by Iris Murdoch
Honor let the sword droop towards the floor. She said, ‘Being a Christian, you connect spirit with love. These people connect it with control, with power.’
‘What do you connect it with?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I am a Jew.’
‘But you believe in the dark gods,’ I said.
‘I believe in people,’ said Honor Klein. It was a rather unexpected reply.
I said, ‘You sound rather like a fox saying it believes in geese.’
She laughed suddenly, and with that she laid her other hand upon the hilt and drew the sword upward with surprising swiftness to describe a great arc at the level of her head. It made a sound like a whip moving. The point came down within an inch of the arm of my chair and then descended again to the floor. I resisted an impulse to move back. I said, ‘You can use it?’
‘I studied it for several years in Japan, but I never got beyond the beginning.’
‘Show me something,’ I said. I wanted to see her moving again.
She said, ‘I am not a performer,’ and turned away again towards the table. In the distance the church bells continued their mathematical jargoning.
The remnants of Palmer and Antonia’s dinner lay derelict under the falling candles. She drew towards her their two crumpled table napkins and looked at them thoughtfully. Then with one hand she tossed one of the napkins high in the air into the darkness of the high-ceilinged room. As it descended the sword was already moving with immense speed. The two halves of the napkin fluttered to the floor. She threw up the other napkin and decapitated it. I picked up one of the pieces. It was cleanly cut.
As I held it, looking up at her, I suddenly recalled the scene in the drawing-room when I had first seen Honor Klein confronting the other two like a young and ruthless captain. I laid the piece of linen on the table and said, ‘That was a good trick.’
‘It was not a trick,’ said Honor. She had been standing before me, still holding the hilt in a two-handed grip, and looking down at one of the severed napkins. I saw that she was breathing deeply. Now she moved her chair back to the table and sat down. For a moment or two she lifted the sword, moving it as if it had become very heavy, and cooled her forehead on the blade, turning her head slowly against it with a caressing motion. Then she laid it down again on the table, still keeping one hand on the hilt. I looked at the corded hilt, long and dark, continuing the gentle sinister backward curve of the blade, the inner casing, which seemed like snake-skin, decorated with silver flowers, appearing through the diamond-shaped slits of the black cordage. Her large pale hand was firmly closed about it. I felt an intense desire to take the sword from her, but something prevented me. I put my hand on the blade, moving it up towards the hilt and feeling the cutting edge. It was hideously sharp. My hand stopped. The blade felt as if it were charged with electricity and I had to let go. No longer now attending to me she moved the sword back and laid it across her knees in the attitude of a patient executioner. I realized that the church bells had become silent and it was the New Year.
Fourteen
Antonia rang me up early in the morning. She insisted on my coming over at once, which was why I did not go to see Georgie sooner. When I arrived I found Antonia feverish, excited, very loving. I spent the whole morning with her and stayed to lunch. Palmer kept out of the way. It was a profitable morning and I felt by the end of it more at ease with Antonia than at any time since her original revelation. She certainly worked hard. She made me tell her the whole story of my relations with Georgie in detail; and although the idea of doing so had filled me, beforehand, with repulsion, when it came to it I poured it all out with relief, and as I talked Antonia held my hand. It was, with a vengeance, the intimate talk which I had promised Georgie I would never have; and as I thus betrayed her I felt an invigorating increase of my freedom.
I attempted to portray honestly to Antonia the exact state of my doubts and hesitations about Georgie, and the effort made to do so cleared my mind. Antonia was extremely sympathetic and perceptive. I could feel, and I felt it with tenderness and almost with amusement, her subtle anxiety lest I should keep anything back, lest I should, at a certain point, suddenly regret my frankness and check the flood of revelation. She wanted to know everything, she wanted, oh so lovingly, to draw back the stream of my life towards her, she wanted to hold me and Georgie in her hands, to gaze down upon us with solicitude and complete understanding. I did not deny her. She was overjoyed.
We agreed that it was probably best that I should go right away for a short holiday, not even to think things over but simply to rest; and indeed I was worn out. We considered Brittany, Venice, Rome, though without deciding. What she chiefly urged upon me was the desirability, the necessity, of waiting calmly, even for a long time, before approaching a decision. It was absurd to distress myself with such problems when I was, after recent events, so upset and so tired. I must look after myself and spoil myself a little; I needed rest: and Antonia promised herself, during my absence, the pleasure of getting to know Georgie better.
We also managed, and this too relieved my mind, to make some minimum decisions about furniture, such decisions anyway as would enable both of us to move certain essentials out of Hereford Square; and now for the first time I began to picture as a reality my life in the Lowndes Square flat. I mentioned this to Antonia and she congratulated me. As the time came for me to go she clung to me, covering me with kisses, and I let her have her way.
‘Dearest Martin, come round again to see us tonight after dinner, will you, please? Anderson so especially wants to see you. Just to see you, you know. And now that I feel so much happier, tomorrow is far too far away!’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll drop in. I’ll bring you some wine if you like. The ‘57 Château Lauriol de Barny is good, and I think you and Palmer haven’t tried it.’
‘Oh, do that!’ said Antonia. ‘After all, you must still educate me, mustn’t you? Darling, you will often see me alone, won’t you, in the time to come?’
I said that I would, and also now for the first time envisaged this as being perhaps not too painful to be possible. When I left her we were both exhausted but feeling better.
I reflected, as I walked through the cold misty afternoon toward Georgie’s lodging, that on the whole I was grateful to Georgie for having forced my hand. That Antonia now knew about it did relieve a certain pressure which although I had endured it stoically enough in the past I now recognized to have been a pain. It was indeed better to be free of the lies; and although I was still very unsure what this .revelation might not have done to my relationship with Georgie, it was at least plain that nothing very honest or clear could have been settled between us prior to it. There was now, I felt, a beginning of sanity. Yes, I was grateful to Georgie; or rather, I further reflected, to Honor Klein; and as I climbed Georgie’s stairs I saw again the strange image of Honor Klein sitting with the Samurai sword across her knees. The image returned to me with a certain resonance of meaning which, as I neared Georgie’s door, I diagnosed as arising from the fact that I must have dreamt about Honor last night. But I could not recall the dream.
Georgie was not alone. I could hear voices as I approached and I waited a while before knocking. The stairs and landing were being painted and looked unfamiliar, and as I stood there I stared at a pile of painters’ litter, and tried with an envelope to rub some wet paint off my hand. The place had an alien smell. Eventually, as the visitor showed no sign of departing, and gay laughter seemed to indicate that things were indeed going nicely, I knocked on the door and after a suitable interval went in. Georgie was sitting by the gas fire dispensing coffee to a guest. The guest was a man. It was my brother Alexander.
When I appeared they both started up and we all stared at each other. Georgie put her hand to her breast. I could hardly believe what I saw and I had the sense as in a nightmare of being involved in something both wildly improbable and relentlessly inevitable. This had to happen. Yet how could it have happene
d? And for a wild moment I wondered whether I hadn’t long ago introduced Georgie and Alexander to each other and forgotten about it. Then I wondered if I were going mad. I sat down on a chair near the door and said ‘Why are you here?’ to my brother.
Alexander twisted his long form and gave me a deliberately rueful and guilty look. In his smart dark grey London clothes he looked elegant, taller, a thought more degenerate. He said, ‘I met Georgie at lunch today. I’m sorry, Martin.’
‘Why are you saying sorry?’ said Georgie. ‘It’s not very polite! And there’s nothing to apologize about.’ She was flushed and excited. I guessed she had had a good deal to drink.
‘Well, it’s a shock to Martin, naturally,’ said Alexander, turning back to Georgie. They stood one at each end, leaning against the mantelpiece and looking at each other. ‘I’m sure he would prefer to have introduced us himself.’
‘I asked him often enough!’ said Georgie, laughing harshly. ‘He’s only got himself to thank.’
‘You two seem to have been getting on splendidly,’ I said. ‘May I ask how you ran into each other?’
Georgie’s nostrils expanded rabbit-like then contracted, and she stroked the tip of her nose with a forefinger. She was wearing her best black corduroy coat and skirt and her hair was piled artfully and with care. ‘Honor Klein introduced us.’
‘That bloody woman again,’ I said. ‘I wish people would just stop interfering with my affairs!’
‘If people interfere with you it’s because you like it,’ said Georgie. ‘You’re dying to be interfered with. You’re a sort of vacuum into which interference rushes. Anyway, it wasn’t anything to do with you. Why do you assume everyone is so interested in your doings? I asked Honor to introduce me to Alexander and she kindly did so. She invited me to lunch and I accepted. I’m a free agent after all!’
‘I wonder if you know how much you’re hurting me,’ I said. ‘Yes, I suppose you do!’
‘Go easy, Georgie,’ said Alexander.
‘I can do without kind words from you,’ I said to my brother. ‘Do you know that Georgie is my mistress?’
‘Yes,’ said Alexander. ‘She has told me.’ He gave me his gentle solicitous apologetically ironical stare.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ I said. ‘She tells everybody. But you must have had a delicious conversation. And now will you clear out?’
‘You’re being beastly, Martin,’ said Georgie. ‘It’s not Alexander’s fault. And of course you should have introduced us long ago. I know all this is unfortunate in a way, and it’s a great pity you turned up just now. But I’ve felt so bloody miserable lately and so damnably tied up, I wanted to take some action on my own, I wanted to feel a bit free. I didn’t do it to hurt you, but just somehow to ease myself. And anyway it’s not so important.’
‘Now you’re being rude!’ said Alexander.
‘You knew bloody well it would hurt me,’ I said. ‘But perhaps we can continue this chat when my dear brother has gone.’
‘Don’t be so excitable, Martin,’ said Alexander. ‘Surely you can carry the thing off without all this shouting? Look, have some coffee. Georgie, get him another cup. Do have some sense of proportion, Martin.’
‘It’s kind of you to act as host to me in my own house,’ I said.
‘It’s not your house,’ said Georgie, pouring out another cup of coffee. ‘That’s the point!’
‘Please don’t be angry,’ said Alexander.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘But go.’
Alexander dropped his hands and bowed to me in a way that was half ironical, half submissive. He turned to Georgie and with a rueful admiring stare he took her in. She stared back evenly, unsmiling, but with a candour and a presence more telling than any smile. They must have had a good talk. Then as if unable to help himself he reached out a hand and drew it back over her head from the crown down toward the nape of the neck. She remained perfectly still, but her eyes widened slightly. He murmured, ‘Yes. I wonder if that was the head I was waiting for?’
‘Go,’ I said, ‘go, go, go.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Alexander. ‘Georgie, thank you. Martin, sorry. Good-bye.’ He bowed this time to Georgie and left the room. I closed the door behind him.
I went over to Georgie and struck her hard on the cheek with my open hand.
She stepped back, but with dignity, and her face became scarlet. I had never struck her in anger before. She turned her back to me and said in a thick voice, ‘The reign of terror has started.’
I turned her round again to face me, holding her by the shoulders. Her eyes filled with tears, but she had control of herself. She glared at me furiously and then fumbled for a handkerchief.
‘All right,’ she said, ‘all right, Martin, all right, all right.’
‘It’s not all right,’ I said.
‘You don’t understand,’ said Georgie. ‘It was all much more accidental than it seems. I just said that to Honor Klein on the spur of the moment, about wanting to meet your brother. Then I forgot about it and I was quite surprised when she rang me up and suggested this.’
‘You ought not to have gone,’ I said. ‘Oh well, it doesn’t matter.’ I sat down on Georgie’s bed. I felt sunk in misery and confusion.
‘It does matter,’ said Georgie. ‘Martin, I’m miles nearer the edge than you’ve got any notion of. I can’t tell you how much I’ve suffered not only from the lies but from feeling so paralysed. I had to do something of my own. I feel twice as real now. I was just stopping being free. And for me that’s stopping existing. I was getting to be no good to either myself or to you. You’ve got to see me, Martin. I’m to blame. I’ve never been quite and entirely myself with you. The situation didn’t let me be. The untruthfulness infected everything. I must break out a little. Do you see at all?’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Don’t keep saying that,’ said Georgie, ‘and stop looking so bloody dejected, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘the era of lies is over. We’ll tell everybody now.’
Georgie was silent. I looked up at her. She looked at me strangely, her face, still marked with tears, poised and withdrawn, beautiful in a new way, and older.
I said, ‘You don’t want it told now?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she said.
‘Will you marry me, Georgie?’ I said.
She turned away and drew in a sharp breath like a cry. After a moment she said, ‘You don’t mean it, Martin. You’re just a little crazy at the moment and jealous. Ask me again later if you still want to.’
‘I love you, Georgie,’ I said.
‘Ah, that.’ She gave a dry laugh.
‘Oh Christ,’ I said, and buried my face in my hands. I felt Georgie’s arm about my shoulder. We rolled back on to the bed and I took her in my arms. We lay quiet for a while.
Georgie said, ‘Martin. You said you used to pass your girls on to Alexander. Are you sure it wasn’t that he always took them away from you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that was how it was, in fact.’
‘Martin, I love you so much,’ said Georgie.
I buried my head in her shoulder and groaned.
Fifteen
I was back again at the door at Pelham Crescent. I was also drunk. It was late and the fog was gathering again. It struck me, as I handled the heavy crate of wine, that I was shuttling to and fro with an increased speed between the various poles of my situation and was indeed by now all over the place. I got the door open and got the wine through into the hall. I simply had to come back.
I had found myself unable to make love to Georgie. I had stayed with her too long, drunk too much, and ended up abjectly in tears. I left her with relief, and I think she felt relief too at my going. We did not speak seriously again, but treated each other with great gentleness, like a pair of invalids.
Now it was essential for me to see Palmer and Antonia. It was after eleven o’clock, but the crate of wine which I had
promised to bring served as an excuse. I assumed that I would find them up. I knocked on the drawing-room door and looked inside. The room was dark except for the subdued glowing fire. Then I heard Palmer’s voice calling from upstairs, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Martin,’ I said. My voice sounded hollow, like someone talking in a cavern. I added, ‘I’ve brought the wine.’
Antonia’s voice said, ‘Come and see us.’
I said, ‘Have you gone to bed? I’m sorry to come so late.’
‘It’s not late,’ said Palmer’s voice. ‘Come on up. Look, bring three glasses and one of the bottles. We simply must see you.’
I found three glasses and took a bottle of the Château Lauriol and began to mount the stairs. I had never been upstairs in Palmer’s house before.
‘We’re here,’ said Antonia’s voice. A stream of golden light showed the open door. I paused in the doorway.
An enormous double bed faced the door, its white headboard festooned with trails of gilded roses. The snow-white sheets were parted. A pair of lamps, mounted on tall carved ecclesiastical candlesticks, also gilt, shed a soft radiance from either side. There was a scattering of rosy Persian rugs upon the white Indian carpet. I stepped in.
Palmer was sitting on the side of the bed. He was wearing a cream-coloured embroidered robe of Chinese silk and, it was evident, nothing underneath. Antonia was standing beside him well wrapped in her familiar cherry-red Jaeger dressing-gown. I closed the door.
‘How very sweet of you to bring the wine!’ said Antonia. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
‘Let’s have some straight away!’ said Palmer. ‘I love a dormitory feast. I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been looking forward to you all the evening. Oh dear, there’s no corkscrew! Do you mind fetching one, Martin?’
