A Ripple from the Storm. Doris Lessing

and Piet have apologized. There are five RAF comrades not here. Let us hope they have a good reason.’

      ‘They are down in the Coloured Quarter,’ said one of the RAF men. He had just joined the group: a big-boned, hollow-cheeked, passionately serious youth from London, Jimmy Jones, who tended to make violent rhetorical speeches as if at a public meeting. ‘They seem to have made valuable contacts in the Quarter.’

      ‘And who took a decision that their contacts are more important than group discipline?’

      Jimmy said obstinately: ‘They are good contacts. They should be maintained.’

      ‘Is that so?’ said Anton. He turned to Martha: ‘You have not fulfilled your duties as Literature Secretary because of your work with The Watchdog. The correct way to deal with such problems is to come to the group, say you have too much work, and get the work reallocated. Not to leave the work undone.’

      At this, Bill Bluett, always derisive about Martha when he met her outside the group meetings, looked sympathetically at her and said: ‘Comrade Matty’s doing good work in the Coloured Quarter.’

      The Coloured Quarter, yes, yes, yes. But we decided selling The Watchdog there would be allocated one afternoon a week. How many afternoons have you all spent running like chickens around the Quarter? And why?’

      There are so many things to do: people in trouble, and the women want advice about their children.’

      ‘You are supposed to be selling The Watchdog and not having a social life.’

      At this everyone exclaimed, and Bill said: ‘Communists should enter into the lives and the problems of the working people. That is what Comrade Matty is doing. And by the way, the group will have to raise two pounds tonight for a bloke with rent trouble – fork out.’

      ‘Comrade Bill,’ said Anton.

      ‘Comrade Anton,’ said Bill, grinning, and not pleasantly.

      ‘How many Coloured people are there in this Colony? A few thousand. They are unimportant, economically and politically. We can sell The Watchdog around the Coloured Quarter from now until doomsday but unless the numbers or the economic position of the Coloured people alter, they will never be a political force.’

      Bill nodded, and remained silent.

      ‘Do you agree with my assessment of the Coloured people? I seem to remember it was you who made the analysis for us?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Bill reluctantly.

      ‘And may I expect you to draw the correct conclusions from it? We agreed that in principle our work should be done among the Africans who are the proletariat of this country. But that in view of the fact we have no contact at the moment with the Africans, since the political structure is such that no white person can easily make contact, we must work in the progressive white organizations and with the Coloured who are physically accessible. And we decided that one afternoon selling The Watchdog would be adequate.’

      Here Jimmy burst out: ‘I agree we should go among the Africans, we’re wasting our time, my complaint about the work of this group is that we spend all our time with the white people. They’re all bourgeois and a waste of time.’ At this there was an outburst of agreement from the three RAF men, Bill, Andrew, and Jimmy who reinforced his words with emphatic nods and exclamations.

      ‘Comrades,’ said Anton patiently, ‘you were all here when we analysed the class situation in this country – well, weren’t you?’

      Silence.

      ‘And from that analysis we drew certain conclusions and with those conclusions we all agreed, and took a vote on them.’

      An uncomfortable and uneasy silence.

      ‘Well, comrades? Is it that you wish us to make a fresh analysis?’

      ‘Jesus, no,’ said Jimmy angrily.

      ‘And what does that mean? That such analyses are unnecessary?’

      Jimmy said stubbornly: ‘All I know is that we have developed good relations with a number of the Coloured people. They are working people, like us – or some of us. We understand each other. And Comrade Matty has been doing good work. Why throw it away? I don’t see it.’

      ‘I shall put the question formally,’ said Anton. ‘Do you wish us to pass a resolution that we should make a fresh analysis of the class forces of this country, and, based on that fresh analysis, review our work?’

      ‘No,’ said Jimmy heatedly. ‘No, hell, no.’

      ‘In that case, logically, the previous decisions stand. Matty will spend one afternoon in a week selling The Watchdog from house to house in the Coloured area. The RAF comrades may help her if necessary. None of you will get involved with rent problems, birth-control problems, or any other such problems. And we shall from now on not only resolve to be punctual, but in fact be punctual. Now, next item on the agenda.’

      ‘Literature,’ said Jasmine.

      ‘Just a minute, comrades,’ said Marie du Preez. She faced Anton. Her tone combined anxiety and a sort of easy maternal warmth for him, as if she could only subdue her disapproval of him by a tone of voice she might have used to a child.

      ‘Comrade Marie,’ said Piet impatiently.

      Tm not happy about it. But I would find it hard to say why. Logically I agree with you. When you put it logically no one could disagree. But humanly – there is something wrong. Certain comrades here have made real friendly contacts with the Coloured people, and now you say it should all be thrown up and cut short – they are human beings and so are we.’

      ‘Comrade Marie, the work of a communist party in any given country is based on an intellectual analysis of the class structure, the class forces in that country at a given time. It is not based on individual and private feelings. Otherwise it’s not a communist party at all.’

      Marie frowned, and at last said stubbornly: ‘I’ve told you I can’t argue with you intellectually. But I feel you are wrong.’

      Her husband, Piet, who had been grinning throughout this exchange, now let out a great laugh, and said: ‘Women. She feels it is wrong, and so that’s enough.’

      His wife said: ‘That’s enough from you.’

      ‘I resent that,’ said Marjorie. ‘I demand Comrade Piet should withdraw his remark unconditionally.’

      ‘And I too,’ said Martha heatedly.

      ‘And I,’ said Jasmine.

      ‘I withdraw,’ said Piet, still grinning.

      ‘You aren’t really withdrawing at all,’ said Marjorie. ‘You’re just humouring us. You’re showing a bad attitude towards women.’

      Anton said: ‘Comrade Marjorie, he has formally withdrawn.’

      ‘Formally,’ said Marjorie.

      The women looked with resentment at the big, good-natured, laughing trade unionist, who was trying hard to look contrite.

      Suddenly Andrew took his pipe out of his mouth and said, also grinning: ‘Comrades, I have to catch the station bus in half an hour and so have the lads.’

      ‘O?,’ said Marjorie. ‘I see that Comrade Andrew shares Comrade Piet’s attitude.’

      ‘As for Comrade Piet,’ said Marie, looking at her husband, ‘I’ll fix him later.’

      ‘Well?’ said Anton, ‘have we now dealt with this important problem?’

      ‘I hope,’ said Marjorie, ‘you are not suggesting it is unimportant.’

      ‘As chairman,’ said Anton, ‘I now propose we take the second item on the agenda. Literature.’

      Jasmine said: ‘The position is we have four cases