 |
ANECDOTES about ELEANOR BERRY by Rozanne Robinson, a freelance jounalist
"Arthur Koestler was a right, rude bastard," says Eleanor Berry.
Berry was at university at the time, reading English. She was working hard to prepare herself for her Shakespeare paper. It was 7 p.m.
She stirred herself from her Othello when someone rang her bell.
The person ringing was known to her and she let him in. Her visitor was a young man, recently out of a mental institution where he had been treated for deep depression.
Ordinarily, Berry would have told him to go away, but the nature of his suffering aroused her compassion. She refuses to name him.
His manner towards Berry was irritating and peremptory and, because of her hot temper and unwillingness to be taken advantage of at any time, she felt angry, but forced herself to treat her visitor kindly. He said,
"I've no transport. I've no money for a taxi and it's bloody snowing."
"Yes, I know," said Berry. "Do you expect me to stop it snowing?"
"No," said the man, as if giving instructions to a servant, "but, as you are fortunate enough to have a car, I would like you to drive me to the writer, Arthur Koestler's house where I'm expected for dinner."
Had the man not been suffering from depression, Berry would have slapped his face. Instead, her words to him were uncharacteristically mild.
"I know you're suffering, but that doesn't prevent you from being a bit more polite," she said. "When are you expected?"
"About half an hour from now."
"OK, I'll take you. Do you want anything to drink before I drive you."
"Yes. Tea," said the visitor.
"Tea, what?" said Berry.
"Oh, I meant `tea, please'. Sorry, Berry."
"So am I."
Berry drove the man across London to his destination. He must have been there many times before because he was very familiar with the route.
"I can't stand Russian folk songs," said the man, vehemently.
"Well, I can and I always love to have them on, when I'm driving, particularly when it's snowing," said Berry.
"Would you mind turning them off, please?"
"Young man, I feel you are getting out of hand," said Berry. "I know you've got depression, but I'm afraid that doesn't excuse the extraordinary discourtesy you have exhibited so far. This is absolutely outrageous, and I am not going to turn them off."
"Oh, please, please, Eleanor! They make me want to slit my throat."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I can't bear thinking about the vastness and bleakness of Russia."
Berry was totally baffled. "OK, I'll turn them off, if it's what you want. Do you want anything else, instead?"
"Beethoven's Ninth Symphony."
"Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, what?"
"Oh, sorry, I meant to say `please'. Have you got it?"
"Yes. I'll take the songs out and put it on for you."
"Oh, there's just one thing. Could you avoid playing the Scherzo Movement, the Second Movement, that is. It makes me feel as if some sadist, has bundled me up and thrown me into a washing machine."
Berry laughed.
"It's not easy to time the four Movements," she said, "so I've decided we won't be listening to any music at all. I fully sympathize with the fact that you've got depression and I know a lot of other people with it. None of them behave in the way you are behaving."
"I want to go to the Koestlers, please," said the man.
"I sincerely hope you'll behave more civilly towards Arthur Koestler than towards me."
Berry took the man to the Koestlers' house. They were late because of the weather conditions. The door was opened by a rather disagreeable-looking man when the car pulled up outside his house.
Berry's visitor wound down the passenger window.
"Hullo, Arthur!" he shouted.
The man addressed as Arthur did not answer. He walked down some steps and instead of speaking to his guest, he went straight up to Berry.
"Wind the window down," he said.
Berry wound it down and was about to lose her temper.
"What do you want?" she shouted.
"I want him collected at eleven o'clock."
"Look here, Koestler," shouted Berry, "I shall do absolutely nothing of the sort. I'm not your bloody lackey and I do have other things to do, this evening. Who the hell do you think you are? I'm not a taxi driver! I'm not on your blasted pay-roll and I will do nothing whatever, at your command, unless you pay me!"
She stretched out her hand –"How much?"
"He gets depressed very easily," said the mad writer, jerking his finger in the direction of Berry's passenger.
"I must say, you're a fine one to talk! Your novel Darkness at Noon made me so depressed I had to go to bed for two bloody days!" said Berry.
Koestler struck Berry as being a professionally rude, boorish, foul-mannered galumph. Despite his literary talent, she was unable to respect him. Her passenger got out and, without thanking Berry, ambled up towards Koestler's open door.
Berry leant out of her window and called Koestler's name, this time having the courtesy to address him as "Mr" Koestler.
"Yes, what now?" said the insolent writer.
"Your guest has a particular liking for Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. The second Movement, the Scherzo Movement, that is, is his favourite. Sets his blood on fire! Makes him feel he's going all the way to Mars and back, man!"
The moral of this story is, Eleanor Berry's a very kind person, but trifle with her at your peril.
|
