when the time came to shut the drawer again, they would push with their heads down, gasping, and straining the muscles of their stomachs in order to confine the bulging piles of stuff to their former space. The pressure behind the door of every cupboard and beneath the lids of chests was terrifying even to those who were used to it. At times the five of them could feel the pressure inside their own heads, and a suffocating weight would lie on their chests when they woke in the night and thought of the straining house ready, perhaps, to split, ready to crack if it were not carefully handled. When, on stormy nights, they thought of the fragile things poised on tables, and the heavy objects hanging from the walls on old cords, every nerve in their bodies would tighten with the effort which, even flat on their backs, they made to resist the fraying and the splintering which might be going on there in the darkness. Above all, it was the long attic at the top of the house which crushed them. In the daytime they were conscious of it, like a great layer of heavy atmosphere. But at night, alone in their own rooms, staring at the ceiling, they felt their own identity lost under the mass of stuff up there which weighed on their lids even when they had shut their eyes, and bulged through grotesquely into their dreams when they were asleep.
The family seldom took a holiday away from the house, and to one another they showed the special loyalty of a group of people living under a tyrant whom they respected and even reverenced. The rigid timetable which they kept to, and the discomforts which they endured for the sake of the house, had kept down all superfluous flesh and feeling and prevented any extravagance showing in their expressions or behaviour. They were all silent people, chillingly resigned – the men, relieved to be away from one another in the daytime, were also relieved to be back again in the evening to a relationship which seemed to go on forever, safely, monotonously, unlike the precarious relationships which they caught glimpses of on their way back and forth to the house. There had been certain incidents in the past – times when someone had tried to advise or interfere, or shown some sneering disregard for the house and its property by trying to remove one of them away from the others into marriage or to some prosperous post abroad, or into debts just deep enough to give a taste of risk and pleasure. But all that was a long time ago. No interference from without had come for many years.
It was from inside the house, however, that the greatest disturbance was to come – beginning with an unimportant incident which occurred in its pressure-centre – the attic. It was a mild Autumn afternoon, and the elder sister, Edith, had gone up to look for a small table-lamp which she knew had been lying for many years under a heap of unidentified stuff. Indeed, nothing had been moved in the attic for a long time except the soft, outer layer of cloths, pillows and bedspreads which covered the broken, upturned furniture and the tangle of springs and wire like flesh covering the sensitive bones and nerves of an old invalid. In the course of years, however, one or two lanes had been hollowed out through the pile and one deep cave made out of two sides of tightly-wedged furniture, covered over at the top with various lighter objects which included folded tents and fishing rods, umbrellas, golf clubs, curtain-rails and a pair of broken crutches. Over everything else were two heavy lids of linoleum which had, at one time, been sliced into curious shapes to fit the awkward cupboards under the stair. At the far end of this hollow Edith had found the lamp she was looking for, but in pulling the flex she had also dislodged a heavy, mantelpiece clock. The square block of black marble and metal, built with side pillars to resemble a Greek temple, fell across her foot, all its machinery jangling and whirring for a second as she screamed.
It was nearly suppertime. The whole family had been sitting together downstairs waiting for her to come down, and now they came up to the attic – not quickly, for that was not their habit, but close on one another’s heels, and apprehensively. They noticed, before anything else, that their sister was angry, and because they had never before seen an expression like this on her face, it appeared to them more like some momentary madness, caused by the pain. Two brothers bent over to examine her foot – the others bent with equal solicitude over the clock which chimed softly, once, as it was gently lifted and put into a safe corner.
‘Not even the glass smashed,’ murmured the younger sister as she peered into its face and ran her fingers round the rim. Edith now began to sob wildly, and three of them helped her down the attic stairs to her bedroom, as one ran to phone the doctor. They were now amazed and alarmed at this breakdown of her reserve. It was, after all, nothing so serious, as the doctor assured them later that evening. She must lie up for a day or two and have her foot bound – three days at the most, if she wished to be on the safe side.
It was very soon clear that Edith not only wanted to be on the safe side, but that she had made up her mind to stay there indefinitely. She rested for three days and, when her foot was healed, discovered that she was far too tired to move the rest of her body. With the voice of authority which belonged to her as the oldest of the family, but which she had never used before, she informed her brothers and sister that she had decided to stay in bed and regain some of the strength which she had lost in the house over a great number of years. They accepted the announcement silently and did not discuss it any more than they had thought of discussing other unaccountable things which had happened to them. By keeping silent, and simply not paying too much attention, they had vanquished all sorts of mysteries – from the appearance of apparitions to the turning up of unexpected visitors. Nevertheless, coming from within the family, Edith’s words struck them as ominous.
On the day after this – a Sunday – the four of them went up and down many times during the afternoon and evening to visit her. Propped bolt upright against her pillows, and framed by the gilt, knobbed bedhead, their sister allowed herself to be identified for the first time. So this was Edith – this stern woman in the fancy bedjacket who stared back at them without a hint of guilt or misgiving in her blue eyes. On the days following they came in with their trays and books and newspapers, on tiptoe or shuffling awkwardly according to their moods, but as time went on they became more wary under her gaze.
For Edith, who had seldom sat down in her life except to get nearer some bit of work, now seemed to want only to lie and watch them coming and going, following all their movements with a close attention embarrassing to people who were unused to walking sympathetically in and out of sickrooms. She would discuss the affairs of the day with them, or listen to the account of some mishap in house or office, but not as though she could ever be involved herself again. Though looking attentively, while they spoke, at their faces, she gave the impression that she was studying the movements of their lips and eyes with amusement, rather as a foreigner might listen to a language he does not quite understand, while unwilling to be done altogether out of his entertainment.
After ten days, when Edith’s foot had long been completely healed, her sister sat down on the edge of the bed one afternoon when she had removed the tea-tray, and carefully took Edith’s hand in her own. It was not easy to take this hand for it was a large one, and felt hard and strong under Clara’s timid fingers. But, flushing slightly, she kept an awkward grip on it.
‘Now, Edith,’ she said, smiling gravely at the space of wall directly above her sister’s head, ‘you will tell me what is wrong, will you not? There is something wrong, of course, or else you would not stay in bed long after the doctor has said you may get up – you would not cause us such serious worry for nothing. No, Edith, you would not, and you must tell me at once what is the matter!’
Her voice, slow and persuasive at the beginning, ended quickly on a note of nervous disapproval. Edith, meantime, had withdrawn her hand to flick up the lace of her collar, and answered calmly enough.
‘Why, of course I will tell you, Clara. But surely I have told you all often enough what is the matter. I will tell you again, if it is any help. I am seriously tired – that is all. I have been like that for years, so I did not expect any of you to notice. But lately the pressure has grown worse, much worse, so there is nothing for it but to give up for a while until something can be done about it.’
‘Well, I am glad you have told me at last,’ replied her sister, smiling her strained and patient smile. Not finding Edith’s hand again on the coverlet, she smoothed
