The Green Knight

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘Dear Joan, please don’t ramble on about the past. Of course I care for you – ’

  ‘You are unhappy. I can make you happy. We were so happy once together, have you forgotten? You can transform me. I can transform you. Only I know you, only I understand you – ’

  ‘Joan, please don’t bother me, I have troubles, I don’t want to marry you or anybody, please shut up and leave me alone – ’

  ‘I know you have troubles, I want to share them, I want to help you, I can help you, I love you. Don’t you think this night is somehow enchanted? It’s a sign. We are all changed into our real selves, we are all beautiful, we are saved, you are beautiful, I am beautiful – ’

  ‘Darling, you are drunk!’

  ‘You see, you call me “darling”. Tonight it’s like being in a fairy palace where everything is lit up and beautiful and everything is understood and forgiven and truth is told and love declared – and as you said, there is nothing to hide! Oh don’t you feel this, this liberation, something is offered to us, given to us, something we must take and hold in this magic time which brings us together – ’

  ‘Dearest Circe, it’s no good – ’

  ‘You love me, Clement, I know you do – ’

  ‘It’s no good, we are old friends, we must just go on being old friends – ’

  ‘Yes, make each other happy, be together – that’s called marriage – oh be brave! Rescue me, I am desperate.’

  ‘No, no. Forgive me.’ He opened the door and drew her out onto the landing.

  Harvey had brought his mother to Peter’s house by taxi. He was not looking forward to the evening. Peter, who had greeted him rather briskly, had spent a little more time with Joan, during which Harvey had retired and hidden himself in the library. When he emerged he saw Joan talking to Cora. Pretending he was going somewhere, he limped about holding a drink, then made for the kitchen where Patsie and Mrs Callow kindly enquired about his ‘disability’. After he left them a few people, Emil, Sefton, Mrs Adwarden, waved to him but did not approach him. He thought, I hate this party, I hate everybody here, I want to leave, but I can’t without her. I suppose we’ll get a lift from someone. But they’ll all stay for hours. I have to go to the hospital tomorrow. Why do I have to go there? Just because it’s something to do. We’re broke, we have no money. I’ll have to support her. I’ll have to give up the university. She keeps on hinting about suicide. She’s sure to get drunk, I’ll have to keep an eye on her. I’m getting rather drunk myself. Where is she now? She’s not with Cora, Cora’s talking to that man from the pub. I’ll have a look in the drawing-room. The drawing-room was a huge magnificent white and golden room with a high ceiling, much grander even than Emil’s drawing-room. One long wall at the far end was covered by a tapestry depicting the return of Odysseus, which Sefton was explaining to Moy. Jeremy Adwarden, always said to have been sweet on Louise, was sitting next to her on a sofa. Louise was wearing the pink blue and white silk evening-dress, she looked flushed, animated and young. She and Jeremy waved to Harvey. Sefton said, no she had not seen Joan lately. Moy said she really must go and find a lavatory. Emil, looking in from the hall, beckoned to Sefton, he had always liked her, they sometimes had serious discussions about the future of Europe. Harvey turned away toward the stairs and began to mount them slowly. Now he must search the bedrooms, expecting to find his mother lying drunk upon a bed. He looked into one bedroom, where Connie Adwarden was admiring herself in a long mirror. Harvey was feeling very tired. With self-punishing slowness he mounted the next flight of stairs to the top floor. He just needed, for a short time, to be absolutely alone. He opened two doors. One of the rooms was like a little study, with a table and two chairs. Perhaps a place where some servant or bursar had added up accounts. Harvey came in, closing the door and dropping his stick on the floor. He sat down. He put his hands on the table, he laid his head on his hands and fell asleep.

  Louise, before being led into the drawing-room by Jeremy, had not failed to notice Clement pursuing Joan up the stairs. She had been unexpectedly shocked by Harvey’s casual remark that his mother ‘was going to move in with Clement’. She thought that Harvey must instantly have noticed her reaction. She herself had been surprised by it. Yet why was she surprised, had she not always known the irrational jealousy of her disposition, her quiet possessiveness which she hid, she imagined, so well? How easily one is hurt. Or is it only I who am so stupidly vulnerable. Oh if only Teddy were still here, his great wise being solved all problems – oh Teddy, my love, my darling. Now I am all wounds. Yet even in this perhaps I deceive myself – I am all selfishness, all ingratitude. The girls are wonderful. They will go, but that all mothers suffer. I love Harvey with a secret locked-up passion which I conceal with a coolness which must gradually lose him. I hugged and kissed him when he was a child. Now I am distant, matronly, old. Once I wanted him to marry Aleph so that he could be my son. But he will not marry Aleph. He is already slipping away. He would not even come in time to talk to her before she left. They are fated to be brother and sister, but at an increasing distance. The bond will snap. My God, what these next few years will bring me – and I am one of the luckier ones. And I have carelessly, wantonly, stupidly lost Clement. Have I only just, now, realised how much I love him and how much I need him? I need him, and that need has made me take him for granted. When Teddy died I was grateful for Clement’s love which he could not conceal from me – but for so long I was paralysed as if asleep, and when I woke up Clement had become used to me as a sisterly friend. I put up with his actresses, he told me about them, I was sympathetic, and so I have become not just a sister but a mother. I have made it my task to be passionless. My path is a quiet one now, on into the decent solitude of old age.

  When Harvey woke up Peter was in the room. Harvey attempted to rise but found it difficult. Peter motioned him to keep still, closing the door behind him, and stood looking down at Harvey. Harvey felt frightened. He had never been alone with Peter, or even, apart from perfunctory exchanges at the birthday party and this evening, had anything like a conversation with him: nor had he at all made up his mind what he thought about this perhaps untrustworthy even dangerous person. He sat up rigidly in the chair, ready to rise.

  Peter, interpreting his attitude and clearly aware of his emotions, smiled slightly, then drew up the other chair and sat down. He said conversationally, ‘How’s the foot, Harvey?’

  ‘Awful. I mean all right. People say you have to learn to live with something. Well, I’m learning.’

  ‘You think it will be a long time before it gets better?’

  ‘I don’t think it will ever get better. The doctors have given up. I just have therapy to make it less painful, not to cure it, it can’t be cured. Never mind that. What a super party, thank you so much for asking me! That “special” drink is wonderful. Oh dear, I think I was asleep.’

  ‘I’m sorry you missed going to Italy, but you will go. And you will be at the university next year.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Why just suppose?’

  ‘Well, we’re short of money. But one mustn’t say that! Of course we’ll manage, and someone will help. It’s just that I don’t hope any more, I’ve lost my nerve. Sorry, I’m talking nonsense, it must be that “special”.’

  ‘Would you mind if I looked at your foot?’

  ‘Looked at – ? Well, it’s horrid, and there’s really no point.’

  ‘Please oblige me.’ This sounded like an order.

  ‘Oh, all right, but it’s nasty, I’m ashamed of it, and I should have had the bandage stuff renewed only I didn’t go – ’

  Leaning down Harvey struggled with his shoe-laces. Since the accident he had worn broader larger ugly shoes. He looked with displeasure, with anger, upon the tangled mess of lacing on the ugly shoe. Peter made no move to help him. Why the hell does he want to look at my poor miserable foot, thought Harvey, oh why can’t people just leave me alone! With the lace now half undone he began to shake his foot f
erociously, then had to pause and renew his struggle. He shook his foot again and the shoe flew off leaving a dart of pain. Angrily he tore off his sock, and with difficulty undid the elastic bandage.

  Looking up he saw that during this operation Peter had risen, taken off his jacket revealing a white shirt, loosened his green cravat, and undone the top buttons of the shirt. He had also put on his glasses. He put his chair out of the way, then knelt down and inspected the foot. Harvey stared at it too. He lifted it a little. It was swollen, red, also tinged with blue, it was hot, it hung there miserably at an odd angle, it smelt. Harvey thought, poor maimed object, I hurt it, I damaged it forever. He felt ready to weep. He was upset and annoyed that Peter had asked to see it and he had agreed to show it. He said, ‘Lots of people have looked at it and pulled it about and tied it up and injected it and put rays through it, they even tried acupuncture. You’re a psychiatrist, sorry psychoanalyst, you probably believe in psychosomatic ailments, perhaps there are some, sorry, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but honestly it’s no good. I’m lame for life.’

  Peter said nothing. He took Harvey’s hot swollen foot in both his hands and held it firmly. Harvey, who was about to continue his tirade, fell silent. Of course, cool hands holding a hot foot bring relief. Harvey felt the relief. He stayed still. He closed his eyes. He could feel Peter’s hands moving slowly around, under his foot, over his foot, round his ankle. He felt an electrical thrill in the sole of his foot. Then it seemed as if an electric shock, then another, had passed on up his leg. The shocks were warm, slightly painful, but exhilarating. His leg jerked. Peter’s hands retained his foot. Harvey opened his eyes. He felt dazed as if he had actually slept for a moment. Perhaps it had all been going on for a long time. He still felt rather drunk. He saw Peter’s face rapt in concentration, his thick lips slightly apart, his murky grey eyes enlarged by the spectacles, his thick eyebrows lowered and the lines of a frown above them, his curly hair, now longer, falling forward onto his cheek. Harvey’s foot now seemed to be filled with electrical movement, like the ripples of a swift stream. Then Peter removed his hands, removed his glasses, and stood up. He fixed his shirt and his cravat and put on his jacket. Harvey hastened to say, ‘It feels odd, it feels better.’

  Peter said thoughtfully, frowning again, ‘It may help. Perhaps I shall try it again later on, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh yes, please.’

  ‘But you must work too. You must have courage. Healing is a mysterious business. Rest just a little, while they come down. Dinner is to be served. There now, Harvey, goodbye for the moment.’

  Harvey found that ‘There now’ infinitely comforting. He sat still for a while, then awkwardly did up his bandage and put on his sock and shoe.

  Bellamy had for some time been searching for Peter, narrowing his ‘beech brown’ eyes and peering about through his glasses. Peter had said practically nothing to him since his arrival, though he had talked at length to other people. Bellamy had begun to feel frightened, as if he could actually see before him a grey void full of bubbling atoms. He thought, I am going to have a migraine, I haven’t had one for years. Perhaps everything he had hoped and imagined about Peter had been simply a mistake. The metamorphosis was just a charade after all, a great mysterious blunder, the final breakdown of everything. He had so carefully put on his ‘uniform’, and was unusually clean and tidy. He had combed his straw-coloured hair carefully, even carrying a comb in his pocket for regular attentions. He wore a shabby black suit, a clean white shirt, and a thin very dark blue tie. His jacket was neatly buttoned up. He had enjoyed the party at first, watching with Clement how Peter was going round patting everyone and giving them his blessing. He had also passed a pleasant time making friends with Kenneth Rathbone, who turned out to be Australian, and whom he had hitherto known only as the rather aloof landlord of The Castle. He had even come to the conclusion that Rathbone knew quite a lot about Peter, and Bellamy determined to find out what Rathbone knew. So far however he had not managed to do this. Rathbone had subsequently disappeared into the kitchen to ‘slant a beaker’ and ‘give the girls a hand’ since they were ‘running late’. Bellamy, following him, had offered his services too, but had been told by Kenneth in a friendly way to ‘fuck off’. After that he had perfunctory conversations with Cora and Connie and Louise, while keeping his ever-roving eye on Peter and hoping to be summoned. Then he realised that Peter was no longer visible. He searched downstairs then upstairs. In the search he had of course entered Peter’s big fine bedroom of which he had such delightful memories. He returned there. Of course all the wandering guests had by now visited the ‘master bedroom’ and gone away. The ‘crush’ was over. Bellamy lingered a while, breathing deeply. To calm himself he looked at the watercolours above the bed.

  Peter entered hurriedly. He stared at Bellamy with surprise. Then he smiled. Then he said, ‘I’m just going in here.’ He disappeared into the bathroom. After all, he is human, Bellamy reverently thought. When Peter emerged he looked at his watch, he closed the door, he sat on the bed. Bellamy stood before him.

  ‘Listen, Bellamy, I’ve got something to say to you, perhaps I should be saying it at more length later, but since we are together I may as well put something into your head to think about. I’ll be very brief, then we must go down to dinner.’

  ‘Oh, what is it, I hope – ’

  ‘First I must ask you one or two questions. Are you going into a monastery?’

  ‘No. I have decided definitely not to.’

  ‘Is that true? Are you sure? You are not entering into any engagement, going away to serve some novitiate or – ?’

  ‘No, no. I’m just here. I’ll have to find some ordinary job.’

  ‘You’re not saying this only in order to please me?’

  ‘No, I mean of course I want to please you, but, you see I’ve lost my faith, the priest I used to – ’

  ‘Yes, all right, we can talk about that later. Listen, I have a proposition to put to you, which I want you to think over carefully. Now that I have remembered myself I have to make some plans. I am a rich man, I have been a reasonably benevolent man. But now I want, while I still have time, to put all my money to work, I want to set up a benevolent institution. In doing this I shall need to employ people. But first I shall need a secretary. Would you be interested in being my secretary?’

  Bellamy threw his head back, he tugged at his pale hair, his mouth opened, he took off his glasses. He gasped, ‘Yes – I can think of nothing more – I couldn’t have dreamed – I can’t tell you how much – ’

  ‘I would like you to go away and consider this.’

  ‘I won’t go away, I won’t consider, I want to be – ’

  ‘All right, all right, don’t you faint, please think it over. It may involve your coming to live in this house.’

  ‘Peter – you know – ’

  ‘Now come along, we must go downstairs.’

  When Peter and Bellamy came down the stairs they found a number of guests already standing at the door of the dining-room, waiting for what Peter had described as ‘a simple repast’. News had soon gone round that they were not to be subjected to the agony of a stand-up buffet supper, but there was a real dressed – up dinner-table with candles in silver candlesticks, and even a placement with everyone’s name written on a card in beautiful italic script. There had in fact been some trouble about the placement. Peter’s first arrangement had placed himself at the head of the table with, in sequence, on his right Louise, Lucas, Cora, Bellamy, Tessa, Jeremy, on his left Joan, Clement, Connie, Emil, Sefton, Harvey, Moy, with Kenneth Rathbone at the end of the table. However, Bellamy, Clement, Louise, Jeremy and Emil had all separately informed Peter that Lucas never went to parties. The second arrangement then ran Peter at the head, on his right Louise, Bellamy, Cora, Jeremy, Tessa, Sefton, and his left Joan, Clement, Connie, Emil, Moy, Harvey, and Kenneth at the end. Later still, Peter, after calling some of his more mature friends together, decided that Tessa wa
s not coming. This left Sefton next to Jeremy. This picture was further disturbed by Moy whispering that she wanted to sit next to Sefton. Emil meanwhile, diplomatically or in innocence, expressed the wish to talk to Harvey. So finally, Moy, now thoroughly upset at causing so much trouble, was placed between Jeremy and Sefton.

  When the guests had filed in and found their places and stood waiting in the candlelight, there was a moment of silence. Was Peter going to say grace or something? He was not. He sat down, ushering the others to do so, which they did, and after another short shy silence everyone started talking. The first dish was smoked salmon with scrambled eggs and caviar, and stilton and spinach pie for the vegetarians. Mrs Callow and Patsie, now in smart dresses, darted deftly round the table. Peter was saying to Louise what a pity Aleph was not with them, but no doubt she was having a happy time with Rosemary, where did Louise think those girls were by now? He hoped in time to meet Rosemary, also Rufus and Nick. Cora said to Bellamy, ‘Why did we have to drink so much before we could eat?’ Bellamy replied at random, ‘Peter couldn’t get his full staff, he’s only just got back here.’ Cora said, ‘Well, where was he before, and what’s the matter with you, you’re floating on a cloud?’ Joan, finding herself next to Clement, at once thrust her leg against his. Clement attempted to move his, hers followed. He turned a stern look upon her, then they laughed, then they sighed. After that Clement resolutely turned to Connie Adwarden whom he had earlier, vaguely, felt to be a bit out of things, and asked her if she had written any more children’s stories lately. She said she have given up. ‘My children talked me out of it. Children aren’t what they used to be. They have lost all that great tract of innocence which we used to have.’ Clement agreed. He thought, I just hope Joan won’t start saying things to Louise. Emil, after praising the German wine which had been served with the smoked salmon, was lecturing Harvey on improving his German. A great language and a great literature, now a great united country. ‘Our poets do much for us – Goethe of course, Hölderlin, Rilke, Celan. I suppose you have read Celan?’ Harvey who had not heard of Celan, said no. ‘You must read him, read poetry, Harvey, read the great poets of Europe, Europe will be saved by its poets.’ Sefton, who could talk to anyone on a serious subject, was questioning Kenneth Rathbone about the mythology of the Aborigines. Meanwhile Jeremy and Moy, after a slightly sticky start, were getting on like a house on fire. It turned out they had both noticed that Peter was a collector of watercolours, of the Norwich School, some by famous artists. He also possessed a Samuel Palmer, they discussed Samuel Palmer and Moy said how much she liked his self-portrait which reminded her somehow of the Polish Rider. Cora was now congratulating Bellamy on his return to sanity, news of which had reached her, and describing the rigours of her childhood in a convent school, and what a relief it was to marry a Jew, and how sensible Judaism was without any bother about the divinity of Christ and life after death. Meanwhile Peter was talking to Louise and Joan, asking them to describe their schooldays together, a topic taken over by Joan whose stories of her own exploits reduced all three to helpless laughter. The first course had been taken away and the second course (said to include a very special coq au vin) was eagerly awaited. Other glasses had now been filled with Beaujolais Nouveau. It was nearly the moment when, in an orderly and decorous dinner-party, each guest, inventing some plausible creative topic, stops talking to the person on their right (or left) and turns toward the person on their left (or right).