by Iris Murdoch
Benet, suddenly hearing Marian’s voice on the telephone, had nearly fainted with surprise and joy. He was to take in a good deal in a short time. Marian was very well and very very happy, she was with her Australian fiancé at the airport — yes, Australian, fiancé, airport, they were to be married at once, over there, she was sorry she hadn’t rung sooner, she hoped she hadn’t caused trouble or anxiety. Here the Australian fiancé intervened, only Benet could not understand what he said. Laughter. Marian’s voice again - yes, I am with the man I love and I will love him for ever and ever! Then, dear Benet, do hope you will visit - must go, kisses, kisses.
Benet sat down, holding on to his heart, some tears, then crazy choking laughter. After that seizing the telephone. He enjoyed sending the news about, but only for a short time. The others were ready enough to continue its dissemination. He was relieved to find no answer from Edward. He asked Anna if she would ring him, but she was just going out. He returned to Rosalind who said she would make sure that Edward knew. He returned to his previous grief. Jackson.
Benet had fairly soon repented of the ferocious letter he had left for Jackson. He felt ashamed at his anger and his haste, also distressed by what the others might think. He realised also that he had put Jackson out into a market where he would be readily snapped up! But was it not just that he was making a fool of himself. He had lost not only a valuable handyman, but a potential adviser and friend. He had blundered, he had muffed it all, and he could not see how he could ever mend the damage. Already perhaps Jackson had become the servant, or as he now saw it ‘servant’, of perhaps Anna Dunarven, or Owen, or Edward, or Rosalind, or the Moxons, or Oliver Caxton, or crazy Alexander, or Elizabeth Loxon, who had expressed so much interest in him, or Priscilla Conti, only she was still in Italy - but Italy, that would be just the place for him to go to! Or perhaps by now he had vanished forever into the depths of London, a London now in which Benet would never ever find him. What on earth would Uncle Tim have said — how right Uncle Tim had been.
Where was Jackson now? Benet recalled how and where he had first met Jackson. He recalled the stages of their, so strange, acquaintance. Jackson near the bridge, following him to his house, the voice behind him saying, ‘May I help you?’ At that moment their eyes had met. Benet remembered those eyes. Then how Jackson had actually touched his hand, indicating that he did not want any money, or was that what it meant? Had it indicated some much larger possibility, some signal offered to Benet in vain? Then again later once more in the dark: ‘Give me a try, I can do anything.’ Why had it seemed then artificial, as if spoken by an actor? Then when Benet, having moved to Tara, had almost forgotten the ghostly figure, the same insistent person had appeared again, seen by him this time over Uncle Tim’s shoulder! Uncle Tim’s dismay and reprobation when Benet shouted at him. And at last when he had let Jackson in. Why had he done that? It was Uncle Tim who had done it, castigating Benet, so (for him) sternly, for not ‘taking Jackson on’. Yet why should he have, at last, taken Jackson on? Well, was not Jackson as valuable, as talented as he had claimed to be? Even more so. Was it really something like fate?
Yes, it was Uncle Tim’s doing. Tim had loved the fellow. Nothing could be done about that. Then, at that moment, Benet recalled with a shaft of pain Uncle Tim’s death-bed, and how close he had been with Jackson just for that brief moment. Oh, if only Tim were here. Perhaps, thought Benet, he had really belonged to Tim, he had followed Benet because of Tim, he had put up with Benet because of Tim! Still, I met him first, Benet thought, and then reflected how evidently possessive that thought seemed to be after all. Still, it was over now, and his relation with Jackson had never been less than awkward. He should be relieved. If only he had not written that vicious letter. He could easily have done it politely, even with regrets. I don’t think after all, he thought, he would now sell himself to one of them — that would be spiteful. Still, it was rather awful of him to run away for so long - but perhaps he had really been finding Marian? Anyway he must have been concealing things and telling lies - perhaps he knew where she was all the time! Most awful of all: Marian and that fellow had carried Jackson away to Australia!
They are all leaving me now, he thought, they are falling away. I can’t even get any company! Edward is depressed and angry and saying he will sell Hatting. Owen won’t talk to me. Anna says she’ll go back to France as soon as Bran goes to school, and she’ll sell her London house. Mildred has run away to India. When I ring Rosalind she is almost rude and puts the phone down. I wonder what - of course, he thought, we have only just been released by Marian, and now there is quite a new scene! Why not Edward and Rosalind - is this not now quite obvious? At least I can do some sort of work on this! Benet had been sitting in his study trying to work on Heidegger, but reflecting upon Jackson and ‘the others’. Now he began to see how incompetent he had been; he had kept on seeing Marian marrying Edward. Now Marian herself had opened a way for Rosalind! There was already evidence upon both sides! When he had come over to see Edward on the awful afternoon of the broken wedding he had found Rosalind with him in the Gallery. She might have been there for a long time giving him tender consolation! Such secret ventures and visits were of course very well, only Edward himself had nobly kept them, perhaps sadly, at a suitable distance; but now that Marian had declared herself hors de combat it was open arms for Rosalind! No wonder she did not want to waste telephone time with Benet!
Of course Rosalind was profoundly relieved when she received from Benet the news of Marian’s eloping to Australia with an Australian! She had of course been worrying very much about her sister. But she was even more concerned about her other problem, that of Tuan. Rosalind waited for three days. Waiting was agony. She painfully checked, held back, all the violent desires and movements which tore at her heart. She felt, as she had never felt before, her heart strings. She sat often during these days, in the chair beside the window, breathing deeply, and trying to read. She had never in her life felt this sort of pain. She thought, this is like the pain of dying must be when you know that you are mortal. She cried a lot at first - later she simply sat with her lips apart, gazing down at where her hand rested, upon her knee, upon her breast. The window was closed and the room was hot. After the first day she did not look out of the window, she looked at things in the room, only intermittently at her book. (It was A la Recherche du temps perdu.) Sometimes she tried to think about painting. She had ceased painting. She must paint again soon - in the future - only there was no future, except one which was a dark chasm. To her surprise she slept fairly well, as if her ordinary healthy body had not as yet received the message or realised the possibility of mortal pain. She thought, people talk of dying with love, but they don’t really believe it — at least not many do, I suppose some people - yet not very many - have felt this sort of anguish - when it is really a matter of life and death - though perhaps I won’t die - yet I can’t imagine going on living. What she checked too during this time was the steady powerful violent instinct to run at once to Tuan. Some higher wiser intuition told her to wait. At the end of three days she could endure it no longer.
On the fourth day she woke up early and lay in bed curled up like a snail, her face covered with her hands. She got up and dressed slowly. She had, on the previous evening, selected a particular dress, a very simple brown cotton dress, loose, with long sleeves and no design. She would also take with her a loose black cotton jacket. She assumed that the weather would be warm and the sun would be shining. It was Saturday; this too had entered into her calculations. She sat on her ruffled bed and stared at her watch. She got up and looked at herself in the mirror and adjusted the neck of her dress. She smoothed down her glowing pale fair hair which she had lately cut a bit shorter - she regretted that now. She looked at her eyes - she had done so much crying - she tried not to cry - she must not cry now. The response of this resolution was a rising flood of tears which she could only just control. She turned away and consulted her watch again. She had already decid
ed to walk to her destination. It was just before eight o’clock. She was ready to start.
Tuan opened the door. He said rather vaguely, ‘Oh — hello.’ After a short hesitation he moved back from the door, leaving it to her to enter and close. She had been carrying the black cotton jacket which she had had with her before, she now remembered to put it down on the same chair. He stared at her. ‘Why do you come?’
‘Oh, Tuan, you know—’
‘It’s all the same - ’
‘Could I stay just for a bit, could I have a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, all right — but — ’
‘It’s hot out there.’
Tuan receded into the sitting room and she followed. She evaded the sofa and sat down on an upright chair. Tuan had now gone into the kitchen.
‘Tuan, don’t worry about the tea, I didn’t mean tea, I meant just lemonade—’
After a brief silence Tuan returned and gave her a glass of lemonade, which she sipped then placed on the floor. She said, ‘How are you getting on with your work?’
‘Not very well.’ He pulled forward a chair on the other side of the room, but did not sit down.
‘It’s — what is it?’
‘It’s about - great thinkers - in the past - you know I do other work as well—’
‘Yes, at the shop. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about your thinkers.’
‘Neither do I, I mean I know very little, I’m a dismal scholar.’
‘Surely you aren’t “dismal”.’
‘I just mean I’m an ignorant scholar. Listen, Rosalind—’
Tuan had now risen and was walking to and fro.
‘Rosalind, I’m sorry. Your presence here disturbs me. Please could you go away? Forgive me for the awful performance I put on. I cannot expect you to share or even understand—’
‘But I do understand, I try to understand.’
‘You are made for happiness and freedom, in your own world. I am someone out of another world. I have displayed my sorrow and my burden which I ought not to have done. I have thought about this. You pity me. I feel the great extent, the great ocean of your pity - but you have been overcome by my story and you take this terrible shaking and this shadow to be love, the openness of love - as it cannot be - your destiny is in another area, in another world — and now you are duly liberated into its great space.’
‘Why now— do you mean - oh heavens - ’
‘You belong to England, to the beauty and nobility of its history. Here you are at home, you are a princess. You are young, you are free, you have now before you the completeness of your possibility - you can be happy in your own world, with your own kind. And now that Marian is gone—’
‘How does Marian come in? Are you hinting that I am now free to marry Edward—!’
‘I can now see your world, which is not mine. Yes, Edward or another. I am sorry to say such things. Oh Rosalind, how can you!’
Tuan, who had been striding to and fro, sat down upon the sofa covering his eyes. Rosalind came to sit beside him.
‘What do you mean? Surely you know, you see, that I love you, only you—’
‘I told you the last time—’
‘How can you speak of Edward like that! Can’t you recognise real love? I love you desperately and deeply and to the end of time, I love you and I know that you love me — you do love me, don’t you, please say that you love me - please take my hand.’
Tuan took her hand, then released it. He said, ‘Don’t cry. Well, do cry if you must.’
‘Have you got a handkerchief, I’ve lost mine.’
‘Yes, here take this big one. Rosalind, you are still a child. We are two very different people, we come out of two very different worlds. Marriage is a mystery, a very profound and difficult matter, it can be a terrible mistake, a lifelong mistake.’
‘Not if we love each other as we love each other. Love overcomes all — I know you love me, Tuan, I see it, I know it, we shall be together, we must be together, I want to be with you always—’
He thrust her away and got up and resumed his pacing up and down. She watched him breathlessly, holding his handkerchief in her hand.
He said, ‘I have told you various reasons why we cannot marry, even if you love me - and love can be unreal and ephemeral. I should say too that I have never been with a woman, or a man.’
‘And I have never been with a man, or a woman.’
‘I have had my own terrible - inward - problems and difficulties—’
‘So you keep saying, but I am here and our love can hold us and cure us. We can both earn money, and even if we were very poor it wouldn’t alter - ’
‘No, no, no — I told you last time — ’
‘Oh my dear, I am so tired, do let us stop fighting, I want to lie down, let us at any rate lie down together, in there, let us at least rest together, please please my love, come with me. Let us go there together, come—’ She rose and reached out her hand.
He stared at her, then took her hand. He let her lead him to the bed. They sat down on either side of the bed gazing at each other.
Rosalind felt faint. An extraordinary wave of being which she had never experienced before overwhelmed her, even as she sat, a disintegration of her body, so painful, so weird, like a sudden electric shock. She leaned away from him, pulling off her dress. Tuan sat still, watching her, and his eyes were quiet and calm, as if he had been thinking, gazing at her dreamily for a very long time. He was breathing deeply, his lips apart. He began to unbutton his shirt, then paused.
‘Come to me, hold me, Tuan darling, surely we have won—’
‘Perhaps you have won, my child. However it remains to be seen — ’
‘Well, thank God all that’s over at last,’ said Owen as he sat in the kitchen watching Jackson making a ratatouille for lunch. ‘But fancy her rushing off with that Australian fellow. I wonder if he followed her, or perhaps he was here all the time.’
‘I wonder,’ said Jackson.
‘She might have let us know a bit sooner! Well, she might have made up her mind a bit sooner that she wanted the Aussie and not our poor Edward.’
‘Indeed,’ said Jackson.
‘She’s dragged us all through hell, especially Edward, of course, but also Benet. Still, I’m sorry for Benet, I mean about her not marrying Edward. That night - of course you were in London - when that ghastly message came through the door. I wonder just how it all worked out - was her Australian friend already there, was it he who wrote the message for her, no, it was her writing wasn’t it, or perhaps simply that she realised that Edward was not for her, she didn’t really like him, and Benet had engineered the whole thing.’
‘Possibly,’ said Jackson.
‘Edward has been very elusive hasn’t he. Benet said he was terribly depressed when he went to see him at Hatting. Edward is the kind of chap who would go into a depression and stay there.’
‘Maybe,’ said Jackson.
‘You will stay with me, dear? You heard how I dealt with Benet when he rang up and asked if I had any news of you! I nearly choked! All right, I won’t bother you, not yet anyway. I’m just so glad that you’re with me. I do think about suicide. Well, that’s a boring topic. You know Mildred’s gone to India. I can hardly bear it. Perhaps one of her gods brought you along instead. Of course you’re still suffering from shock, I wonder just what Benet - well, I won’t enquire, whatever it is he’s a bloody fool, perhaps I’ll go round and horse-whip him, no I won’t, I bet you wouldn’t let me, you are so forgiving - Damn, what’s that, go and see will you, darling, it can’t be Benet so soon - no, I’d better go, it might be anybody.’
There had been a ring at the front door bell. Owen opened it. It was Mildred.
‘Oh God! You’re back again, you bitch, I thought you were gone forever! Are you coming to say another last sickening farewell? What do you want? If you’re going please go now as far as I’m concerned. If you want to shed your tears of farewell once again, oh bloody hell - just whe
n - oh, all right come in - come up to the drawing room, will you, I’m in the midst of something in the kitchen - don’t start crying already, everybody’s after me, come on, and please stay in the drawing room till I fix something, otherwise I’ll scream.’
