A Severed Head

by Iris Murdoch

  Of course my mind returned continually with fascination to the fact of incest. I even visited the public library and read up everything I could on the subject. The psychological literature was scanty and unsatisfactory, and I soon turned my attention to mythology where, with a curious gratification which was almost consoling, I noted the frequency of brother and sister marriages, particularly among royalty and gods. Who after all was fit for a royal brother except his royal sister? The progeny of such unions, I also noted, was various, often monstrous. When not so engaged my imagination, in an incompetent and frustrated manner, followed the liaison of Palmer and his sister back into their childhood. I reflected too, though not to much purpose, on the insane mother. What lurid illumination I thus engendered served merely to display with a vividness which prostrated me the figure of Honor, aloof, frightening, sacred, and in a way which I now more clearly understood, taboo.

  It was still raining. It had been raining for days. I arrived at Hereford Square, shook the water off my overcoat and hung it up, and tramped into the drawing-room. A bright fire was burning and the lamps were all on. The curtains were not yet drawn and I could see outside the light from the window the dripping form of the magnolia tree. Antonia, who had been reading by the fire, jumped up to welcome me. She had a Martini all ready mixed, and a bowl of cocktail biscuits on the little table. She kissed me and asked me what sort of day I had had. I told her and began to sip my drink. I sat down heavily on the sofa. I was now, all the time, unutterably tired as if simply keeping alive was a terrible effort. Absentmindedly I picked up my latest volume of The Golden Bough.

  ‘Must you read over your drink?’ said Antonia sharply. ‘I’ve been alone all day, except for Rosemary coming in this morning, which was hardly a treat.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. I put the book aside.

  ‘And why are you reading mythology all the time now? You never used to. You haven’t even looked at that book I got you on the war in the Pacific.’

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ I said. ‘I’ll read it next.’ I closed my eyes. ‘And don’t go to sleep either,’ said Antonia. ‘I want to ask you to do something for me.’

  ‘Anything you like,’ I said rather sleepily. ‘What?’ ‘Will you go and see Anderson for me?’ That woke me up. ‘Why?’ I said. ‘To achieve what? And why don’t you go yourself?’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Antonia. ‘God knows what exactly I feel about Anderson. Sometimes I think I hate him. But I’m quite clear that the whole thing is utterly over.’

  ‘Then why should I see him?’ I said. But my heart burnt with desire.

  ‘Simply to finish it off,’ said Antonia. ‘And there are practical things. There are a lot of my belongings at Pelham Crescent, which you might bring away, or arrange for a van to take, I suppose, as you wouldn’t be able to get them all into the car.’

  I said, ‘Do you want me to find out whether Palmer still loves you?’

  Antonia looked at me wearily, as if from far away, through infinite grey curtains of gloom and resignation. She said, ‘He can’t love me, or else he wouldn’t have given up just because you put your fist in his eye.’

  This seemed true; and I was reminded again of Antonia’s innocence. Her connexion with Palmer and Honor, since she did not share in the knowledge that was crucial, seemed flimsy and abstract compared with mine. How connected I was I felt through my bones and my blood as I contemplated the possibility of seeing them again. I had known, of course, that it would come to this, I had known that I would see them again. It was perhaps just this certainty, secretly at work in my imagination, which had shed the little glimmer of hope. But, resting, I had averted my attention.

  ‘You’re sure you want me to do this, not you?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, and sighed heavily. ‘It’s an unfinished business. I shall be relieved when it’s done and you and I can settle down to living a normal life again.’

  She sounded so dejected that I got up and leaning over her kissed her on the brow. I remained, leaning a little on her shoulder, my cheek touching her crown of golden hair. It was fading into grey. One day, without having noticed the transition, I would see that it was gold no longer.

  Twenty-three

  Once it had been settled that I should go on an embassy to Pelham Crescent I wanted to put it off as long as possible. When it came to it I was scared stiff. It was not just that I was positively frightened at the idea of perhaps seeing Honor again, and that when I pictured being in the same room with her my whole body became cold and rigid. It was also that this embassy represented in all probability my last chance. My last chance of what I was not very clear about, but certainly fear, curiosity, expectation, even hope clung about the prospect of the visit. Though if I believed in a miracle I could not at all conceive what that miracle might be. So it was that I played a little for time. I could, in the darkness and uncertainty into which we had been plunged by the mute withdrawal of the other two, just about do with, live with, the image of Honor: an image which might however become for me at any moment altogether a Medusa. For deprived utterly of hope I did not see how I could manage; and feared like death that utter deprivation.

  But Antonia was impatient, and I could get from her a grace of only three days. Resolved at last, she wanted to make a quick end. Our discussion had taken place on a Monday. It was agreed that I should write to Palmer simply suggesting that I should come to see him at six o’clock on the following Thursday. This gave him time to reply; and in fact I received a postcard, brief but bland, by return to say that the time was suitable. By nine o’clock on the Wednesday evening I was already in a state of almost unbearable agitation and could settle to nothing. Not even a recently discovered book of Japanese legends, wherein brothers and sisters regularly lay together and procreated dragons, could retain my attention; and I would at last in desperation have gone to the cinema, only I feared that at the sight of anything sad or touching I might break into audible groans. Antonia was equally restless and had been in a mood of nervous irritation throughout the afternoon. We both wandered morosely about the house passing and re-passing each other, profoundly connected yet unable to touch, in a silent mutually hostile way.

  I was worried that I had heard nothing from Georgie, who had not yet replied to my letter. Pain at this neglect, a particular pain separable from my other troubles, persisted, and I had had the intention of writing to her again that very evening. But when the time came I was unable to. The figure of Honor stood between us. I could not see Georgie any more. I could not, at that moment, even distantly envisage going to call on her; and to write now without suggesting a meeting seemed insuperably difficult. So I postponed thinking about Georgie, as indeed I was now postponing everything, until after my visit to Pelham Crescent.

  I had just made another round of the house and was wondering if I could decently go to bed and whether if I did I would have another attack of asthma. Antonia had now got the entire contents of the linen cupboard out on to the stairs and was quite unnecessarily folding and sorting them. I stood on the landing for a while and watched her in silence. The telephone rang.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said, and took a long stride down over the piles of linen. ‘Be careful,’ said Antonia. I entered the drawing-room, closed the door, and picked up the receiver, as I always did now, with the expectation of something strange. It was Alexander.

  I was pleased to hear his voice. ‘Hello, you ruffian,’ I said. ‘Why are you neglecting us? Antonia’s dying to see you. You’ve no idea how dull we’ve become. Do come and cheer us up.’

  Alexander sounded confused. He said, yes, he’d love to come and he was sorry he’d been elusive, but first of all he had something important to tell me and he had better not beat about the bush.

  ‘Beating about the bush,’ I said, ‘is exactly what you are doing. What is it?’

  ‘I’m going to get married.’

  I was shaken. I said, ‘Well done, at last, brother. Who is she? Do I know her?’

  ‘Well, you do, actually,�
� said Alexander. “It’s Georgie.’

  I laid the phone down on the table. Distantly I could hear Alexander talking still. I put my hand over my face.

  With a hideous rush, like blood returning to a crushed limb, I was invaded by my old love for Georgie; and in that instant I realized how very much I had all the same, all the same, all the same, relied upon her faithfulness. I had been mad.

  I picked up the phone again and said, ‘Sorry, I missed that last bit.’

  ‘I said, I suppose it’s no use hoping that you won’t be displeased, even angry. But I hope too that in the end you’ll wish us luck. Do you want to see us, or would you prefer not?’

  ‘I’ll wish you luck now,’ I said, ‘and of course I want to see you. I can’t think why you imagine I’d be displeased. I’m afraid I had nothing left for Georgie except a bad conscience. You’re a cure for both of us. Honestly, I’m delighted.’ With a fluency that amazed me lies and treachery streamed from my lips. I was in extreme pain.

  ‘You’re an ace, Martin,’ said Alexander. ‘Would you mind breaking it to Antonia?’

  ‘I’ll tell her surely,’ I said. ‘But won’t you both come round to see us now, this evening? Where are you, anyway? Is Georgie with you?’ I felt such misery, and such frenzy, at the news, I wanted now only to fall upon the knife, to get the major shock over as rapidly as possible.

  ‘Yes, she’s here,’ said Alexander, ‘and sends her love.’ He muffled the phone for a moment and I could hear him saying something indistinguishable. ‘We’re at Gloucester Road station in fact. We’ve got to make another phone call, but we could be with you in ten minutes if you’d really like to see us.’ Alexander was obviously eager to get it over too.

  ‘Of course we would,’ I said. ‘It’s an occasion for champagne. Come as soon as you can. Tell Georgie I’m very pleased with you both!’

  ‘Thanks, Martin,’ said Alexander. ‘I thought you’d blow me out of the water.’

  ‘Admit you’re a fast worker!’

  I heard Alexander’s relieved laugh at the other end. ‘I knew what I wanted for once.’

  I replaced the receiver and stood there by the table staring out at the black uncurtained garden. It had stopped raining and in the silence I could hear the water dripping from the magnolia. Antonia came in.

  She saw my face and said, ‘Christ, what is it?’

  ‘My dear brother Alexander is getting married to Georgie Hands.’

  ‘No!’ said Antonia. Struck by the vehemence of that no, its tone of utter bewildered rejection, I looked at her face. It had become in an instant a wrinkled mask of pain. Antonia minded.

  I said, ‘Well, I expect it’s all for the best. You ought to be pleased. It removes temptations from my path.’

  Antonia drew her breath in sharply as if for an exclamation. But she said nothing. She turned her head away and I thought for a moment that she was going to burst into tears. I was surprised at her reaction. She must have laid more store than I realized by her tender sentimental friendship with my brother. But of course she was in an over-excited state.

  I said, ‘I asked them to come round now to drink some champagne. They’re at Gloucester Road. They should be arriving in a few minutes. I hope that’s all right by you.’

  ‘You asked them round now?’ said Antonia. Her face, screwed up with distress and anger, was positively ugly. ‘You perfect fool! Have you no consideration? I’m going out.’ She turned to the door.

  ‘Dear Antonia,’ I said, ‘don’t be cross with me. I didn’t know you’d mind. I should have asked you. I’ll entertain them alone if you like. But do please stay.’

  She stared at me for a moment almost with hatred. Then she left the room, clapping the door sharply to behind her. I heard her feet going heavily up the stairs. I waited, mastering a physical pain of jealousy so severe that it almost doubled me up. The bell rang. I went out into the hall.

  Wrapped in their big overcoats, against the damp blue night whose air blew warm and fragrant in through the doorway, they stood tall and indistinguishably close together. ‘Come in, you disgraceful pair,’ I said.

  They entered in silence and I helped them off with their coats. Alexander was wearing a stiff smile which must have been a duplicate of my own. I led the way into the drawing-room and by the fireplace we spread out and looked at each other’s faces. It was, for all three, an effort. The shock was extreme. I could see Georgie trying to control a grimacing smile which kept returning. She was not able to prevent the blood from rushing visibly to redden her two cheeks. After the first quick glance she avoided my eye. Alexander watched us both tensely, ruefully; but he had, and could not conceal, the air of a successful man.

  ‘Well, Martin,’ he said, ‘so you forgive us?’

  ‘Of course, lunatics,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ I went forward and kissed Georgie on her burning cheek. It was not easy. I felt her shiver. I shook Alexander by the hand. I said, ‘You’re bloody lucky.’

  ‘I know it,’ he said humbly, and cast a quick look at Georgie. He added, ‘Life can be very sudden, can’t it? But the fastest things are often the surest things. Once we got the idea we needed little convincing!’

  I had no desire for these sentiments and confidences. I wanted to get past the moment of hearing Georgie’s voice. I turned and said to her more roughly than I had intended, ‘Come on, Georgie, speak up. It’s only your old friend Martin. So my headlong brother carried you off?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Georgie in a low tone, still not looking at me.

  ‘Well, you’re lucky too,’ I said. ‘Come and sit by the fire and we’ll all have some champagne. And you can stop looking as if you’d been caught stealing the till.’ I plucked Georgie’s sleeve and drew her to the sofa. This time I was really magnificent. They both sat down.

  Alexander said, ‘We’ll soon stop looking hangdog. We’re terribly glad we’ve told you. Where’s Antonia? Have you told her?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ I said. ‘She’s delighted too. She’s just powdering her nose. She’ll be down in a minute.’ I hoped this was true.

  Georgie was looking at Alexander. She stretched out her long legs in a deliberate attempt to relax. Her breath came slowly and deeply. She was thinner and paler, wearing a black tweed pinafore dress with a high-necked striped blouse. Her hair, cascaded on top and carefully pinned, was immaculate. She seemed, with so much neatness, beautifully older. Alexander, with a cautious veiled tenderness, returned her look. The sense of my exclusion was for a moment almost unbearable; and I had a sudden repetition of an impression which I had had before in relation to Palmer and Antonia. They simply wanted me out of the way. I had to be somehow, tenderly, carefully, lovingly, but relentlessly dealt with before they could pass me by and get on with their lives together.

  Georgie at last had steadily turned to look up at me and our eyes met. Hers were big, intense, troubled, yet full of a vitality which might at any moment shamelessly declare itself as happiness. God knows what she saw in mine. In that interchange she could not help, very briefly, now that she had a hold upon her emotions, exhibiting, almost flaunting before me, her new sense of her freedom. She had said that without freedom she would not exist. No wonder I had lost her. I went to fetch the champagne.

  As I returned with bottles and glasses I became aware that Antonia was quietly descending the stairs. She had changed her dress and put on a good deal of make-up. She had evidently decided not to go out. When she saw me she paused a moment, gave me a sombre hostile look, and then proceeded slowly to the drawing-room door. I opened it for her and followed her in. The other two, who were sitting together on the sofa and ostentatiously not talking to each other, rose.

  I caught a glimpse over her shoulder of Alexander’s face. His features were drawn together as if focusing to a point. The moment passed.

  ‘Well, what a lovely surprise!’ said Antonia, her voice a little higher than usual. She was the least under control of the four of us.

  ‘I hope we ha
ve your blessing,’ said Alexander in a low submissive voice. He stooped towards her.

  ‘My most hearty blessing!’ said Antonia. ‘Can blessings be hearty? My blessing anyway. Let me kiss the child.’ She kissed Georgie, who stared and gripped Antonia’s arm as the kiss descended on her cheek. I poured out the champagne.

  Alexander and Georgie were exchanging looks. We raised our glasses and I said, ‘Let me be the one to say, a happy ending to a strange tale! From Antonia and Martin, to Georgie and Alexander, love and good wishes and congratulations!’ Rather awkwardly we clicked the glasses and drank.

  I poured out some more. Everybody was needing the stuff and we drank it like addicts. During this ritual there was a curious silence, all of us staring about at each other. I looked at Alexander. His face, seeming a little harder and absurdly young, had the crazy dazed look which is born of reckless behaviour or happiness. He had turned now to look at Antonia and I saw his features focus once again, drawn out to a fine point of provocative appeal. Georgie, not looking at him, was leaning very slightly in his direction as if responding to a magnetic pull. Their bodies were already acquainted. Georgie was gazing up at me now with a fugitive distressed smile well under control, keeping her glass steady at her lips. Drink always restored her. Antonia, holding her glass away from her in one hand in an Egyptian attitude, was staring at Alexander. Her mouth drooped. I noticed the rouge on her cheeks and how elderly she had become. But after all I had become elderly myself. I reflected that we were two aged parents wishing the young people well.