Beowulf

think these days symbols are important.”
“Wherever are you going to put it?” Selina glanced helplessly from corner to corner; it was so like Angelina to spend money on a thing like that when they did not know where the rent was coming from. Oh, why were some people born with a sense of responsibility and others utterly, completely, and finally without it?
“Well, he’s too large for the mantelpiece”—Angelina looked lovingly at her partner’s desk—“you don’t think, Selina, if we moved the ledgers?”
“I am sure he would resent so obscure a position.”
“What about standing him in the fireplace?” Mrs. Spenser suggested, watching the Tippett’s embarrassment with delight. “Where did you find him?”
Angelina swept off the beret that was worn only as a concession to the weather and ran her hand over the short, white hair that made a felt cap of her head. “In a salvage sale, opposite the Food Office. I can’t keep a dog, I know, in the raids, but it’s so cheerless without one. I was afraid at first that you might be tempted to call him Winnie, but then I thought, no, here is an emblem of the whole of us, so gentle, so determined …”
“… and so stubborn.”
Angelina glanced up suspiciously, but Mrs. Spenser appeared to be perfectly serious. “Stubborn! Oh, I see what you mean, we don’t leave go, whatever happens. I should have thought that a better word was resolution. He must have a name, though. I shall call him Beowulf.”
“How gallant, Miss Hawkins, but I’m sure he is a gallant dog.” Angelina glared at Horatio, whom she loathed. Plaster is such bad taste, his mind was saying. “I bought him,” she retorted, “not as a symbol of gallantry but of common sense.”
An ugly woman, Horatio thought, and how she bullied her conscientious little partner, but at his age it was essential to keep upon friendly terms with everyone. “Ah, but you must not grudge us poor artists the luxury of dreaming about happier, courtlier days.”
“I am sure Beowulf’s monster wasn’t courtly,” she sniffed, bending down to lug the plaster object into the fireplace. An old fool like that would not know his history nor that Beowulf, unlike Drake, could be accepted by the proletariat. Had he not fought the dragon (merely a symbol no doubt for Viking dictatorship) to save the whole people? “You are right, Mrs. Spenser, the fireplace is just as good as a kennel.” They all giggled at her little joke. “You know, I envy, I positively envy, that ribbon in your hat to make a collar for him.”
Adelaide started forward, in mock haste. “Come along, Alice, I see it is time we moved.” She patted the head in passing, “Good-bye, Beowulf, guard us well.” Poor dear Miss Hawkins, how much happier she would be running a herbal garden with a terrier at her heels, yet how much more alive she was, though in a funny, childish way, than either Alice or the prim old Tippett! The preposterous bulldog that should have been simply vulgar really gave the bleak, dingy room an air of gaiety. He matched the feeding bowls, the “dog meals sixpence,” and the faded views of country cottages to be let that still decorated the shelf over the counter.
Selina walked over to the window and looked at the cakes. She supposed that they would have to restrict them one to each customer like the other places in the district. But it would almost break her heart. Life ought to be generous, she felt, wildly generous. That notice on the wall, “Careless Talk Costs Lives,” always reminded her of a morning in the last war when she had stood in line for hours to get new ration books. How bad-tempered Miss Humphries had been when she had got back late for lunch; the poor old lady had even hinted that Selina had spent the morning with Angelina, of whom she was so jealous. There were days when peace seemed the quick half-dreams she had if she woke up too soon and dropped off again for a few moments, and war was Time in all its ponderous duration. Yes, in spite of bombs, she would always see war as a queue and a yellow form with blank lines that had to be filled up with the stub of a broken pencil. People must live, but sometimes, waiting in line, she wondered why. She hoped that this wasn’t what the Vicar called “questioning God’s purpose,” but she really was puzzled. A remote hand of destiny hovered overhead, something that even the Government was unable to understand; and as a result, cakes were cut, they were down to thirty-seven lunches instead of a hundred and seventy, and the fewer meals they served, the more people seemed to eat. Perhaps she would feel better once the afternoon post had arrived. Oh, dear, what was the cause of the war and why had Angelina bought that appalling dog? It cheapened, really it did, the whole atmosphere; and how shrewd of her to bring it back at just that moment! She could not reproach her partner in front of both customers and staff.
“Excuse me, madam!” Selina looked up at Ruby, who was waiting by her desk. She was fingering a crumpled overall, one that was kept, normally, only for washing up.
“I see, madam, you’re wondering why I’ve got this on? It’s to save my black. You never really get the grease out of a dark skirt.”
“No, I suppose not,” Selina stared suspiciously at Ruby’s Sunday clothes; they never came out on weekdays except for some ceremony, usually a funeral.
“If it’s the same to you, madam, could I take my afternoon off today?”
“Why, certainly, if you can change with Cook.” There was undying feud between the staff, kept in check by another of Selina’s rules: never interfere in quarrels and never take sides.
“Considering the circumstances, Cook is quite willing.” Ruby began to sniff. “You see, it’s mee poor friend Connie.”
“I hope nothing has happened to