asked . ' 

                  Well , do you know ? '

                  She hesitated . She walked to the sideboard and wanted to open a drawer . I'll look . It's in here . 

   

                   " I jumped up . ' I was forgetting the time . I must catch my train . 

    

                  ' She had her hand on the drawer . ' Don't you want to wait for my mother ? " 

                 ' No , I must go . ' I walked to the door . The girl pulled the drawer open . can find my own way .

                  As I walked down the passage I heard the jingling of spoons and forks .

                  At the corner of the road I looked up at the name - plate . Marconi Street , it said . I had been at Number 46. The address was correct . But now I didn't want to remember it any more . I wouldn't go back there because the objects that are linked in your memory with the familiar life of former times instantly lose their value when , severed from them , you see them again in strange surroundings . And what should I have done with them in a small rented room where the shreds of black - out paper still hung along the windows and no more than a handful of cutlery fitted in the narrow table drawer ?

                 I resolved to forget the address . Of all the things I had to forget , that would be the easiest.