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hare.’
    I thought—Where did that come from? That’s clever!
    When Sheila got to her feet and moved about the room she had that odd bird-like walk of women with no shoes and no clothes on: as if their bodies have not quite got used to being out of water.
    Then she came back to the bedsprings and poked at me with her foot. She said ‘All right. Give!’
    â€˜Give what?’
    â€˜Tell me.’
    I had wondered—But would I in fact like it, if she tried to get something out of me?
    She said ‘You like that don’t you—’
    I said ‘Tell you what.’
    I thought—It is this that is like being put in a pram and pushed towards the sea?
    She said ‘About your uncle.’
    â€˜What about my uncle?’
    â€˜Who pays his bills?’
    I said ‘What bills.’
    She said ‘He can’t live as he does on his salary.’
    She stood on my stomach; balancing there on one foot.
    I thought—Is Eros, seen from the bottom, like a female wrestler? Then—This is a game.
    Then—Well men do like this, don’t they?
    I said ‘I swore never to tell—’
    She said ‘Then never do.’
    She stepped off me.
    I thought—Oh dear.
    I could say to Dr Anders—This is why politics is like sex then?
    Sheila said ‘You wouldn’t know about politics if it was under your nose like a smell.’
    I was thinking—But wouldn’t it be better if politiciansknew they were in the business as it were for the sake of the smell?
    She came and put her foot on me again.
    I said ‘Ow!’
    Then—‘The Libyans.’
    She said ‘The Libyans!’
    She took her foot off me.
    Then she said ‘What do you mean, the Libyans?’
    She seemed to have been hurt
    I had meant it as a joke—That is where my uncle gets his money from.
    I had been thinking—Well, I suppose it’s true Uncle Bill can’t live as he does on his salary.
    Sheila’s face seemed to have become flattened as if someone had sat on it I was not quite sure if she was still acting, or was anxious because she was not.
    I said ‘Why did you ask me then?’
    I thought I should explain—It just came into my head, a joke about the Libyans!
    She said ‘Why shouldn’t I?’
    She went to the window and looked out.
    I was not sure what was happening.
    I had thought of another thing I could say to Dr Anders—If this is the way in which human beings can make love, is it also the way they can alter things—by letting out the things that just come into their heads?
    I said ‘Have you got a pencil?’
    I had at the same time thought—But isn’t there another very interesting thing here, which is that if all politics is like this sort of sex divorced from love, then isn’t it the case that each side wants to be the one that’s lying down, while the other side is on top —
    Sheila said ‘What do you want a pencil for?’
    I said ‘I’ve got too many things coming into my head. I’ve got to write them down.’
    When Sheila came back and stood over me her face still seemed to have been wounded. I thought—But it was you, wasn’t it, who wanted to break up the game?
    Also—Is it only in literature then that you can say two or more things at once?
    And then—There really are girls who like to kick people and people who want to be kicked —
    She said ‘You and the bloody things in your head!’
    I got up and looked in my clothes for a pencil. Then I prowled around the room.
    She said ‘What is it you want to write down?’
    I said ‘That each side of politics is the one that wants to be lying down. But for custom’s sake, each has to pretend that it’s the one that wants to be on top.’
    Then Sheila said ‘Are you using me?’
    I found a pencil. I began writing.
    I said ‘No.’
    Then I thought—Why did she say that?
    I